by Lynne McEwan
Baird blinked, the lane swimming into view through involuntary tears. If he tried to arrest Campbell the man would claim Baird had tripped. Drink had been taken, conclusions would be drawn.
‘Well, well. That’s a coincidence,’ Campbell said in a low voice. ‘What a pretty pair they make, don’t you think?’ Baird screwed his eyes up, trying to follow Campbell’s gaze. Then, just as he was seized by the arm, Baird glimpsed DI Shona Oliver, with a girl who could only be her daughter, coming towards him through the crowd. Campbell marched him quickly along the bustling lane in the opposite direction and out of sight.
* * *
Shona woke to the Sunday morning call of gulls across the Solway Firth. Thursday, Friday and Saturday had passed with frustratingly slow progress with both the baby milk case and the deaths of Isla and Sami Raseem. Tomorrow she’d have to make some hard decisions. To do that she needed to clear her head.
Rob had opened one of the full-length windows opposite their bed and the gauze curtains stirred in the faintest autumn breeze. Below, the polished silver of Kirkness estuary was marked by a single fishing boat drawing a plough-mark across its surface. Shona sat up and watched the boat’s progress. Jimmy Hunter’s Orion, out after some sea trout. She knew most of the local craft on sight now. She checked again that her RNLI pager was switched on. She was overcome by the urge to step off the land, let the sway of the sea dissolve away the tensions of her everyday life.
She dressed quickly and went downstairs to the kitchen. Rob and Becca were somewhere below on the guest level, holding a conversation that consisted of shouting to each other from different rooms above the sound of a vacuum. She left a note to say she’d be at the lifeboat station and slipped out the back door.
Coxswain Tommy McCall gave Shona the helm as they put the Margaret Wilson through her paces out on the firth. Then Shona coached a new recruit as he practised recovering 50 m of rope with a 15 kg weight attached in under 90 seconds, a test he needed to pass before his training could progress. The last of the season’s holidaymakers lined up to cheer him on. The crowd broke into a spontaneous round of applause when, on the third attempt, Shona declared the recruit had done it. Tommy came out with the donations bucket and worked the crowd, who gave generously and felt they’d had their money’s worth.
Shona spotted Becca in a small group gathered round Callum in the boat bay of the lifeboat station. He was giving a talk on the night bag, a satchel-sized extra loaded for shouts after dark, with extra flares. Becca was looking at the handsome village postman with a shy smile and rapt attention. If Becca ever showed any interest in joining the lifeboat, the RNLI wouldn’t have her mother to thank for their latest recruit. When Becca spotted her approaching, her shoulders resumed their habitual slump and she scowled. ‘Dad sent me to find you. Dinner’s ready.’
Shona returned home with Becca, exhausted but renewed, to a family meal where Rob made them laugh with stories of his most eccentric university friends. He’d had a couple of trips to Glasgow since reconnecting with former fellow students at the STAC reception and had a potential investor for his restaurant idea. It was decided that their daughter would spend the remaining days of her exclusion from school helping Rob and both seemed happy with the prospect. Shona was just going to bed when Baird’s name flashed up on her phone. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning? She felt a cloud pass across her sunny evening. She was tempted to decline it, but she’d only lie awake wondering what he wanted.
‘Shona? Just a courtesy call, really. I’m about to make the final arrest on Op Fortress.’
Shona thought he sounded a little drunk. ‘That’s good news, sir.’
There was a pause. ‘You know, if you crack the baby milk thefts, keep the local business community happy, you could be in line for my job. No one really cares about the deaths of a drug-addicted prostitute and an asylum seeker, it’s giving the area a bad name. Tie the enquiries up now.’ He paused again, breathing heavily down the phone. ‘Trust me, Shona, it’s best for everyone if you do.’
Chapter 18
On Monday morning, Shona pulled into the car park at Cornwall Mount HQ just before seven. She wanted an hour or so alone in the office before the team arrived, to gather her thoughts and plan a revised strategy. Dan Ridley’s name lit up her phone screen.
‘Morning Dan, how are you? Listen, I’m just having a wee think about our next move and I need to check some intel. Can I get back to you mid-morning?’
