by Ed James
Vicky sat on a chair opposite, the plastic cold beneath her, and got out her notebook and pen. “When was the last time you saw Mr Joyce?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Paul got called out on a delivery last thing.”
She made a note. “What sort of delivery?”
“Tatties. It’s all we do here.” Murison fiddled with his computer. “We had an order for three hundred kilos.”
“When?”
“Call came in about half four. Paul went out not long after.”
Vicky noted it down on her timeline — the area to the left was becoming crowded. “Was there anything strange about the order?”
“Not really.”
“Him not coming into work this morning didn’t strike you as odd?”
“Seen it all in this game, hen. Thought he’d just pissed off to the boozer last night. Liverpool were on the telly. As I say, he’s not been in the day, but that happens with some of our boys, especially when there’s football on in a pub.”
“Did this happen often with Paul?”
Murison shrugged. “Occasionally.”
“Where was this delivery going to?”
“Dundee somewhere. I’ll need to check and get back to you.” Murison lifted up his keyboard and dropped it, a cloud of dust shooting up. “We’re a bit disorganised just now. My PA’s just gone on maternity leave and the temp’s not exactly hit the ground running. I can’t really afford to pay somebody who knows what they’re doing.”
“When he did this delivery, I assume Paul would’ve taken one of your vans?”
Murison nodded. “I’m one down. Happens a fair amount. I trust my lads until they start taking the piss. Then I come down on them like a ton of tatties.”
“Is Paul well liked here?”
“He is, aye.” Murison cackled. “Not all of my boys are, but he’s a good lad. Everybody likes him.”
“Anyone want to cause him harm?”
“Hardly.” Murison stared at the desk. “Gets on with all the lads. Scots, the couple of English boys we’ve got and all the foreign laddies.”
“You said he’s a drinker?”
“Aye. Few pints of lager a couple of nights a week. Occasionally, he’ll go off on one. That’s it. Boy isn’t a fighter if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Does he gamble?”
“Not that I know.”
“Fine. Please get in touch with DC Considine when your memory’s jogged.”
Considine handed him a business card. “Any time, day or night.”
“That right, son?” Murison laughed as he reached for the plate. “We done here?”
Vicky got to her feet. “We will return if we don’t hear from you.”
“First thing after my roll, I swear.”
Vicky led them back out of the office. “I haven’t had a mince roll in years.”
“A mince roll?” Considine scowled. “That’s just rank.”
“My granny used to make them. Fry some mince, shove it on a roll with butter. Perfect.”
“Surprised you’ve made it to forty.”
Vicky stopped at the top of the stairs, hands on hips. “I’m thirty-five.”
Chapter Nine
I’ll need to drop these off in the lab.” Considine held up the notes, the evidence bags flapping in the wind.
“See you up there.” Vicky scowled at the blue 1-Series squatting in her space again, then marched across the car park, entering the building and parting ways with Considine.
Sergeant Davies was dealing with an elderly couple as they stabbed fingers at him. “You need to have a word with him, sonny!”
She swiped through the security door and dodged her way along the corridor, busy with uniform coming back from their lunch breaks. She climbed the stairs at the end, the metal resonating with each step, then swiped through to their office space, Forrester’s office and ten desks overlooking the car park. The place was almost empty, the usual smell of body odour replaced by print toner and damp.
Vicky stopped by her desk, hand on hip. A blue overcoat was folded on her chair. A navy leather document pouch embossed with EMac lay on the desk. She looked across the room. The door to Forrester’s office was shut, the lights off.
She leaned across the desk and waved her hand in front of Karen’s face. “Seen Forrester?”
“Not for ages.” Karen took her earphones out and sighed. She stretched out, her green blouse riding up her slight belly, and tugged her brown hair back into a ponytail, tying it with a scrunchie. “He’s had that new DS in his office all morning. They’ve gone for a meeting with the big knobs, I think.”
“DCI Raven?”
“Think so.” Karen rested the headphones on the desk, the plastic tapping on the wood as it settled. “You had lunch yet, Vicks?”
