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‘There’s forensic evidence…’
Baird got up from his chair and loomed across the desk at her. ‘I’ve got cases going to court from Op Fortress. Your meddling endangers potential convictions.’ His voice was climbing. ‘You start throwing up doubts about the Sweet Life group and the defence will jump on it. We’ve got Archer, an important informant, still in play out there. You could put his life in danger.’
‘Sir, I need access to Op Fortress intelligence. I’m prepared to go to Munroe with this.’
Baird stopped dead and stared at her. ‘You think he’ll back you over me?’ he challenged. For a moment Shona hesitated. Munroe was due to retire, he wouldn’t want the success of Op Fortress jeopardised, but the bottom line was four people were dead. No one could provide a satisfactory explanation why they’d died. She wasn’t suggesting the deaths were linked to some failure of Op Fortress, but she could see how Baird might feel it reflected badly on him. It was something he’d missed, and that would injure his pride. He was prepared to put his reputation before justice for the victims and their families.
Shona sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. She wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Why don’t we ask Detective Superintendent Munroe for his opinion and find out?’
Baird paced the room then came to stand before her, hands on his hips, shaking his head. ‘I really didn’t want to go down this route, but I’ve heard things about your time with the City Police. Things that make me doubt your fitness for this job.’
Shona stared at him, shocked into silence. What did he mean? Did he somehow know about Rob’s dismissal from the bank? His fraudulent dealings? She’d only just learned this herself. Or had he heard how her old DCI had given her a choice; transfer out of the City of London force or face a drunk-driving charge that would see her sacked. Baird lifted the phone on his desk. ‘Sergeant, can you come up here for a minute.’
‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, but whatever it is, it has no bearing on these cases,’ said Shona carefully.
A moment later the custody sergeant appeared. Baird motioned her to stand up.
‘DI Oliver, I think you’re under a lot of strain at the moment. I’ve offered you compassionate leave, which you’ve rejected. I’ve previously warned you about your failure to follow orders and maintain procedure. You’ve given me no choice. I believe you are currently unfit to serve. As of,’ he looked at his watch, ‘as of five o’clock today, I’m suspending you from duty. Please hand your warrant card and police phone to Sergeant Simpson. He’ll escort you from the building.’
Chapter 30
Shona sat in her car and stared blankly ahead. Around her the street lights were coming on, orange outposts against the monochrome of evening. The teatime traffic was in full flow, leaving neon trails of brightness in the wet streets.
She’d left Divisional HQ with no clear idea of what to do next and pulled into the public car park across the road. Moments before, as she was being escorted out, the sergeant asked apologetically if she had arrived in a police vehicle. She’d need to hand over the keys. Though in a daze, she had enough self-possession to reply that when pool cars were introduced to cut costs that she’d opted to keep her own car and take reduced monthly expenses for it. She’d rather have a car she could trust to get her to jobs than be left on the roadside thumbing a lift. The sergeant had smiled and agreed that budget cuts were a shocking state of affairs, then he’d stopped. He gave her a guilty look and Shona realised she was no longer a colleague to share a grumble with. She was already an outsider.
She should tell Murdo what had happened. Shona reached for her phone, then remembered Baird had taken it. She felt like part of her had been lopped off.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ She banged the flat of her hands on the steering wheel, then leaned forward and rested her forehead against it. Tears of rage and frustration were pricking her eyes. Nearby, two elderly women in bucket hats and raincoats were loading their car with shopping bags. They looked curiously at her. One came across and tapped the window, making Shona start.
‘You okay, hen?’ she mouthed through the glass.
Shona wound down the window, the fine drizzle misting her hot face. ‘Yes, sorry. I… err… lost my phone.’
‘Jeezo, I do that all the time.’ The woman pulled a high-end smartphone from her pocket. ‘Ma grandson sorts mine. Here, d’you want to borrow it? Report yours stolen?’
‘No, it’s fine. Thank you.’
‘Sure? Cos, I tell you something, that shower there willnae help you.’ She nodded to the police station Shona had just left. ‘Ma grandson got his car taken. Three days it took the polis to turn up. Never found it.’
The other woman had finished loading the shopping and came over to join her friend. ‘Aye. Shocking, so it is,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a pure disgrace. Better off doing it yourself.’ She took her friend’s arm. ‘C’mon you, let the lassie get home to her man.’ She winked at Shona, ‘This one would talk a glass eye to sleep if you let her. You sure you’re all right?’
Shona smiled gratefully. ‘Yes, I’m fine thank you.’
‘Better off doing it yourself, hen.’ The woman nodded sagely as her friend pulled her away. ‘Cheerio, then.’
Shona watched the woman’s multiple attempts to re-pocket the phone in her raincoat before she gave up and hauled open the passenger door of her friend’s car. They both waved as they drove away.
Shona’s first thought was to query her suspension, hit back at Baird with an allegation of sexual harassment at the STAC reception, but it would look like a petty attempt at revenge. She’d appeal of course, get hold of her Police Federation rep and fight every inch of the way, but even if she won, and that wasn’t certain, it would be too late. By the time she was reinstated, any chances of solving the deaths of Isla, Sami and Buckland would be long gone. The woman was right. Better off doing it yourself, hen.
Shona grabbed her wallet from her bag and flung her waterproof jacket around her shoulders. On the opposite side of the car park, shoppers in silhouette passed across the lit windows of a small retail estate. Between a McDonald’s and a carpet shop was a Carphone Warehouse. She picked a mid-range pay-as-you-go and handed over her card. A moment later, the salesman handed it back. ‘Sorry, your card’s been declined. Do you want to try another?’ All her cards were for joint accounts she shared with Rob. She remembered the row of figures on the spreadshee
t he’d shown her, the unmet payments on Rob’s car. They must all be maxed out.
Her salary was all they had to live on. Did her suspension mean the money wouldn’t arrive this month? She didn’t know. The bank certainly wouldn’t unfreeze their accounts if they knew her job was in jeopardy.
‘Wait a minute.’ She sorted through her wallet. ‘How much is a sim card?’ There was that old phone of Becca’s in a drawer at home. That would have to do. She handed over ten pounds in notes and coins. That would get her a couple of hours of calls and plenty of texts. ‘Lost my phone, not worth getting another. My insurer will sort it out soon.’ She felt compelled to explain to the dubious salesman.
When she got back to the car, she checked the petrol gauge and was relieved to find the tank half full. She’d need to ration her journeys until she was sure she could top up. In two hours, she’d be back in Kirkness. Home, food, sleep. The weariness, the injustice, the self-pity was creeping up on her, but she pushed them back. She took a swig of water from the bottle on the passenger seat and started the car. In two hours, she’d be back. Now she needed to think. In two hours, she’d have figured out what to do.
