‘Susannah!’ Anthea Walters protested, but her solicitor looked at the desk top and shrugged her shoulders.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘but if the inspector chooses to take this line, there’s nothing I can do at this stage.’
‘My father knows a couple of High Court judges. He’ll call them if you ask him.’
‘That would not help, I promise you.’
The woman’s eyes flashed, as if an inspired thought had broken the surface of the cloudy pond that was her mind. ‘He knows Sir James Proud too; the chief constable. Get him to phone him and tell him to put a stop to this nonsense.’
The DI and the lawyer exchanged glances. ‘Lady Walters,’ Pye explained, ‘the chief retires tomorrow. I think your father would find that his call would be referred to his deputy. But it wouldn’t matter, because either one of them would back me up.’ He glanced at Haddock. ‘Sauce, take her back. I’ll escort Ms Himes out of the building.’
As the DC stepped towards her, he thought for a moment that the woman would resist. He smiled at her, saying, wordlessly, ‘Help me, please.’ Finally her shoulders slumped, and when he took her lightly by the elbow and guided her towards the door, she went with him, meekly.
‘This isn’t a class thing, is it, Detective Inspector?’ asked Himes as they walked back to the Torphichen Place front office.
‘No,’ he replied, sincerely, ‘not in the slightest. I don’t care who she is, and even less who her father is. With the amount of heroin she had in her possession, it’s automatic that the Sheriff decides whether or not she’s bailed. And don’t tell me you don’t know that.’
Himes smiled, and suddenly her face did not seem quite as sharp. ‘I won’t,’ she said, ‘and don’t tell me you don’t know when you see a lawyer performing for the cameras either. . even if there wasn’t one in your interview room. Will you oppose bail?’
‘Truthfully, I’ve got no interest. You won’t see me tomorrow morning. I’m involved today because I found the stuff, that’s all. The drugs people will make the running from now on, ours and probably the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency, given the media profile this will attract. They’ll interview her as well before she goes to court; if she gives up her supplier, they might ask the fiscal to take his foot off the gas. If not, it’ll be full speed ahead, and you will have some job keeping her out of prison.’
‘But I will, don’t you fret.’
‘We’ll see. I’ll tell you one thing, although you probably realise it anyway. I wouldn’t let her anywhere near a jury; she’d be her own worst enemy.’
‘What about Anderson?’
Pye made a face. ‘I don’t think she’ll find him rushing to be a character witness; his daughter told my DC that she saw her using the kettle once. When she asked, Anthea said it was an inhaler for a chest cold, so she didn’t mention it to her dad. Apparently Tanya’s worldly-wise for her age, but dragon-chasing’s a bit beyond her, thanks be.’
‘Thanks for sharing that, but what I actually meant was what about Anderson and your murder inquiry? Am I likely to be having a call from him?’
‘He says you’re not. I’ll hear the rest of his story tomorrow morning.’
‘What made him stop running?’
‘Not what, who. My DCC did.’
The blonde solicitor whistled. ‘That’s a surprise. The word is that if Dr Bruce is ever crucified, Skinner will hammer in the nails.’
‘Our big boss is full of surprises,’ said Pye as they reached the main entrance. ‘Good luck for tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘And one more thing: I might know when somebody’s playing to the gallery, but my young DC doesn’t, not yet, so when it happens, I have to do the same thing. Next time our paths cross, let’s agree a truce before the interview, not after it.’
‘That would be nice,’ Himes agreed, ‘but you know how it is with clients. They like to see a bit of drama for their money. So I’m sorry, Mr Pye, it looks as if we’ll always be going to each other’s throats.’
Her smile stayed with him for a while after she had gone, until he turned and jogged up a nearby flight of stairs, to the CID suite. Becky Stallings was in her office as he reached it, sat behind her desk, frowning at a flat-screen monitor.
‘Sammy,’ she exclaimed as he entered. ‘Just the man I want to see. Your victim’s daughter’s computer.’ She reached down and slapped the top of a PC tower by her side. ‘It’s been a bit of a bugger, but I finally got into Mr Glover’s files. I went through all the obvious passwords, daughter’s name, son’s name, combinations of names and birthdays; nothing worked. And then I went back to basics, tried the screen name fatallyg as password. No joy there either, but when I reversed it and keyed in gyllataf, then “Bingo”, as we said in the Met, or “Ya fuckin’ beauty”, the local equivalent, or so I understand from my Ray.’ And then her pleasure seemed to evaporate before his eyes. ‘But you know what? It’s been largely a waste of time.’
‘How come?’ Pye asked.
‘Your victim was a very thorough man. He wasn’t content with hiding an email entity on his daughter’s internet service, he left barely a trace on that of what he’s been up to. The programme Miss Glover uses automatically files incoming and outgoing emails, not within the computer itself, unless you tell it to do that, but on line, in the provider’s main server. You’ll find them there for a couple of months, until they go off line,’ she grimaced, ‘or until the user deletes them manually, as your murder victim appears to have done. I’ve checked and there’s damn all there; incoming, outgoing, it’s all been wiped.’
‘But you can recover deleted files, can’t you?’
‘Not these ones, because they were never stored inside this computer.’
‘How about the service provider’s terminal? Won’t they still be there?’
‘Not with the one that Miss Glover uses. I’ve checked, and customer deleted files are gone for all time.’
‘Is that usual?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m only interested in what’s happened here.’
‘No, I meant is it usual for email users to do that?’
‘I’m guessing, but I wouldn’t have thought so. Your man’s been super-careful. He has not wanted anyone, not even his daughter, apparently, if she couldn’t give you his password, to find out what he’s been up to.’
‘So we’ve got nothing?’
‘Not quite,’ said Stallings. ‘There’s one thing he didn’t delete, presumably because he needed to keep it somewhere and this was his most secure location. His mailing list, his address book; that’s still intact.’ She handed him a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve printed a copy. That’s it, the sum total of my labours.’ She glanced down at the computer. ‘The box itself can go back to its owner.’
Pye frowned. ‘Not yet, Becky,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry to be so persistent, but I’d like you to go back in there, into Carol’s files.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if it’s possible that anyone else has been rummaging around in there. If they had done, would they have left a trace.’
‘It’s possible,’ she conceded. ‘OK, I’ll have a look. Don’t hold your breath waiting for results, though. Chances are you’d go blue in the face.’
Forty-six
‘Have you ever felt like a traveller?’ Lisa McDermid asked George Regan as she stood in the doorway of the mobile crime-scene office that had just been delivered to Gullane bents, and parked halfway between the encampment and the path where Mustafic’s body had been found.
‘I might right now,’ the DI conceded, ‘if not for the fact that this thing has “Police” painted on it in big letters and black and white check all around it. I reckon the public will be able to figure out who’s who. But the same thought’s occurred to Baillie’s group, in reverse. He’s just asked me if it’s OK for them to move on.’
‘Has he? What did you say?’
‘I checked with the super; he says that he’s willing to let them, as long as they agree to go to the official site just outside Musselburgh, so that we don’t have to search the county for them if we need to talk to anyone again. Baillie’s accepted that; whether they do it or not remains to be seen, but I’ll be happy when they’re gone.’