by Marion Todd
‘Clare…’ she said, extending an arm to give her a hug. Then she drew back and presented a bottle. ‘If in doubt, reach for the Prosecco,’ she said.
Clare would have preferred a cup of tea but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful so she fetched glasses while Gayle wandered round her sitting room, picking up paperbacks, photos and taking in paintings. ‘I love this room, Clare,’ she said. ‘You have very good taste.’
Clare thought she was being over-generous with her praise but she accepted the compliment graciously. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, ‘but you did say you were fed up with fancy food so I’m doing baked potatoes with the remains of a curry.’
Gayle uncorked the Prosecco and said that sounded perfect. Clare passed her the glasses and she began pouring. ‘Honestly, Clare, you’ve no idea how tedious hotel life is after a while.’ She picked up one of the glasses. ‘Cheers!’ And she downed the Prosecco in one, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass.
Clare’s heart sank. She really didn’t want a house guest for the night. After the day she’d had she was in desperate need of a decent sleep.
Gayle saw her look. ‘Don’t worry, Clare. I wouldn’t dream of imposing. I came in a taxi and the driver will come back for me when I’m ready.’
Clare hoped the relief didn’t show on her face. ‘Come on. Let’s take these through to the sitting room while the potatoes cook.’
As they sat, Gayle chatted on about the jobs she’d had in the past. ‘Some of the things I’ve uncovered, Clare – well, it would make your hair stand on end. Probably the most common thing is taking over a webcam or tricking someone into installing a keylogger to steal passwords – that sort of thing. One memorable case featured a prominent public figure whose website was hacked. The hackers uploaded photos of him in all sorts of compromising positions!’
‘Really?’
‘It was photoshopped, of course. But skilfully done. It’s fascinating work but it does take me to the seamier side of life.’
As Gayle chatted on about her work, Clare noticed she said very little about her personal life. Emboldened by her third glass of Prosecco, she said, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, Gayle, is there anyone – I mean…’
Gayle raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean do I have a significant other?’
Clare gave an apologetic smile. ‘I couldn’t think of a more tactful way to put it.’
Gayle traced a finger round the rim of her glass and it seemed for a moment that she might not answer.
Clare was suddenly mortified. She barely knew this woman, this woman who quite possibly was investigating Clare and her whole team. She had overstepped the mark. ‘Gayle,’ she began, ‘I’m sorry—’
Gayle waved this away. ‘It’s fine, Clare. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. But, sadly, the job, you know – well I travel quite a lot and, when I’m working on a job, it can be all-consuming. It doesn’t lend itself to family life.’ Then she brightened. ‘But I don’t think the same can be said for you, Clare – can it?’
Clare felt her cheeks flush. ‘Oh…’ she began then tailed off.
‘And I’m not talking about that gorgeous man in the photo,’ Gayle said, nodding at a small framed photo of Clare with Geoffrey. ‘DCI Gibson – he has an eye for you, I think…’
Clare didn’t reply.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Clare. Have I touched a nerve?’
The oven pinged and Clare rose. ‘Saved by the bell,’ she said. ‘I’ll just check on the food.’
Over dinner, they chatted about Daisy Cottage and the renovations Clare was having done.
‘I had a new central heating system installed a few months back. Bit of a hassle at the time but I’m glad it’s done now.’ She looked round. ‘Ideally I’d like to do the windows next but I’ll have to wait till I can afford it.’
‘And you have that fabulous car out there,’ Gayle observed.
‘Yes, there is that. It wasn’t cheap.’
‘Cars are your thing, then?’
‘No, not really. I had an old Renault Clio for years. Practically ran it into the ground.’
Gayle raised an eyebrow. ‘From a Clio to a Merc? That’s a bit of a jump.’
Clare shrugged. ‘Oh, you know how it is.’
‘Impulse buy?’
‘Something like that.’
