It suited Tony though, giving him first view of anyone coming in while having his own back to the wall and avoiding anyone seeing his screen over his shoulder. Not that he particularly had much to hide but it was still better not to have everyone know you’re on Facebook or football forums half the day. The other half he was looking at photographs of his daughter.
The first couple of weeks, he took maybe a hundred pics a day of Alanna. Mainly of her sleeping because that’s what she tended to do. Except when they didn’t want her to. He slowed down when he came to realise that although she was indeed a miracle and the most beautiful child ever seen, not every second of her life had to be chronicled on film.
Lately however, he’d started up again in earnest as she began to do things which were actually interesting. Like laugh and play and crawl and look cute. She was especially good at looking cute. His plans for her later life included being prime minister, a total ban on dating men until she was over the age of sixty or her father was dead, whichever came first, and being the first astronaut to land on Mars.
Nothing that he’d ever dreamed for her included threats on her life or her mother’s.
His first reaction to the caller’s message had been to assume it was referring to Rachel. Bitch is gonna die. Then he wondered, fretted, if it meant Alanna. The troll’s Twitter message haunted him. I’m going to rape and kill your baby.
First thing that morning, Rachel had rung the station and reported the calls, ordering traces on the numbers more in hope than expectation. Winter had hesitated about telling her the wording of the last message, thinking that one of them freaking out was enough. It wasn’t a time to hold anything back though.
She’d just nodded, grimly professional, sizing it up for whatever it might be, kissed them both then gone to work. In a sense, he envied her. She could do her job and protect their family. He had to do his and it was nothing more than a distraction.
He used his time to go through the fake Twitter feed, partly to torture himself, partly to find something, anything, that might give him a clue as to what was going on. He half hoped to read one of the little bastards boasting about the phone calls, give him somewhere to start. There was nothing.
He’d do something to protect them though. He simply had to.
The email that popped up on the screen interrupted his flow. The sender’s ‘name’ was just a string of letters and numbers. [email protected]. The subject field had been left blank.
Who the hell was this and what the fuck were they sending him? The file was huge. Had they never heard of a zip file?
He hesitated before opening the email at all. Common sense said he shouldn’t. Spam. A virus. Porn that could get him sacked. There was no shortage of reasons to be cautious but if he only opened it and didn’t follow any links then he’d be fine. Probably.
He glanced over to Archie Cameron’s office, where the news ed had his face buried in his own screen, a hand rummaging through what was left of his hair. Archie was occupied enough that he wasn’t going to see anything and while Winter knew that wasn’t quite enough to keep out a hack attack, it would do for now. He opened the email.
There was one folder inside. File name BROOME.
Christ, what now?
Winter leaned back in his chair and considered it. There were still plenty of reasons to be cautious. The aresholes online, the ones sending the filth through Twitter and on the men’s group website, they were more than likely capable of sending something that would do some major harm.
Why would it come to him though? Surely they’d launch that kind of attack against Rachel instead. His finger poised over the button, ready to open it.
Someone knew their home phone number though. A number that was under his name. Anyone that could figure that out must have known their relationship and could easily have got hold of his work’s email address.
Fuck it. There was only one way to find out.
He clicked and opened and was assaulted by the appearance of photographs. Hundreds of them. All women.
There was no virus, no trojan horse. Just jpegs of unidentified young women. Late teens to early thirties, he thought. None of them aware they were being photographed. Familiar backgrounds in many of them. Glasgow.
They were Rachel’s photographs, obviously. Broome’s photographs.
All she’d told him, and all he knew, was that incriminating photographs had been found in Broome’s house, that they’d formed a vital part of the case against him but had been thrown out. He’d asked what it was but she wouldn’t tell him. Maybe now he knew.
He looked at the sender field again. Almost certainly made up for the sole purpose of delivering this one email and no way of tracking who sent it. It was a gift horse with its mouth wide open. All he had to do was avoid looking in.
He got up from his desk, slipped out of the front door and downstairs onto the street. It teemed with traffic and people rushing from one place to another. Suits and overcoats, briefcases and umbrellas, the central business district reflected in glass-fronted buildings.
Shit, he should have put a coat on. He’d been fooled by the winter sun and the rush of receiving the photographs. The gale blowing up Waterloo Street towards Central Station soon reminded him it was December.
He had his phone in his hand, her number on the screen and conflicts running though his mind.
If this was the evidence that could convict Broome, then he had to play it for all it was worth. A rapist, certain to be guilty from everything that Rachel told him, and a huge collection of secretly taken photographs of random women on the streets of Glasgow. It read like an entire city of potential targets.
He’d only been a journalist for two years, even though it seemed so much longer. But in that short time, if he’d learned anything it was to know a story when he saw one. This one looked like a story, smelled like a story and quacked like a story. Big time.
But it wasn’t just as simple as that. It was Rachel’s case, it had been her evidence. Now it was his and that had all sorts of potential implications, only some of them good.
He could find out the back story to the photographs without asking her, there were enough people who would give him that information. The bigger problem was telling her about it.
