Chapter 3

CID HAD MANY superbly competent detectives, but, in Reid’s opinion, Detective Inspector Mark Lawrence was not one of them. DI Lawrence was arrogant and lazy. Unfortunately, he was also politically connected within the police force.

Reid had thought he’d minimized the damage Lawrence could cause by assigning the detective inspector parts of the operation that he was least likely to foul up. Something as simple as the round-the-clock surveillance of Richard Ramsey, a man who had a fairly regular pattern of activity, should have been easy. Even if Reid hadn’t given explicit instructions that the surveillance on Ramsey was to be continuous, giving someone as junior as DC Parsons the discretion to make the decision to suspend surveillance was inexcusable. Any young officer would, no doubt, rather be tucked up in his own bed than sitting in a cold car all night, although Reid still found it difficult to believe Parsons had dropped the surveillance on his own. It just didn’t jive with the young man’s fervently expressed ambitions.

Reid glanced down from the road to check his mobile for text messages, something he knew he shouldn’t do while he was driving. Nothing from Anne. He looked up quickly to make sure no cars were approaching, then hit the button for voicemail. Nothing. He put down his mobile as he merged into the roundabout.

Yesterday had marked six weeks exactly from when he’d left California, and six weeks had been their agreement. A cold hand squeezed his heart and his throat closed up. He knew what it meant that she hadn’t called. After all, he’d been through this with her before. It was just that he’d been so sure this time. This time things between them had felt so right, like they were finally on the same page with what they wanted out of their marriage. But then he’d left California without her. That had been a mistake. A huge mistake in a long line of mistakes he’d made with his wife.

He hit speed dial for CID at Glasgow City Centre station, confirming with the officer answering calls that DI Lawrence was, uncharacteristically, actually in his office on a Sunday. Reid next made a quick call to Chief Constable McMurty to let him know he’d be by after he’d gotten some questions answered. At the moment, he had things to discuss with DI Lawrence. But to be honest, discussing things wasn’t what Reid wanted to do. He wanted to beat the bloody hell out of the sabotaging arsehole. If they weren’t able to stop the next terrorist attack in time, it would be down to Lawrence’s idiocy.

The street outside of the police station was Sunday city quiet. Without the bustle of people going to and from work and many nearby stores either closed for the day or opening late, the neighborhood had the feel of a deserted movie set. Quiet, empty, closed down.

Inside the station, Reid made his way to CID, his steps seeming oddly loud in the semi-deserted halls. He nodded curtly to the few people he passed. In the way he’d now become too familiar with, Reid saw the faces first merely register recognition, then snap back with more interest—the result of his recent descent into tabloid hell.

He spotted DI Mark Lawrence through the half-glass of the door that led into the main CID bullpen. Lawrence’s dark blond hair was slicked back in the smug, vain, way favored by men who fancied themselves dangerously attractive, and the muscles that showed through his black too-tight t-shirt all but announced steroid use.

Reid opened the door in one swift move, the noise causing heads to turn toward him. DI Lawrence looked up from his position at the center of a circle of officers who were apparently hanging on his every word. None of the faces that turned toward Reid looked friendly, but DI Lawrence’s expression was insolently hostile.

“Well, if it isn’t Lord Reid, the golden wunderkind. What brings you to our humble abode? Slumming, are we? Or did you get lonely over in your private headquarters?”

The reference to his title had been made to rankle him, Reid knew, as well as to brand him further as an outsider to the watching officers. Reid wondered what lies Lawrence had been telling his audience.

“A word, DI Lawrence?” Reid kept his voice calm and expressionless as he sized up the situation. Definitely an enemy camp. The large room was broken up into work stations divided by chest-high partitions, but no one seemed to be working. The air reeked of bacon butties, burnt coffee, and political bullshite. With efforts in play to unify the Scottish police force, the jockeying for position and power had intensified, and along with it, the intricacy of political stratagems. The City Centre Police Office, the largest in the Strathclyde district, held more than its share of influential officers. Rumor had it that DI Lawrence’s mentor, Chief Superintendent Steynton, a man known for his ruthlessness, was maneuvering to land the position of head of the new national force.

“Certainly. Go ahead, my lord.” The mocking tone in Lawrence’s voice made Reid want to dispense with all pretense at civility himself.

“Go ahead, Superintendent.” Reid deliberately reminded the other man that he out-ranked him, even though DI Lawrence didn’t actually report to him.

“Aye. Superintendent.” The title came out as a sneer.

“In your office.”

“Feel free to speak in front of my men, Superintendent. I don’t keep secrets from them.”

“In your office.”

Something in either Reid’s tone or his manner sent Lawrence’s minions scurrying back to their cubbyholes.

Lawrence shrugged. He led Reid into a small office that had a window with a view of the street on one wall and three walls whose upper glass portions allowed the officers sitting in the general area to see inside. Lawrence took a seat behind a desk cluttered with piles of papers and file folders and motioned for Reid to take one of the two metal chairs on the other side. “So what’s got your silk knickers in a twist this fine morning, Superintendent?”

