Julie jumped to her feet, straightened her black T-shirt. We re all really sorry about Katie I didn t meant to Will someone switch off that fucking radio?
One of the other PCs flicked the switch.
Silence.
She stared at her feet. Sorry, Guv.
I marched through to Weber s office.
He was sitting behind his desk, face all pinched and lined. No prizes for guessing why ACC Drummond sat stiff-backed in one of the visitors chairs, DS Smith-the-Prick in the other. They both turned to stare at me.
Weber took off his glasses and polished them on a hanky. How s Michelle holding up?
I I hadn t even bothered to ask, just ran off to see Len. Have you hauled Steven Wallace in yet?
We were talking about the candlelit vigil. Obviously we ll add Katie to the
Have you hauled him in, or haven t you?
The Assistant Chief Constable brushed fluff from his trouser leg.
I was saddened to hear about your daughter, Constable Henderson. But I m a little concerned about what happened with this He raised an eyebrow at Smith.
Noah McCarthy, sir.
Thank you, Sergeant. He s made a complaint. Claims you assaulted him and tried to throw him off a fourteenth-floor balcony?
Fuck him. I stared at Weber. Steven Wallace.
Weber sighed. I ve got every patrol car we have scouring the streets for Katie, and everyone on day shift s
Why the hell haven t you hauled him in?
ACC Drummond stiffened even further. Because, Constable, we don t haul people in without a warrant, and we can t get a warrant without probable cause.
Dr McDonald says he fits the profile!
Dr McDonald is barely out of nappies, Constable. Drummond stood. The Procurator Fiscal needs slightly more than your little doctor s word before we start waterboarding members of the public. He picked up his peaked cap and tucked it under his arm. Now, if you ll excuse me, I have to brief the Chief Constable. DS Smith will be taking your statement about this morning s unfortunate events. I expect you to give him your utmost cooperation.
The ACC paused on his way out the door to pat me on the shoulder.
We ll do everything we can to get your daughter back. And then he was gone.
Lucky I didn t break every finger on his bloody hand.
Smith levered himself out of his chair. Smiled. Why don t we go somewhere a bit more comfortable?
Interview room three smelled of feet and cabbage.
DS Smith drummed his fingers on the tabletop, marking time for the tape whining around in the recorder. And that s how Oldcastle CID likes to do business, is it? Beating the crap out of suspects?
I told you what happened. Twice. I sat forwards. The chair stayed rock solid on the floor, held there with four thick bolts. Not like the seats on the other side of the table: where the police officers sat. Do you need me to use smaller words, or does shagging sheep make you go deaf?
The uniformed PC standing behind me snorted. Then tried to turn it into a cough.
Smith narrowed his eyes, lips pursed beneath that long pointy nose. Are we having a problem, Constable Dawson?
Another cough. Something in my throat, sir.
Dawson he was on the list Sabir emailed through when we were in Shetland.
I turned in my seat. It s Tim, isn t it?
Yes, Guv. He smiled, showing off a mouthful of squint teeth it went with his squint nose and lopsided ears.
Smith stared at the ceiling tiles. How many times? Constable, we do not address detective constables as
You ran a PNC check on the Birthday Boy victims families, didn t you?
A blink. Yeah. Couple of times, why?
Smith rapped his knuckles on the chipped tabletop. That s enough, Constable. DC Henderson, do you have any idea how much damage you caused Noah McCarthy? He
Why did you do the search?
Dunno, Guv. Think it was one of the high-heejins Yeah, definitely the ACC got me to do it for him.
Constable! This is a serious enquiry into a complaint of police brutality, not a bloody knitting circle.
I pulled out my phone and called Shifty Dave he was on the list too. Asked him the same question.
Fucking Drummond, wasn t it. Starched wee bawbag never does his own dirty work. Why?
I hung up and tried another couple of names, while DS Smith sat bug-eyed on the other side of the table going a lovely shade of trembling pink.
Every single one of them blamed Assistant Chief Constable Drummond.
Smith banged his hand down on the tabletop. Officer Henderson, I must insist
Interview terminated at fifteen thirty-two. I slid out from my immovable chair and stood. Grabbed my jacket.
Thanks, Tim.
Officer Henderson, this interview isn t over till I say it s Officer Henderson!
I slammed the door behind me. wait, no! He s in a meeting, you can t go in! Nicola made it halfway out of her seat before I barged through into ACC Drummond s office. Officer Henderson!
It was huge lined with wood panelling, lots of teak furniture, an expanse of deep-red carpet, picture windows overlooking Camburn Woods. Not a single filing cabinet or whiteboard.
Drummond stood with one hand behind his back, the other holding a large whisky, a golf-course grin frozen on his cada-verous face.
Is there a problem?
Nicola stomped to a halt beside me, all rumpled cardigan and scarlet nail polish. I m sorry, sir, he barged past
A tall white-haired man in a dark-blue suit was lounging on Drummond s leather sofa, legs crossed, an avuncular smile on his tanned face, a cut-crystal tumbler of whisky dangling from his fingertips. Trouble in the ranks, Gary?
Colour flushed high on Drummond s cheekbones. Peter, this is Detective Constable Henderson. Henderson, this is Lord Forsyth-Leven.
The man unfolded himself from the sofa, put out his hand for shaking. Your friendly local MSP. The smile faded from his face. I heard about your daughter on the radio, I m dreadfully sorry. If there s anything I can do, please don t hesitate to
You can bugger off.
His eyes widened. Oh
Nicola grabbed at my sleeve. Officer Henderson, come on, we ll get you a nice cup of
You! I jabbed a finger at Drummond. All this time we ve been trying to figure out how the Birthday Boy knows where to send the cards. Turns out the only place you can get all the families details is the Police National Computer.
I m sorry about this, Peter. Drummond placed his drink on a coaster, then folded his arms. And?
You ve been getting everyone to do it for you, haven t you? You get PCs and DCs and all the lower ranks to do PNC searches, because you know they won t ask questions.
A smile tugged at the corner of Drummond s mouth. Are you actually suggesting that I m the Birthday Boy?
Nicola tugged at my sleeve again. I m sorry, sir. Dropped her voice to a whisper. Come on, Ash, you re making an arse of yourself.
Detective Constable Henderson, I m hardly likely to run my own PNC searches, am I? Not when I have a station full of dogs to bark for me. For your information the Chief Constable and I request these details throughout the year so we can take strategic decisions about resources and deployment on the victims birthdays; managing the
