by Lynne McEwan
‘It would have to be registered somewhere.’
‘True, but not necessarily within the EU or the US. Find out what it is. Is it being sold locally? Is this a transit warehouse? Ask your community contacts.’ She peeled the key to the Audi off her RNLI keyring and handed them to him. ‘Take my car, I’ll get a lift back with Murdo.’
‘Okay, boss,’ Ravi said, setting off in his long, loping stride towards the Audi, twirling the key in his fingers.
‘Drive carefully,’ she called after him, and he shot her a grin over his shoulder.
Shona spent fifteen minutes rescheduling her meetings and the rest of the morning supervising the evidence gathering and checking with Kate for updates on the baby milk operation. As predicted, the initial flood of calls had subsided into a steady trickle and Kate was keeping the civilian staff busy collating the information and scrolling through the remaining CCTV. Shona asked her if there had been any calls about the body in the Solway Firth, but, even after the media appeal on local TV and radio, no one had come forward to report a missing young woman. At lunchtime she sent one of the special constables back to the burger van for bacon rolls and tea for everyone. After talking to PC Matthews, she called Dan over.
‘The riverbank search hasn’t thrown up anything obviously connected to our unidentified woman,’ she told him. ‘It was always a long shot. There are a few items of clothing and discarded food packaging which we’ll look at in relation to the drugs. Peter’s found plenty of prints and what could be a few diluted blood spots, but we’ll need to eliminate everyone who worked here when Carmine had the place. Could be a slow job. Thanks for your help. Your DI will be after my guts, keeping you here.’ She watched Dan’s face fall; he knew he was being dismissed.
‘He’ll think you’re doing him a favour. I try to stay out of his way.’
Shona frowned. She knew the subtle, and not so subtle, ways in which officers were sometimes bullied by their colleagues.
‘What’s the problem?’
Dan shrugged, scrapping the soft ground with the toe of his shoe. ‘I think it’s important to gain the community’s trust so they’ll work with us. It’s not a popular view with my DI. I know we’re under pressure to get our solve-rates up but I think the right result is better than the quick result.’
Shona nodded. ‘You did some good work here this morning. I’ll be emailing your DI to tell him so and give him my thanks.’ Dropping her voice, she took a step closer to him. ‘Our girl. This isn’t the end of the road, you know, whatever our bosses might think.’ Her warm brown eyes looked earnestly up at him. ‘If she’s local, we’ll find out who she is. And then we’ll find out who did this to her. Understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He smiled, reassured.
‘Good. Off you go. Keep me updated.’ Shona was already moving away, zipping up her jacket. She waved PC Matthews over. ‘Matthews, take Dan back to his car, it’s on the main road. Then, when Peter is done, I want you to finish up here. Call Murdo if you have any problems.’
‘Will do, ma’am.’
‘Murdo, with me. Back to base.’
* * *
Ravi was waiting for her when she arrived, his parting grin still in place. He followed her into her office, carrying his laptop. ‘You’re gonna like this, boss.’ Through the glass panel, Kate was shooting daggers at his back.
‘My car still in one piece?’ Shona said, hanging up her jacket and holding out her hand.
‘Course,’ he said, fishing in his jeans pocket for the key, and handing it over. ‘Have a little faith in me.’
‘Go on then,’ said Shona, trying not to catch his infectious grin, ‘amaze me, what have you got?’ She indicated he should put the laptop on her desk.
‘Think I’ve found your group of pharmaceuticals enthusiasts.’
‘What? Already?’ Shona couldn’t hide her surprise.
‘Aye. Nae bother. Magic touch, that’s me,’ he said, flexing his long brown fingers. ‘Called one of the campus officers and checked with a pal at the Royal Infirmary. Both said they’d seen a big jump in the abuse of prescription drugs. Here’s a heads up, boss. Expect a rise in addict deaths when the figures come in next month, cos A&E are getting more poly-addiction cases. Five deaths already. Mix heroine or booze with these tablets and it’s lights out. Suppresses the respiratory system. Some users are swallowing ten Diazepam at a time and topping up with a bottle of Buckfast. A one-way ticket to the undertakers, so it is.’
