Lies to Tell

by Marion Todd

  He nodded but didn’t smile. ‘It was quite a haul. Guns, knives, bomb-making equipment.’

  He glanced at her and, from his expression, Clare had the impression he was seeking reassurance. That he needed someone to tell him it would be okay. ‘That’s a whole lot of gear off the streets then,’ she said.

  He glanced over his shoulder and pulled out to pass an orange-clad cyclist. As he pulled back in again his hand went to the gear level to move it into sixth gear, apparently forgetting the Focus only had five. He clicked his tongue in irritation then fell silent.

  Clare eyed him for a moment, trying to gauge his mood, then said, ‘What’s his defence?’

  ‘Phil? I reckon he’ll implicate Paddy Grant.’

  She racked her brains. The name was familiar but…

  ‘Paddy was Phil’s right-hand man,’ he explained. ‘My guess is he’ll say it was Paddy’s doing. That Paddy went rogue and he couldn’t control him.’

  ‘Think the jury will believe him?’

  ‘Dunno. I mean, to us, he has gangster written all over him. But juries…’

  Clare considered this. He had a point. She’d had a few cases herself where she’d known for sure that the accused was guilty yet the jury had returned a not guilty verdict. But surely, in this case… ‘Is there DNA?’ she asked. ‘On the weapons you seized?’

  ‘Nope. He’s too clever for that. No prints, either. He doesn’t get his hands dirty, our Mr Quinn. He has plenty of guys to do that for him.’

  ‘Big operation then?’

  He nodded. ‘One of the biggest we’ve seen – in the past ten years anyway. There’s a bunch of his lads on remand, awaiting trial. If we can put Phil away we’ve a fighting chance of convicting the whole lot.’

  Clare mulled this over. She had heard the talk; heard cops saying the DCI had jumped the gun, arresting Phil Quinn.

  Again.

  She thought back to a couple of cases recently where he’d had his fingers burned. Meticulously planned operations, yet somehow the main perpetrators had managed to stay one step ahead, disappearing before they could be arrested. Admittedly he’d broken up a county lines drug operation, netting a fair quantity of Class A; but the four a.m. knock on the door had come too late. The guys they had really been after – dealers who had flooded Edinburgh with their drugs – they had melted away like snow.

  No one had blamed the DCI – not out loud at least. But there had been mutterings – questions about his fitness to lead such high-level operations.

  Clare glanced at him again. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel and she realised just how much he needed a result from this case. ‘Any sign of Paddy Grant?’

  ‘Nope. Probably out of the country by now.’

  Then Clare saw the hint of a smile.

  ‘But we have the wife.’

  ‘Phil’s wife?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘She’s going to testify?’ Clare was surprised.

  ‘So she says.’

  ‘Bit unusual, isn’t it? A wife turning against her husband?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What’s in it for her?’

  ‘Immunity. She’s been no angel herself, over the years. There was enough evidence in the matrimonial home to charge her with Possession with Intent to Injure. And, given the haul we’ve recovered from the lock-ups and the warehouse, there’s no way she didn’t know what was going on. But my guess is we wouldn’t have found her prints or DNA on any of the weapons either so the Fiscal agreed to her testifying in return for immunity.’

  Clare gave a low whistle. ‘So she’s dropping him in it to save her own skin.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘Is she in custody?’

  The DCI shook his head. ‘No. Prison’s too dangerous for her. Phil could easily get someone to warn her off.’

  ‘She in a safe house, then?’

  ‘Yeah. Round-the-clock surveillance. Only for another week or so. She’s due to testify next week. Wednesday I think. Hopefully she’ll give us enough for a conviction and we can set about auctioning some of the stuff we’ve seized.’

  ‘From their house?’

  ‘Yes. Jewellery, TVs, iPads and a huge campervan. Should net a few thousand quid for the community.’

  Clare digested this as the DCI drove on. They passed the junction for the M90 motorway, continuing along the A91, and she turned her attention to the passing scenery.

  ‘It’s an attractive road,’ she said. ‘Don’t think I’ve been along here.’

