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Nicola was composed when she opened the door, but her expression turned to ice when she saw Shona. ‘Come to give your condolences?’ she spat. ‘Gavin died saving you and your daughter.’
She was right. Shona felt the stirring of compassion for the woman’s loss, but it soon faded. She’d held Gavin Baird’s hand while he died, but Nicola had not asked her for a single detail of her husband’s passing. Did he suffer? Did he ask for me? Shona had been ready with a softer, sanitised version of the truth, but it wasn’t needed.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m not responsible for your husband’s death,’ Shona said levelly. Nicola tried to slam the door, but Shona stepped forward, her raised arm blocking the doorway. ‘Can I come in for a minute? There’s some files of Gavin’s I need to retrieve.’
Shona saw a flash of fear, then calculation in the woman’s eyes and she wondered how much Gavin had confided in Nicola and how far she herself was involved with Kenny Hanlon. Shona remembered the scene she’d witnessed at the STAC reception. Nicola Baird and Kenny Hanlon. Was it a drunken grope in the hallway of a posh hotel after too much champagne, or something more? An affair? An alliance? Shona guessed a bit of both, but she didn’t have energy to go softly-softly with Nicola.
‘Two options,’ Shona said. ‘I can come back with a warrant and this will be all over the media. Or you let him rest the gallant officer he was, and you stay the grieving widow.’ Shona had done her research. Nicola had political ambitions. At the polls she could turn her sacrifice into votes. ‘I’m not after you or Gavin. Think of your kids.’
For a moment Nicola held the door firm, the gym-toned bicep taut beneath the year-round tan. She gave Shona a look of pure hatred, then allowed the door to swing open. Shona stepped into the hallway, the Edwardian quarry tiles clicking below her heels. Nicola, in her stocking soles, loomed over her. ‘What do you want?’
‘Ten minutes in Gavin’s study.’ She calculated Nicola might agree to a short, timed visit just to get rid of her. ‘I’m not after Gavin, remember,’ she repeated.
‘Why? What are you looking for?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Gavin’s laptop isn’t here. He never kept anything at home. The guy who shot him is dead, so isn’t that the end of it?’
‘There’s a few details to clear up. Ten minutes.’
‘Okay.’ Nicola shrugged eventually. She waved Shona through a polished teak door behind the main staircase. ‘Then I never want to see you again.’
As Shona went into the study, Nicola remained in the hall, her arms folded, watching her. Shona closed the door firmly and scanned the room. Old leather-topped desk, dark wood bookcases built into the alcoves beside the fireplace. From Shona’s brief glance of the rest of the house, modern and sleek, this room owed its décor to previous owners. Perhaps Nicola was right, Baird didn’t bring his work home. It didn’t look like anyone had spent much time in here.
The box files on the shelf contained household receipts, a guarantee for the ride-on mower. The ten minutes were ticking away fast. What if Nicola phoned Hanlon? Shona needed conclusive proof of his involvement in the drugs operation. Murdo would warn her if anyone approached the house, but she wouldn’t get a second bite at this. Hanlon was wealthy, powerful and connected. She was, technically, a suspended police officer with a gambler husband and a daughter recently hauled in for drug possession. The lawyers, the media, her own force, would crucify her.
Frantically she scanned the room. What had Baird said? It would be hard. He’d said the word ‘shared’. She saw again his bloody fingers grasping her own, the incredulity in his eyes that death was coming for him. Hard. Shared. She looked in vain for a hard drive. How would he share the information she needed? Not cloud storage, that wasn’t secure, Baird would know that.
She flipped open cardboard storage boxes. Holiday brochures, books. In the corner, a plastic crate. Shona spotted the framed picture of Nicola and the children that had sat on his desk at Kilmarnock HQ. Kneeling on the carpet she emptied the jumble of personal items, stacking them one by one onto the desktop. An almost empty diary, Scottish police mug, pens, the glass tower of the Policing Excellence award, an A4 pad with jotted notes from a budgeting meeting. There was nothing.
Outside in the hall she could hear Nicola’s urgent voice. She was on her mobile to someone. Baird had recruited his own team. Some of those officers might be in this up to their necks. They could arrive any moment to see her off the premises. Harassing the widow of a hero. Even her own colleagues would shun her.