‘I’ve got him,’ Dan said, excitement bubbling in his voice. ‘Your baby milk thief. I’ve got him.’
‘What?’ She grabbed her handbag. The driver’s door flew open. ‘Start from the beginning.’ She clicked the electronic key fob over her shoulder as she hurried towards the building.
‘I was in the office late last night,’ Dan said. ‘Patrol stopped a car for faulty brake lights. Driver tried to leg it.’ Dan was getting into his stride now, relishing the news. ‘They called me to talk to him. He was panicky and refused to give his name or address at first.’
‘Yes, but how’s he connected to our baby milk case?’ Shona asked impatiently, scanning her pass and yanking open the security door.
‘The car boot was full of the stuff.’
‘You’re kidding me.’ She stopped on the stairs.
‘Nope. Seventeen tins wrapped in black bags,’ Dan said triumphantly. ‘Plus, he’s a possible for CCTV grabs of Suspect A. Right height and build.’
Shona punched the air. ‘Dan, you’ve just made me a very happy woman.’
‘That’s nice to hear, ma’am.’ Dan beamed.
‘But listen, are you going to hold him for the motoring offences? I’d really like him up here.’ Shona ran up the remaining stairs and into the empty CID office.
‘That’s why I’m calling you this early. Boss isn’t in yet. No charging decision’s been made. It’s a bit complicated.’
‘How?’
‘There’s some doubt over his identity. His English isn’t great. We think his first language is Farsi. I’m waiting on a translator.’
‘Where are you on the PACE clock?’ Shona asked.
‘We’re fine. He was brought in just after ten last night, so we’ve got fifteen hours to charge or release. But there’s something else. His driver’s licence looks dodgy; it could be a fake. That means he’s probably here illegally. We may have to hand him over to the Border Agency.’
Shona sat down at her desk and opened her notebook. ‘Okay, what’s his name?’
‘He gave the name Imran Wazir and an address in Carlisle. I’m running ANPR checks on the car.’
Shona glanced at her watch. ‘Dan, I can be with you in an hour. I’ll find you a translator. Let’s see how far we get before your guvnor arrives. Okay?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll set up the interview.’
Shona was pulling the CCTV images from the whiteboard when she heard a noise behind her. DC Kate Irving hung up her coat. ‘Morning, boss.’
‘Kate, the very person.’ Shona updated her constable on Dan’s call.
Kate’s pale grey eyes lit up with pleasure at the news. ‘Want me to come with you to Carlisle?’ she asked hopefully, her hand poised in mid-air in front of the coat stand.
‘No, I need you here. Find me someone who speaks Farsi, I want a translator, quick as you can. We’ll do it over the phone. I want him processed before the Home Office goons or immigration cart him off to a detention centre and I have to apply three weeks ago last Thursday, and in triplicate, to even talk to him.’ Shona was brushing her hair back from her forehead and stuffing papers into her handbag.
‘Maybe Ravi would know someone,’ Kate said flatly. This was her case, she should be doing the interview with Dan.
‘Why?’ Shona challenged her. ‘He’s second generation Scottish Asian. His family came here from Uganda, his first language is Punjabi. Farsi is spoken mostly in Iran and Afghanistan. Did you say that because of the colour of his skin?’
Kate f
lushed. ‘No,’ she faltered. ‘It’s just…’ She ground to a halt.
‘You see, Kate,’ said Shona, exasperated, ‘it is a good idea. Ravi has contacts within the Pakistani community, here and in Glasgow, and that’s relevant. He may know someone who speaks Farsi that we can access quickly. But when you field an idea, know why you are fielding it, and don’t be fazed if it’s questioned. Stick to your guns. Understand? Off you go, find Ravi.’
Murdo arrived just as Shona was running out the door, staring after her with a bemused look on his face. ‘What’s going on? Where’s the fire?’
Kate returned to her desk and picked up her phone. ‘Jesus. I swear serial killers take less pleasure in their victim’s pain than she does,’ she muttered.
Murdo raised an eyebrow at his DC. ‘Okay, I’ll get the kettle on. You can tell me in a minute.’
* * *
Shona pulled into a visitors’ parking space at Carlisle Police Cumbria Division HQ shortly after eight a.m. Dan signed her in, taking her swiftly through to the custody suite.
