It all seemed a long way from the Light Programme, a long way from glowing valves and Home Counties diction. Was it true that the BBC announcers used to wear dinner jackets? DJs in DJs, Rebus thought to himself and laughed.
‘I’m glad somebody’s cheerful.’ It was Penny Cook’s voice; she was standing right behind him. Slowly he turned to be confronted by a buxom lady in her early forties – only a year or two younger than Rebus himself. She had permed light brown hair and wore round glasses – the kind popularised by John Lennon on one hand and the NHS on the other.
‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘I’m never what people expect.’ She held out a hand, which Rebus shook. Not only did Penny Cook sound unthreatening, she looked unthreatening.
All the more mysterious then that someone, some anonymous caller, should be threatening her life…
They walked down a corridor towards a sturdy-looking door, to the side of which had been attached a push-button array.
‘Security,’ she said, pressing four digits before pulling open the door. ‘You never know what a lunatic might do given access to the airwaves.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Rebus, ‘I’ve heard Hamish MacDiarmid.’
She laughed. He didn’t think he’d heard her laugh before. ‘Is Penny Cook your real name?’ he asked, thinking the ice sufficiently broken between them.
‘Afraid so. I was born in Nairn. To be honest, I don’t think my parents had heard of Penicuik. They just liked the name Penelope.’
They were passing studios and offices. Loudspeakers placed in the ceiling of the corridor relayed the station’s afternoon show.
‘Ever been inside a radio station before, Inspector?’
‘No, never.’
‘I’ll show you around if you like.’
‘If you can spare the time…’
‘No problem.’ They were approaching one studio outside which a middle-aged man was in quiet conversation with a spiky-headed teenager. The teenager looked sullen and in need of a wash. Rebus wondered if he were the man’s son. If so, a lesson in parental control was definitely needed.
‘Hi, Norman,’ Penny Cook said in passing. The man smiled towards her. The teenager remained sullen: a controlled pose, Rebus decided. Further along, having passed through another combination-lock door, Penny herself cleared things up.
‘Norman’s one of our producers.’
‘And the kid with him?’
‘Kid?’ She smiled wryly. ‘That was Jez Jenks, the singer with Leftover Lunch. He probably makes more a day than you and I make in a good year.’
Rebus couldn’t remember ever having a ‘good year’ – the curse of the honest copper. A question came to him.
‘And Candy Barr?’
She laughed at this. ‘I thought my own name took some beating. Mind you, I don’t suppose it’s her real name. She’s an actress or a comedienne or something. From across the water, of course.’
‘Doesn’t sound like an Irish name,’ Rebus said as Penny Cook held open her office door.
‘I wouldn’t make jokes around here, Inspector,’ she said. ‘You’ll probably find yourself being signed up for a spot on one of our shows.’
‘The Laughing Policeman?’ Rebus suggested. But then they were in the office, the door was closed, and the atmosphere cooled appropriately. This was business, after all. Serious business. She sat at her desk. Rebus sat down on the chair across from her.
‘Do you want a coffee or anything, Inspector?’
‘No thanks. So, when did these calls start, Miss Cook?’
‘About a month ago. The first time he tried it, he actually got through to me on-air. That takes some doing. The calls are filtered through two people before they get to me. Efficient people, too. They can usually tell a crank caller from the real thing.’
‘How does the system work? Somebody calls in… then what?’
‘Sue or David takes the call. They ask a few questions. Basically, they want to know the person’s name, and what it is they want to talk to me about. Then they take a telephone number, tell the caller to stay by his or her telephone, and if we want to put the person on-air, they phone the caller back and prepare them.’
‘Fairly rigorous then.’
‘Oh yes. And even supposing the odd crank does get through, we’ve got a three-second delay on them when they’re on-air. If they start cussing or raving, we cut the call before it goes out over the ether.’
‘And is that what happened with this guy?’
‘Pretty much.’ She shook a cassette box at him. ‘I’ve got the tape here. Do you want to hear?’
‘Please.’
She started to load a cassette player on the ledge behind her. There were no windows in the office. From the number of steps they’d descended to get there, Rebus reckoned this whole floor of the building was located beneath ground-level.
‘So you got a phone number for this guy?’
‘Only it turned out to be a phone box in some housing scheme. We didn’t know that at the time. We never usually take calls from phone boxes. But it was one of those ones that use the phone cards. No beeps, so nobody could tell.’ She had loaded the tape to her satisfaction, but was now waiting for it to rewind. ‘After he tried getting through again, we phoned his number. It rang and rang, and then some old girl picked it up. She explained where the box was. That was when we knew he’d tricked us.’ The tape thumped to a stop. She hit the play button, and sat down again. There was hiss as the tape began, and then her voice filled the room. She smiled in embarrassment, as if to say: yes, it’s a pose, this husky, sultry, late-night me. But it’s a living…
‘And now we’ve got Peter on line one. Peter, you’re through to Penny Cook. How are things with you this evening?’
‘Not so good, Penny.’
She interrupted the tape for a moment: ‘This is where we cut him off.’
The man’s voice had been sleepy, almost tranquillised. Now it erupted. ‘I know what you’re up to! I know what’s going on!’ The tape went dead. She leaned back in her chair and switched off the machine.
‘It makes me shiver every time I hear it. That anger… such a sudden change in the voice. Brr.’ She reached into her drawer and brought out cigarettes and lighter. Rebus accepted a cigarette from her.
‘Thanks,’ he said. Then: ‘The name’ll be false, of course, but did he give a surname?’
‘A surname, an address, even a profession. He said he lived in Edinburgh, but we looked up the street name in the A to Z and it doesn’t exist. From now on, we check that addresses are real before we call back. His surname was Gemmell. He even spelt it out for Sue. She couldn’t believe he was a crank, he sounded so genuine.’
‘What did he tell her his problem was?’
‘Drinking too much… how it was affecting his work. I like that sort of problem. The advice is straightforward, and it can be helping a lot of people too scared to phone in.’
‘What did he say his job was?’
‘Bank executive. He gave Sue the bank’s name and everything, and he kept saying it wasn’t to be broadcast.’ She smiled, shook her head. ‘I mean, this nut really was good.’
Rebus nodded. ‘He seems to have known the set-up pretty well.’
‘You mean he got to the safe without triggering any of the alarms?’ She smiled still. ‘Oh yes, he’s a real pro.’
‘And the calls have persisted?’
‘Most nights. We’ve got him tagged now though. He’s tried using different accents… dialects… always a different name and job. But he hasn’t managed to beat the system again. When he knows he’s been found out, he does that whole routine again. “I know what you’ve done.” Blah, blah. We put the phone down on him before he can get started.’
‘And what have you done, Miss Cook?’
‘Absolutely nothing, Inspector. Not that I know of.’
Rebus nodded slowly. ‘Can I hear the tape again?’