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 media; providing support services to the families. He stretched his arms out, as if he was finishing a magic trick. This is how intelligence-led policing works. Would you rather we just guessed?
Oh I cleared my throat. I see.
Now, if you don t mind, Nicola will see you out. And Professional Standards will be expecting you in their offices first thing tomorrow morning.
Ash?
