by Rob Wyllie
'That's all?'
'I know it's not much, but it's all we've got. But actually, that's not really what we want to talk to you about. There's something else, not connected to our divorce case. Something we think might be a whole lot bigger than that.'
He passed his phone over to his brother. 'We came across this photograph on the net and we're not really sure where to go next.'
Frank took a moment to scrutinise it.
'I recognise Gerrard Saddleworth of course, the others I don't. Who are they?'
'The woman is Penelope White,' Maggie said. 'She's a columnist with the Chronicle...'
'Ah, well I'm strictly a Sun man myself, so I wouldn't know her,' Frank said.
'... and she also happens to be the woman Saddleworth is leaving his wife for. That man there is Adam Cameron. He's a barrister. He was my opponent in the Alzahrani trial. And the man with his back to the camera is my husband. He's quite well known as a human rights lawyer.'
Frank frowned. 'No, sorry, never heard of him.'
She laughed. 'That would really piss him off.'
'I don't like lawyers.' Too late, he remembered Maggie's profession. '...well, as a general rule, that is.'
He groped for a quick change of subject. 'Anyway, who's that other guy, the Asian bloke?'
'That's Dr Tariq Khan,' Maggie said. 'He's a government technology expert, and it was his unofficial intervention that caused the trial to collapse.'
Frank's eyes narrowed. 'Oh aye, I remember reading about that. In the Sun, as it happens. He wrote some report that said the facial recognition evidence was a pile of poo, didn't he? But forgive me for saying, but I don't really know where you're going with this.'
'Adam Cameron told the judge at the Alzahrani trial that he had never met this Dr Khan. This picture proves he was lying.'
He gave a low whistle. 'What, and you smell a conspiracy? This does sound a bit out of the ordinary, I must admit. So when exactly was this picture taken?'
'Just a couple of weeks before the start of the trial,' Maggie said.
'Whoa! And answer me this, what's your husband got to do with all of this?'
'We don't know yet, but he does know Saddleworth and Julian Priest from way back. They were all at Oxford together, involved in every fashionable cause. It was all typical student politics except some of them never grew out of it. But as for the reason for this dinner, I've asked him to explain, but we're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment. We're getting divorced you see.'
'Aye, well I'm sorry to hear that,' Frank said sympathetically. 'But you know, there's probably nothing in it. For a start, if you were going to be whipping up a big nasty plot of some kind, would you do it in full view of the public at some fancy restaurant? No, I don't think so. What makes you think this one is suspicious?'
Jimmy was the first to answer. 'As Maggie said, Adam Cameron told the judge at the trial that he had never met Dr Khan. This picture proves he was lying.'
'Aye, but come on. The prosecution getting together, getting their ducks all lined up, that's not so unusual, is it?'
'Cameron lied to the judge,' Jimmy said, spelling it out. 'In a terrorist trial. Or are you saying that's not unusual either? And what the hell is a bloody journalist doing there?'
'That's a fair point wee Jimmy. Well, we've probably kicked off investigations on a lot less, but this is the Home Secretary. That's potential dynamite, and we'd need a lot more than you've got to persuade my gaffers to take this one up, if that's what you are asking me to do.'
'We didn't really have a plan,' Maggie said uncertainly. 'We were really only looking for some advice. So have you any suggestions what else we could do?'
'Just let me get another round in first and I'll think about it on the way to the bar. Large Chardonnay again Maggie and another Doom Bar for you, wee brother? And three sausage rolls?'
'I shouldn't,' she replied, then, 'oh why not, yes to both please Frank. I'm actually starving.'
'He's buying you dinner already,' Jimmy said, grinning. 'I think you're in there.'
'Shut up, will you.' But just for a moment she thought how nice it would be to go out on a proper dinner date again. She was still thinking about it when Frank returned with a tray and set the drinks and napkin-wrapped sausage rolls on the table.
'Right, where were we.' He picked up the nearest sausage roll and took a large bite. 'Excuse me talking with my mouth full. Yeah, so it's stating the bleeding obvious that the meeting was either innocent or it wasn't.'
Jimmy laughed. 'Aye, bleeding obvious.'