‘The duty solicitor is on standby, but Wazir’s refused legal counsel,’ Dan said. ‘He’s had something to eat and slept for a bit. I’ve arranged someone to sit with him. Custody sergeant is happy for you to interview him. Ready?’
Shona checked a text from Ravi. He had a friend, Shoku, an economics student who spoke Farsi and a bit of Arabic. Shona dialled the number provided. They would call in an accredited interpreter later. Was there a credible reason Wazir had this much baby milk in his car? If there was she’d be back at square one.
Shona explained to Shoku that everything she heard would be confidential. She could send a reasonable bill for her services. No charge, Shoku replied. Could Shona write her a reference for a translation company she was applying for? Shona smiled to herself. That was probably Ravi’s suggestion, the kind of mutually beneficial deal that endeared him to both parties. It was exactly the sort of creative thinking that made him such a good officer. No dent in Shona’s budget and a happy outcome for the student.
Imran Wazir sat in the interview room wrapped in a grey blanket. Even beneath the layers, Shona saw he was painfully thin. He shrank back when Shona and Dan entered, pressing himself against the wall, watching them with wide brown eyes. The vulnerable adult chaperone next to him, a pleasant-faced, middle-aged man in chinos and a pink shirt; the stark contrast in their relative lots in life wasn’t lost on Shona.
Shona sat down and smiled. Dan switched on the recorder. She introduced herself, holding out her small hand out until Wazir shook it. Shona handed her phone to Wazir. He listened with trepidation to Shoku’s voice, speaking quietly in response to her questions, then passed the phone back.
‘I’ve explained why he’s here,’ Shoku relayed to Shona. ‘I asked if he’s given his real name. He says he has and that he’s from Isfahan in Iran. He came here via Belgrade. He wants to know, will he go to prison here or be sent back to serve his sentence in Iran?’
‘Tell him we’re not the border police, we only want to ask some questions about the baby milk found in his car.’ Shona smiled reassuringly and, setting her phone to loudspeaker, placed it on the table between them. ‘So, is the milk for your family? How many babies are there? Seventeen tins is a lot of milk.’ She watched Wazir as Shoku relayed the question. He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the phone.
‘He just says it’s for his family, that he bought them from a friend,’ Shoku translated.
‘What’s his friend’s name?’
‘He doesn’t remember.’
‘Okay, how much did you pay? Did this friend give him a receipt?’ Shona could see Wazir plucking at the edge of the blanket. ‘Imran?’
At the sound of his name, Wazir looked up at her. In a flash, Shona was reminded of the night the lifeboat had been called to Sark Bridge. The expression of fear and hopelessness on Sami Raseem’s face as he clung to the stone piers above the raging water. A man trapped. A man who saw no way out.
‘He says he doesn’t remember.’ Shoku translated the murmured reply.
There was a knock on the door of the interview room. Wazir’s eyes widened in alarm as a large, uniformed officer put his head in and asked to speak to Dan for a moment.
Shona touched Wazir lightly on the arm. ‘It’s okay.’ She smiled. ‘This is a good time to take a break. We’ll get you something to drink.’ Shona thanked Shoku. They’d call her back.
Outside in the corridor, Shona stretched, rolling her shoulders. A little further along Dan was talking to the constable, who shuffled through a series of photographs and pages of text. After a moment, Dan returned, his face triumphant. He held out a page for her to see.
‘I asked for any ANPR hits on the car Wazir was driving over the last few months. He’s been making regular trips up and down between Carlisle and Dumfries.’
Shona took the page from him scanning the familiar route she’d just travelled herself. ‘That’s good. It certainly puts him in the area on the day of the thefts.’ She could see he was bursting to tell her something. ‘What else?’
‘I asked them to check his route into Carlisle. Did he trip any speed cameras?’ Dan handed her a picture printout. ‘He did. Two weeks ago.’
Shona studied the man hunched over the wheel. Without doubt it was Wazir’s exhausted and fearful face caught in the camera’s flash.
