They’ve spent days on it, and they’re coming up short. Not on the money side. There will be a multitude of charges against many of Richard Hardy’s clients. Most of them don’t matter a bit to Fisher. Ragtag bunch of arseholes and no-hopers. The one who matters is Shug Francis. There will be charges against him, too, but the ones that matter aren’t among them. Charging him for financial crimes isn’t enough. Doesn’t send the right message. Might have seemed clever at one point, when Shug was smaller. Now Fisher wants murder charges. Doesn’t have them. He’s convinced that Shug killed Hardy. Convinced he killed Kenny McBride as well. You need more. You have to be able to prove beyond reasonable doubt. Show motive and opportunity. Show that there is no alternative. Plenty of motive. Plenty of opportunity. There are alternatives, but they’re becoming less convincing. Peter Jamieson is the obvious one. No evidence there. Jesus, it just takes one clincher.
The office is quiet around him. The evening shift has come in now. They were warned on their way in: Fisher’s in a foul mood. They knew his good mood wouldn’t last. The guy’s been losing it these last few months. Hasn’t closed a single case. People are starting to talk about him. I mean, he was always difficult to handle. Always bad-tempered, always snooty towards those he thinks below him. Which is most of them, for one reason or another. But the guy got results. Worked his fingers to the bone. Still puts the work in, just isn’t getting anywhere. This whole Shug Francis thing has got right up his nose. And the Scott and McClure case. Shit! Seemed like he just gave up on that one. A drug dealer and his mate, shot dead in Scott’s flat. It was closed as murder suicide, but there was more to it. Fisher suspected, but he didn’t push. It does happen to some cops–burnout. You push yourself harder and harder; always trying to go one better than your last result. You go off a cliff. That’s what they’re saying about Fisher now. But they’re working silently, not giving him anything to be extra pissed off about. He’s been here all day, working on this case. That’ll mean he’s wound up real tight.
The double door on the far side of the room is swinging open. Higgins. One of Fisher’s little pet plods. Fisher won’t explode on him. Not unless pushed. Higgins is heading straight for Fisher. Hardly a glance at the rest of them. These plods know the route to the top. Get well in with the DI, and he’ll push you up the ladder. That was the case a year ago. Maybe not now. Not when the DI’s getting a reputation as a man who can’t close. Then you don’t want to be anywhere near him. He can hold you back rather than push you forward. There are a few in the station who would like to see Fisher become toxic. Fisher’s looking up from his desk. Less interested in Higgins than the folder he has in his hands. Fisher didn’t ask for anything. Must be something interesting. Actually, shouldn’t Higgins be at home? He was on the dayshift. Someone else putting in hours beyond contractual obligation. Good lad.
Higgins has stopped at Fisher’s desk. Putting the thin folder down with a flourish and leaning forward.
‘Phone records. Records for Shug for the last couple of weeks. Check a couple of nights before Hardy and McBride went missing. Evening. Short call on his mobile.’
There’s excitement in his voice. Fisher’s looking down the sheet. A five-minute call to Derek Collins. Derek Collins–he knows that name. Another one of the murdering bastards who should be rotting in jail. Collins has done time twice. Never for murder. Never for long. He’s a killer, though. Fisher knows it. Flicking to the next sheet. Collins: the corresponding incoming call. Then nothing. The two of them keeping their distance. This is it. This is what Fisher has been waiting for. Something so simple. So basic. Shug not learning his lessons. Not learning how to cover his tracks.
It’s an hour later, and Fisher has everyone moving around. Most of them aren’t doing anything useful, but he has them looking busy. Fact is, there’s not an awful lot for them to do, but the energy is flowing outwards from Fisher. He has a couple of them going looking for CCTV. Find out where Des Collins was on the night. See if they can find him moving around. It would be wonderful if they could place him at, or near, Hardy’s office. As long as they can’t place him anywhere else in the relevant period. That’ll do as a starter. Makes Collins the likely killer. Makes Shug the man who ordered it. Makes sense. He has another cop trying to locate Collins. Not to arrest him. Not yet. You don’t bring him in until you have everything you need to nail the bastard to the floor. But you need to know where he is. Make sure he doesn’t run. Dopey bugger might even incriminate himself more while you watch. Don’t need anyone to find out where Shug is. Get someone to confirm that he’s at home. His right-hand man as well. He’ll be in the dock, too. Oh, Fisher’s going to round up every bloody one of them.
‘Doesn’t Collins work for Alex MacArthur?’ one of the DCs is asking.
What’s the DC’s name again? Shit, Fisher can’t remember. Big fellow, greying hair. Never mind. Not much of a cop anyway. ‘Yes, he does,’ Fisher’s saying. ‘Done jobs for other people, but he seems to have settled in with MacArthur. A few people have placed him close to Donald Park.’
‘Okay. I thought that was it,’ the cop’s saying.
He looks nervous. A few of them will. Cowards. Plenty of them around. Scared of taking on MacArthur. If it’s just Shug, then they’re fine. They’ve always thought of him as small. MacArthur they’ve always thought was big. A man with influence all over the city. A man who could make a cop’s life difficult. For that reason, some will be wary of taking him on. Thing is, if you always back off, never challenge the scum, he’ll grow and grow. Grow so big that he really becomes impossible to take down. They won’t get MacArthur himself with this investigation. That’s too much to hope for. But they’ll get Collins and Shug, two men known to be on his side. And that chips away at MacArthur’s credibility.
Everyone making an effort to look busy. Doesn’t take much for Higgins to slip away unnoticed. Just downstairs. If Fisher wants him, then he can call down. Unlikely he’ll bother. He has plenty of people upstairs to do the work. There probably won’t be an arrest tonight. That’s not Fisher’s style. Meticulous. He’ll want to make sure everything’s neatly sewn up before the arrests. He usually would, anyway. Might go a different route with this. He needs an arrest. Higgins knows it as well as anyone. Been months since Fisher did something to disrupt the criminal industry. He used to be a pest for them. He’s become an irrelevance. An arrest. A charge. A conviction. Get Shug put away, and it makes a statement. Get Collins put away, and it makes an impact. Shug’s higher-profile. Collins, being MacArthur’s gunman, will worry more people inside MacArthur’s organization. Make them afraid. Just what Fisher wants.
Higgins is sitting in the corner of the changing rooms. His shift ended hours ago. He’s entitled to be lounging around if he likes. Hell, he should be at home by now. He’s being careful. Making sure nobody’s around. Nobody’s likely to come in. Everyone working this shift has been in and changed; many have already gone out on the streets. He’s taking out his mobile. Calling a number committed to memory, never to SIM card.
‘I thought you might like to know that there’s evidence linking Shug Francis to Des Collins. Should be arrests in the next forty-eight hours. I’ll let you know more when I have it.’
‘Good, thank you,’ Young’s saying on the other end, and hanging up.
The phone’s asking Higgins if he wants to save the number and create a new contact. He’s pressing No. Deleting the call from his call log. Hoping that Young will use his contacts to delete the call from official records. Taking a deep breath. Changing out of his uniform. Going home for sleep he really needs.