‘A large latte and the same as what he’s having,’ Wheeler said to the waitress.

‘Full breakfast, extra fried egg and extra potato scone and a tea for me, thanks.’

The waitress left.

‘Peckish then, Ross?’

‘Wee bit.’

‘It’ll be all that exercise with the three-legged one.’

They settled back. Wheeler picked up a copy of the Chronicle. They waited until the food and drinks had arrived, then began their chat.

‘Gilmore’s fading into the past a bit.’ Ross bit into his egg. ‘But there’s been a couple of interesting phone messages. Came through to the station last night.’

‘Who from?’

He sighed. ‘Anonymous callers.’

‘Saying what?’

‘That Gilmore’s one of the bad guys.’

‘Anything else?’ She sipped her latte.

‘One of them mentioned a guy called Arthur Wright, London. That’s all. I’ve looked him up, but we’ve nothing on an Arthur Wright. I’ve got a trace out on the calls.’

‘Gut instinct? You think they’re bogus or legit?’

‘Too early to call. I’ll keep on it.’ Ross started on his toast. ‘Either way, the case needs to be kept in the papers.’

‘I know, what with Christmas coming and look at this,’ she tapped the front page of the Chronicle, ‘the heid high yins are running scared that Glasgow’s going to get inundated with foreign girls for the sex trade now that we’re getting the Commonwealth Games.’

‘Read it already. Grim’s right though, might be a bit of a nightmare.’

‘I know.’ Wheeler tucked into her fried bread. ‘The thing is, we can worry about that later, but right now it’s pushing Gilmore’s murder off the news. There’s hardly anything at all in the paper about his death.’

‘Off the news and out of the public’s mind,’ agreed Ross.

‘Exactly.’ Wheeler chewed thoughtfully.

‘Trouble is, he just doesn’t have much of a profile. A middle-aged man, a psychologist at a couple of schools in the city who’s a bit of a loner. No wife, no kids.’

‘So no sad pictures or pleas from them,’ said Wheeler.

‘Exactly,’ he paused. ‘Maybe it points in one direction.’

Wheeler sipped her latte, paused. ‘Paedophile?’

‘Possible.’

‘Facts?’

‘Nothing yet, either way. I’m just saying it’s possible.’

‘I’ll keep an open mind. Certainly he has a hell of a low profile. No girlfriend. No friends. All he has is an elderly mum in a care home.’

‘And she’s a bit of a bitch.’

‘That’s the trouble, Ross, it’s not sexy. His life was pretty empty. Folk just aren’t that interested.’

Ross wiped the egg yolk from his plate with a piece of toast. ‘It’s a bit of a sad day when being battered to death in your own home is a one-day wonder.’ He finished the eggy toast and started on the potato scones. ‘Maybe we need to look again at the kids at Watervale.’

‘Because?’

‘Because, well it’s Watervale . . . you saw the scheme.’

Wheeler sipped her coffee. ‘Yeah, kids living in a rough scheme. Some of them pretty neglected,’ she paused. ‘Brain scans.’

‘Come again?’

‘I went to a lecture about brain scans.’

‘Talk about sexy.’

‘Shut it. It showed the disparity in brain size between kids who’ve been neglected and kids who have had a normal upbringing.’

‘Shocked?’

She nodded, recited the facts as best she could.

Ross listened and agreed. ‘Hard for some of them. On the other hand they’re not all neglected, those kids – some of them are just wee thugs. It’s a deliberate career choice. Some of them are just evil wee shites.’

‘You’re going to make the best dad, when the time comes, you know that don’t you?’

He smiled. ‘You offering?’

‘In your dreams, matey.’

He flushed, looked away. ‘Got the report from the other two schools, St Austin’s and Cuthbertson High. Boyd and Robertson did the interviews.’

‘Yeah, I saw it already. Nothing much in it, same as our report.’

‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘They described him pretty much the same as the staff from Watervale. The guy was a bloody ghost.’

She groaned. ‘We’ve nothing. Stewart’s going to love us.’

‘In the biblical sense, do you mean?’ Ross scraped his plate. ‘Would that suit you?’

Wheeler left the rest of her breakfast. ‘You’ve a mind like a sewer Ross, you know that, don’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Aye, but just so you notice me one way or another.’

She stood up. ‘Let’s go, muppet.’

Chapter 25

They were sitting in the CID suite by nine. Stewart was perched on her desk for one of his informal chats. Wheeler looked up from her computer and saw that once again he looked pristine in a dove-grey suit. She instinctively touched her own trousers – same outfit as yesterday. She felt slightly grubby, thought maybe the smell from the greasy breakfast she’d shared with Ross still clung to her. They were in their way to see George Grey but Stewart obviously wanted something. ‘Boss?’

Stewart stared down at her. ‘The Grim Reaper will be in my office in ten minutes. Make it worth my while seeing the little gremlin and throw him a bone. What have you got?’

Wheeler could smell his citrus aftershave, felt that he was sitting too close. She sat back in her seat, felt the blush creeping up her face. ‘Love to, boss,’ she tapped a pile of reports, ‘but still sifting through the evidence. Going through the house to house again as you suggested, but it seems no one saw anything suspicious.’

‘Uh huh.’ Stewart waited.

‘That’s the thing. James Gilmore was nothing out of the ordinary. Apparently he was just a decent guy doing a decent job. But his death was completely out of the ordinary.’

‘Unless . . .’ said Ross.

‘Go on.’

‘Paedophile?’ said Ross. ‘Would account for the way he died – someone out for revenge?’

‘Evidence?’

‘There were a couple of calls that came in from pay phones—’

‘From?’

‘Haven’t traced them yet, boss, but one caller warned us about Gilmore not being one of the good guys. The other linked him to Arthur Wright, London.’

‘Who?’

Ross shrugged. ‘Came up blank but I’ll keep digging.’

‘Get the calls traced.’

‘Will do.’

‘Any other theories?’ Stewart waited.

‘Could’ve been a dealer? He worked city-wide, so it’s pretty good cover?’ Robertson offered.

‘Gilmore was a supplier?’ Boyd sounded doubtful. ‘And going up against the McGregors and the Tenants, not to mention the independent entrepreneurial nutters out there?’

‘No, maybe not going up against them but working for them,’ said Robertson. ‘If Gilmore got himself involved in something that he shouldn’t have, it may be that he paid the price.’

‘Okay,’ said Stewart, ‘so, we’ve nothing. Let’s start something.’

‘Boss?’

Stewart cleared his throat. ‘I’ll tell Grim to write up an article about our zero-tolerance approach in the lead-up to Christmas. We’ll make it known that we’ll be targeting all known offenders.’

‘Everyone, boss?’ Ross was already doing the maths.

‘We’ll tell them it’s everyone. In reality it’ll just be the usual scum who’ll be stopped and searched.’

Wheeler warmed to the idea. ‘Make it difficult for them to do their not-so-legitimate business.’

Stewart smiled at her. ‘Exactly, we make their daily life complete shite and so they’ll need to get us off their back. Someone knows something about this murder; it didn’t happen in isolation. The bloodied clothes the killer was wearing, the car he used. Someone must be boasting about it to their pals. Something has to give.’ He crossed to the window, looked out at the grey sky. ‘There’s a dozen incentives already in place that this can easily dovetail in with.’

‘Stop and search is never popular,’ said Wheeler.

‘We’re not trying to be popular,’ replied Stewart. ‘We’re trying to be a pain in the backside. This’ll hit the dealers and if we hit them hard enough they’d grass up their own granny, never mind whoever did Gilmore.’