The Viv Fraser Mysteries Box Set 1

by V Clifford

  ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He’s a perfectionist. We’re meant to be a model family.’

  ‘And so you are. The sooner he learns that perfection is a myth the better for him and his poor constituents. Go on, Rebecca, click send.’ She heard tapping.

  Within seconds the email was in Viv’s inbox. Whoever sent this knew the hide–and-seek tricks of cyberspace. But as Viv was aware, everything could be traced if you looked in the right places, and thanks to an old university friend, Viv knew where those places were. Unorthodox skills in the computer department were part of Viv’s toolkit. This said, it took her longer than she’d hoped but eventually she traced it through a data farm, then to an off-shore site. How convenient for them to be in the North Sea. But Viv reprimanded herself, remembering how easy it was to set up an account and access it from anywhere. Which meant the email may have been sent from the other side of the world. Going through an off-shore site made it look as if that was the source. She also understood that the account the email was sent from didn’t necessarily give up the sender, but first things first.

  Viv went into her own computer history and retrieved the articles she’d read about Tess’s dad. When she found the name of the company that he worked for she hacked into his email account. This was also trickier than she’d hoped. But again with a bit of patience, which she was usually pretty short on, she managed to view his account activity. Only there hadn’t been any activity for over two weeks.

  She whispered. ‘Curious! Or coincidence?’ With her head down she felt herself being drawn into his correspondence, but decided she’d better scan for anything that didn’t look work-related. ‘Excellent!’ she exclaimed, finding a feed on the account that filtered particular words. This proved useful, as did another account that she’d imagined might exist: one for receiving exclusively church correspondence. She was about to start reading when the door buzzer sounded. Not expecting company, she ignored it. It was probably the postman, then it occurred to her that it could be Gabriella, and she jumped up too quickly, and slightly giddy ran up the hall to answer it. ‘Hello!’ her voice nervous at the thought it could be Gabriella. But it wasn’t.

  ‘Hi, Viv, it’s Mac, I’m sorry to bug you like this but . . . ’

  She was surprised – they’d only just spoken on the phone. ‘Mac. Come up.’

  Viv opened the door and leaned over the bannister, impressed at the ease with which he ran up the eighty-six stairs to her landing. ‘Welcome. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  With his hands on his knees, and catching his breath, he looked at her quizzically. She could see that he was trying to work out if she was being facetious. But she wasn’t. She was genuinely pleased to see him and shot him a convincing broad smile.

  He stood, rolled his shoulders, relaxed and stepped forward as if he was going to kiss her, but he rubbed her upper arm instead and said, ‘Thanks.’

  She pointed down the hallway to the sitting room. ‘Go through. I’ll put some coffee on.’

  As she filled the kettle she remembered what was on her screen and nipped through to make sure he couldn’t see it. It was too late. He was already over by the window with his hands in his pockets, his huge bulk casting a shadow over her laptop. In two seconds the running water that was her screen saver poured over the illicit email.

  Relieved, she grinned and asked, ‘Milk?’

  He nodded, and she returned to the kitchen. She already knew what he took in his coffee. She continued getting the cups and saucers out feeling slightly stupid. If anyone knew the tricks people play when they have something to hide, it was Mac. He shouted through, ‘Everything all right with you?’

  ‘Great!’

  With the tray in her hands she pushed the sitting room door shut with her foot and laid everything on the Ottoman before turning to him with his coffee.

  ‘Now what brings you to this neck of the woods?’ She almost added ‘you handsome bugger’ but held her tongue.

  He stood staring out of the window then looked into his coffee as if it was a crystal ball. But all he said was, ‘I’m on my way to the Pleasance.’

  She nodded, watched and waited, giving him the chance to elaborate. He was clearly struggling with something. In psychotherapy, silences are the breeding ground for the cure, and she knew to let him have the space to tell her whatever he needed to.

  Sure enough Mac cleared his throat. ‘You know that case we were speaking about earlier. The female who has been suspended?’

  Viv nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

  ‘Well . . . ’ In a familiar gesture he rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘The evidence so far leads to another female PC in the same office. Only this female’s uncle is the head of CID and we have to tread carefully, have all our facts absolutely water tight, before we move on her. You can imagine if we got that wrong . . . Well, life would be difficult for me especially, since I have to work with him every day.’

