“Who said there weren’t perks in this job?” he said, striding for the door.
Chapter 20
Bridesmead, Thursday, April 5
Remy was sitting demurely at her desk, typing away as if her life depended on it, when Quinn returned upstairs. She caught the steely look he flicked in her direction and braced herself.
“Where the hell have you been, Knight? You were supposed to tip over the Loughboroughs’ house this morning.”
Sipping on a hot chocolate downstairs in Dill’s Sandwich Bar, she had stayed out of sight until she saw the Loughboroughs and their entourage leave the police station before she snuck back upstairs.
“Don’t you remember you gave me the job of checking for drone parts at Coldmarsh? I had to be there before they released the prisoners into the exercise yard at eight this morning. Are you telling me the boys weren’t up to scratch to handle the search warrant?” She kept her eyes wide and innocent as the words rolled glibly off her tongue. “I have some intel if you want to hear it.”
Quinn gestured and she followed him into his office. It was cheaply furnished with a chipboard desk behind which sat a roller chair with two hard plastic visitors chairs in front. A credenza in the corner was stacked with piles of papers, a laptop was open on the desk.
“Wow. I have shoeboxes bigger than this,” she said.
“Don’t hang back with your opinion. Not that I disagree. I don’t like the office either but it’s only temporary.”
She listened to his words, but what she heard was “I don’t like the office but I do like the position of being behind the desk.” In her life she had learned to judge people quickly or suffer the consequences. She had first pegged Quinn Standing as a bully. A day in his company had changed that opinion to a conviction that his hard-nosed attitude stemmed from his belief that the only good police officers were those who had honed their skills by years on the beat. Now she realized that Quinn might have another purpose: to depose Bex Wynter and take control of the team. She wondered if Bex was strong enough to keep Quinn in line.
“What’s your intel?”
“I rocked up at Coldmarsh at six this morning and spent two hours scouring the exercise yard below Kaufman’s cell. I struck gold. I found several pieces of what I think are drone components. I’ve bagged them and sent them to Chesney in Forensics asking for a quick turn around.”
“Is that it?”
“No. While I was there the warden told me they’d run the ferromagnetic detector over Kaufman’s cell. Bingo. They picked up electromagnetic fields and discovered a smart phone hidden in his light socket. I’ve sent that to IT.
“Plus I got on the right side of one of the guards. To say he was disillusioned with the system would be an understatement, but we had a good chinwag. According to him, it’s common knowledge that the Loughboroughs have a lucrative line going in supplying drugs to prison inmates. It’s all too easy. A car drives up and parks within a kilometer of the prison, the driver releases a drone and guides it to the right window. Prisoners use their smart phones to keep their accounts and other activities going even while they’re locked up. My source reckons they’re doing upwards of twenty deliveries a day. Getting the gun and the spare phone to Kaufman would have been a piece of cake.
“I asked him to check into the records to see why Kaufman was in his cell on Tuesday instead of out in the exercise yard with the other inmates. Kaufman claimed to have been injured in a workshop accident the day before. His injuries were confirmed by the prison doctor, but it’s not the first accident Kaufman had since coming to Coldmarsh. Two weeks ago, he claimed to have had a similar accident. I checked the timing and again, it happened the day before the prosecution visited Griffin. That gave him the opportunity to be in his cell if Griffin was walked past.
“Given that information it seems highly likely that Kaufman’s injuries were self-inflicted to buy himself the necessary time in his cell. If so, it means he had to have known Griffin’s schedule. Someone had to have fed that information to him.”
Quinn leaned back in his chair, throwing his feet onto the desk.
“It’s all evidence to build the case against Kaufman and the Loughboroughs, isn’t it?” she pressed.
“What it builds is a shitload of circumstantial evidence. There’s nothing concrete to link any of the Loughboroughs to the shooting.”
“IT might get something off Kaufman’s second phone or we might be able to tie the drone to one of the Loughboroughs,” Remy said hopefully.
