Capital Offence

Chapter 30

Monday 17th June

9 days left

 

Detective Inspector Jim Gillespie couldn’t believe the pigheadedness of the man. Then again, maybe he could. That was Pat Gellatly’s style these days.. Ever since he’d become answerable to the Chief Constable, Hector Sutherland, he’d started to play the long game. Used to be he’d bend the rules, or at least take a selective approach to available evidence and testimony, in order to keep the conviction rate healthy. Now the man obviously had his eyes on higher prizes. He would demand ridiculous levels of circumstantial evidence before applying for search warrants. He would err on the side of keeping the public happy, not offending community or ethnic groups. He would insist that suspects were treated with kid gloves. If every police officer played politics like that, rather than applying the rough and ready methods which had proved their worth over the years, then nobody would ever be caught, let alone convicted.

Now he was refusing to back Gillespie’s attempts to build up the case against that slimy hack Forbes Macferry. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that the man was in it up to his neck. The masked maniac yarn fooled nobody. Perhaps you should expect that from a writer. Invent characters. Make up stories. Well, Mr Macferry, the harsh fact is that no self-respecting cop would believe half the drivel you serve up to your gullible readers day after day.

But Gellatly looked unmoved, sitting there, pompous, behind his ridiculously clear desk. Gillespie tried one last time.

“Just because the man’s a journalist doesn’t make him innocent. A murderer can have a day job.”

“You’re stepping very close to the mark.”

“I’m sorry sir, but...”

“The man may be innocent or he may be guilty. But he is also a journalist. And unless we play this absolutely straight we could find ourselves on the wrong end of a lot of extremely bad publicity - enough to prevent any possibility of a conviction even if further evidence were to turn up later.”

Gillespie nodded.

“Have you found anything in the flat to place Macferry there?”

“No, but we’re running tests on...”

“So far, nothing?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you turned up anything which casts further doubts on Macferry’s story?”

“We still can’t explain how the man he claims to have seen vanished from the flats.”

“Are you sure he did vanish?”

“We’ve searched every inch.”

“So he must be a resident - someone who was still there when you searched.”

“There’s no way, sir. It’s old buggers with Zimmers, and wee wifies and single mums.”

“And that constitutes proof that they are all innocent?”

“No, of course not sir, but...”

“I am getting exceedingly annoyed by this discussion. Have you forgotten every bloody thing you learnt at Tullieallan?”

Gillespie thought back to his days at the police training college. He’d learnt a hell of a lot since then about how you really got results.

“I’m asking you a question.”

“No, sir. I haven’t forgotten. But ten year’s experience tells me when someone’s talking shite.”

Gellatly jumped to his feet and slammed his fist down on the desk with a crash which made his pen holder bounce up in the air. Gillespie flinched backwards.