Still Midnight

25

They were dawdling. Ba

If they had thought about it neither of them would have been quite sure why they lingered in one another’s company. They didn’t like each other, had fuck all in common, but they had achieved a sort of truce over the day. They were reluctant to lose that in the company of others.

Ba

‘No.’ Morrow pushed him towards the yard door. ‘Come on…’

Miserably he punched the security code into the numbered pad. The door buzzed and they both stared at it until Morrow sighed and pushed it open. ‘Fucking get in.’

The processing bar was busy with a couple of easy collars having a laugh with the guys on the desk. Morrow and Ba

She typed the code into the CID corridor and they sloped inside, both eyeing MacKechnie’s office. The lights were on but the door shut, as if he was on a phone call or picking his nose. They stepped up the corridor and Morrow tried to peel off and go to their office but Ba

MacKechnie called them to come. Ba

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘Omar Anwar wasn’t in…’

MacKechnie looked up from his paperwork and saw the look on his face. ‘What is it? Do you want me to guess?’

Ba

MacKechnie stiffened. ‘Bugger. Carousel VAT fraud? Is that what you’re saying?’

Ba

‘Right… right. Do we have to call Fraud right now? Would you say it was that pressing?’ MacKechnie could see the danger of it; the public perception of a department prosecuting a victim of violent crime, the endless paper trails and his officers spending weeks milling in High Court corridors, waiting to be called to give evidence.

‘Well… we could see what’s on the hard drive first. It’s just a suspicion, we haven’t really got any evidence…’

‘OK,’ he said vaguely. ‘Lab reports are in, Morrow, go and check them out.’

Ba

In her office someone had carefully stacked hard copies of lab reports, of the fingerprint evidence which had already been gone over with no anomalies found, over the lab reports on the van which turned up squat. She read them again. The tinfoil had opiate residue in it, cut solely with milk powder, no laxatives, no talc, just pure milk. It was unusual. She puzzled over it as she put the Anwars’ answerphone tape into a tape recorder. She made a copy and played it.

Billal answered, they asked for Bob and he handed it over to his brother. The kidnapper asked after Aleesha’s injuries and agreed to phone back at five to make an arrangement for a pick-up. He ended by saying he knew about Omar. She noted the interest in Aleesha, wondering if he knew her or was worried about the charges against him.

She took it into the incident room for transcription. DC Routher was prematurely balding and long overdue a promotion. He was good at paperwork though, efficient, and no one who got him ever wanted to let him go. She gave him the tape. ‘Anyone got a picture of the M8 motor?’

‘Aye.’ He pointed her over to a board of images and notes that MacKechnie had been adding to. In the centre was a big photo of a car. It was grainy, taken from CCTV cameras, enlarged and printed onto copy paper.

Because the cameras were up high on the motorway lights the driver’s face was obscured by the car roof. In the second picture the car was fuller, they could see a front passenger’s thighs and a hand on a knee. A final picture of the car driving back towards the town showed that the chassis was sitting low.

She went back over to Routher. ‘Where did it come off?’

‘Town centre, Charing Cross.’

‘Fuck.’ Charing Cross had seven exits and three broken cameras. The car could have gone anywhere. ‘Lost it?’

‘’Fraid so. The reg is out now anyway. Everyone in the city’s looking for it. If they’re not picked up in the next half hour they must be sitting in a garage somewhere.’

‘Did Ba

Routher pointed to a small office room across the corridor. She could see Harris in profile through the strip of glass on the door, sitting on a chair, arms crossed, watching the far wall intently. He didn’t look happy.

She walked across the corridor and opened the door. ‘Right?’

Harris didn’t look up. ‘It’s because I said about the DVD, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know why Ba

‘Ma’am, it’s days and days’ worth.’

‘You don’t have to watch it in real time, you can speed it up.’

She looked at the image on the telly. A small man sitting on a stool behind the counter in Aamir’s shop. She’d seen the publicity photo they were releasing to the news, a family snap shot of him three quarters side on, but this man looked smaller, angrier, less sympathetic.

Harris pressed fast forward on the remote and, suddenly, the wee man was wriggling this way and that, getting down, messing with the shelves behind him, sitting back up. Someone came in and bought fags. A figure came in around the counter, got up on the stool next to him, got down, disappeared, came back with two mugs. She squinted and saw that it was Lander. It was a bad quality tape, a crap angle too.

‘My eyes’ll be bleeding in a minute,’ said Harris.

‘Harris, you’re the only man we trust this with,’ she said sarcastically, backing out of the room.

Ba

‘Is everything turning to shit in front of ye?’

He didn’t answer but smirked at his shoes.

She filled him in on the kidnapper’s call and then, ‘Listen to this: the residue in the tinfoil wrap from the van? This heroin has been cut with milk powder, but only with milk powder. No talc, no ash, nothing extra. Just milk powder. It’s very clean.’

‘So?’

‘Well, if they were only cutting it with a single substance the quantities needed would attract attention. Usually it’s lots of different things.’

‘Is he a cutter then?’

She shrugged. ‘Unlikely because those guys are very undercover, paid for discretion, and they lose their job if they use. More likely he’s got a long habit and gets a custom deal from someone-’

‘I said that. Long term habit, I said that before…’ He seemed desperate to have got something right so she let him have it.

‘Maybe he lives with a dealer? Has a supply or gets it wholesale. Either way he’s well in with dealers.’

‘Cuts it himself?’

‘For himself.’

He looked hopeful. ‘Could this be traceable then?’

Morrow shrugged. ‘Worth a try.’

At half past one Eddy and Pat were still cruising in the car, listening to the radio. Pat turned it up so loud that Eddy couldn’t talk over it. A high-pitched alert signalled from Eddy’s pocket and he pulled over to the side to read it.