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‘PC Jones?’ said the younger cop.
‘Tyres are on the edge, handbrake has too much travel, and your number plate light is dicky, but nothing to get our knickers in a twist about,’ said PC Jones as he passed by and sat in the back of the car.
‘Thank you. I’ll get them all sorted, I promise,’ she said, feeling lighter as she skipped over to the car, the feeling of relief almost overwhelming. That was too close, she thought as she caught sight of her phone in the door pocket, before she started the engine and drove off, ready to incur the wrath of Mrs Henderson.
45
‘PLEASE TELL MEit worked, Barney. That was a bastard to organise in that timeframe. The surveillance commissioner thought we were going fishing, and I promised the miserable bastard that we weren’t, despite the fact that Max may as well have been wearing sodding waders and a hat with flies in it when he presented the case for property interference and intrusive surveillance to the Chief. You look a right tit in a police uniform, by the way, go and get changed before I nick you for impersonating an officer.’ Ross’s cheeks bulged as he chewed upon a large doughnut, his lips plastered in sugar. He surveyed Barney, who was dressed in blue serge trousers, a black wicking T-shirt and a high-visibility jacket that was unzipped. A cap was perched on the back of his head at a jaunty angle.
‘I’m guessing by your overly chuffed demeanour that Max has already told you. Aye, it worked a treat, she were that nervous in the car getting breathed that she didn’t even notice me messin’ with her phone, which she didn’t think we’d seen her on and had stashed in’t door. I reckon she’s a right pisshead, that one. Stinkin’ of booze at this time of the morning. Full download, easy as, and I resent that remark. I think I cut quite the dash in a uniform,’ he said, clutching an SD card between his finger and thumb.
‘Anything on it?’ said Ross.
‘Nay idea. That’s not my job, I get the data, you buggers can analyse it. Any chance of a tea?’ said Barney, sitting down in thelone, scraggy armchair in the corner of the scruffy office that had become his default place to sit.
‘Aye, if you make it. Two sugars,’ said Ross.
‘You’ve the equivalent of two sugars around your bloody lips. You’ll give yourself diabetes, you soft bugger, and woe betide Mrs F finds out.’
‘Is that a threat? I’ll get you evicted from your free flat if you grass, you old sod. Mrs Fraser is being uncharacteristically pleasant to me at the moment, because I got home fairly early last night. Now make the bloody tea. I’m having to justify a frankly weak intrusive surveillance operation to a sceptical gatekeeper, and I’d like some peace from your blether.’ Ross wiped his lips on a grubby handkerchief that he had pulled from his pocket.
Barney laughed as he pulled himself to his feet and flicked the kettle on. ‘Will you look at the state of the bloody mugs? Full of bloody penicillin.’
‘Aye well, you can wash them whilst you get changed out of that bloody uniform, you’re making me nervous. You look like an elderly stripper about to hit a hen do.’
Norma chuckled in the corner, behind her monitors. ‘Chuck us the SD, Barney, and I’d love a tea whilst I get on with it. Where’s Max?’
‘On his way, just making phone calls. Sounded like he was having a difficult one with Mrs Craigie, to me. Is everything okay with him?’ Barney tossed over the SD card, which Norma failed to catch, and it skittered across her desk and landed on the floor. ‘Poor shot,’ said Norma as she stooped to pick it up, pulled it out of its small plastic case and slotted it into her computer.
‘What’s up with Max?’ said Janie, who had appeared almost out of nowhere into the office.
‘Dunno. Fractious phone call with his better half as far as I could hear,’ said Barney as he loaded up the putrid-looking mugs onto the battered metal tray and left the office.
Ross looked at Janie and shrugged. ‘What’s happening with Frankie?’
‘All in hand. Phil at the prison has been brilliant sorting it all out and the NCA PPU team have been helpful. The PPU manager is handling it, nice bloke called Mal Crookston, and it’s locked down to only those who need to know the location and identity of Frankie. Cover story is set as a minor operation for a hernia, and beyond Phil and the prison doc, no one else at the prison knows.’
‘That’s great. How about security?’
‘Well, it’s on the real downlow, so we’re keeping it simple and low profile. Mal Crookston has briefed four armed NCA escort and protection officers to transport him and then provide security during the debrief, so we can keep it away from Police Scotland. They’ve only been briefed as much as they need to do the job to limit exposure.’
‘That’s good. What’s their ETA?’
‘Late afternoon. We have a custody officer ready to take charge of him and make sure he abides by prison standards and the lawyer is ready to meet us there once we’re all ready to start the debrief, probably tomorrow.’
‘Where’s he going, then? I should know all this, but everything else has taken over,’ said Ross, rubbing his temples.
‘Lochinver cop shop. Single man office with an unused cell, it’s being reinstated to hold Frankie for a couple of nights whilst we do the job,’ said Janie.
‘Well, that’s hardly convenient. West coast midge hell, that place.’
‘Not this time of the year, it isn’t. Anyway, you’re a Highlander. You should be used to all that.’
‘Aye, but I stayed around Dingwall, and never go back. I’m a townie now, like yourself. How far away is it?’
Janie smiled. ‘Four to five hours.’
‘That’s going to spank my overtime budget, you money grabbing shysters. Couldn’t the NCA have picked somewhere a little closer?’