  Mac was head of a team called the National Task Force, NTF, which focused on terrorist investigations. Of course, terrorism had changed its colours and was no longer just about suicide bombers, but a host of crimes, cyber sabotage being the biggest headache, so the NTF remit had widened. Mac's position was equal to the head of CID, so Viv couldn’t figure out why he was involved in an internal case at all.

  ‘Mac. Why are you involved in this case? Those guys in the department for internal complaints usually do the ugly work.’ ‘You’re right. But St Leonard’s asked for someone clean to take a look first. They didn’t really expect that it would go as far as this. They already had another bloke in the frame and thought he might just need a bit of a fright and he’d back off. But it hasn’t turned out to be that simple. The thing is, this female, whether we get her on this or not, has got to go. She’s nothing but trouble. Sinister. Yeah, there’s something sinister about her.’

  ‘How the hell is it that her character is only being exposed now? Didn’t she have to go through the usual hoops to get in?’

  He looked sheepish and shook his head. ‘Well, that’s just it, it looks as if there were . . . doors opened for her.’

  ‘The back scratching school of merit still alive and kicking then?’ She nodded then gestured to the couch where he took a seat and perched his coffee on one knee. She admired his long fingers as they clasped the cup: feminine hands for such a blokeish bloke. Viv liked Mac, and could easily have been tempted beyond friendship with him. Seeing him taking up space in her sitting room had a strange effect on her. She guessed that what made him so attractive was that although he was big, he wasn’t the slightest bit predatory. Viv had at times wondered how he had ended up in the same brutish profession that her dad had chosen, but working alongside him had shown her exactly how. His communication skills were amazing – definitely worth having him around in a crisis. Nor was it lost on her how like her dad he was physically.

  ‘I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, Mac. I mean, it has to go through the proper channels or you’ll be for the high jump . . . if the press get hold of it.’

  With the mention of press he sat forward. ‘You wouldn’t . . .’

  She barked back at him. ‘No, of course I wouldn’t. But there are many others who will. I don’t need to leak anything; the force is well capable of doing that for itself.’

  They stared at each other until he said, ‘I know. But it’s just . . . ’

  ‘Just what, Mac?’

  He put his cup on the floor at his feet and rubbed both hands over his face, ‘Well, she’s not only uploaded pictures of adults – there are children as well. She’s taken them from sources that were already confiscated material, so she’s breached security as well as setting up a colleague, and there’s more.’

  Viv steadied her breathing as she waited.

  ‘She’s actually in some of the photographs.’

  ‘You mean . . . ’ She turned to the window. ‘Actually don’t tell me.’ His distress was obvious and she said, ‘But, Mac, this is really crap for
you and you need to get those complaints guys involved . . . You’ve no choice.’

  ‘Always got choices, Viv. Always. This is about damage limitation. For her to breach security she’d have to have used encrypted discs . . . Oh.’ He let go of a groan. ‘Don’t even know why I came. I shouldn’t be telling anyone this stuff, let alone you.’

  Viv knew exactly why he had come. People choose the person that they know they’ll get the answer they’re looking for from. ‘Well, I’m flattered that you trust me.’ She said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘Okay, okay. Sorry. I do know why. You’re easy to talk to.’

  Viv laughed. ‘Think of me as your priest. It will go no further than these walls. Want a top-up?’

  He stretched out his arm and she took his cup and saucer. Their fingers brushed. She fumbled with the handle of the door. He jumped up to help.

  ‘I’m fine. I’ll manage.’ This came out more defensively than she meant it to and Mac raised his hands in defeat, but followed her up the hallway and into the kitchen.

  ‘Listen, Viv, forget the coffee. I’m already wired.’ Then he brightened. ‘Duty and honour call me to St Leonard’s.’ She smiled, and turned with arms folded, nodding towards the door.

  ‘Bloody Wickham. I wish you luck.’

  He nodded, and she sensed him digging deep for his parting smile.

  She returned to her search through Andrew Grant’s emails, and found a trail of deception from Pastor Rawlins. Although by the end of her reading Viv thought that the pastor had met his match. Their communication began as a discussion but ended in the strategic language used in military campaigns. Pastor Rawlins had found many ways to avoid telling Grant what had happened to this amount or that amount, and his exploitation of the Old Testament as illustration was admirable. Grant was politely persistent and Rawlins, clearly rattled, started to say that Grant had the devil in him.

