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‘So, this is from a week ago, just before Jamie disappeared?’ Shona reran the clip. The assailant stepped back from the car and straightened the jacket of his expensive suit, brushing down the sleeves.
‘Wazir said Jamie was Isla’s pimp. He must have had other girls. Could this be a dissatisfied punter?’ Dan said.
‘Maybe.’ Shona squinted at the screen. ‘You know, he looks familiar. Just let me ask our local walking Wikipedia.’ She leaned back in her chair and bellowed, ‘Murdo!’ through the open office door. ‘Let’s test the geographical boundaries of his gift for faces.’
Murdo studied the footage then shook his head. ‘Nope, don’t know him. Vicious bugger, isn’t he.’ He ran the clip again. ‘He must have form though, look at him. Practised. Professional. Delivers a beating and there’s not a mark on himself. Suit’s immaculate. Wouldn’t look out of place in an expensive restaurant. Want me to chase him through the files, boss?’
But Shona was staring at the man. An expensive restaurant. Murdo was right, that was where he’d be at home. That’s exactly where she’d seen him. Shaking hands, mingling with businessmen in a glitzy restaurant of Glasgow’s top hotel. Having private chats. Private chats with DCI Gavin Baird against the background of celebrity businessman Kenny Hanlon and his glamorous STAC reception. ‘No, it’s okay Murdo,’ Shona said with a creeping sense of unease. ‘You can leave this with me for now.’
Chapter 23
Shona sent Dan and Murdo to check with uniform for any local sightings of Jamie Buckland in Dumfries while she paced the office. She was exhausted and the persistent pain was growing again behind her eyes. She ran through her options; they all came back to Baird. What he’d said was no more than any budget-conscious senior officer might say to his DI. But still there was something wrong. A picture comprised of jigsaw pieces forced together. When you looked closely, they didn’t quite fit. All she had was a corrupted video file and the vague sense she was being threatened.
She passed her hand across her eyes. There was only one way to deal with this. She couldn’t go around him, she’d have to tackle him head-on. Sami and Isla’s deaths couldn’t be the main focus of her enquiries, but Imran Wazir had linked them to Jamie Buckland and the baby milk case and that was high on Baird’s list of priorities. She shut her office door, lowered the blinds and picked up her phone. His number rang once.
‘Morning, Shona.’ Baird’s voice was hard, but the unexpected call put an uncertain edge to it, the cadence skipping up at the end as if a hidden question mark was lurking there.
‘Morning, sir,’ Shona said evenly. ‘I’ve a quick technical query. Hope you don’t mind me calling?’
‘Fire away.’ The claustrophobic silence in the background told her he was on his own. She knew she should probably step back, think it through. She was tired, she might miss something, but it was that very tiredness that drove her on. She was fed up with Baird blocking her, sick of people’s passive lack of concern. A man and a woman were dead on her patch and she would not stop until she found out who had done this and why. It’s a debt we owe to the dead, her sergeant used to say. It was a debt that must be paid before friends and family could move on and find whatever peace they could.
‘I’ve been looking at some Op Fortress footage, a loose end connected with the baby milk case.’ She reasoned this would divert his initial objection. ‘Now, it may be a technical hitch, in which case I thought I better give you a heads up, but small sections of the surveillance on Carter Street are missing.’ She let the question hang in the silence that followed.
‘I know,’ he said, eventually. ‘It’s to protect the identity of a witness.’
‘Okay.’ Shona knew Baird must have personally authorised it. ‘The person who’s been removed may also be a vital witness in the baby milk case. I need to interview the individual concerned,’ she gambled.
This time, the pause was so long that Shona wondered if their connection had been cut. ‘That individual is not your concern.’ Baird’s reply was a low growl.
‘Why not, sir? It’s procedurally appropriate—’
Baird cut her off. ‘Are you not listening to me?’ She could hear him breathing heavily and imagined his face puce with anger. ‘Look,’ he said eventually. ‘We have someone on the inside. He’s still in play. His codename is Archer. That’s all you need to know. He is no part of your inquiry. Understand? Op Fortress is not your concern.’
Whoever this individual, was, they potentially had contact with Jamie Buckland. Now that Buckie was a bail absconder it was a valid line of enquiry, but Baird hadn’t even asked her why she wanted to speak to Archer. ‘But, sir…’
‘I know why you’re really calling. I know you’re pursuing the motorway death and that drowned addict you fished out of the sea.’ Baird’s voice dropped to a hiss. ‘Now, what you get up to with Cumbrian constables in your own time is your own business, but do yourself a favour, send DC Ridley back over the border and wrap up these cases. Maybe you’re missing the bright lights of London. Maybe you’re out to make a name for yourself, I don’t care. Take a telling, Oliver. This is your final warning. If you disobey my direct order, I will instigate disciplinary proceedings against you. Have I made myself clear?’
Shona picked up a paperclip, bending it back until the point pierced her finger. For a moment she was tempted to lash out at him. She was an experienced DI with fifteen years in the City Police behind her. She knew what she was doing. How good a detective was he? She remembered the scene in the STAC reception corridor. Nicola Baird and her paramour. Did he, fo
r example, know his wife was playing away with Kenny Hanlon?
But to win your battles you needed to choose your ground, and Shona knew she couldn’t win this particular skirmish. Baird would bring the full weight of the Division down on her and crush her. She wanted to ask him about the man who’d assaulted Jamie, the man she’d seen talking to Baird and Hanlon at the STAC reception. Did they know he was a businessman who hopped over the border to visit prostitutes in Carlisle? Maybe even purchase some recreational drugs? But she knew she was wasting her breath. A single drop of blood fell from her finger and stained the carpet. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said and hung up.
How did Baird know she was still pursuing both enquiries? No Divisional paperwork had been submitted so the cases were technically still open. But it was more than that. That crack about Cumbrian constables. Shona felt herself redden. There was no truth in it, but it was so personal that it could only have come from somebody in her office. There was always fun to be had at the boss’s expense, and she wouldn’t be the first copper to have an office affair, but this was someone whose loyalty was wavering, someone who had spied greener pastures. She rolled up the blinds and cast her eyes around the CID office until it came to rest on just the person to help her solve the mystery.
‘Kate,’ she called. ‘Have you got a minute?’
DC Irving looked pale and sickly; strands of her blonde hair had squirmed loose from her pony tail.
‘Listen, Kate.’ Shona closed the office door but remained standing. She beckoned her closer, tilting her face up at the much taller constable. ‘You’re a mate of Vinny Visuals. What’s he been saying?’
‘Nothing, I think,’ stammered Kate. ‘Why?’
‘Someone’s been mouthing off to Baird about our case load and,’ Shona paused, searching for a suitable term, ‘operational matters beyond their pay grade.’
Kate turned an even paler shade. Shona considered how Vinny Visuals had probably gone straight to Baird, covering his arse when he first saw there was footage missing from the surveillance record. Well, if he wanted pastures new, that’s what he would get. Next appraisal he’d be out.
‘Kate, you really don’t look well.’ Shona wondered if she should offer her a chair. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’ Shona eyed her shrewdly and hoped she wasn’t pregnant. Kate was a good officer and she’d rather not lose her, even temporarily.