“And pigs might fly. If only we had a way to get inside their stronghold! If we could hear it from the horse’s mouth I’d feel a lot more confident about getting a conviction.”
“You mean set up a surveillance?”
“No. I know Mackinley requested surveillance on the Loughboroughs months ago, only to learn they’ve put jamming devices in place so it’s impossible for our undercover operations to eavesdrop on their conversations. The family has gone into total lockdown. Their place is secured tighter than the crown jewels. I think Cole Mackinley would give his right bollock to be able to spy on what goes on behind their closed doors.”
Chapter 21
Little King Lane, Thursday, April 5
Returning to Bridesmead CID from Home Office where he’d deposited this morning’s interview tapes, Idris’s sour mood was broken by the sight of a white van, curb crawling along Little King Lane. He noticed the cobolt blue insignia of Trending News on the side. It was the same van he had noticed last night, he was sure.
Behind the van a car honked before swerving to pass on the wrong side of the road.
The passenger window slid down and Aislinn Scully’s head popped out.
“Got a moment, Sergeant?” she called.
“Are you following me?”
Aislinn gave a sphinx-like smile. “It’s one of the best ways to get a lead on a story.”
Idris looked around. Foot traffic was thin, although a small crowd bustled at the entrance to Dill’s Sandwich Bar. No one was paying attention to him.
Aislinn hopped out of the van, waving the driver on.
“Walk around the block with me,” she invited him. “I have something to show you.”
“Are you off your trolly?” he snarled. “If you want information on the Loughborough case you’d better go through official channels. I don’t want anyone seeing us together.”
As he pulled away from her, she shoved a photograph under his nose. It was an old Polaroid, the colors fading into purplish hues. Still clearly recognizable were the people caught in the glare of the flash: a young Sawyer Starling with Silke clinging to one side and Tali on his other. The threesome wore happy smiles and big hairdos. Sawyer stared straight into the lens, already hamming it up for the camera, confident of future fame.
“And these.”
Aislinn flicked three more Polaroids at him. All of them seemed to have been taken at the same time as the first, with other people blurred in the background holding drinks and cigarettes. Idris guessed it was perhaps an opening night party for one of Sawyer’s early plays.
In one photo Tali was pulling a goofy face at Sawyer and Silke. In the next one Sawyer dipped Tali as though they were doing a tango. In the third, Sawyer was wrapped around Tali, their lips locked.
“Looks like Sawyer had a thing for your sister, wouldn’t you say?” Aislinn’s voice was silky. “Looking into Sawyer Starling’s past I came across an old friend of his from his early theater days. This bloke never made it big like Sawyer, so he was thrilled to have the opportunity to be interviewed about some of Sawyer’s more notorious exploits from the past. Apparently he was quite a wild child in his early twenties. Parties. Pot. Petting underage girls. You name it and Sawyer was into it apparently. Luckily for me this chap has a very good memory and recalled everyone’s name. I guess a good memory must be a perk of the acting trade.”
Idris looked away. In the reflection from the tinted office windows his demeanor spoke volumes and he had no dou
bt Aislinn was picking up the clues. Bile burned the back of his throat. Had Sawyer had a fling with his sister as well as his mother, or was that a more innocent moment taken out of context? He felt himself go cold, but knew he should be glad that Aislinn had not done as much digging as she could have. He had to see if he could keep it that way.
Aislinn was still talking. “That is your sister Natalie Carson getting friendly with Sawyer, isn’t it? Carson’s a pretty common name, but when I looked into Natalie’s family it was a nice surprise to see you in it, Sarge.
“She looks about fifteen there, wouldn’t you say? Quite a change from her well-respected persona in the medical industry.”
Idris loomed over her, using his bulk as an intimidating tactic. His size and color had worked against him since a growth spurt when he was twelve, bringing forth people’s disapproval and fear. As a police officer he had learned to use these attributes to his advantage.
“Are you using my sister to blackmail me?”