His finger wavered over the call button, dithering and debating. Damn it.
It rang for a while before she picked up, reluctantly so by her tone.
‘Tony, sorry but I’m up to my ears in it. What do you want?’
He could hear a hubbub of voices in the background, a squad room full of cops probably. He started and stopped and chickened out.
‘I’m just making sure you’re okay.’
She sighed. ‘I’m okay. I’m at work, doing what I do and I’m okay. I’m a big girl and I’m busy.’
‘Rachel, I love you and you’re the mother of our child. After last night, I think I’m entitled to worry a bit, don’t you?’
He heard a soft laugh. When she spoke again, her voice was muffled and he knew she’d put her hand over her mouth so the squad didn’t hear.
‘Okay. You can worry about me. Just occasionally though. I really am okay and I love you too. This is the best place for me, at least I’m doing something. Is that really why you called?’
She knew him too well. ‘Yes, just being a doting husband and father.’
The pause was laden with doubt. ‘Okay, go away. I’ll see you at home.’
He ended the call, screwing his eyes shut and swearing at himself for not telling her. Sure, it was easier this way for now but he knew it was simply storing trouble up for later. The wind howled at him again, forcing him back into the building. He took the stairs two at a time, running back to his desk and the hoard of photographs that demanded his attention.
He was still running when he charged through the office doors and nearly ran full pelt into Archie Cameron, who was standing just a few feet inside the door, squeezing the life out of a mug of coffee. Cameron had to step back and a c
ouple of dollops of his brew splashed onto his shoes.’
‘For fucksake, ya bam. Want to watch where you’re going? I should rip your heid aff for that.’
To say Archie’s bark was worse than his bite would have been a wild understatement. He talked the talk but couldn’t batter a fish supper. Winter knew to let him be, though.
‘Sorry, Archie. Sorry. Just in a bit of a rush.’
‘Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me you’ve actually got a story. Wait till I take a seat, the shock might be too much for me at my age.’
‘Piss off, Archie. Aye, I’ve got a story. Well, the start of one.’
Archie liked to play the old-school arsehole but he also knew his stuff. He smelled the story in Winter’s words. His eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled like an alcoholic at a sniff of Buckfast.
‘Something good?’
‘I think it could be. Could be very good. I need to check it out.’
‘Too right you do. Go get it. Once you know what you’ve got, come talk to me. And stop running about like a teenager trying to get his first shag. Just makes you look daft.’
‘This could be worth it though, Archie. Could be worth every bit of it.’
CHAPTER 21
Narey had spent much of the day on a fruitless trawl into what they had on Broome that might sustain a fresh investigation. She urgently needed something that would enjoy enough confidence from the top brass that they’d allow her to go after him again.
Lainey Henderson’s file promised more than their own casework but it was still strewn with ifs and buts, wishful thinking and leaps of imagination that McInally wouldn’t give the time of day.
It had been the day after the night before. A perfect hangover of frustration following the phone calls and the threat. Bitch gonna die.
She’d come home, got on the outside of a glass of shiraz, and pretty much collapsed. Tony had a couple of phone calls to make but that was it, any further work talk was banned. She’d kissed her sleeping daughter, hugged her fretting husband then locked the world outside. Their front door was their portcullis on the madness and it was slammed shut. There was no way in other than through the phone line.
She was lying on the sofa, her head in his lap, a TV show playing that neither of them could have answered two questions on if quizzed there and then. It fluttered by them in shades of mediocrity, a time-filling, conversation replacement service.
The doorbell rang and they both jumped.
Unannounced visitors were rare. Those calling at just after ten at night were unheard of and unwelcome. Coming after the night of phones calls, the bell sounded like an alarm.
They looked at each other, sharing mutual shrugs and creased brows.
‘Stay here,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ she reminded him.
‘Just do me a favour and let me go. You’re the tough nut but I need the practice. Pick up something heavy just in case.’
‘Don’t joke, you dick. I don’t like someone being at the door at this time of night.’
He didn’t answer but strode across the room and headed for the front door. She was irritated and called after him but he ignored her.
She heard voices in the hall, one raised, the other quieter, arguing. The louder, more urgent voice was Tony’s. The other was familiar but her nerves were jangled and that fact didn’t reassure her any. Both voices were coming closer.
She took a few steps to the fireplace and grabbed the heavy metal poker that formed part of an ornamental set. If she needed to, she’d use it.
The door to the living room swung open and Tony walked through it. Someone was behind him and she squeezed the handle of the poker, feeling its heft in her hand. The other figure took two more steps and came into view. The poker became slack in her hand.
‘Uncle Danny? What the hell are you doing here?’
The man grinned and held open his arms. ‘Aye, nice to see you too, pet.’
Danny Nielson was Tony’s uncle, an ex-cop and a father figure for both of them.
‘Sorry. We’re both just a bit . . . I mean, it’s great to see you!’
They hugged, her hanging on for a bit longer than she would normally. It didn’t go unnoticed.
‘So, how are you? How’s my goddaughter?’