Gayle put down her glass. ‘Tell me to mind my own business, Clare but – well, I’m a pretty good judge of these things and you don’t seem happy to me. The car – could it be you’re papering over the cracks?’
It was the first time anyone had said it out loud. Her sister Jude, her parents – even Chris, her DS. They had all registered surprise when she had told them about the Merc. But no one had actually said what she knew they were thinking; what she herself was trying not to think. She looked at Gayle. ‘You’re very perceptive.’
Gayle looked back at Clare, studying her face. ‘I’ll tell you something else, Clare – you’re afraid of me.’ She put down her glass. ‘You think my being here means trouble for you but you’re not sure why.’
Clare stared at her. She had never come across anyone who was quite so direct.
Gayle carried on talking. ‘You are worried I’m going to uncover something that will show you in a bad light – threaten your position.’ She smiled at Clare. ‘Aren’t you?’
Clare closed her eyes for a few seconds. She could feel her head swimming a bit, thanks to a second bottle of Prosecco. Her judgement was probably impaired. Would she regret speaking her mind? Only one way to find out. She opened her eyes again. ‘I’m asking myself,’ she said, ‘why it is that you’ve come to St Andrews. Why, with your office back in that… that place where we met, with all the offices you could have used at Gartcosh or in other police stations, why you have chosen to come here.’
‘And what answers have you come up with?’
Clare swallowed and she avoided Gayle’s eye. ‘I think you are here,’ she began, chasing curry around her plate with her fork, ‘because this is where the problem is. Here, in St Andrews. I think you knew that much, when you summoned us to that place, last Friday. I think you have already found some kind of security leak here – or close to here – and you have come to ferret it out. And I’m worried it might involve someone I know – one of my officers.’ She raised her eyes to meet Gayle’s. ‘They’re a good bunch, Gayle. If someone’s done something they shouldn’t have – well, I’d like to be involved.’ She laid down her fork. ‘So, there you have it. You asked and I’ve told you.’ She glanced at the second Prosecco bottle, almost empty. ‘God, that’s good stuff. They should market it as a truth drug.’
She was surprised to see Gayle’s face soften. ‘Oh Clare – have you really been worrying about it all week?’
‘Yes I have. So, tell me, please – do I have anything to be worried about? Because it sure as hell isn’t me.’
‘No, it’s not you, Clare. If it was, I wouldn’t be here tonight, in this lovely house, eating your leftover curry. I’m not here because I suspect something’s going on here, in St Andrews. I’m here because there isn’t. I’m here because I know I can trust you.’
Clare looked at her. ‘Can you, Gayle? How do you know that?’
‘How do you think?’
Clare sat back in her seat and gave her head a little shake. She saw it all now. ‘You’ve already checked me out, haven’t you?’
‘Weeks ago. And, as you know, you’re clean. But, more than that, you are someone I felt I could rely on. Your reputation precedes you, Clare. You’re a sharp cookie and straight as a die.’ Gayle leaned forward, her arms on the table. ‘Clare, I’m here because I trust you – not because I don’t.’ She sat back again. ‘Does that help?’
‘I suppose.’ She forced a smile. ‘Sorry, Gayle.’
Gayle smiled back. ‘You know, Clare, I could do this job from my hotel room. I don’t actually need to be in the station. It helps with security, of course, but I thought it might be nice to see a friendly face each d
ay. Particularly one I can trust. But, if you really are uncomfortable with my being there – well, I’ll go elsewhere.’
Clare was taken aback. ‘You would do that?’
‘Definitely. You only have to ask.’
Clare wasn’t sure how to respond to this. The truth was she would love to see the back of Gayle but, if she took herself elsewhere, Clare would have no idea how the investigation was going. The old maxim of keep your friends close and your enemies closer came into her head. But was Gayle the enemy? She hoped not.