Faster than a paparazzo, Aislinn whipped out her phone and snapped several shots.
“Don’t ever think of threatening me, boyo,” she said with a nasty twist of her lips. “Those photos are immediately uploaded online so even if you smash my phone I have the evidence of your police brutality. You can’t outsmart me, Sergeant, I’ve faced much tougher customers than you!”
“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“A few minutes of your time. You gave me an exclusive yesterday, but I want to make sure it’s not a bum steer. In return maybe I’ll keep my coverage of Sawyer’s twenty-fifth anniversary G-rated.”
Idris glanced over his shoulder. Someone he knew could step out of Bridesmead at any moment.
“Not here,” he said. “Give me your number and I’ll call you later.”
* * *
Inside, Idris locked himself into one of the CID interview rooms and dialed his sister. He didn’t want any eavesdroppers. The call went to Tali’s voicemail. It wasn’t unusual when she had office hours at the hospital. That meant his mother would be home caring for Tali’s twins. He made the call to his mother.
A babble of childish voices could be heard in the background when Silke answered.
“I told you that bitch Aislinn Scully was going to cause trouble,” he said without preamble. “She’s dug up some old photos from thirty-odd years ago. It looks like a party that you and Tali were at with Sawyer. Do you remember it by any chance?”
“It’s a long time ago, Idris, I’m not sure.”
“Sawyer had his tongue down Tali’s throat! What’s that about?”
Silke’s breath hissed.
“I remember. It was the opening night of Sawyer’s first play, only he was still called plain Eddie Schmeer then. In my spare time I volunteered for the local theater group doing odd jobs, like painting props and working on costumes. They couldn’t afford to pay the volunteers, but they gave us all free tickets to the opening night and invited us back afterwards to the party. I took Tali with me. That’s when we first met Sawyer. There was something magic about him, Idris. I’d never encountered anyone with such charisma. He was like an unstoppable force and swept you along in his belief that one day he would be a big name in lights. And now he is.”
“None of that stops him being a total berk in real life,” Idris barked. “Aislinn’s got wind of Sawyer’s relationship with us, but thinks it’s Tali he was involved with. No doubt it makes better headlines and has broader appeal to say ‘Sawyer Starling has affair with underage schoolgirl’. If I’m going to combat Aislinn I need to know the truth, mum. Did Sawyer string both you and Tali along at the same time?”
Silke’s breath hissed again.
“Idris, you need to speak to Sawyer to let him know what’s happening. He’s got money and connections, he might be able to stop this woman making our lives public.”
Her words made Idris fume.
“After ten years of silence, I’m not going to call Sawyer and beg him to help me, mum! For God’s sake, I’ll sort my own problems out.”
“But what will you do, Idris?”
“I’m going to talk to a lawyer about getting an injunction!”
Chapter 22
Perry Grais Standing law firm, Thursday, April 5
Idris hadn’t visited Isla’s new office since she had moved companies and become partner in Lillian Perry’s and Clementine Grais’s legal firm. The branding was still shiny new as he entered the lush reception foyer: Perry Grais Standing.
He caught the receptionist stepping out from behind the glossy teak desk shaped like a hollow cube, her handbag slung over her arm. She flashed him a long, cool stare.
“Office hours are over for the day,” she informed him, her lacquered nails tapping irritably against her purse. “Did you have an appointment?”
The supercilious tone of her voice made it clear she was fully aware he wasn’t expected.
“No. But I’d appreciate it if you could call Is—I mean, Ms. Standing to see if she can spare me a few minutes?”
Huffing an irritated sigh, she slung her huge bag behind the desk and consulted a computer tablet. “Ms. Standing’s time is fully booked until the end of the month. Can I schedule an appointment—”
“Could you please just let her know Idris Carson is here? I’m willing to wait until she has a free moment.” He forced the words past his dry throat. Already his heart was pounding and his palms sweating at the thought of seeing her.