‘Where are they getting them from? You said you’d found our group.’
Ravi adjusted the laptop and brought up a page.
‘Our old friend Facebook,’ Shona said, studying the screen. It seemed no drug operation nowadays was complete without a social media angle. ‘Sweet Life? This is our supplier?’
Ravi nodded, suddenly serious. ‘This is a closed group. The tabs are being bought online and sent out through the post. It’s cheap, two pounds a tablet, and easy.’
Shona thought of Callum, her lifeboat colleague and postman. It was the perfect distribution network. No pusher at a fixed address the police could monitor, no dealers on the streets to attract attention, just the local postman on his regular route. On the screen someone calling himself @Diazaman had posted a picture of pills, the date scribbled on a piece of lined paper next to them and advertised as a tenner for the lot, payment via direct messaging, untraceable by the police.
‘Even worse, you don’t know what you’re getting,’ Ravi continued. ‘Etizolam, that anti-epileptic you mentioned, it’s being used to make fake Xanax pills. If you overdose, the doctors at the Royal have no idea what to treat you for.’
‘Any chance we can trace this group?’
‘Doubt it. Facebook might take it down for breaching their rules, but the dealers will just create a new group. In fact, they may have already moved on.’ Ravi moved the curser down the page. ‘They’ll be on other social media like WhatsApp by now. The last posting on the site was a few weeks ago.’
‘What about tracing any of the site users?’
‘Possible, but they won’t know who they bought from.’
‘How do you know the Sweet Life group is local?’
‘I don’t know for sure, but this Quinox was mentioned by A&E. I checked with Divisional Intelligence and you were right, boss. It’s a benzo brand name from the Far East, anti-anxiety, and seizures. Not widely available here.’
‘Okay, write up what you’ve got and put in a request to Division for a drugs dog. Contact the Royal Mail sorting office and say we’d like to send it in to pick up any undelivered packages. Let’s see where that gets us.’ Shona’s mobile rang; the screen flashed up DCI Gavin Baird’s number. She picked it up, waving Ravi out the door while mouthing ‘good work’ and giving him a thumbs up.
‘Shona, this prescription drugs find,’ said Baird without preamble. ‘I’ve decided it comes under the remit of Op Fortress. You’ll need to send up everything you have. We’ll be taking it from here.’
‘We’re just gathering initial findings now, sir.’ Shona kept her voice even. ‘There’s a possible link to the body we recovered from the Solway Firth. I’d like to see any forensic results.’
‘I thought that was Cumbria’s problem. Even if you have an ID or a witness, get them to deal with it. I heard you put an appeal out over the weekend. Should have cleared that with me first.’
‘Yes, sir. We dealt with it along with the baby milk press release as an efficient use of resources.’
‘Fine,’ said Baird flatly. ‘But get everything you found today to me. I’ll be down tomorrow to brief your team. We’re going for co-ordinated strikes right across the region within forty-eight hours.’ He hung up.
Shona crossed to where Ravi shared a back-to-back desk with Kate. Both were busy, heads down, tapping away on their keyboards. They looked up as she leaned on Ravi’s chair and called Murdo over.
‘Orders from DCI Baird. Wrap up everything you’ve found on the Sweet Life group and the forensics
from the Carmine unit. Get it up to Op Fortress by close of play today.’
‘In the name of the wee man,’ Murdo shook his head, ‘do the officers on the ground not deserve a go at this? We’ve got the contacts; it’s our patch folk are dying on. Ravi’s played a blinder on this.’ He looked at Shona for support, but she shook her head. Baird was out of order. This was no way to treat talented and dedicated officers, but she couldn’t see how she could defy him over this.
‘Sorry, guys. This is going up the line. Suck it up and move on.’
Ravi rolled his shoulders in a shrug, but an uncharacteristic frown gave away his true feelings. She couldn’t blame him. Even Kate, who Shona had expected to crow over the decision, looked put-out. Op Fortress was turning into a ravenous beast, devouring resources and opportunities for her officers. Shona returned to her office and, between prioritising her paperwork, fantasised about exactly how she could put a certain senior police officer in a shallow grave and get away with it.