“Not yet. You?”
“Nope. I’m starving.” Karen grabbed her jacket while Vicky retrieved her purse, checking she still had some money. “Been out in Forfar, haven’t you?”
“Think my wild goose chase now has two geese.”
“We’ve got a briefing at two.”
“Have we?”
“It’s called email. You could check yours once in a while.”
“I’ve been chasing wild geese.”
Karen walked towards the stairs. “Shall we just go to the canteen?”
“Why not?” Vicky started up the steps, sniffing at something spicy in the air. “Hope they’ve got mince rolls on today.”
“Mince rolls?”
“Long story. It’s a Dundee thing. A Fifer like you wouldn’t get it.”
Vicky entered the canteen, picking up a couple of tubs from the fridge — cheese and coleslaw — and a bottle of Diet Coke before joining Karen at the end of the queue. “Baked tattie today, I think.”
“As ever.”
Vicky shrugged. “I know what I like.”
“And you like what you know.” Karen smiled at the server. “Chicken curry, thanks.”
“Baked potato, cheers.” Vicky put her tubs down, a torn fiver next to them. “I’m not a big fan of curries. Too spicy. I only like proper British food.”
Karen shook her head.
“Well, it’s true.” Vicky collected her change, juggling the tubs and bottle with the polystyrene container. She looked around, spotting a table in the window. “There!” She marched off, securing the table overlooking the car park and the steady steam of traffic on the Marketgait, the mill behind it blocking out the skyline.
Karen dumped her tray and started stirring her curry and rice together, her plastic fork bending. “It’s Cameron’s birthday party a week on Saturday. Can’t believe he’ll be five. Are you definitely coming?”
“I’ll be there. I’m sure he’d love to see his Auntie Vicky.”
“The joys of being single. You can just decide like that.” Karen clicked her finger and laughed.
Vicky opened the container and tipped in the cheese before shutting the lid again. “It has its downsides, believe me.”
“You’re not thinking of getting back on the scene again, are you?”
Vicky used her fork to stir the coleslaw in the pot, the mayonnaise sticking to the side. “I can’t be arsed, Kaz. I really can’t.”
“Fair enough.”
Vicky lifted the lid and started mashing the potato and cheese together. “Forrester’s stuck me with Considine.”
“The boy’s an idiot.”
“Tell me about it.” Vicky tipped the coleslaw onto the potato, steam wafting up from it. “I don’t know what Ennis was telling him but he thinks he’s the big man just now. Driving his Subaru around and solving taxi murders. Reckons he should be a DS.”
“Unreal.” Karen took a mouthful of curry. “So what did Forrester say about him?”
“Coach him. Go
hard on him.”
“And have you?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a pussycat, really.”
“Like hell I am.” Vicky rubbed a thumb across her neck, the vein throbbing again. “To tell you the truth, he’s doing my head in already. Promotion this, promotion that.” She let out a sigh, the vein losing a few BPM in tempo. “I just don’t find this sort of thing easy. It’s the one bit of the job I hate. I’m okay dealing with most of the shit we get but having to be hard on him like that . . . It’s not in my nature.”
“You sure?”
“I don’t know. I don’t need the stress and the confrontation really wears me down. He’s one of these people that just rubs me up the wrong way. I had to tell him to call me ‘Sarge’. What sort of person does that?”
“Someone dealing with an arrogant wee laddie?”
“Maybe.” Vicky mashed the potato, her fork clicking off the plate. “It’ll be interesting to see how much he sucks up to Forrester at the briefing today.”
“He’ll be right in there, guaranteed.”
Vicky opened her Diet Coke and took a drink. “He’s not an idiot. He just needs a bit of shaping.”
Karen turned her head to the side, her eyebrows pulled down. “You don’t fancy him, do you?”
Vicky wagged a finger in the air. “No, and that’s the last time the topic will be mentioned.” She chuckled. “He thought I was forty.”
“Cheeky bastard.”