He was breaking a promise he had made to himself as much as Bex that he wouldn’t seek Isla out, that he would do his best to avoid Quinn’s wife until whatever feelings he had for her died of natural causes. He had done his best. He had spent five weeks on an African safari as far away from her as he could be. He pretended to be interested in a lovely South African woman who stirred not one iota of passion in him.
He could have sought out another lawyer to provide him with legal advice. Yet he had gravitated here and he couldn’t make himself leave without seeing her. He waited with desperate impatience as the receptionist talked quietly on the phone. She couldn’t quite hide her shocked disapproval as she said, “Ms. Standing says if you can wait a few moments, she’ll see you.”
“That’s fine by me.” Idris sank into one of the deep-seated sofas.
He watched people drifting out of offices, heading for the elevator to leave the building. The receptionist nodded politely to him as she joined the exodus. After another twenty minutes, Idris’s eagle eye caught a paunched man in an expensive Italian silk suit and handmade loafers come down the thickly carpeted corridor, accompanied by Isla. A pang of jealousy swept over him at the sight of her solicitous hand on his arm. She didn’t so much as glance in Idris’s direction until the elevator doors closed on her client.
He wasn’t sure she had even seen him until she threw her head back and cracked a wicked smile his way.
“Thank God that was my last client for the day! Now, come into my office before I get stuck into the paperwork that I need to straighten out before I leave,” she said.
Idris followed her along the corridor. Most of the offices were empty, but he noticed Lillian Perry’s head still bent over two massive folders on her desk.
Isla had a corner office with two large picture windows facing north and east, a sleek desk filled with dog-eared manila folders and room for a sofa and coffee table for informal chats.
“I see you’ve come up in the world,” he remarked. “But I’m guessing the hours haven’t changed.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as Ironrod Lyons Freemont. As an associate I could never let up because of all the competition. Sometimes we wouldn’t leave the building until midnight just to prove how hardworking and worthy we were to be there. At least most nights nowadays I get out of here by eight.”
She invited him to take a seat on the sofa.
“I take it the fact that you’ve come to my office means this isn’t a personal visit?”
Isla’s manner was busines
s-like, matter of fact. Yet when she sat and crossed her legs all that flooded his brain was the fact that she was a damn fine looking woman. He quickly squashed that with the knowledge that she wasn’t his woman.
He dragged his gaze from her legs to her face. Whenever he was in Isla’s presence he was used to paying her covert attention and he quickly noted how sore and red-rimmed her eyes were. Was she just tired or had she been crying?
“If this isn’t a good time for you, I can find another legal firm,” he said.
“Idris, you’re a friend. Of course I’m here to help. What’s this about?”
He ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck and dived in.
“I want to know how I could go about obtaining an injunction against a reporter.”
“An injunction? Does this relate to a case you’re investigating? I thought Quinn said the Youth Crimes Team was working on Loughborough’s shooting? Not that he’s given me any details,” she added hastily. “He just mentioned it because I’m involved in the trial against Jack Loughborough.”
“It’s a private matter. I want to stop a news agency reporting on, well, on something private.”
“Private to you personally or for someone else?”
His eyes darted around the room, skimming from one corner to the next. It was a mistake coming here! He couldn’t speak freely with Isla because he didn’t want her knowing any of the sordid details of his life!
“You could say it’s about a personal matter,” he hedged.
“I tell you what, let me pour you a drink and then take your time to tell me what’s going on.”
He watched her uncross her legs and stand up. She went to a credenza where she pulled out a bottle of Scotch and poured some into a tumbler. As she bent towards him, the glass outstretched, it was all he could do not to close his eyes and suck in the heady scent of her.
“Won’t you join me?”
She hesitated. “I could kill for a good stiff drink today, but I have to keep a clear head for work. Now, tell me what this is about. You said you want an injunction against a news reporter? Is someone digging into your personal life? Have they threatened to print something about you that’s untrue? Do you mind if I kick my shoes off?”
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