He felt no surprise when the call came, had been expecting it since the moment his client had told him about the press conference and that little prick Sneddon insinuating a link between Ferguson and Russell.
The client had been panicked, on the verge of hysteria. What would they do? All Sneddon had was insinuation and conjecture at the moment, but that was more than enough for most members of the press. They would start digging into all of it. Find out about Russell, her past, her links with Billy Griffin. It would be a disaster, the apocalypse. Not just for them but for the movement as a whole. After all, how could any Nationalist be trusted ever again after it emerged that their own justice secretary had secretly been a Unionist sympathizer?
He made soothing noises into the phone, more to silence the pathetic mewling rather than to offer any real comfort. The truth was, he didn’t really care what this meant for his client or their petty political aspirations. He had known this was a possibility since the moment he had agreed to this job. He had taken steps to avoid this outcome but, still, the thought of this conclusion, so tempting and alluring, had played on his thoughts, filled his imagination in quiet moments.
And now here it was.
He reached for the phone, let it ring for a moment. Then took a breath. Answered.
‘Connor. I thought I might get a call from you. How are things in Stirling? You making the most of your time off?’
He smiled at the predictable response, the venom and fury injected into Fraser’s voice, which was normally so quiet and even, like a slow-flowing stream. He felt a surge of satisfaction. If nothing else, he had got under Connor Fraser’s cool façade, antagonized the man behind the veneer.
And, after all, wasn’t that the point?
He waited until the fury had abated. ‘You know, if you feel that way, perhaps we should meet, discuss all this. I hear there are some sights to see around the castle and the cemetery, so how about we meet there? . . . Yes, where the first body was found. Say an hour?’
He clicked off the phone, rocked back in his chair. He didn’t need the hour, was a lot closer than Connor or Simon would have guessed.
But he needed the time.
He called the number from memory, didn’t have to wait long for the reply. And why should he? After all, this call was going to make his client’s day.