by Lynne McEwan
‘I know,’ Shona conceded. ‘But if I had seen a link, then maybe some of them would still be alive.’
Chapter 29
Shona and Dan spent the next hour preparing the conference room at Cornwall Mount CID office. It was early afternoon, but the overheated, south-east-facing room was close and dim, for the autumn sun had already left it far behind. Shona shrugged off her navy suit jacket and sent Dan to get a jug of water and two glasses.
When they were ready, the dozen officers and staff trooped in and gathered round the rectangular table stacked with files. Some sat on chairs, some perched on side tables, notebooks clasped to their chests. They shot furtive glances at the three photographs on the whiteboard and speculated quietly with their neighbours on the reason for their summons.
‘Afternoon everyone.’ Shona got up and all conversation died away. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and turned to the board. ‘Isla Corr, Sami Raseem, Jamie Buckland.’ She stabbed the board under the headshots with her marker pen, emphasising each name. ‘Three deaths we now have reason to believe connect our baby milk case to the Sweet Life drugs group.’ There were murmurs and exchanged glances around the table. ‘All knew each other. All display injuries to their hands sustained weeks before, or at, their deaths. These are possibly punishment beatings,’ she continued. ‘All have traces of the prescription drug Quinox in their systems.’
‘Our key witness Imran Wazir was found dead this morning.’ Shona stilled the bubbling chatter with a glance. ‘A doctor has ruled it suicide, but since he was supposed to be in protective custody in Glasgow, I’ve asked the fiscal to consider any anomalies in the case and ask for a second PM if necessary.’ Shona had spoken to Professor Kitchen, who had promised to make herself available for it and would be formidable if crossed. Shona was assembling a strong team around her. They would solve these cases.
‘Could Wazir have been involved in Isla or Sami’s death? Did he think we’re closing in on him?’ Murdo said. ‘It’s a motive for suicide?’
‘Can’t rule it out,’ Shona admitted, ‘but while Wazir was in custody, Buckland was beaten, potentially forcibly injected with heroin, and his body dumped at the Carmine warehouse. Given what we previously found in the warehouse, a drugs turf war is a primary line of enquiry. Could this be a message to anyone thinking of reviving the business? Let’s find out.’ She looked directly at all the faces around the room; everyone understood her seriousness. ‘I’ll be seeing DCI Baird later to discuss proceeding these deaths under a single investigation, and any possible links with Op Fortress.’
She could have called Baird by phone or Skype but it was better to do it face to face. She wasn’t leaving his office without getting what she wanted. The evidence of three connected murders was compelling. There was no way Baird was shunting this this off to the sidings. Someone was loose on her patch, killing and getting away with it. Her relationship with Baird had got off to a bad start, mainly due to his stupid and unreconstructed behaviour, but she didn’t believe he was a bad officer. In person he might listen to her and they could start to mend bridges.
‘Okay. Where do you want us to start, boss?’ Ravi ventured, and there were nods of enthusiasm around the table.
‘Lines of enquiry.’ Shona took out a screen grab and fixed it to the whiteboard. ‘This man who assaulted Buckland is a priority.’ Shona had failed to find him among the STAC guests – her memory for faces was good but not infallible. ‘Vinny…’
The visual analyst jumped at the sound of his name. Shona didn’t care if he reported her actions back to Baird, she’d get there first. Vinny was still on his way out, but until then she’d make him sing for his supper. ‘Vinny, I want you to look at the footage Dan got from the neighbour. Clean it up. Also, I want you to review the baby milk store footage. Can you track them further from the scene? Railway station, bus station. Who were they meeting?’
Vinny nodded and looked down, busy typing notes into his tablet.
‘Ravi, go back and talk to Isla’s family. Emphasise she was clean, no heroin, but check with them and her GP if she was on anything for anxiety or sleep problems. That could account for the benzos in her system. We need to rule that out.’
‘Kate, I want you liaise with Dan over Jamie Buckland.’ Shona thought she spotted a flash of enthusiasm cross her detective constable’s expression, but it was quickly mastered. ‘Buckland grew up with Isla.’ Shona turned back to Ravi, but he signalled he’d already noted that and would pursue it with the family. ‘Buckland had no previous,’ she continued, ‘but check around Carlisle, Dumfries, Annan and Gretna. Was he known to us? Any associates known to us? Also, any social worker contact as a kid?’
Kate exchanged a smile with Dan, who shifted round the table to sit next to her, opening his notebook and showing her addresses and other details to copy.
‘Questions. I want to know where the Sweet Life group were getting the drugs. Who was supplying them? Talk to local users, see if they give us any clues.’ Shona ticked them off her fingers. ‘I want three fresh timelines, one for each of our victims. I want to know where they intersect.’ She paced the room. ‘Isla and Buckland were childhood friends, but how did they meet Sami? Why did they use the Carmine warehouse?’