Frank spoke through a mouthful of pastry. 'So what you will find in my experience is that if it was innocent, if you talk to any of the participants, they're ninety percent certain to tell you quite straightforwardly what it was about. Nothing to hide so might as well tell the truth.'
'Makes sense,' Maggie agreed.
'But if there was something dodgy going on, then it's very different. Generally they won't answer or they'll tell you some crap, but it's what happens afterwards that's often the most interesting. Because no matter how cool they think they are, they always get spooked when people start questioning what it was all about. There'll be panic phone calls, attempts to get stories straight, you might find that someone breaks ranks and won't go along with the collective plan, all sorts of shit hitting the fan. That's when all the good stuff starts to come out. Then when you get the mobile phone records it all starts to unravel.'
Maggie nodded. 'Yes, I get that.'
'So, of course you guys could do this in your role, as what is it...?
'Investigation services,' Jimmy said. 'Investigation services to the legal profession.'
'Aye, whatever. However, no offence, but it would be a lot more effective if they got a wee call from the police.'
'What, are you saying you could help us with this Frank?' Maggie asked, surprised.
'It would be a lot more successful if you did,' Jimmy said. 'I know you can be very scary when you want to be.'
'Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment, but we can't have coppers harassing innocent citizens willy-nilly, especially if they are government ministers, Chronicle journalists and big-time QCs. But look, I'm intrigued with all of this so I'll have a word with my gaffer, see what she thinks. I'm not promising anything mind you, but she's not that keen on lawyers and politicians and things are a bit quiet at the moment, so you never know.'
Frank picked up his pint and drained the last dregs.
'Oh, and one other thing I just thought about. Have you got a copy of that report you were talking about, you know, the Khan one?'
'Yes, I've got one,' Maggie replied.
'Well you see, one of the wee jobs I'm working on at the moment is connected to AFR, you know the facial recognition stuff. It's a big thing at the moment, with all the worries about civil liberties and everything, and I've got a wee lassie working with me who's a bit of an expert on the subject. Obviously not to the level of your Dr Khan, but I think she does know her business. Actually, she's a bit of an expert on just about everything technical.'
Jimmy looked puzzled. 'Where are you going with this Frank?'
'Not sure at the moment Jimmy, not sure. There's just a wee thought going around in the back of my head and well, I'd just like the lassie Eleanor to take a look, that's all.'
'We'd be so grateful for your help Frank,' Maggie said. 'You know, anything you can do would be fantastic.'
'Aye, no bother. Anyway, must get on now, loads of bad guys to catch. I just hope I was some help to you. Oh, and Maggie, I better have your phone number, in case anything comes up.'
It was an innocent request, but she was still surprised by the unexpected flutter in her stomach. But then it had been a long time since anyone had asked for it.
Chapter 13
Department 12B of the Metropolitan Police occupied a dank and musty room stuck at the end of a dank and musty corridor of Atlee House, a scruffy sixties office block that had started life as an outpost of the D
epartment of Health and Social Security. Eventually deemed too decrepit for even the careworn job-centre automatons, it had passed through a succession of ever more obscure government departments before being reluctantly adopted by the Met. This was the office that DI Frank Stewart now called home.
'Morning ma'am.' He slouched in, crumbs from a recently-despatched cheese croissant still visible on his chin, 'big day ahead, eh?'
This was his habitual greeting to his boss. Generally speaking, there were no big days to look forward to in Department 12B, although today, to be fair, was looking a bit more promising than most.
'Morning Frank,' she said brightly, 'Yes, big day ahead indeed. Get yourself a coffee and we'll go through what you've got on at the moment. Joy of joys, I've got my monthly meeting with the Chief Super to look forward to this afternoon and I need to get up to speed with what's occurring.'
DCI Jill Smart just about managed to suppress the groan. It had never been on her career plan to end up in this godforsaken department, in fact it would never be on anyone's career plan, but for Jill, it had been a convenient fast-track to the DCI rank that she had long coveted and deserved, and so she had gritted her teeth and accepted the post when Chief Superintendant Wilkes had offered it. Not that she had much choice, but she was determined to make the best of it. Give it a year or so, make a reasonable fist of it, move swiftly on, that was the master plan.