“Richard Ramsey was murdered last night.”

Muscles tightened visibly around DI Lawrence’s eyes. “So I heard.”

Reid wasn’t surprised. Even though he’d tried to keep the news of Ramsey’s death quiet, DI Lawrence had a lot of connections. Probably someone from the local force or even one of the scene of crime team. “Your boy Parsons, the one who was supposed to be watching him, wasn’t anywhere around.”

Lawrence hit a button on his computer’s keyboard, displaying the investigation database. “According to the surveillance log, at eleven, Parsons reported that the cars were all garaged and the house was dark. He must have left after that.”

“When exactly did he leave?”

Lawrence glanced at the screen, not seeming to be cognizant of the enormity of his team’s failure. “Dunno. The log doesn’t say.”

“When was the next shift supposed to start?”

Lawrence looked at his watch. “Started at seven this morning. Brady was in front of the Ramsey house at seven on the dot, but I called him off once we got the news.”

“And Parsons?”

“He’s likely planning to update the log when he gets in.”

“Which is when? I need to talk to him now.”

“He’s not scheduled back until tomorrow, but I left him a message to call in.”

“Get him in here right away.”

The detective inspector’s glare could have sliced steel. “I don’t see what you need to say that can’t be said over the telephone.”

“I want to talk to him in person.”

Lawrence shot Reid an exasperated look, but pulled something up on the computer that looked to be a personnel directory, then dialed the telephone. Reid heard the faint ring on the other end, then a droning tone that he knew was saying to leave a message. After instructing Parsons to call in immediately, Lawrence hung up. “I’ll send someone round to his house to rouse him.”

“Now.”

Lawrence clamped his jaw shut, but nodded. He hit the intercom and barked out an order.

When Reid had Lawrence’s attention again, he said, “Dropping the surveillance was a major mistake, DI.”

“No one dropped the surveillance. The man was in for the night.”

Reid struggled to keep his voice calm. “So?”

“I give my men the discretion to terminate surveillance for the night when it’s clear the subject’s tucked up for the night. Saves wear and tear on them and on the overtime budget.”

“Ramsey apparently wasn’t tucked up for the night as his body was on the railroad tracks on the edge of town this morning.”

Lawrence thinned his lips, his eyes glowering at the implied rebuke. “And I suppose you blame Parsons.”

“No, DI Lawrence, I blame you. Ramsey was supposed to be under surveillance around the clock.”

“I don’t recall anyone saying it was a protection detail. Simple surveillance is how I understood it.”

“Around the clock surveillance or protection, neither one means your people take the night off and go home to watch the telly.”

Lawrence shifted in his seat. “You can’t expect me to make a man stay all night watching after everyone’s gone to bed for the night. That would be a waste of manpower.”

“That was not your call to make, DI Lawrence.”

“Maybe you should be more clear about your expectations next time.”

“More clear?” Reid spoke through clenched teeth, incensed by the other man’s cavalier attitude. “More clear? How could I be any clearer than to say there was to be someone around the clock on Ramsey?”

Lawrence’s back visibly stiffened. “As I recall, your orders were that the man was to be under surveillance when he was likely to be away from his home or office.”

Reid tried to breathe back his anger while he scoured his memory for exactly how the order had been given. What exactly had he said? He’d been distracted by his worries about Anne, he knew, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t have mucked up such an essential order. No, he distinctly remembered saying the surveillance was to be around the clock. He tried to think. Who else had been there when he’d given the command? Then he remembered. DC Parsons.

“You and I both know that’s not true. And Parsons knew as well.”

“Superintendent, explain to me how anything Parsons could have done would have stopped Ramsey from committing suicide. He could have slit his wrists in his bathtub and having my man sitting outside the gate of his house wouldn’t have stopped him.”

“Who said it was suicide?”

DI Lawrence’s face took on a wary look. “That’s what I heard.”

That narrowed Lawrence’s probable source down to someone from the local cops, Reid thought. The SOCO’s would have had better information.

“I’ll be waiting to hear from DC Parsons. Have him call my mobile as soon as he’s located. You’ll be lucky if I don’t decide to file a formal complaint against you for this.”

“You’re not exactly in the best position to do that right now, are you, Superintendent?”

Reid raised his eyebrows in a question, searching his mind for what DI Lawrence’s snide comment signified.

The other man didn’t make him wonder long. “A little birdie told me that this operation might not be yours much longer. I understand some of the brass isn’t taking your recent notoriety well. They don’t like the idea of one of their superintendents starring in sleazy tabloid stories and true crime shows about love triangles, kidnapping, and murder. So you’d best be nice to me. You need all the friends you can get. ”

Reid stood up to leave, letting the fantasy scene where he punched Lawrence hard in the face run through his mind, then drop away. “I doubt I’ll ever be so hard up as to need you as a friend.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Lawrence barely bothered to hide his smirk. Something in his manner gave Reid an uneasy feeling that the other man knew something he wasn’t telling.