‘She’s great. She even sleeps sometimes. Go through and see her.’
‘I will, I will. Can’t wait to see her. But first things first. How are you?’ His face screwed up in concern. ‘I know about all these threats, the online stuff and the phone calls. Are you doing okay?’
She looked towards the door, seeing the two large holdalls that Danny had brought in with him. They sat there, begging questions.
‘No, I’m not doing okay at all. What’s this all about? What are you doing here, Dan?’
‘Can’t I come visit my—’
‘Why are you here? One of you, tell me now or I’ll skin both of you.’
‘Danny is moving in. Until this all blows over. I’m not arguing about it. It’s happening.’
She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Oh, did you two white knights dream that up all by yourself to save the poor damsel in distress here? It’s okay that you never thought to discuss it with me first because my opinion doesn’t really matter that much, does it? What were you thinking?’
Tony wasn’t budging.
‘Are you finished? I told you, this is happening. I was going to discuss it with you tomorrow but Danny obviously decided not to wait. And maybe that’s for the best because you would’ve just argued. So he’s here, bags and all. He’s staying. It makes sense and it might be the only thing that does right now. You’re working. I’m working. I don’t want to leave this place empty for long. They know our phone number so they know our address. And yes, I know, most of these nutters will never leave their bedrooms but I’m not taking any chances. It’s not just you, Rach. It’s Alanna too. I’m not happy with just the sitter being here. We need Danny.’
And I’m happy to be here . . .’
‘Shut it, Dan. I’m talking to him. Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. This is all just so hard. Look’ – she wiped at her face – ‘I know you’re worried. I’m worried. We’re all worried. But these guys will do nothing. They are just keyboard freaks. Trolls, nothing else.’
‘Can you be certain of that, Rach?’
She hesitated for an age. ‘No.’
‘Then Danny’s staying.’
She exhaled. Beaten. ‘Okay. Okay. Jesus, Danny, come here.’
The two of them hugged again, neither in a hurry to let go.
‘So,’ Danny looked at them both. ‘Can I say something now? Rachel’s right. They are wee boys who wouldn’t say boo to a goose in the real world. Tony’s right. We can’t be sure. If you can put up with me leaving half-filled cups of coffee around and using up the last of the milk then we’ll all get along fine.’
‘And not putting your dishes in the dishwasher,’ she reminded him.
‘Aye okay, that too. Look, can I go see Alanna now that we’re all sorted?’
‘Yes, go. For God’s sake, try not to wake her up though. And Dan? Thanks. I’m a moany cow but I’m grateful. After the day I’ve had, you’re just what I need.’
‘Rachel, I love you guys and you know I’ll do anything that’s needed. Just keep some beers in the fridge and don’t call me a nanny and I’ll be a happy man.’
Danny went through to the nursery, leaving them alone. They held onto each other, saying nothing.
‘It’s just a precaution,’ he whispered eventually. ‘Just to be safe. Those creeps won’t do anything.’
‘No. Of course they won’t.’
They’d all been in bed for a couple of hours when the phone rang. Winter answered it but the whole house woke.
The line was silent but it was still live, still someone there. Winter had decided not to say anything, maybe force them into speaking and revealing something.
It didn’t work.
There was nothing other than a sense of someone breathing, maybe some background noise but too faint to be sure what it was. After ten or fifteen seconds, the line clicked dead.
He shook his head at Rachel, indicating nothing had been said. Her fists were balled and he had to put his hand on hers to suggest she cool it. She was about to argue with him when they heard Alanna’s cries.
Danny had beaten them to it. When they got to her room, the big man was walking in a slow circle, her face nuzzled into his shoulder.
‘Thanks, Dan.’
‘Are you kidding me? I’m not sure anything could make me happier than holding onto this wee one. Actually, the only thing that makes me happier is that she lets me.’
‘You’re lucky. She won’t usually go to anyone else. She knows you love her.’
‘Oh that I do, pet. That I surely do. So, tell me about the call.’
‘The usual,’ Winter told him. ‘Saying nothing then hanging up. They’ve only spoken that one time.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ he assured them. ‘I can get the numbers traced quicker than the force can. I’ll put in a call to a friend at BT. They’ll be either phone boxes or pay-as-you-go mobiles. These cowards aren’t brave enough or quite stupid enough to use their own phones unless they’re burners.
‘I’m also going to get you a call blocker. I’ll have it by lunchtime. Basically, every time you get a call you don’t want, you press the button and they’re permanently blocked. It won’t help us catch them but it means you’ll get some sleep. They’ll run out of phone boxes or burners very quickly.
‘After that, I’m going on Twitter. These . . .’ he glanced at Alanna and chose a different word, ‘idiots are more stupid than they know. They’ll leave clues. And I’ll find them.’
‘Better that you find them, Dan.’ Winter could barely stand still. ‘Because if I do then I’m likely to kill them.’
There was another call just ten minutes later, then another half an hour after that. The final call, silent and lingering, came a bit after three.
The Photographer Page 10