  ‘It’s the Hillfoots Road. Skirts round the foot of the Ochil Hills. Ben Cleuch ring a bell?’

  Clare frowned. ‘Maybe. I’ve been up a few hills but I honestly can’t remember.’

  He laughed. ‘You weren’t navigating then?’

  ‘Nope. I just make the sandwiches and trail along behind.’

  They drove on for a few miles then the DCI took a right, leaving the main road. He slowed down as they bumped along a forest track.

  ‘Sorry. Suspension’s not great on this thing,’ he said.

  But Clare wasn’t listening. She was looking round to see where they were going. The trees bordering the track were dense and their route curved round, hiding the main road completely. They drove on for what Clare estimated must have been a mile or so through thick forest until suddenly the trees cleared. She stared as they approached a high concrete wall which sloped outwards from the ground up. It looked to be at least twenty feet high with an overhang that would make it difficult to climb. It was topped by a circular metal tube. Clare studied this. Why would anyone build a wall and top it with such a thing? And then it dawned on her. The tube was there to prevent anyone using a grappling hook to scale the wall.

  A knot was forming in her stomach. What was this place and why the hell had they come?

  Chapter 3

  A steel gate set into the high wall was opened and they drove through into a yard where another high wall faced them.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Clare said, her voice low.

  ‘This,’ the DCI said, ‘does not exist.’

  She looked at him but he said no more.

  A uniformed officer in a Kevlar vest waved them over to the side and the DCI parked where the officer indicated.

  ‘Best leave your phones in the car,’ the DCI advised. ‘They’ll only take them away. Bag too,’ he added.

  She stared at him. ‘What if there’s an emergency?’

  ‘This takes priority. Oh, and bring your ID badge.’

  They stepped out of the car and the DCI handed the keys to the uniformed officer. He led them over to a gate built into the second concrete wall. As they walked, Clare took it all in. She could see little above the outer wall except tall evergreen trees but there was no mistaking the cameras, so numerous they must be covering every inch of this yard and the walls surrounding it. As the gate was opened their badges were scanned by a female officer.

  ‘Shoes please,’ the officer asked.

  Clare flicked a glance at the DCI but he was already unlacing his brogues. She stepped obediently out of her own black mules and handed them over. The shoes were put through a scanner then handed back to them.

  ‘This way,’ the officer said, indicating an airport-style security gate.

  Clare went through first and a buzzer sounded.

  ‘Over here,’ the officer directed and she proceeded to scan Clare with paddles. Her wristwatch was found to be the offending item and they moved on through another security door. A long corridor seemed to slope gently downwards but the absence of windows made it difficult to be sure. Motion sensor lights flicked on as they walked along and the occasional flash from small red lights told Clare there were more cameras, probably sunk into the ceiling.

  Finally, they stood before a heavy oak door with a digital keypad. The female officer tapped in a number and stood back to let them enter. Then she closed the door behind them, leaving them in a windowless room. It was austere, wit
h magnolia walls and a basic industrial carpet on the floor. Clare looked round the room. Not a single picture adorned the walls but in each corner of the ceiling were small cameras. She turned away from them and surveyed the rest of her surroundings. Half a dozen chairs were arranged round a low coffee table on which sat a jug of water and a stack of plastic cups. A woman rose from one of the chairs as they entered. She was, Clare thought, about the same age as her. Not quite as tall, perhaps, but wiry and fit-looking. Her dark hair, threaded through with highlights, was cut short at the sides and back, and swept up on top in a pompadour style. Her woollen dress was delft-blue and set off with a silver dragonfly brooch. Her black patent leather boots had a fine heel and looked expensive. Her studied appearance was somehow at odds with the starkness of her surroundings.

  She held out a hand and smiled warmly. ‘Gayle Crichton.’

  Clare scrutinised her for any sign of an ID badge that might indicate who or what Gayle Crichton was but she couldn’t see one. ‘Clare Mackay. DI at St Andrews.’

