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‘Who’s she?’ asked Ross.
‘I’ll get to that, be patient. The next payment we know about, 15k to Mrs Galbraith, right after her son kills Slattery. Then, just an hour after Hardie and his lawyer have their heads removed, the account transferred another 30k to a numbered overseas account.’
‘Shit, 30k feels about the right amount for a contract kill like that, possibly even a little cheap. Feels really slack to use the same account,’ said Max.
‘Maybe not if the account is ditched after the job in the same way that they would a phone. As Norma says, no one from the NCA would even bother with it. Fraud’s almost been given up on, recently,’ said Janie, shaking her head.
‘What about the grand to Mrs Malone?’ said Max.
‘Aye, a strange one that. I’ve looked into her background, and she’s clean as a whistle. Glasgow woman, lives in a scheme on the west of Glasgow. Regular payments into the account from Alba-Care,a private company that provide home care, mostly for the elderly, from what I can see,’ said Norma.
‘So, if she’s stealing IDs of elderly folk, she must have a connection to Droopy, who we know is at the centre of this, according to Frankie at least. It’s not coercion if she’s doing it for money. A grand for an ID is decent enough cash for just scanning or photographing some documents off old people. Are there any other deposits in similar circumstances?’ Max enquired.
Norma looked at the screen, her lips pursed in concentration as she scrolled. ‘She’s very much living beyond her means, that’s for sure. Her only obvious source of income is her wages from Alba-Care, and some benefits. I can see at least eight payments of a thousand pounds over the last couple of years, from similar internet-based bank accounts. This will take a fair bit of unpicking.’
‘Well, that’s both good and bad. We can’t approach her, because if they’re connected, then she’ll just go straight to him, and we lose our advantage, but it’s a lead. Do we have a phone number for her?’ said Max.
‘Aye, just the one, shall I send off for the data on it?’
Ross looked up from his screen. ‘Yeah, do it. Mark it as urgent, and I’ll get it authorised as grade 1 by the boss. I’m betting that she’s photographed it in the old boy’s house, and then she’ll have sent it to whoever set up that account. If we can isolate the day that she was at her client Hector MacFarlane’s place, we may be able to work out where she sent it. Nothing else makes sense. Whoever she sent those bank details to is our man.’
‘Aye, want to know something else interesting?’
‘Go on.’
‘Mr MacFarlane is almost ninety. A widower and local cops have returned him home once or twice when he used to go wandering. Dementia, apparently. What do you make of that?’ said Norma, sipping her tea.
Ross sat back in his chair, and sighed. ‘So she’s swiped his detailsand someone’s opened an account in the poor old boy’s name. The grand into her account is payment for services rendered. It’s so simple a moron could set up one of these accounts, it apparently just takes a few minutes.’
‘Could you set one up, Ross?’ said Janie, a smile playing on her lips.
‘Could I fuck, but Mrs Fraser set up one of these accounts recently. I have no bastard idea how it works, but it just took her a minute, and she took the piss out of me because she said I looked confused.’
Max, Janie and Norma all laughed.
‘You lot can all piss off. I’m the DI, no bloody respect,’ Ross muttered, turning back to his screen, scowling.
Norma was still chuckling as she continued. ‘As I understand it, you just have to scan in proof of ID and residence and you’re done. It’s a smart way of avoiding money laundering regulations, especially if you just use it for a few transactions. By the time that the suspicious activity report lands with the NCA the account will be ditched and left fallow, probably with a nominal sum in it to keep the bank from making a fuss. It’s a good idea, but how does it help us?’
‘I don’t think we should approach any of them. It would bound to get back to whoever is running this. Do we all think that it’s this mysterious “Droopy” character?’ said Max.
‘Almost certainly,’ said Janie.
‘We need the intel quicker than the phone unit can supply, even at the quickest. We’ll need a subscriber check on it first, followed by data and cell sites. That’s too long. Also, if we just get the data, all we get is a list of numbers called, and texted together with the cell sites, which won’t be accurate enough for our purposes. How will we know what house she was in, especially if she lives and works in the same locality, which most carers do? They don’t get paid enough to commute. Cell sites aren’t accurate enough. Where’s Barney?’
‘At his temporary flat,’ said Ross, his face flushing.
‘What?’ said Max.
‘Aye. Bloody Chief took pity after the DCC bollocked him and hewas worried the old codger would get cold. He’s letting him use one of the old police flats that they’ve held onto for emergency accommodation. He’s only up the road in Dunfermline. He’s as delighted as you’d imagine a tight-arsed Yorkshireman would be to be getting free board and lodging. He’s already got a full load of washing on and he called me ten minutes ago to tell me he was planning to use the tumble drier. You’d think he’d won the bloody lottery.’
‘I’ll call him. I’ve an idea.’
‘When for?’
‘Probably early tomorrow morning, we’ll need it authorised.’
‘Probably for the best, you know you won’t get the tight-arse away from free telly, and a cooker he doesn’t have to pay for.’
