Strathclyde Police headquarters came onto the line.
‘First one!’ Detective Constable Barbara Knox crowed triumphantly, though there was in truth nobody to hear the delight in her voice. Her part of the office was empty at that moment, most of her colleagues either out on separate actions or upstairs in the canteen having lunch. But that did not matter to the stout young woman who was busily typing details into her computer.
Mr Vladimir Badica, with an address in the west end of Argyll Street, was a new client, Alan Jackson had told her.
How did he seem? Barbara had wanted to know and was gratified when Jackson had replied, in a hurry. Aye, there might be a few rich punters with white sports cars wanting to offload them as fast as they could after all the media coverage about Pattison being found shot dead in his big white Mercedes-Benz. The dealership where Jackson worked was the main one in the city but Strathclyde Police had put out the same message to Mercedes dealerships throughout the country: all possible trade-ins of white Mercedes sports cars had to be reported back here to Glasgow. As the woman shifted her gaze to the window and saw the falling snow she let her gaze linger, lulled for a few moments by the hypnotic quality of the huge snowflakes constantly falling out of a cold white sky. Then blinking as though to clear her head, she had a sudden thought: who in their right mind would want to drive to a car showroom on a day like this? Pulling her chair closer to the desk, DC Knox began to type in her own little note about Mr Vladimir Badica and why he might want to take all that trouble to get rid of his car.
‘Facts, Barbara, facts,’ she whispered to herself as unfounded suspicions began to rise to the surface. Just because the owner of this car had a foreign sounding name didn’t mean he was Russian mafia or anything, did it? No, the politically correct brigade would delight in telling them that this man deserved the same attention as any other law-abiding citizen in this part of the world, wouldn’t they? Still, she grinned to herself, it would be nice if she were to be given the role of interviewing Mr Badica, wouldn’t it? The DC gave a nod of satisfaction as she finished typing up the information.
For a moment the woman’s eyes darted to the printer next to her computer. Her finger hovered above the button then she breathed in sharply, wondering for a moment what the consequences of this small action might be. It was completely against all the regulations that had been dinned into her from the beginning of her career.
Rubbing the palms of her hands together, Barbara felt the unfamiliar sweatiness. She swallowed then glanced around the room, listening for footsteps outside. There was nobody about, she told herself, nobody to see two copies being made.
Taking a deep breath, the policewoman pressed the button. She watched as the sheets of paper shot out onto the tray then changed the command back to a single copy.
The second sheet of paper was folded twice, and once more hastily tucked into a pocket of her handbag that she zipped tightly shut. It was done. She would leave the office later today carrying information for her friend. No one would need to know. And, besides, surely it would help this investigation in the long run?
The sense of triumph was overcast by a lurking feeling of guilt, however, as DC Knox attempted to resume the task she had been given.
‘Detective Superintendent! Goodness. I really didn’t expect to see you today,’ Felicity Stewart declared, tossing a cashmere wrap across her left shoulder then offering Lorimer her right hand in a firm grasp. As before, the first minister was dressed in severely cut tweeds, her sensible flat-heeled shoes a gesture towards the weather outside the parliament building. ‘Lots of call-offs in the diary, as you might expect,’ she went on as they walked through the corridors. ‘Jimmy’s in, though.’ She stopped and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing a little. ‘I’d be interested to know how your little chat with him goes,’ she said, smiling a crocodile smile that was all teeth.
‘I think Mr Raeburn will be hoping for the same discretion that I afforded you, ma’am,’ Lorimer replied, the hint of a smile hovering around his mouth.
Felicity Stewart threw back her head and hooted with laughter. ‘Oh,