  ‘Yes, I know who you are,’ Gayle said. She turned to the DCI, her smile still fixed. ‘Al,’ she said, and he inclined his head in response. The introductions done, she indicated the chairs. ‘Please sit. Can I pour you some water?’

  Clare nodded. ‘Thanks. And may I ask how you know who I am? And why I’m here?’

  ‘All in good time.’ Gayle picked up the jug and poured three cups of water, passing two across the table. Then she sat down, smoothing her dress. ‘So, Clare, first of all thank you for coming all this way. As DCI Gibson knows, it’s vital we meet here, in this building.’

  Clare glanced at the DCI and he gave her a brief nod.

  Gayle went on. ‘The reason you are here – by which I mean here, in this particular location – is that the building is entirely secure. Had you been left with your mobile phone, for example, you would have seen that there is no signal. Not anywhere within these walls.’

  ‘That’s not so unusual,’ Clare said.

  ‘No indeed. But security here is on another level, Clare. The outer walls of the building are two feet thick with steel mesh built into the concrete. No doubt you realised, as you made your way to this room, that the building is partly sunk into the ground. The surrounding walls are capable of withstanding an impact from a forty-tonne truck and they are designed to be as blast-proof as is currently possible.’

  ‘It’s a bunker,’ Clare said.

  ‘In a way, yes. But the building is in daily use. It’s not for emergencies.’

  ‘Might I ask what it’s used for?’

  ‘Not really. All I will say is that it is used for the most covert of activities; those where normal security is not sufficient.’

  Clare looked at the DCI. ‘And you knew about this place?’

  ‘Not much. Only that it existed. I wasn’t given the location until this morning.’

  Clare’s mind was in a whirl. What the hell was going on here? She reached for her cup and drank, moistening her lips. ‘So, now that you’ve explained the security, will you tell us why we’re here?’

  ‘Of course.’ Gayle moved a stray hair back into place then she regarded Clare, the smile gone. ‘Before I go any further, I will remind you – both of you – that you have signed the Official Secrets Act. As such, if anything discussed today is leaked beyond these walls, you will immediately be arrested and face the full force of the law. Is that clear?’

  Clare ran her tongue round her lips again. ‘Of course.’

  Gayle turned to the DCI, an eyebrow raised, and he gave a brief nod.

  ‘Then allow me to explain,’ she said. ‘I am what is known as an ethical hacker. Are you familiar with the term?’

  Clare’s brow creased. ‘I think so.’

  Gayle saw Clare’s expression. ‘Basically, I have studied how hackers operate. How they gain access and, having gained access, how they set about exploiting it. Usually it’s my job to be one step ahead of the hackers, assessing the vulnerability of new systems. But, from time to time, I am called in where breaches have already occurred and this is one such occasion.’

  Clare and the DCI exchanged glances. Gayle watched them for a few moments then went on.

  ‘I am under contract to Police Scotland to investigate a serious security breach. I cannot give you details. Nor can I tell you how I propose to carry out my investigation. But I do need your help.’

  Clare blinked. ‘My help?’

  ‘Yes, Clare. I’d like you to help me.’

  Clare frowned. ‘But I don’t know much about computers. My DS…’

  ‘No, it’s you I need. Not your computer knowledge; and it goes without saying that your DS will not be privy to this conversation. Yes?’

  Clare hesitated, then said, ‘Of course. So…’

  ‘What I need,’ Gayle said, moving her seat closer to Clare, ‘is an office at your station. Somewhere I can work uninterrupted.’

  Clare looked round the austere room. ‘But surely here…’

  Gayle shook her head. ‘No, here won’t do. I need to be out among the cops, monitoring their traffic, seeing what comes in and out. In a busy station, I might attract attention. But in your station – well, I’m pretty sure your staff believe what you tell them.’

  ‘But what am I supposed to tell them?’ Clare asked. ‘How do I explain your presence?’

  ‘That’s easy. The official line is that I’ve been hired to develop a new communications system and that I need somewhere out of the way where I can work in peace. You have an office I can use, I presume?’