Chapter 8
Shona arrived at Cornwall Mount on Tuesday morning knowing she would need to tread the delicate line between rallying her troops and sharing their resentment at the loss of the Sweet Life investigation. The thing was to keep them busy.
‘Kate,’ she called, sweeping into her office and dumping her handbag on the desk, ‘I want the baby milk update in ten minutes.’ She scanned the outer room for her sergeant. Murdo was in the far corner, taking a call on his mobile. He raised a hand to acknowledge he’d be with her in a moment.
‘Baird will be here this afternoon. Op Fortress,’ Shona said when Murdo came into her office, handing over a white coffee in her Charles Rennie Macintosh mug. ‘He’ll be briefing the teams making the early morning arrests. Make sure we tie up any jobs we can and get everyone off early tonight. They’ll need to be back here by four a.m. Has all the Sweet Life material gone?’
‘It has. Can’t say everyone’s too pleased about that.’
‘Well keep them at it today, Murdo. Let’s see if we can bury some of that chippiness before Baird arrives. Results are what count. Get everyone into the conference room and let’s get on.’
A bank of serious faces stared back at Shona. Some rested their chins on hands, one or two chewed the end of their pens. ‘Right. Thoughts?’ she said once Kate had outlined progress on the baby milk inquiry.
‘The car,’ said Ravi. ‘Seems our best lead. We’ve got nothing else.’
Kate glared at him for stealing her thunder. ‘It’s a silver Ford Focus hatchback, SD55 RSF. Registered keeper is an address in Annan. One of our overnight callers mentioned seeing a man and a woman, he thought, loading bags into a silver Ford in a backstreet near Aldi. We’ve some CCTV and a couple of ANPR hits but not enough to place the vehicle at all the crime scenes. They seem to have been careful, not using the supermarket car parks, staying off the main roads.’
‘Murdo, get out there and interview the owner, that’s a priority.’ Shona turned back to Kate. ‘Go through the witness statements again, see how thorough the officers have been. I want a shortlist of the three witnesses who got the best look at our mystery shoppers and I want you to re-interview them personally. Take the CCTV images, see if we can get a better description, the pictures might jog their memories. Any little detail, cos at the minute there’s, potentially, a gang of individuals walking around in broad daylight, helping themselves to property, and we have no idea who they are. We’ve got about twelve hours before the media, the public and Division start asking what we’re playing at. Now, I want you all back here for an Op Fortress briefing at four p.m., so crack on everybody.’
By late afternoon Murdo had returned, solemn faced. Shona told him to take a seat while she finished an email. ‘Okay, where are we with the car, Murdo?’
‘Registered owner, a Peter Donnelly who was in his seventies, died last year. The son, also Peter, sold the car, cash in hand, through an ad in Autotrader. Seems the new owner never registered it, and Peter never completed the V5C documentation.’ Murdo flipped a page in his notebook. ‘The lack of ANPR hits since suggest it’s been kept off road somewhere since it went bandit. There’s plenty of wee farms and smallholdings in the area that will store a car on the quiet, for a fee. His description of the buyer was vague. Male in his thirties. Dark cropped hair. Scottish. Not a local accent, maybe Glasgow he thinks, but not sure.’
‘How did the buyer contact him?’
‘Phone. But he’s since lost his mobile and didn’t keep a note of the buyer’s number. I’ve put a request in for phone records, but I’d bet my pension the caller used a burner. It’s possible the car’s been sold on again anyway.’
‘Do you think Peter Donnelly could be involved?’ Shona asked.
‘Possibly. But he’s no previous. He’s single, unemployed. The house is a tip, garden overgrown. Struck me as vulnerable, a chaotic character.’
‘Could he be a target for cuckooing?’
‘Aye, maybe. Would be easy enough for someone to persuade him he was his new friend, then move in and use his place to package drugs or store stolen goods. But I think it’s more likely a buyer gave him five hundred quid for his dad’s old banger, and he was happy to take it, no questions asked.’
‘Okay, Murdo, thank you.’ Shona made a note on her pad. ‘Get uniform to keep a look out.’ Kate tapped on the door, Shona waved her in.
‘I’ve re-interviewed our best witnesses and there’s something of a consensus emerging for two of the suspects in the earlier thefts.’