The role of the department was fuzzy at best, but in essence it was the dumping ground for cases that couldn't quite find a home with more conventional investigating teams - cold cases, internal corruption enquiries, the early stages of suspected fraud and suchlike. It was also the dumping ground for detectives who had been chucked out of more conventional investigating teams, which is why Frank Stewart had ended up on the team.
He returned to her desk clutching a tepid white coffee from the ancient vending machine and a Mars Bar from the same source.
She grinned at him. 'Breakfast?'
'No, done that one already. Call this elevenses. I love a Mars Bar, you know that, can't beat them. You should try one sometime yourself. You're too skinny ma'am, no offence.'
'None taken.' He was always teasing her about her fanatical dedication to her daily gym sessions, she responding with interest about his terrible diet. She liked Frank, considering him one of the only jewels amongst the motley collection of losers, loners and has-beens that she had inherited with Department 12B. 'And by the way, it's nowhere near eleven o'clock by my watch. Anyway, can you just give me an update on what you've been working on.'
'Aye, well it's only really been that corruption enquiry down in Brixton, but it's going well, 'cos I'm pretty sure now that DS is on the take. You remember I said that I got some CCTV footage of him associating with known drug-dealers on his patch? So that caused me to mount a wee one-man surveillance operation, and a couple of days ago I got him on my iPhone just as a wee brown envelope was being handed over. He was wearing a hoodie and shades but my new best pal Eleanor says that's not going to be a problem because some new facial recognition software she's got a hold of will still nail him. A good capture, that's what she said my photograph is. Better than DNA, that's what wee Eleanor says.'
'Sorry Frank, who is this Eleanor of whom you speak so highly?'
'Haven't I mentioned her before ma'am?' He knew he hadn't. Frank had learnt to keep these things quiet, otherwise the other disreputable rejects who clogged up Department 12B would be muscling in, getting her to take a look at their half-arsed cases too. He wanted to keep this highly-valuable resource all to himself.
'Eleanor Campbell, she's fairly new to the Forensic lot. An automatic facial recognition specialist amongst other things. She's telling me that the technology around automatic facial recognition is just advancing so quickly, and soon every force in the country will need to have an expert on their team. The Met were one of the first to get one.'
'That's great Frank, and great timing for my meeting with the Chief Super.'
'Aye, well boss, I'm glad it's all worked out quite well. We can probably hand it over to the regular anti-corruption squad next week.' Since that had gone quite well, he decided to strike whilst the iron was hot.
'So boss, there's a new one come to my attention that might be worth a look. I need to declare an interest, it's come to me from my wee brother Jimmy, but nonetheless I think it might be our sort of case. And before you say anything, I know our investigations are supposed to come by referral from other departments, but well, this one's a wee bit different... anyway, see what you think.'
He showed her the photograph on his phone and explained who was present at the dinner. Jill seemed intrigued.
'And you think this might be connected to the Alzahrani case? But that's still a live enquiry, isn't it? The suspect is still at large.'
'Aye, more than a year now and still not a sniff of her ma'am. I expect she's fled the country by now. But this is actually to do with the trial itself, because that picture was taken just before it started and of course it might be nothing except that guy...' He pointed at the photograph. '...Adam Cameron, said in front of the judge, that he'd never met that guy, Dr Tariq Khan.'
Smart furled her brow. 'Ok I can see what you're getting at, but shouldn't this go straight to our Alzahrani team?'
He adopted his favoured sarcastic tone. 'What, you mean to the fat-arsed detecting genius that is DCI Colin Barker? Oh aye, I think that would work.'
She laughed. 'Oh yes, I'd forgotten, he was the DCI that you punched, wasn't he?'
'All in the line of duty ma'am. He was and still is a complete moron and had it coming to him. The way I look at it, it was sorely needed to raise the morale of the rank-and-file. I took one for the team, that's all.'