“Exactly.” Vicky took another mouthful of potato, almost down to the charred skin. She spotted Forrester at the far end of the room, tucking his tie over his shoulder as he sat down, and she leaned over the table. “Who’s that with Forrester?”
Karen squinted. “That’s the new DS. MacDonald, I think.”
Vicky checked him out — tall and athletic with a broad grin on his face, his hair gelled to the side, a small tuft sprouting up mid-parting. Black suit, blue tie, white shirt. “Bit of an improvement on old Ennis.”
“Aye.” Karen put her fork down on the half-empty plate. “Tell me you’ve not fallen for him already?”
“Hardly.” Blushing, Vicky finished her potato skin and set her cutlery down. “You done?”
“Aye.”
“Need to get back and see what Considine’s been up to.” Vicky got up and crossed the canteen, carrying her tray in front of her, the wood digging into her stomach, pulling her blouse tight.
Forrester patted her on the arm when he saw her. “DS Dodds, good to see you.”
“Been trying to call you since we finished in Forfar, sir.”
“Right, sorry. I’ve been busy.” Forrester gestured across the table. “This is DS Euan MacDonald.”
MacDonald grinned as he flattened down his hair. “David’s told me a lot about you.”
Vicky raised an eyebrow. “All good, I hope.”
“No comment.” MacDonald laughed as he held out his hand. “Please, call me Mac.”
Vicky took the weight of the tray in her left hand and shook his. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“We’ll be a minute, Vicky.” Forrester’s smile was polite at best, eyes gesturing to the door. “Go prepare yourself for the briefing.”
“Will do, sir.” Vicky waved at MacDonald before catching up with Karen as she dumped her tray. “MacDonald’s even better up close.”
“He looks well dodgy, Vicks.” Karen shook her head. “Wouldn’t trust him an inch.”
“You know I like a bad boy.”
“I seriously don’t get that. Besides, what sort of person gives themselves a nickname?”
Chapter Ten
DI Forrester stood by the window running the full width of their office space, the early afternoon sun almost silhouetting him from behind. “Apologies for not having a briefing this morning but we’ve got a new officer joining the team. DS Euan MacDonald. Mac, go on, introduce yourself.”
“Afternoon. Very pleased to be joining MIT North.” Standing next to Forrester, MacDonald beamed at Vicky then at the six DCs spread around the whiteboard. “Been working in the Glasgow North Major Investigation Team for the last year since the changeover. Before that, I was in Strathclyde CID. Actually started my career in Tayside Police. Four years on the beat in Dundee and Arbroath before moving south.” He peered at each of the officers. “Don’t think I know any of you lot, though.”
Forrester patted him on the back. “Mac brings in a wealth of experience we simply don’t have in either this team or DI Greig’s. You’ll know we’ve been seriously shorthanded of late, relying on DS Dodds’ solid work covering two roles while DS Ennis has been off ill. It’s doubtful he’ll be back any time soon and DCI Raven gave me the go-ahead to increase my headcount. We’ll obviously review the situation in six months but for now it feels good to be back up to two sergeants.”
MacDonald grinned. “Feels good to be here.”
“That’s your fun over, Mac. You understand that, right?”
MacDonald laughed, maybe a little too hard.
Forrester tapped the whiteboard. “Now, on with the proper briefing. First, there’s still nothing on the Airwave scanner believed to be in Dundee.”
“What’s that, sir?” MacDonald was frowning.
“Our Airwaves may have been compromised. We’ve received intelligence pointing to some criminals potentially having access to a scanner that can hack into the Tetra network.”
“But it’s nothing without the access codes?”
“Who says they don’t have them?” Forrester’s grin faded as he looked around the room. “Be very careful what information you put out there, okay? Mobile phones are our primary mode of communication now.” He stared at the floor. “We’re trying to bring the old team back in. Looks like we’ll need to reconfigure our entire network from the handsets up.”
Vicky raised a hand. “And meanwhile someone’s listening in to our radios?”
