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The sergeant looked at Davie long and hard. ‘You sure?’
‘Aye. That’s where she was put in, a chain around her legs. I’ve seen the video, and that’s where she was dropped in. My old pa always kept receipts, and that’s where she was thrown in. She’ll still be there.’
‘She’d better be, Davie,’ said Maxwell.
‘Or what?’ said Davie.
‘Or you’re going straight back to jail. No body, no case, no early parole and no Castle Huntly. That’s what the Crown Office said, eh? Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred quid.’
‘She’ll be there.’
‘When do you tell us who put her there?’
Leo Hamilton cleared his throat. ‘You know this, DS Maxwell. Once she’s found, we do a limited interview to cover this part of theevidence, and then you go to the Crown Office. Once they’ve signed off the full agreement, we’ll give you the rest of it, not before. This shows good faith on our part, and allows you to be sure my client is telling the truth.’
‘Well, we’d all best hope she’s there, or this will have been a big waste of resources,’ said Maxwell.
‘I’m telling you, Len. She’s there. Any chance of a coffee?’
‘Aye, we’ve makings in the van, help yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve divers to supervise.’ The sergeant moved off down towards the waterline.
‘I’ll go and get the coffees,’ said Clegg.
22
BARNEY DRAINED THElast few drops of tea from his chipped tin mug, and washed it in the small fold-out sink at the back of his van. He was parked in a rough gravel car park by the reservoir, the end of a barbeque smoking away at the side of the van. He shivered at the biting cold as he threw the water onto the gravel and folded the sink back into the rear compartment and slammed the back door shut.
He slid the side door open, intending to get back in the van and get the Calor-powered heating going again, and maybe use some of his battery to watch a bit of TV, but his eyes fell on the compact case that the postie had delivered earlier. It was tucked under the reversed driver’s seat and he reached down to pull it out, pausing for a moment. He’d chosen this spot to park up, as he’d overheard on the radio that the White Loch was the site of the apparent body dumping. As Barney had no particular place to be, he decided he’d scope it out, and he’d actually found a really picturesque spot. He’d been eavesdropping on the recovery operation, more out of general interest than any desire to get involved. If, as Max and the team thought, this was something dodgy, he didn’t think it’d be a bad idea to have someone nearby. The radio sitting on the bed crackled. He’d had an Airwave set for a few years, since before leaving MI5, and it hadn’t been hard to hold onto it, particularly as he’d been working freelance across other government agencies. The fact that he had access to all channels was a bonus, and any time encryption was changed, he had enough contacts to update the encryption in the set.
‘Searching now, two divers down, and fingertip going on. Just ten metres deep, but bad visibility, stand by,’ came the tinny voice from the handset.
Curiosity pricked at the old spy. This was why he still did what he did. Curiosity to learn new stuff, to try to defeat the bad guys who were always trying to outwit them. He slid the door shut, sat down, and switched on the heater, grateful for the sudden blast of warm air that came out of the vents. He enjoyed being in the van, but in winter it could get a bit chilly. He reached for his thermos flask, poured some hot water into his cup and threw in a tea bag.
The radio crackled again. ‘We have something. We have something, definitely, exactly where he said it would be, secured by a chain. Yes, it’s a body. A body in a tarp, stand by for further info.’
‘Well, bugger me. He was telling the bloody truth,’ he muttered. Looking again at the black, hard plastic case, he made a snap decision. He flipped open the fastenings and lifted the lid. A small, compact drone was flat-packed inside the case in tightly fitting compartments cut from high-density foam. He smiled looking at the sleek bit of kit which he’d been sent by an old pal from the service, who now worked for the manufacturer and wanted Barney to field test it. It was the latest model from the company and was packed full of new tech. It was reputed to be the quietest drone on the market, with a x32 zoom, 4K resolution video, long battery life, active tracking and the ability to live-stream imagery over 5G, as well as record to a one terabyte SD card.
Barney sipped at his tea, wondering if now was a good time to field test such a nice-looking piece of kit. His thoughts turned to Hardie, currently under two kilometres away. It was probably unlawful surveillance, but then it could just be considered that he was testing a bit of new tech that could be of use to the cops.
‘Bugger it, why not,’ he said, pulling the unit out of the box. Quickly he attached the rotors and extended the four quadcopter arms. He then slotted the battery that he had freshly charged overnight intothe back of the unit, which was about the size of an A4 pad. He slid the van door open and stepped out, ignoring the niggle of discomfort where his prosthetic leg rubbed against his stump.
He set the drone down on the gravel, switched on the controller and slotted his smartphone into the bracket, making sure it was tight. He navigated to the app, linked up the phone with the controller and woke the drone. The blades began to buzz as they spun. It was uncannily quiet compared with other drones he’d used in the past. Still audible, but once it was over 100 metres in height it would be out of earshot, and with the long zoom, he’d be able to read a car registration plate, or even check if someone had shaved that day. Barney chuckled with pleasure. This was when he was happiest. Ever since he was a kid, playing with gadgets, electronics or whatever tech was new made him smile.
‘Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got.’ The drone shot off the scrappy gravel and zoomed into the air, gaining height quickly, the whine of the motor and the rotor blades fading fast as it ascended. The image from the camera was pin-sharp, and panoramic, giving an incredibly detailed high-definition of the sweeping countryside. He tweaked the controls sending the drone across the open, barren countryside towards the White Loch.
‘Right, Hardie. Let’s see what you’re up to, you bugger.’
23
JANIE WAS SPRAWLEDon the sofa in her Edinburgh tenement reading a Hilary Mantel novel whilst the soft, sensuous sounds of a Stan Getz saxophone solo drifted out of the hidden speakers in the large, open-plan space.
‘Janie, this sounds like lift music to me,’ said Melissa, who was sitting at the kitchen island, her laptop and a pile of textbooks open. Curiously, she was dressed in football shorts, a hairy jumper and fluffy slippers in the shape of a shaggy dog. Her hair was held back with a spotted bandanna.
‘Why is it that people always dig me out for my music taste? Stan Getz is the master.’
‘Master of Muzak, maybe. It’s shite. Coffee?’
‘Aye, why not, philistine,’ said Janie, throwing a cushion across the room. It missed by almost a metre and fell onto the polished wooden floor.