And there was quite a few of his peers and senior officers too that rejoiced in the obnoxious Barker getting his face smashed in. In actual fact, it was only that unspoken support amongst the senior ranks that had prevented Frank Stewart being sacked on the spot. Instead, he was ordered to take three months’ sick leave due to 'stress', his HR file was quietly marked as 'unsuitable for a leadership role', and then he was shunted off to Atlee House.
'And he got his reward by being given the Hampstead bombing investigation. Completely typical of the Met, promoted to your level of incompetence. Present company excepted ma'am,' he added hurriedly. 'So I know it obviously will have to go to Barker eventually, but I'd like to do a few hours on it first, follow up a couple of hunches, and see where they lead. I think this might be a good one for the department ma'am.' And for you and your career too, might even hasten your escape. He knew how to push her buttons.
She smiled. 'Well ok Frank, you can give it a few hours but I don't want to open up a new case at this point.'
'Too much paperwork, eh ma'am?'
'Exactly Frank, the bane of my life. So just try and lose the hours somewhere, will you?'
'Yes ma'am, will do.'
He found Eleanor Campbell skulking in the semi-dark just behind the coffee machine, her phone wedged between ear and shoulder, a flimsy plastic cup of indeterminate pale brown liquid in each hand.
'Lloyd, frig's sake Lloyd...Lloyd, look I've told you about a thousand times...No Lloyd, you must be frigging joking...Look Lloyd, you know I can't discuss this now...'? The conversation had evidently ended abruptly, as she let out a loud four-letter explicative before placing the cups on the ground to enable her to retrieve her phone.
'Problems?' He hoped he had succeeded in making it sound diplomatic.
She held up her hands in an apologetic gesture.
'That was Lloyd. He's my sort-of boyfriend.'
Frank decided to take the matter no further, although there was a tinge of disappointment about the discovery of this sort-of man in her life. He didn't know why that should be, other than the fact that he had of late developed a soft spot for the kooky forensic scientist. Not in any sort of romantic way, definitely not, but then to his dismay he realised what it was. Fatherly concern. Not go
od, since he doubted if he was much more than ten years her elder.
'Lloyd eh? Aye well, I hope it all works out,' was the best he could come up with. 'Anyway Eleanor, I've got this report that's come into my possession which is right in your field. Guy called Dr Tariq Khan wrote it, you might have heard of him?'
'Yes, I have. He like spoke at a symposium I was at a few months ago. Smart dude.'
'Oh good. So I was wondering, could you take a look at the report, and let me know what you think about it? Just a general opinion will do, I don't need too much detail at this stage. I'll email it to you when I get back to my desk.'
'Sure Frank. Do you have a case number I can book my time to?'
He laughed. 'Bloody bureaucracy. I forgot you guys can't even wipe your backsides without a case number.'
'Not allowed Frank, the boss goes like mental.'
'All right I'll get you it, it's on my phone. It shouldn't need more than a few hours of your time I wouldn't think.'
Lose the hours somewhere, that's what Jill Smart had said. That wasn't going to be a problem.
'Here it is Eleanor, M-P-4-7-3-9-4'. He figured the Alzahrani case could absorb a few more hours, after all they had already spent over a million quid and still not a sniff of her since she vanished into thin air. Not that it was a great surprise with an idiot like Colin Barker in charge.
'Ok thanks Frank, I should be able to take a look at it later today,' she replied, as they wandered back to the office.
It wasn't just the back room teams who were under the thumb of the bureaucrats and bean-counters. It had extended to the front-line officers too, under the catch-all banner of 'safeguarding.' So as he booted up the ancient mainframe user interface of the Police National Computer system, Frank too was obliged to enter a case number before beginning his search. No problem, it would be a pleasure to stick a few more hours on Barker's budget. This was one thing Maggie and Jimmy couldn't do, looking into citizens' criminal records. And there was another thing they couldn't do either. More recently, and unbeknown to most of the population, the police had gained access to certain MI5 databases, so that intelligence on 'persons of interest' could be shared between the police and the spooks. Most of the persons on these databases had committed no crime, and their very existence occupied a murky legal no-man's-land between protecting the public from harm and protecting their civil liberties. Especially now since version two-point-naught of that software included facial recognition search. It wasn't just the Guardian that would go mental if that ever got out into the open.