‘Go on,’ Shona said, putting down her pen and giving her DC her full attention.
‘A man of Middle Eastern or South Asian appearance, possibly Indian or Pakistani, was mentioned by all the witnesses, although no one heard him speak. About twenty-five years old, slim build, short hair and stubble beard. Non-descript dark clothing and baseball cap, as we can see from the CCTV.’ She laid out the CCTV images on the desk. ‘The woman, or women, that’s more difficult. Two said she was dark and wearing a headscarf, one said blonde with a baseball cap and hoodie, but all said she was small, around five feet tall. So, it could be one woman in disguise. Crucially, they all said she was Scottish, and one heard her speak to the man and thinks it was a local accent.’
‘Good work, Kate. Get mug shots of anyone with previous shoplifting or fraud convictions in the county who fits the description. See if our witnesses pick anyone out.’ Shona’s email alert sounded. She glanced at the clock. The time for the briefing was approaching without any heads up from the front desk that Baird had arrived. She hoped they hadn’t started early without her team. ‘Okay, Murdo, get everyone to finish off what they’re doing. Kate, give the front desk a buzz, check where we are with the Op Fortress briefing.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good, off you go.’ Shona scanned the subject line and sender of the new email. It was from DCI Baird, probably some last-minute details. She clicked it open. Attached was a ream of documents, including a planning spreadsheet, that Shona hadn’t seen before. She felt her jaw tighten. ‘Murdo,’ she called in a tone that made the whole office look up from their work.
‘Boss? What’s the matter?’ he said seeing her expression.
‘The briefing is delayed. Tell everyone to work on for a bit, then send someone out for chips.’
‘Will DCI Baird be here by then?’
‘DCI Baird isn’t coming.’
‘Who’s doing the briefing then?’
‘I am, and you’re helping me.’
Murdo frowned for a moment, processing this change of plan. It looked like his promise of a pint with Baird had gone out the window. He’d been surprised when his old mate had agreed to the suggestion, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised it had fallen through. He shrugged. ‘Okay. No worries. I’ll let uniform know to come back at… what,’ he checked his watch, ‘six p.m.?’
Shona nodded grimly and hit the print button on her screen. The office printer began churning out page after page of close-typed instructions. When
it stopped she divided the pile in half and crossed to where Murdo was back on the phone, telling his wife he’d be late and not to worry.
She glanced at the framed photograph on the filing cabinet next to her sergeant’s desk. A group shot taken five years ago, when DCI Baird was a newly promoted detective inspector and rising fast, with Murdo beaming behind his shoulder. ‘Donut Cop’ was what Murdo’d been nicknamed behind his back; she suspected Baird had a hand in it. She could see how O’Halloran, looking for a role model and a leader, might idolise the man. On nights out O’Halloran would often appear in a black leather jacket identical to the one Baird wore in the photo. The man would take all this as his due and despise O’Halloran for it. Her DS was never going to climb the greasy pole, he’d be out of his depth in strategy meetings. But on this patch of Scotland nothing much happened that didn’t twitch upon the thread of his intelligence network – the rugby club, the church, his wife Joan’s Scottish Women’s Institute group, the beat cops who remembered when he was in the squad car with them and respected him for time served. Murdo was much more than a cliche, and Baird should know better.
She left half the papers with Murdo and returned to her office to read her section. He joined her soon afterwards, and sitting side by side they went through all the pages one after the other.
‘First thoughts?’ Shona asked. Murdo fished out a page concerning transport.
Shona read a line of marked text. ‘We need twelve vans.’ She turned to him. ‘How many are operational?’
‘Ten, and last time I looked the magic carpet was still at the cleaners.’
She raised an eyebrow in enquiry. He brought out a printed sheet showing Dumfries and the surrounding area. ‘Overnight road works on the main road.’ He indicated on the map with his pen. ‘Also, the quarry up at Jericho Bridge is moving a couple of excavators. It’s an abnormal load. Their contractors are dealing with it, but this section of the A701 will become closed here,’ he marked a pair of crosses, ‘and here, between four and six a.m. We’ll never make it if we’re vans short.’