DS Clark stood outside the interview room, collecting herself before she went in. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t done this before. A million times. It was just that . . .
Before she thought any further, she opened the door.
The guy was sitting just as she’d left him. The room smelt of male sweat mingled with strong aftershave. An unappealing combination. She found herself making judgements on the occupant. Judgements she wasn’t comfortable with. Such as he wasn’t fanciable, because he sweated too much and didn’t use deodorant.
It was cruel. She knew it and disliked herself for it. It was also unprofessional.
On the other hand, the guy didn’t seem to care that being smelly might make things difficult for those around him. Especially in the close confines of an interview room.
If she was assessing him, he was also assessing her. Janice was used to such looks from men, especially in her capacity as a female police officer. Phrases such as ‘obviously a dyke’, ‘tits too small’, ‘doesn’t get it often enough’, ‘frigid bitch’ and ‘cunt on legs’ sprang to mind.
‘Mr Munro,’ she said quickly to stop that train of thought. ‘Detective Inspector McNab isn’t available to speak to you—’
‘I’d rather talk to you.’
‘But I thought you asked to speak to him?’
‘I told them I didn’t want to speak to him. Anyone but him.’
Janice wondered if he’d met McNab before and didn’t fancy a second round. ‘I understand you want to make a statement?’
He nodded. A trickle of sweat descended his cheek. He made no attempt to wipe it away.
‘I saw him, that detective, take the cocaine.’
If Steve Munro had declared his undying love for her, it would have surprised Janice less.
‘Sorry . . .’
He interrupted her. ‘Is this recording? I want it recorded. I went back to see if the holdall was still there. I saw him dig it up and take it away.’
Janice almost laughed, it was so ridiculous.
‘You say you saw Detective Inspector McNab remove a holdall you claim held cocaine, which was buried on Cathkin Braes?’
‘I saw a guy remove it. I didn’t know then it was the detective. Then I saw him on the news. It was him all right.’
Janice ignored that for the moment. ‘When exactly did you see someone remove the cocaine?’
‘Late Sunday night.’
Janice tried to remember when McNab had first mentioned the report of the cocaine stash. It had been on Monday at the strategy meeting.
‘When did you first report finding the buried cocaine?’
‘On Sunday, after I saw the body.’
‘You reported the body and the cocaine at the same time?’
He shook his head wildly. ‘No. I wasn’t sure about mentioning the cocaine in case someone had seen me with it. I called back later and they put me through to the detective.’
‘But you saw it removed on Sunday night?’
He looked puzzled as though she had gone off script and he couldn’t remember his lines. ‘I thought it was one of them who’d taken it. Then I saw him on the telly. It was definitely him. The detective.’
The guy was talking bullshit, but she couldn’t stop him if he wanted to give a statement, and once he did that it had to be dealt with.
Allegations against police personnel occurred with monotonous regularity, usually with respect to assault. McNab had been involved in an assault charge on more than one occasion, and cleared, mostly down to his commanding officer at the time, DI Wilson.
Janice wished DI Wilson was here now. She cleared her throat.
‘You want to make a statement regarding DI McNab?’
He nodded, then repeated his assertion. ‘I saw him take the cocaine from the hiding place on Cathkin Braes on Sunday night.’
‘When the area was thick with police officers?’
He shot her an angry look. ‘They’d mostly gone by midnight. Any left were inside the tent.’
That was true. Too true to be comfortable.
Janice tried to remember when she’d last seen McNab up there, then stopped herself. This was ridiculous. McNab didn’t remove a stash of cocaine. The guy was making it up.
His cheeks and forehead were slick with sweat, his eyeballs darting about. He was obviously shitting himself, but he was here and prepared to make a statement that would put him and McNab under scrutiny.
‘Would you like a mug of tea, Mr Munro?’
‘Why?’ he said suspiciously.
‘We usually offer people tea when they’re making a statement.’
‘I’d rather have coffee,’ he said grudgingly.
Janice nodded and stood up. ‘I’ll fetch paper and a pen, and a cup of coffee.’
He sat back, looking relieved. Mission accomplished, he wiped his forehead of sweat.
Janice exited and shut the door, her hand trembling. McNab had disappeared, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in his wake. Now this?
She calmed herself. Remember the rule of the detective. Everyone was lying until proved otherwise. A small voice questioned whether that included McNab.
‘Okay,’ Chrissy said. ‘This is how we play it. I sign the evidence bags that came from McNab’s. I do the standard tests. We keep everything in house, until he’s back and we can speak to him and find out what happened.’
‘What about the cocaine?’
‘I test it against the trace samples we took from Cathkin Braes.’
It was what Rhona had intended doing herself. ‘And if it’s a match?’
‘McNab’s not using,’ Chrissy said. ‘But the daft bitch he was screwing probably is, which is why we have to find her.’
Rhona explained about her conversation with DS Clark.
Chrissy shook her head. ‘I’ll speak to Janice. It’s better if I look for Lolita unofficially. That way we keep the relationship under wraps.’ She shook her head. ‘This is all your fault, boss. If you’d taken McNab up on his offer the night of the party, Iona would never have got her claws into him.’
Rhona opened her mouth to protest, but Chrissy had already deposited her mug and was on her way out. The door shut with a bang.
Rhona glanced skywards. ‘Where the hell are you, McNab?’