‘And he targeted Laura Smith because...?’
‘Someone asked or someone paid.’
‘Well, I’m going to dive back into the street cameras. If he really was coming from Cramond, there’ll be footage of him on Queensferry Road.’
‘Keep me posted, Ronnie. And thanks.’
Clarke ended the call and walked over to the kettle, making herself a coffee. Fox joined her. ‘There’s only enough milk for one,’ she warned him.
‘Then I’ll make do with black.’
‘Did you talk to Dickinson?’
‘He’s on it.’
‘What did he reckon to Rebus’s theory?’
‘He didn’t completely dismiss it.’
‘Doorman at Gaby’s club, the one they call C, looking likely he’s Laura Smith’s fire-raiser.’
‘I should let Dickinson know.’ He took out his phone.
‘Tell him to liaise with Ronnie Ogilvie at Gayfield Square.’
Fox nodded and pressed the phone to his ear. Clarke finished stirring and took her mug back to her computer. Then she picked up her phone and called Rebus.
‘Gareth Crosbie might have thrown that bottle into Laura’s living room,’ she told him. ‘We can place him in the vicinity. Any idea why, though?’
‘No, but I might have something for you.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘There’s a row of lock-ups just off Calder Road, near the end of Burnhill Crescent. Tommy Oram uses it for storage. If you were to pay a visit, you’d find a case of empty spirits bottles, litre-sized ones at that, plus a pile of cleaning rags and some jerrycans.’
‘Everything the well-stocked firebomber needs.’
‘But if you’re intending to visit, best be quick — the Mackenzies will probably gut the place soon.’ Rebus described the location to her while she made a note.
‘Thanks for that, John.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘Have you heard about Rob Driscoll’s meltdown? Happened last night in full view of a few camera phones.’
‘That’ll be him on suspension then. Oh, has Beth Mackenzie been in touch?’
‘Officers are interviewing Cafferty as we speak. Listen, I’d better follow up on this. I’ll talk to you later, yes?’
‘I might be busy, but don’t let that stop you.’
‘Thanks again, John.’
She ended the call and considered her options. Nearest station to Calder Road was Tynecastle, but she knew better than to ask, so instead she phoned West End CID. They said they’d send a car to take a look and get back to her.
30
It took the combined forces of the ACC and Geoff Dickinson only a couple of hours to deliver the goods on Chris Agnew. Clarke and Esson sat opposite one another at their respective desks, going through the list of numbers and duration of calls. Esson’s visit to Cafferty had resulted only in a further denial regarding the photo. When he’d asked his aide to put in a phone call to his lawyer, Esson and Ritchie had given up the fight.
‘Some pad he’s got,’ Ritchie kept telling his colleagues, whether they wanted to hear it or not. ‘Biggest telly I’ve ever seen.’
‘I didn’t even register it,’ Esson had said to Clarke.
Clarke studied the printed sheets more closely. Calls, text and media messages, browsing and downloads. There was nothing to be gleaned from the last two. She cross-referenced the numbers called against known users. Most belonged to fellow officers at Tynecastle. Some to fast-food outlets. But the most frequently called number was one she didn’t recognise. She looked again at the data they had taken from Agnew’s phone when they’d asked his permission to check it. The number wasn’t there.
‘He’s deleted every instance,’ she told Esson.
‘So who does it belong to?’
‘One way to find out.’ Clarke picked up her own phone and entered the number. After ringing a few times, it went to a chatty message.
‘Not here, sorry. Leave your deets, I’ll get back to you if you’re worth it. I’m sure you are. Mwah.’
Clarke stared at the device for a moment, then lifted her eyes, meeting those of the expectant Esson.
‘Mwah,’ she said. It only took Esson a moment.
‘Stephanie Pelham?’
‘Definitely her voice. But just to make sure...’ Clarke got busy on her phone again. ‘Hiya, Gina,’ she said when the call was answered. ‘Very quick one — do you have both phone numbers for Cheryl’s sister? Business and personal?’ She paused and listened, nodding for Esson’s benefit as she did so. ‘Thanks. I’ll explain later.’ She tossed her phone onto her desk and leaned back in her chair.
‘I don’t get it,’ Esson said.
‘Dozens of calls and texts to her personal phone this past month, not to mention media messages.’
‘Meaning photos or video?’
Clarke nodded slowly. ‘Stands to reason they’d have met — maybe a dinner or a function in a pub. We already know there were regular get-togethers, showing off the wives and girlfriends.’
Esson was checking her computer. ‘Agnew told us he’s been divorced three years.’
‘And Stephanie’s own divorce is well under way.’
‘With her painted as the wronged woman, meaning a big payday.’
Clarke nodded again. ‘Imperilled if any naughtiness on her part were to come to light.’
Esson rested her chin on one hand. ‘Who was it told you Agnew was worth a look?’
‘Driscoll let something slip in front of John. Possible bad blood between Agnew and Haggard.’
‘Over Stephanie Pelham?’
‘Doesn’t really make sense, does it? Unless...’
‘What?’
Clarke leaned forward over her desk. ‘Haggard and Stephanie? What if they had something going on and the lover found out?’
‘Is it worth asking, do you think?’
‘There’s definitely something here.’ Clarke jabbed a finger against the list of numbers. ‘A relationship covered up. The Crew were a pretty tight bunch; I dare say romantic conquests were discussed. If something was going on between Agnew and Stephanie, chances are Francis knew.’ She was thinking of the footage from the house when Haggard burst in, the pointed finger, the meeting of eyes...
‘So who do we bring in first?’ Esson was asking. ‘Driscoll, Agnew or Stephanie?’
Clarke rose to her feet and crossed to the two desks where George Gamble and Tess Leighton sat. ‘Do you think you could go fetch Chris Agnew? He’ll either be working a shift or at home.’
‘What’s it in aid of?’ Gamble enquired.
‘Just keep him here, either of the interview rooms will do. Mug of tea or coffee if he wants it. I shouldn’t be too long.’
‘And when he asks us why?’ Leighton asked.
‘We just need some additional information from him,’ Clarke answered. ‘Tell him we’re in possession of his mobile phone log. Then leave him to sweat.’
‘Might not be so easy, the way the radiators are acting up,’ Gamble said, rising with the usual considerable effort.
‘Tea won’t be straightforward either,’ Leighton added, ‘seeing how somebody finished the milk.’
Clarke fetched a ten-pound note from her bag. She held it out to Ritchie. ‘Another mission for you, Jason,’ she said. ‘Milk and maybe some biscuits. The change can go on my desk.’
‘One minute a penthouse, the next the corner shop,’ Gamble announced with a snuffled laugh.
Clarke was already hoisting her jacket from the back of her chair. Esson didn’t need further encouragement.
‘Do we tell them we’re coming?’ she asked.
‘And spoil the surprise?’ Clarke shot back.
‘Ah yes, silly me.’
Fox emerged from the DCI’s office and looked around. ‘What did I miss?’ he asked.