‘Nathan Jones has given us a new statement,’ Murdo broke in. ‘But I think we should talk to him again. Show him pictures of the three victims, see if he can give us more.’
‘Yes, good,’ Shona said. ‘And Murdo, I spoke to Tony Kirkland. He admitted Sami talked about selling pills. Get a statement, see if there’s more. Suggest he comes to us, but if he gets stroppy, tell him we’ll be round to his place mob handed and I’ll be asking the fire service about certifications for that building.’
Murdo smiled and raised his eyebrows. ‘That’ll shake him up.’
‘Good,’ said Shona, firmly. ‘Shaking up’s what we do now. Everyone clear?’ She waited for the nods and ‘yes ma’am’ responses. ‘Okay, off you go.’
She said goodbye to Dan in the car park, with final advice on how to handle DCI Lambert. But as she got into the Audi, she saw a stream of texts from Rob alternately begging forgiveness and claiming he’d sort it all out and a little voice in her head piped up. ‘Who are you to hand out advice? You’re a fraud,’ it said. ‘A gambling addict husband, a wayward daughter and a business on the brink of bankruptcy? What about all the secrets you’re keeping, enough to end your career and your marriage?’ She dismissed it. That would come, but not now. Isla had been dead for seven weeks. With the passage of time opportunities had been lost. She needed to hurry. The chance to speak for the dead was slipping away.
* * *
Two hours later she pulled into the car park at Divisional HQ, a squat 1980s brick and concrete structure, in the centre of Kilmarnock. Shona showed her ID at the desk and was directed up to Baird’s office on the top floor. As she left the lift, she felt her heels sink into the thick carpet and caught the scent of beeswax polish, two features noticeably absent from her own workplace. Baird stepped out from a glass-panelled side office.
‘Shona.’ He ushered her in, grasping her hand and expressing sympathy for her daughter’s injuries. His jacket hung neatly on a coat hanger on a rack behind him, the buttons done up. Placed prominently on his desk was a silver-framed family photograph and the glass shard of his Scottish Policing Excellence award. As Baird returned to his chair, he gave the trophy a discreet half-turn, better to show it off. Shona suppressed a smirk.
Baird pointed her to a seat opposite and offered her coffee, which she refused. He rested his forearms on his desk, his white shirt cuffs rolled back, exposing thick dark hair. ‘I appreciate you coming all the way here, but there was really no need. I’m happy to approve your compassionate leave, we could have done this with a phone call,’ he said. ‘Not that it isn’t good to see you.’ He smiled with an effort at sincerity.
‘Oh, it’s not about the leave, sir, though thank you for the offer.’ Shona shifted in her seat. ‘It�
��s about a case, or rather a number of cases which appear to be linked. I’d like your approval to group them under a single investigation.’
A cloud passed across Baird’s features, but he quickly regained his composure. ‘Go on.’
Shona laid out the evidence connecting the baby milk thieves and the gang behind the Sweet Life drugs operation. She detailed the common factors in the murders of Isla, Sami and Jamie Buckland, citing a drugs turf war or gang violence as potential motives. She told him of Wazir’s death and his allegations of threats against Sami, his link with Isla and Buckland.
Baird’s frown became steadily darker until he held up his hand. ‘Stop. You have two road accidents, an OD’d junkie and a suicide. At most you’ve got mates panicking and dumping the bodies. I appreciate you recovered the woman from the water, and therefore believe you have some sort of personal stake in this, but none of it adds up to murder.’
Shona started to reply but Baird cut her off. ‘We know who was behind the Sweet Life group, an organised crime syndicate from Edinburgh which was dismantled by Operation Fortress. You really believe a bunch of shoplifters could run a drugs operation?’ he scoffed. ‘I gave you a direct order to drop this, remember?’ He levelled an accusing finger at her.
‘Yes, sir, but that was before Jamie Buckland’s body was found at the Carmine warehouse.’
‘A dead junkie in a warehouse. Seriously?’
‘But he knew Isla and Sami…’
‘Listen, Oliver, you’re not in civilisation down there. It’s the wild west, everyone knows everyone and half of them are related.’
‘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.
* * *
‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ Rob said impatiently as she came through the back door just after eight p.m. ‘Becca won’t leave the house. She should have a walk, some fresh air. I think the accident’s still on her mind. You need to talk to her, convince her the driver’s not coming back.’ He was repacking the freezer, on his knees in jeans and an old checked shirt. A family-sized homemade lasagne lay on the countertop. Next to it was a colander containing the last of the salad leaves Rob grew in the garden. At least they wouldn’t starve. Not yet, anyway. ‘Becca’s already eaten, do you want me to put this on now? It’s going to be at least an hour. The guests for the Rood Fair in Dumfries will be here next week, if you’re not hungry I’ll save it for them. Murdo called looking for you, by the way.’ He stopped at the sight of her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. ‘What?’
