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‘The car,’ said Ravi. ‘Seems our best lead. We’ve got nothing else.’
Kate glared at him for stealing her thunder. ‘It’s a silver Ford Focus hatchback, SD55 RSF. Registered keeper is an address in Annan. One of our overnight callers mentioned seeing a man and a woman, he thought, loading bags into a silver Ford in a backstreet near Aldi. We’ve some CCTV and a couple of ANPR hits but not enough to place the vehicle at all the crime scenes. They seem to have been careful, not using the supermarket car parks, staying off the main roads.’
‘Murdo, get out there and interview the owner, that’s a priority.’ Shona turned back to Kate. ‘Go through the witness statements again, see how thorough the officers have been. I want a shortlist of the three witnesses who got the best look at our mystery shoppers and I want you to re-interview them personally. Take the CCTV images, see if we can get a better description, the pictures might jog their memories. Any little detail, cos at the minute there’s, potentially, a gang of individuals walking around in broad daylight, helping themselves to property, and we have no idea who they are. We’ve got about twelve hours before the media, the public and Division start asking what we’re playing at. Now, I want you all back here for an Op Fortress briefing at four p.m., so crack on everybody.’
By late afternoon Murdo had returned, solemn faced. Shona told him to take a seat while she finished an email. ‘Okay, where are we with the car, Murdo?’
‘Registered owner, a Peter Donnelly who was in his seventies, died last year. The son, also Peter, sold the car, cash in hand, through an ad in Autotrader. Seems the new owner never registered it, and Peter never completed the V5C documentation.’ Murdo flipped a page in his notebook. ‘The lack of ANPR hits since suggest it’s been kept off road somewhere since it went bandit. There’s plenty of wee farms and smallholdings in the area that will store a car on the quiet, for a fee. His description of the buyer was vague. Male in his thirties. Dark cropped hair. Scottish. Not a local accent, maybe Glasgow he thinks, but not sure.’
‘How did the buyer contact him?’
‘Phone. But he’s since lost his mobile and didn’t keep a note of the buyer’s number. I’ve put a request in for phone records, but I’d bet my pension the caller used a burner. It’s possible the car’s been sold on again anyway.’
‘Do you think Peter Donnelly could be involved?’ Shona asked.
‘Possibly. But he’s no previous. He’s single, unemployed. The house is a tip, garden overgrown. Struck me as vulnerable, a chaotic character.’
‘Could he be a target for cuckooing?’
‘Aye, maybe. Would be easy enough for someone to persuade him he was his new friend, then move in and use his place to package drugs or store stolen goods. But I think it’s more likely a buyer gave him five hundred quid for his dad’s old banger, and he was happy to take it, no questions asked.’
‘Okay, Murdo, thank you.’ Shona made a note on her pad. ‘Get uniform to keep a look out.’ Kate tapped on the door, Shona waved her in.
‘I’ve re-interviewed our best witnesses and there’s something of a consensus emerging for two of the suspects in the earlier thefts.’
‘Go on,’ Shona said, putting down her pen and giving her DC her full attention.
‘A man of Middle Eastern or South Asian appearance, possibly Indian or Pakistani, was mentioned by all the witnesses, although no one heard him speak. About twenty-five years old, slim build, short hair and stubble beard. Non-descript dark clothing and baseball cap, as we can see from the CCTV.’ She laid out the CCTV images on the desk. ‘The woman, or women, that’s more difficult. Two said she was dark and wearing a headscarf, one said blonde with a baseball cap and hoodie, but all said she was small, around five feet tall. So, it could be one woman in disguise. Crucially, they all said she was Scottish, and one heard her speak to the man and thinks it was a local accent.’
‘Good work, Kate. Get mug shots of anyone with previous shoplifting or fraud convictions in the county who fits the description. See if our witnesses pick anyone out.’ Shona’s email alert sounded. She glanced at the clock. The time for the briefing was approaching without any heads up from the front desk that Baird had arrived. She hoped they hadn’t started early without her team. ‘Okay, Murdo, get everyone to finish off what they’re doing. Kate, give the front desk a buzz, check where we are with the Op Fortress briefing.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good, off you go.’ Shona scanned the subject line and sender of the new email. It was from DCI Baird, probably some last-minute details. She clicked it open. Attached was a ream of documents, including a planning spreadsheet, that Shona hadn’t seen before. She felt her jaw tighten. ‘Murdo,’ she called in a tone that made the whole office look up from their work.
‘Boss? What’s the matter?’ he said seeing her expression.
‘The briefing is delayed. Tell everyone to work on for a bit, then send someone out for chips.’
‘Will DCI Baird be here by then?’
‘DCI Baird isn’t coming.’
‘Who’s doing the briefing then?’
‘I am, and you’re helping me.’
Murdo frowned for a moment, processing this change of plan. It looked like his promise of a pint with Baird had gone out the window. He’d been surprised when his old mate had agreed to the suggestion, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised it had fallen through. He shrugged. ‘Okay. No worries. I’ll let uniform know to come back at… what,’ he checked his watch, ‘six p.m.?’
Shona nodded grimly and hit the print button on her screen. The office printer began churning out page after page of close-typed instructions. When
it stopped she divided the pile in half and crossed to where Murdo was back on the phone, telling his wife he’d be late and not to worry.
She glanced at the framed photograph on the filing cabinet next to her sergeant’s desk. A group shot taken five years ago, when DCI Baird was a newly promoted detective inspector and rising fast, with Murdo beaming behind his shoulder. ‘Donut Cop’ was what Murdo’d been nicknamed behind his back; she suspected Baird had a hand in it. She could see how O’Halloran, looking for a role model and a leader, might idolise the man. On nights out O’Halloran would often appear in a black leather jacket identical to the one Baird wore in the photo. The man would take all this as his due and despise O’Halloran for it. Her DS was never going to climb the greasy pole, he’d be out of his depth in strategy meetings. But on this patch of Scotland nothing much happened that didn’t twitch upon the thread of his intelligence network – the rugby club, the church, his wife Joan’s Scottish Women’s Institute group, the beat cops who remembered when he was in the squad car with them and respected him for time served. Murdo was much more than a cliche, and Baird should know better.
She left half the papers with Murdo and returned to her office to read her section. He joined her soon afterwards, and sitting side by side they went through all the pages one after the other.
‘First thoughts?’ Shona asked. Murdo fished out a page concerning transport.