  Clare mentally ran round the station. There was an interview room they didn’t use very often. ‘There is a room that might do. It’s pretty small though. No window either. But it does have a data point.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Gayle said. ‘I’ll set up my own network access.’

  Clare flicked a glance at the DCI and he gave a slight nod.

  ‘DI Mackay will be happy to assist you, Gayle.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, Clare, I understand you are good friends with one of the Technical Support staff down at Glenrothes.’

  Clare’s eyes narrowed. How the hell did she know that? And what else did she know? She swallowed. ‘You mean Diane?’

  ‘That’s right. Diane Wallace. Clare, under no circumstances are you to discuss anything we have said today or anything relating to my presence in St Andrews with Diane.’

  Clare’s expression clouded. She’d known Diane for years. There was no one she trusted more. ‘Mind if I ask why?’

  ‘It’s like this. We don’t know if the security breach has come from an outside attack or if there is an internal leak. And, I’m sure I don’t have to spell out to you that, whether internal or external, this kind of breach would require a high level of IT skills.’

  Clare stiffened. ‘I can tell you quite categorically that Diane is one hundred per cent reliable. I’d trust her with my life.’

  ‘Clare, with respect, you can’t say anything of the sort. Now I’m not suggesting that your friend is implicated. But the fewer people who know about this the better. I must have your guarantee that you won’t discuss this matter with anyone, particularly Diane.’

  Clare looked mulish.

  ‘Or I’ll have your warrant card,’ Gayle said.

  Clare turned to the DCI.

  ‘Detective Inspector Mackay will do as you ask,’ he said to Gayle, glancing at Clare. ‘Won’t you?’

  Clare’s lips tightened. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Gayle went on, ‘should any of your colleagues in Tech Support become aware of my investigations, you will plead complete ignorance.’

  ‘Saying what?’

  Gayle smiled broadly. ‘Just act normally. Thank them for flagging it up to you and say you’ll have it checked out at a senior level. That should hold them for a few days which, I hope, will be long enough for me to complete my investigations.’

  Clare was not convinced but she was starting to realise she had no c
hoice in any of this. ‘Okay.’

  ‘One more thing,’ Gayle went on. ‘And this is particularly important.’

  They waited.

  ‘Until my investigations are complete, I will not know how and from where the information is being leaked. You should carry on police business as normal but you must make no reference to my investigation within the walls of the station, on your phones, in any car you use and even…’ She broke off for a moment. ‘…even in your own homes.’

  ‘You’re not seriously suggesting—’ Clare burst out.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Clare. Only that the less you mention this matter the more secure it will remain.’ She scrutinised their faces. ‘Are we agreed?’

  They both muttered their agreement and Gayle rose, all smiles again. ‘Then I need detain you no longer. Thank you both for your time. Clare – I’ll see you on Monday morning.’ She moved to the door and pressed a button on the wall. Seconds later the door opened and the female uniformed officer appeared.

  ‘I’ll escort you back to your car,’ she said.

  They followed her in silence, Clare more conscious on the return trip of the incline in the corridors. Out in the yard, between the two concrete walls, she drew in a deep lungful of air and looked up and over the outer wall towards the trees beyond, only the tips of them visible. She was so glad to be outside again. Out of that place. It was so – weird. As they walked back towards the car, she whispered, ‘Even this car?’

  ‘Even this one,’ the DCI replied, clicking the remote control. ‘Fancy an early lunch before we head back?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  Chapter 4

  They drove out of the enclosure, back onto the track and through the trees. Neither of them spoke until they emerged onto the road again. Clare was in no doubt that Gayle had been deadly serious in her warnings not to discuss the security breach in any cars or buildings; but even normal conversation seemed out of the question. Eventually, Clare broke the silence.

  ‘An early lunch, then?’

  He nodded, his face impassive. ‘I know somewhere, about five miles from here.’

  They drove on, the tall conifers giving way to farmland. A few miles further on they saw a brown AA sign for a garden centre. The DCI indicated and pulled off the road and into the car park. ‘This do?’