She regarded her now, sitting where the DCI had sat last night. She looked relaxed, glass in hand, a contented smile on her face. Clare decided she had nothing to lose. ‘Well, since we’re being frank with each other…’
Gayle raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh God, Clare. Am I going to like this?’
‘This leak – is there anything you can tell me about it?’
Gayle put down her glass. ‘Strictly speaking, no.’
‘But…’
‘But we’ve had two bottles of wine and, as I said earlier, I know you’re someone I can trust.’
Clare waited.
‘Now, I can’t tell you who I believe to be responsible, Clare. That would be unprofessional. But I can tell you a bit about the leak.’
Through the alcoholic fug, Clare tried to focus – take in what Gayle was about to say.
‘Do you remember the people-trafficking case in Glasgow last year?’
Clare nodded. She remembered it well. Thirty-four Eastern European women smuggled into Scotland to be sold into prostitution.
‘Then you’ll recall that, while the police managed to find and free the women and arrest the men holding them, the couple who had organised the smuggling operation evaded capture. I believe they are still at large.’
Clare could see the faces of the women now, their haunted looks as they were led away from the hovel where they’d been kept prisoner. It had been a B&B for the homeless which the owners had sold cheaply when the estimated repair costs had exceeded the property value. ‘They are,’ she said, a harsh note to her voice.
‘And the county lines drugs operation your DCI was overseeing?’
Clare began to understand. ‘The dealers got away just before our lads raided the property.’
‘I won’t go into detail, Clare, but it’s clear that, in both cases, the people heading up these operations were tipped off.’
Clare’s mouth felt dry and she licked her lips. ‘Oh my God, Gayle. Are you saying…’
‘Someone in Police Scotland is tipping them off, letting the main culprits get away.’
‘But – that would have to be…’
‘…at the highest level,’ Gayle finished for her. ‘Either that, or someone with the skills to intercept communications. Someone with excellent IT skills.’
Clare sank back in her seat, processing this. ‘But surely, if that was the case, an internal investigation, or even someone from another Force…’
‘Too close to home, Clare. As soon as it was known there was going to be an investigation, email accounts would be wiped, documents shredded. No. A case like this needs someone from the outside. Someone with no connection to any Force.’
Despite the Prosecco, Clare’s mind was whirling. She saw now why the DCI was so concerned about the Phil Quinn trial. Not only his own reputation to think of but a very real possibility of a leak that would see Phil get off. Perhaps that was why Paddy Grant had so successfully evaded capture. Had Paddy been tipped off when the arrests were planned? Thank God Tamsin had managed to give her evidence. But who the hell was leaking this level of information and why?
Gayle sat forward, her face suddenly serious. ‘I probably shouldn’t have told you this, Clare. But I feel I can trust you. It mustn’t go outside these four walls though. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’ She rose from the sofa, putting out a hand to steady herself. ‘Coffee,’ she said. ‘We need coffee.’
* * *
Gayle trotted out into the night, calling her thanks and exhorting Clare to drink a pint of water before bed. As the tail lights of the taxi disappeared down the drive, Clare reckoned if she drank any more she’d throw up.
She cleared away the plates and glasses, loaded the dishwasher and climbed wearily up to bed, thankful at least that she didn’t have as early a start the next morning.
But sleep eluded her and she lay awake long into the night wondering about the leak. Who on earth had been stupid enough to disclose details of operations and what the hell would the consequences be?
Thursday, 21 May
Chapter 24
Chris said that Corinne Sim, the Detective Sergeant from the Fraud Unit, would be with them by ten. ‘I’ve given her a bit of the background and she said it’s a familiar picture, these days.’
‘Okay,’ Clare said, her head still fuzzy from the night before. She really hoped no one would appear at her door bearing wine tonight. ‘What about the warrant for Marek’s accounts?’
‘Yeah, got that now. Bank accounts, emails and a warrant to search his flat.’
‘If Nita and Gary are available, send them over,’ Clare said. ‘They know what they’re looking for now.’ She groaned. ‘God, I need coffee. Want one?’