‘Look there.’ Dan was leaning over her shoulder, his finger pointing not to the driver but at the thin man with the high hairline in the passenger seat. He too had been caught clearly by the speed camera. Shona held the photograph closer, then looked up at Dan, her dark eyes wide. ‘Is that our motorway victim? Is that Sami Raseem in the passenger seat a week before he was killed?’
‘Worth asking our friend in there, isn’t it?’
‘Let’s do that,’ said Shona firmly. ‘Let’s see what’s really worrying him, the faulty brake lights or that the police have just picked him up for murder.’
‘Do you think Wazir pushed Sami from the van?’
‘He hasn’t accounted for the baby milk in his car. If we can prove it’s been stolen, this is large-scale thievery. He’s in the frame for Sami too, until we know otherwise. But Dan, one thing.’ She drew him further down the corridor away from the custody desk. ‘I want him back in Dumfries before this goes any further.’
‘I’m not senior enough to authorise it.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit. It will have to be Lambert, my DCI.’
‘Will he give me Wazir, do you think?’
‘Not a chance,’ said Dan, glumly. ‘He’ll either want the arrest himself or to hand Wazir straight over to immigration to avoid the paperwork.’
Shona pressed her finger to her lips, thinking for a moment. ‘Okay. So, here’s what we do.’ She lowered her voice, glancing along the corridor to the custody desk. ‘Right now, you’re holding Wazir for a traffic offence. Get on the phone to the CPS, have him charged and bailed. I’ll tell the custody sergeant he’s wanted for questioning over a number of thefts in Dumfries. Soon as he’s bailed, I’ll re-arrest him. We won’t wait for an escort team. I’ve been liaising with you on another cross-border case, you have business in Dumfries, and you’re prepared to assist me in escorting the prisoner in the name of efficiency and good relations. Get this right and we’ll be out of here before Lambert’s blown the froth off his morning cappuccino. What do you say?’ Shona could tell that the prospect of getting one over on his boss was almost more appealing than cracking the baby milk case and potentially the motorway death as well. Dan grinned. ‘I’d say he was more of a tea with milk and two sugars man, but yes, you’re on.’
Chapter 19
Shona drove and Dan sat in the back of the Audi with Wazir in handcuffs. She angled her rear-view mirror to keep watch on him. Wazir slumped in the seat, staring out of the window as the rolling green landscape of Cumbria gave way to the big sky of the Solway and they crossed the border from England into Scotland. Dan was checking regularly on their charge, offering him wa
ter and a thumbs-up sign. Shona decided they would head to Dumfries’ Loreburn police station, where their arrival would cause less comment than at Cornwall Mount.
‘I’ll book him in,’ she said to Dan as they took their prisoner from the car. ‘All right, Mr Wazir, let’s go.’ She smiled politely. They took an arm each and guided the cuffed man through the door to the custody area. While they stood waiting for the sergeant to process their suspect, Shona leaned across to Dan and said quietly, ‘I’ve updated Murdo. He’s getting together everything they have on Sami Raseem. We’ll get started once the official translator and a solicitor get here.’
‘Sami is dead.’
Shona and Dan turned around, startled by the voice. Imran Wazir was looking at them sadly, his long body draped like rags over the coat hanger of his bones. ‘Sami is dead. You can’t ask me about Sami. They will kill me.’
‘Mr Wazir, I known Sami is dead, we found his body,’ Shona said, taking a step closer and gazing up at the anguished face. ‘I need your help finding his killer, or killers. Do you understand what I’m asking?’
He nodded solemnly. ‘I understand. I’m sorry I trick you. I thought you would just hand me over to the border police if I could not speak English. Just be another illegal to be sent away.’
‘Mr Wazir,’ Shona began, ‘I understand you are afraid, but your residency status is not my concern. Crimes of theft and killing are my concern. You help me and I can help you. While you’re in my custody, you have my word, no one will harm you.’
But Wazir just shook his head and stared at the ground. The custody sergeant, a burly man in his early fifties, was watching this exchange over half-moon glasses. He raised an eyebrow enquiringly at Shona.
‘This is Imran Wazir. I’ve arrested him for theft.’
‘Not often we get a DI in here, ma’am. Missing life on the streets?’ the sergeant said, tapping on his keyboard, his eyes on the screen.
