‘Aye, good luck. McLean’s been offline, so I can’t do it. And the silly bastard told me he lost his phone last night, didn’t he?’
Vicky narrowed her eyes. ‘He lost his phone?’
‘So he said. He was in here about half-one this morning, searching for it. Think he reasoned that one of his fares had stolen it. So I couldn’t get hold of him today, could I?’
‘Even on his other phone?’
‘You know about that, then?’ Kettles smacked his lips. ‘I’ve given you a lot of information. How about you tell me what he’s done?’
‘Oh crap. Was that Considine?’ Karen walked over to the door, leaving Vicky and Kettles alone.
Vicky couldn’t see what had spooked her, so she leaned forward to rest her hands on the table. ‘Mr McLean is a person of interest in a murder case.’
‘Aye?’
‘Aye.’
Kettles clicked his tongue a few times. ‘Let me guess, a lassie?’
‘Good guess.’
‘Always one for the lassies, isn’t he? Knew it’d catch up with him. How’d she die?’
‘Not at liberty to divulge that.’
‘Shame.’
‘You don’t seem concerned that one of your drivers is involved.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got some good, honest lads working for me. But sometimes you take a punt and you think you’re doing the right thing, but then you end up with egg all over your face and your balls.’
‘Was Dougie McLean one of those punts?’
‘Like trying for a hole-in-one on a par five.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Kettles ran a hand over his jaw, dotted with stubble. ‘You think he’s killed this lassie and run off?’
‘We don’t know.’
Kettles scowled. ‘He better not have. It’s my bloody motor.’
‘What make is it?’
‘Skoda Octavia. But you know that, right?’
Vicky nodded. ‘We have one at the scene of the crime.’
‘Oh for crying out loud…’ Kettles pouted again. ‘You’re going to impound it, aren’t you?’
‘Possibly.’ Vicky got out her phone and showed him the screen grab from the CCTV footage. ‘The plates have been masked.’
Kettles nodded.
‘You know about this?’
‘See what I was saying about them going wild? That’s the main trick. They cover the plates with this spray. It’s a German thing, I think, but it cleans off with soapy water. Means they think your lot can’t follow them driving to Inverness on a cheeky flying cash-in-hand trip off my meter.’
‘And Dougie has done this?’
‘Several times, and that’s just that I know of.’
‘Do you have any trips to Adelaide Place?’
‘Nice street. That where the lassie lived?’
‘Might be.’
The door tinkled open and Karen led Considine through, looking eager as a new puppy.
Vicky focused on Kettles. ‘So, are you able to go through Mr McLean’s fares for, say, the last month?’
Kettles rolled his bottom lip over his teeth. ‘I mean, aye, I can. But if he’s been seeing this lassie for a while, maybe he’s doing those trips off the books?’
The messages Jenny found went back a few months.
‘Even so.’ Vicky nodded at Considine. ‘Can you work with my colleague here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thank you.’ Vicky nodded at Kettles, then walked over to Considine. ‘Get a list of his fares. Look for any repeat trips, especially near Adelaide Place, then pass to the door-to-door team, get them to see if anyone knows anything.’
Considine grinned. ‘Sure.’
She leaned in closer to whisper, ‘And make sure he’s not in touch with McLean, okay?’
‘Sarge. What about you?’
‘I’m heading back to base.’
9
Bell Street station was full of Christmas Eve mayhem. Two burly uniforms struggled to separate a pair of fighting drunks, middle-aged men who should’ve known better. Red-faced, spitting and screaming at each other.
Vicky turned the corner, glad it wasn’t her problem any more. No, she needed to catch a murderer. She looked at Karen, walking lockstep with her but checking her phone. ‘Everything okay at home?’
‘Aye, Colin’s putting the kids to bed.’
Vicky started climbing the stairs. ‘Going to be a long night, isn’t it?’
‘We won’t be able to speak to anyone tomorrow, will we?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Breakfast-time buck’s fizz might loosen a few tongues.’
Karen smiled at that.
Vicky stopped on the first floor. ‘I’m going to see how the Grinch is doing.’
‘Jenny?’
‘Aye.’
‘Why the Grinch?’
‘Because she hates Christmas?’
Karen raised her eyebrows. ‘You know that’s because her boyfriend killed himself on Christmas Day, right?’
‘Shit.’ Vicky shut her eyes. ‘How did I not know?’
‘Because she didn’t tell anyone?’ Karen pinched her lips together. ‘He jumped off the Forth Road Bridge five years ago. My Colin was First Attending Officer. We were still living in Fife. Jenny was Lothian and Borders.’
‘Christ.’ Vicky shut her eyes. She tried to picture it, but stopped herself. She should be tempering her words with Jenny, that’s for sure. ‘Can you scour the CCTV for the car?’
‘What?’ Karen scowled at her. ‘Vicks, the plates were covered. ANPR isn’t going to pick them up.’
‘Aye, I know. You’ll—’
‘—have to manually review the CCTV.’ Karen winced. ‘Great.’
‘Focus on the area around Adelaide Street. See if we can pin McLean’s car to dropping off Carly. Maybe picking her up. See if you can identify it at all today. Maybe he’s been careless.’
‘Right.’ Karen set off up the stairs. ‘Giving up Christmas Eve for this…’
Vicky stood there, listening to Karen’s heavy footsteps trudging up, feeling the vibrations through her feet and from the handrail. She took a deep breath and tried the door into the forensics lab door. Shut, but not locked.
The place stank of rancid fish paste sandwiches and off tomatoes. Jenny was working away in the darkest corner of the room, but at a different workbench from earlier. She looked up and gave a tight nod, though she was chewing slowly. ‘Evening, Vicks.’ Her mouth was a mush of white, pink and red. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just wondering how you’re getting on.’
Jenny leaned back to stretch, showing her pale stomach. ‘Christ.’ She shivered, still yawning. But not chewing, and not reaching for another sandwich. ‘Well, I’ve been speaking to my Met contacts just for you.’
‘For the messages on Poggr?’
‘Damn right. They’ve got what they call a “firehose”. Gives them access to the whole system, including messages.’
