It was futile because Telford owned the street. Nobody parked here without him knowing who and why. The other two cars parked just now were Range Rovers belonging to Telford 's gang. Anything but a Range Rover stuck out. The Crime Squad had a specially adapted van which they usually used for surveillance, but that wouldn't work in Flint Street. Any van parked here for longer than five minutes received close and personal attention from a couple of Telford 's men. They were trained to be courteous and menacing at the same time.
`Undercover bloody surveillance,' Claverhouse growled. `Only we're not undercover and there's nothing to survey.’
He tore at a Snickers wrapper with his teeth and offered the first bite to Siobhan Clarke, who shook her head.
`Shame about those flats,' she said, peering up through the windscreen. `They'd be perfect.’
`Except Telford owns them all,' Claverhouse said through a mouthful of chocolate.
`Are they all occupied?’ Rebus asked. He'd been in the car a minute and already his toes were cold.
`Some of them are empty,' Clarke said. ` Telford uses them for storage.’
`But every bugger in and out of the main door gets spotted,' Claverhouse added. `We've had meter readers and plumbers try to wangle their way in.’
`Who was acting the plumber?’ Rebus asked.
'Ormiston. Why?’
Rebus shrugged. `Just need someone to fix a tap in my bathroom.’
Claverhouse smiled. He was tall and skinny, with huge dark bags under his eyes and thinning fair hair. Slow-moving and slow talking, people often underestimated him. Those who did sometimes discovered that his nickname of `Bloody' Claverhouse was merited.