“We don’t know that.” Forrester held out his hands. “We’ve got suspicions but nothing concrete.”
“The Tetra system was supposed to be totally secure but we found out pretty quickly that it’s not necessarily the case. Ways and means, usually backhanders.” MacDonald cleared his throat, hands flicking up briefly. “Worked on the team installing the Airwaves in Strathclyde back in the day. Specialist subject, so apologies if I bore you.”
“Let’s keep that to ourselves, Sergeant. Don’t want to lose you to that team already.”
MacDonald zipped his lips shut.
“Right, moving on.” Forrester looked at the whiteboard next to him. “The caseload from last night. Had a rape in Tannadice, near Forfar, an assault in Menzieshill and one on Dens Road. There were three muggings in the town centre and a burglary in Broughty Ferry. I’ve allocated the burglary to DS MacDonald but everything else has been bounced back to Local Policing’s CID team or uniform.” Forrester shifted his gaze to Vicky. “Do you want to give us an update on your cases?”
Vicky put on her deep voice, trying to add gravitas. “Well, it’s actually two cases but they might be connected. Rachel Hay and Paul Joyce were both abducted yesterday evening. Brother and sister. Rachel was walking her dogs in Invergowrie and didn’t return home. Her dogs are all fine. Paul, however, was on a delivery run to Dundee.”
Forrester frowned. “Do we know where?”
Considine shook his head. “Still waiting on confirmation, sir.”
“Be a pain about it if you don’t hear back soon, okay?”
“Will do, sir.”
Vicky held up a photocopy of the note from Forfar. “Anyway, their spouses received notes like this one. We have your husband. He is safe. Do not worry. Much. They’re undergoing forensic analysis in the lab just now.”
Considine held up a copy of the other one. “Should be back tomorrow.”
Forrester made some notes on
the board. “Good work.”
“It appears she sold a dog with a congenital disease. The story was all over the papers.” Vicky eyed Considine. “Did you look into the journalist who broke the story?”
“I did, Sarge. Story all checks out.” Considine showed her a page of newsprint. “I’ve got the original article. Not sure what else we can do.”
“Leave it for now.” Vicky walked up to the whiteboard and started writing. “We’ve got an active trace on Rachel’s mobile and we’re in the process of tracing Paul’s personal and work phones.”
MacDonald joined them at the board. “Anyone seen anything in the vicinity?”
Vicky tapped at her scribbles. “We’ve got sightings of a black car at both addresses when the letters might’ve been delivered.”
Considine held up a sheet of paper with a car on it. “The paper girl in Invergowrie reckons it’s a Mercedes E63 AMG.”
Vicky wagged a finger. “She said it was like a car in an advert. She didn’t say it was that specific model. We need to get her to identify which car it actually was.”
Forrester pinned the photo of the car to the board. “Any suspects?”
Vicky checked her notebook. “I’ve got three so far. First, there’s her husband, Derek Hay.”
“Any reason why?”
“Nothing in particular. Just covering all bases.” Vicky shrugged. “Second, Marianne Smith. She works at a garden at the James Hutton Institute near where Rachel walks her dogs. Apparently, the dogs trashed part of the garden a while back, causing a whole load of rework. Third, Gary Black. He bought a defective dog from Rachel. The poor thing died within a year and they sued her. Settled out of court.”
Forrester gazed at Considine. “Anyone else from you?”
“No, sir. Sorry.”
MacDonald rubbed his chin. “Anyone taken credit for this?”
“No.”
“Ransom demands?”
“None. Just the notes, which are fairly abstract.”
Forrester took a step back and reviewed the board. “So, next steps?”
“We need street teams in Invergowrie and Forfar.” Vicky scribbled them on the whiteboard. “See if anyone saw the driver of this car, assuming that’s how it happened. Additionally, we should look at when they were abducted. If the cars were there, we may be able to use CCTV to get plates or a better description than ‘it was like one on an advert’. We should get the street teams armed with the possible photos of the car.”