  Viv laughed and shook her head in disbelief. How come an intelligent man, as Grant must be to have the job that he did, put up with that kind of tosh? Grant continued to be polite and slightly deferential until the final two emails where he demanded to know where the money was and Pastor Rawlins retorted, ‘God is taking care of it.’ Grant tetchily asked for God’s bank details. Viv laughed out loud.

  Then the correspondence ceased. The dates on the emails were from two months ago and now the Grants had disappeared. Viv wondered if she could find the pastor and checked her diary for a time when she could return to Aberdeen. She found a church website which stated the times of the Brethren’s meetings. Sunday was not especially sacred, because they met every evening for ‘prayer and praise’. It was a full- time occupation to be part of this group.

  Viv recalled her own childhood worship with the Band of Hope. She’d loved it because all they did was sing happy songs, and give out prizes for good attendance. She’d won The Mill on the Floss, printed on really thin paper and in a tiny typeface. She mused that they’d inadvertently introduced her to feminism through the words of George Eliot. Humming a tune from an evangelical hymn, she pondered what to do next. There was so little on the Brethren’s website she wondered at them having one at all. But they did have a contact email address, so she fired off a message asking if she could join one of their meetings.

  She watched the gentle sway of the silver birch in Greyfriar’s graveyard as the kettle heated up. Would she dare return to the hamlet where the Grants lived and ask the other people living there if they knew anything? The unfriendly man was definitely a disincentive, but she had overcome worse.

  Before she did anything rash, she checked the email address that Walter had given her for Nancy, and tried to imagine what might be going on in her head. Walter could easily have given away something about his own life, something that he believed to be incidental, but that could have led Nancy to think they had a future beyond therapy. Viv’s wording in this email was crucial. Honesty was a good policy, but was this the time for it? She decided it was and began, ‘Walter Sessions has asked me to contact you . . . ’ At least if he asked she could say she’d made a start.

  Viv sipped her tea, and jotted down all that she had to do, but her thoughts were interrupted by the buzzer going again. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi. It’s Gabriella. Just wondered if you fancy tea.’

  Viv buzzed to let her in but Gabriella said, ‘No, I meant in the shop. I’ve got the kettle on.’

  ‘Um . . . Sure. I’ll be right down.’

  ‘If you’re busy we can do it another . . .’

  Viv interrupted. ‘No no it’s fine.’

  ‘Excellent!’

  Viv poured the remains of her existing cup down the sink and checked how she was looking in the bathroom mirror. Her teeth looked as good as ever but it didn’t stop her from giving them a quick brush. Ruffling her hair and pinching her cheeks, she was out the door in a jiff. The Bow was as busy as always and she slid between two illegally parked cars to cross the road. Gabriella opened the door and kissed Viv smack on the lips. No ambiguity for her. She grinned and hugged Viv whose shock had only just begun to sink in. The shop was warmer today although the toxic smell still unequivocal.

  ‘Sold that Radiogram already this morning.’

  ‘Wow! That was quick. Did you have to demonstrate it?’

  ‘I had it on when the guy came in. He couldn’t believe his luck. Said he’d been looking for one forever. So that’s the first month’s rent covered.’

  Since Viv had been left a legacy by Dawn, her previous partner, she hadn’t had to think too much about money. She reflected briefly on her good fortune. Gabriella’s eyes, wide-open and bright, lifted Viv’s spirit and she grinned, feigning interest in the surface of the bookshelf they’d brought back from Aberdeen.

  ‘I’m going back to Aberdeen tonight.’

  Gabriella looked surprised, but not as surprised as Viv herself felt. She hadn’t made the decision consciously. Where had that come from?

  ‘Oh. Okay. I take it you’ve got unfinished business?’

  ‘Yes. The stuff yesterday was more fruitful than I thought. I’ll need to have another look and the sooner the better.’

  Gabriella screwed up her eyes.

  And Viv started to explain. ‘I’ll . . . ’

  Gabriella interrupted and put her hand up. ‘No. No. Don’t do that. If you’ve got work to do you’ve got work to do. I’ll have to go home anyway and sort some things out.’