She checked her phone. Nothing from Murdo. The final seconds were tickling down until Nicola threw her out. Hard. Shared. Still kneeling, as if praying for a miracle, she looked up desperately at the personal items from Baird’s office now on the desk. Nicola opened the door and the light from the hallway reflected off the glass tower of Baird’s award.
In a flash she saw it. She was back at Tower RNLI station on her final visit last year, standing on the pontoon on the Thames’ north bank, looking south at the night sky ablaze with all the life and brightness London possessed. She’d laughed as the skipper had said he loved coming to work because his office had the best view in London. On the eastern horizon the City pulsed with light. On the south bank, new skyscrapers were springing up, painting the surface of the river and the black sky behind the OXO tower with colour; the new Southbank Tower, One Blackfriars and between them the slim pinnacle of the Shard. Baird’s mouth formed the shapes. Not hard. Not shared. Shard.
Shona snatched the glass tower of the Scottish Policing Excellence award from the desk. Nicola stared at her in astonishment. Shona turned away, her fingers found the hollow dip below the red felt cover of its base. She ripped it back and extracted a slim metal shape. A memory stick. She slipped it into her pocket.
‘What are you doing with his award?’ Nicola said between gritted teeth. Shona held it out and the woman grabbed it from her, cradling it against the dark front of her widow’s outfit. ‘He was going places, you know? Could have been chief constable one day.’ She stood looking down her nose at Shona as if she was a particularly disappointing domestic servant.
Shona brushed past her. In the hall she stopped and turned. For a moment she was tempted to tell her what her husband really was but found she couldn’t. ‘Every day I will be thankful to DCI Baird for the life of my daughter.’ The woman stared back uncomprehendingly at her. To serve and protect. Baird had understood what it meant, even if Nicola couldn’t. ‘I’ll see myself out. Thank you.’
Murdo had the engine running, the heater on full. ‘Did you get it?’ She held up the memory stick. ‘Bastard,’ Murdo muttered. Shona felt they wouldn’t be seeing that leather jacket again. He put the car into gear, and they drove away.
They stopped in the car park of the first fast food restaurant they could find. Shona sat in the passenger seat, her laptop before her. She held her breath as she wondered whether she would need a password, but whether due to Baird’s arrogance or an oversight the memory stick was readily accessible. She quickly went through the files. Murdo returned with coffee and donuts.
‘It’s all there. Recorded phone calls, finance documents. Baird’s put together a good case.’ Shona took the coffee beaker, holding the hot cardboard gingerly between finger and thumb, and placed it on the dashboard.
‘How ironic,’ Murdo said, taking a savage bite from his donut. Shona watched Murdo chew gloomily. ‘I looked up to that guy. Thought he was sound.’ He shook his head.
Shona sighed and closed the laptop. ‘This wasn’t about money. I think Baird genuinely set out to cut drugs crime. Maybe Kenny Hanlon persuaded him drugs was a business like any other. You can’t eradicate it, but you could run it cleanly. Hanlon might say he was just a service provider. Between them they could cut the violence, clear out the competition. Start fresh. They could keep the crime figures to a minimum. They’d both get what they want. The Enterpriser. He’s very convincing. Once Baird took the first step, he was hooked, there was no getting out.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘Or maybe he thought he’d never beat them playing clean, that he’d give them a go at their own game. It just didn’t work out as he planned.’
‘Aye, I suppose,’ Murdo conceded.
‘But neither Baird nor Hanlon could control Evan Campbell. He killed Siobhan, Sami and Jamie Buckland because they’d set up a little enterprise of their own.’
‘Will we be able to link Hanlon to the killings? Conspiracy to murder?’ Murdo asked.
‘We’ll have a damn good go,’ Shona said. ‘We’ve no forensics. No witnesses, except Isla. There’s the risk a good defence lawyer will take her apart in court. Former addict, prostitute. The jury might not believe a word she says, but she’s bright and she might just sway them. She’s determined to testify, get justice for Siobhan and the
others, if she can.’