‘Please.’ Chris followed her to the small station kitchen. ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, Clare, but… you’re looking a bit rough.’
‘Oh, thank you very much! That’s just what I needed to hear.’
‘Sorry, but I’m only saying it because I’m concerned. You’ve not been yourself this week and… well, do you think you might be drinking a bit much these days?’
Clare raised both eyebrows as far as she could. ‘Detective Sergeant West – are you having The Talk with me?’
Chris shrugged. ‘Maybe someone has to. That’s two days in a row you’ve rocked up looking like death’s head. And it’s not gone unnoticed. If there’s something wrong… I mean, I know you must be missing Geoff but…’
Clare spooned coffee into mugs, stifling a yawn. ‘By coincidence, I’ve had visitors turn up on my doorstep with bottles of wine, two nights running. That’s all.’ She lifted the kettle and poured boiling water into the mugs. ‘Just because Sara’s got you on a health kick, don’t take it out on me.’
Chris lowered his voice. ‘She’s confiscated my stash of Wagon Wheels.’
Clare laughed out loud then regretted it and put a hand to her head. ‘Got any paracetamol?’
Chris shook his head. ‘It’s poison, apparently.’
‘Whaaat?’ Clare handed him one of the mugs. ‘She really is taking this seriously, isn’t she?’
‘Just a bit. You should see my lunch…’
‘Mind you,’ Clare said, appraising him, ‘it is starting to work. You’re looking quite trim around the middle – and it was much needed.’
‘Cut it out, Clare. Or I’ll tell her you have a drink problem.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Try me,’ he said. ‘Why should I be the only one to suffer?’
‘Suffer from what?’ Sara’s voice said behind them.
Chris looked stricken.
Clare took pity on him. ‘I’m threatening him with a night shift,’ she said.
Sara opened her mouth to comment just as Clare’s Alcatel began to ring. The DCI.
She didn’t want to let them see the Alcatel, so she excused herself quickly and walked out of the newly painted side door towards her favoured corner of the car park. Thankfully the painters had finished and she didn’t have to avoid them. As she walked she stepped out of the way of a car entering the car park. When it turned left into the staff parking area Clare watched it nose into a space. She didn’t recognise the car. Maybe it was a member of the public choosing the wrong side of the car park. Perhaps they needed a bigger sign for visitor parking. The Alcatel was still ringing and, as she walked, she wondered why he was calling. Hopefully not about the other night. She had no idea what to say to him. What if he asked her out? Or said they h
ad to talk?
She needn’t have worried.
He got straight to the point. ‘It’s Phil Quinn.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s taken the stand this morning and has just accused Tamsin of running the whole operation. Says he was coerced.’
‘Did he mention this when your guys questioned him?’
‘Nope. He exercised his right to silence.’
‘And now he’s come up with this story?’
‘Yup. And Tamsin’s been given immunity from prosecution.’
Clare’s mind was working overtime. ‘Think they’re in it together?’
There was a pause. Then the DCI said, ‘You heard her evidence yesterday. Did she cast any doubt on his guilt?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Clare said. ‘She dropped him right in it. To be honest, Al, I’ll be amazed if the jury don’t convict him, based on what she said, never mind any other evidence.’
She heard him sigh. ‘Okay. Thanks Clare. I really don’t want to lose the case at this stage.’
‘Fingers crossed, Al.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw the car door open and a woman emerge. She was dressed simply in dark trousers and a knitted top, carrying a jacket over her arm. An ID badge swung on a lanyard as she walked towards the front door and Clare’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘Al, something’s just come up. Let me know if there are any more developments.’ She ended the call, relieved that there had been no time to move on to their recent liaison, and walked across the car park, following the woman in through the main door.
In the front office, she saw that Chris had come to greet the woman and she realised this must be Corinne Sim. Tucking the Alcatel back in her pocket she went to introduce herself.
* * *