  Viv stepped closer to Gabriella and gently put her hand up to her mouth but felt her tense.

  ‘You don’t have to do that either.’

  Viv said gently, ‘Give me all the numbers I’ll ever need to contact you.’

  At this Gabriella seemed to relax and she dropped her head onto Viv’s shoulder.

  ‘This is bad. I’m already in the shit.’ Gabriella took out a little tartan-covered book and started giving Viv her numbers. ‘I can never remember my mobile.’

  Viv did the same. They chatted awkwardly until a client came in and Viv no longer had an excuse to stay. She rubbed Gabriella’s back and said, ‘I’ll phone you later.’ Then remembering how irritated she got when people were too general, she added, ‘About ten o’clock if I’ve got a signal.’ Gabriella’s parting smile was enough to warm anyone’s cockles.

  Chapter Twelve

  The journey to Aberdeen in the dark with a starry sky and a nip in the air was almost as beautiful as in daylight. It took her forty minutes to get out of Edinburgh and before she saw the Forth rail bridge and lights twinkling all along the Fife coast. She’d forgotten her iPod and had to settle for the Bridge Over Troubled Water CD. No hardship there. She pressed repeat and sang like no one was listening. ‘Jubilation! She loves me again, I fall on the floor and I’m laughing . . . ’ It would take a hard heart not to be lifted by that and Viv was already flying. By the time she reached the outskirts of Aberdeen she was hoarse.

  The atmosphere felt entirely different as soon as she turned up the track towards the Grants’s farmhouse. Alm
ost blinded by a security light, she reversed out of its range before getting out of the car. The light stayed on for its thirty-second setting, and Viv, careful to avoid it, skirted along the edge of the hedge, then against the side of the house before she reached the walls of the barn. She asked herself what the hell she was doing – she should have gone straight to the other houses in the hamlet. There wasn’t anyone here to answer her questions.

  The door to the chicken shed was closed and had been secured with a padlock. Why? There was nothing in it apart from remnants of straw. Had she missed something? The barn beyond was open and a Zetor tractor was parked with its trailer sticking out into the yard. Viv stepped cautiously towards it, the condensation from her shallow breath leading the way. The engine was still warm and was making noises of contraction as it cooled.

  Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. In the far corner, sitting on top of wooden pallets, there were two huge unopened sacks containing fertiliser pellets. The concrete floor was marked by mud from tyre tracks left by other, smaller bits of machinery. She took out her torch and followed tracks near the right-hand wall. She spotted a straggle of straw sticking out of what turned out to be a hatch in the floor. There wasn’t much evidence of straw anywhere in the barn, which struck her as odd. She crouched to take a closer look and a split second later she sensed a weightless step, then heard a light thud.

  There was a bright light in the tiny space. It mightn’t have been bright by anyone else’s standards, but with a searing pain beneath her occipital bone, Viv’s eyes were in no state to be tested. Bit by bit the room came into focus and she gradually and very gently moved her head to the right and left. She was alone, in the chicken shed, except for the forty-watt bulb dangling from the ceiling. She pushed herself up the wall of the wooden enclosure. Her gloved hands were covered in straw from the floor. She gripped the edge of a row of nesting boxes, just below her eye level, and levered herself onto her feet. Viv swayed, feeling nauseating pain in the back of her head. As she rubbed her hand across her neck she caught her glove on a spot of what must be dried blood. Her head started to spin and she sank to her knees, remaining on all fours for a few minutes and fighting the metallic taste in her mouth. Eventually, hand over hand she walked herself back up the wall until she was upright. She dropped her head onto her crossed arms, then tried to stretch. Viv patted her pockets: they’d been emptied. The light bulb dangling from the ceiling was a temporary fixture and she traced its make-shift wiring along hooks on the roof and down the wall towards the edge of the door. Why would they, whoever they were, bother to fix up a light when they clearly had no concerns about knocking her out? Did they plan to interrogate her? Viv wasn’t good at feeling sick and again fought the burn rising up her throat. She took a few deep breaths and the cold sweat passed, but the pain in her head didn’t ease. Leaning against the wall she thought about her assailant, the likely candidate being the bloke she had encountered here on her last visit. What was he so afraid of?