43
The saying ‘walls have ears’ is true of all police stations. Detectives worldwide earwig other people’s conversations and take an interest in their business, invited or not. It’s all intelligence gathering, after all – a skill drummed into them at training school. Once Wallace was out of earshot, Daniels checked the stairwell to make sure others weren’t listening in. Two officers lurking on the floor below looked up. Seeing her peering over the top of the handrail, they scurried off, and she turned back to Gormley in time to catch his dumb idea.
‘Why don’t you suggest to the guv’nor that he treat Ivy’s car as an absolute priority?’ he said.
‘Oh, that’ll work!’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Come on.’
Entering the MIR ahead of him, she did a double take as she passed over the threshold. Naylor had completely reorganized the place. Because she had wanted to stay in touch with the A1 murder case, the idea of sharing the incident room sounded great when he had suggested it. But in reality she could see it was going to be a total nightmare: desks pushed together haphazardly, filing cabinets moved, no rhyme or reason to the arrangement. Clearly, aesthetics were not his strong point.
Carmichael flashed them a dubious look. Swivelling her chair round to face them, she asked what they thought of their new home. It was obvious she didn’t like it. Daniels didn’t either, but she ignored the question.
‘Is the guv’nor in, Lisa?’
‘He was a moment ago.’
‘Alone?’
‘Last time I looked. Something wrong?’
‘A bit of Feng Shui wouldn’t go amiss.’
Lisa burst out laughing. ‘Reminds me of the old room downstairs—’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Gormley interrupted. ‘It’s not supposed to be cosy. It’s an office!’
‘Well, I don’t like it,’ said the DCI. ‘Hank, you’d better make yourself scarce. I’ll let you know when you can come back out to play.’
Carmichael gave them an odd look.
‘Don’t ask,’ Daniels said.
She went straight to her office, shut the door, and logged on to her computer. She needed some quiet time to think things through; time to come up with a strategy before she told Naylor the ugly truth that she’d gone behind his back. For once, she was delighted to see that her inbox was full of emails requiring an immediate reply. She dealt with those, then turned her attention to a hastily scribbled Post-it note from Harry Graham, the receiver: I NEED AN URGENT WORD. IT REALLY CAN’T WAIT.
Thank you, God!
But when she phoned his office, Harry told her he’d already spoken to Hank and had his question answered. Sod it, she thought, looking at her watch. Six-fifteen. Her desk and in-tray were clear of anything resembling work. With nothing else to distract her, she went to ’fess up.
She found Naylor in his office surrounded by files. On one side of his desk was a large white binder – the ACPO Murder Investigation Manual – the office bible. He’d been brushing up, though she couldn’t imagine why. What he didn’t know about running a major incident she could write on a postage stamp. Propped up on one elbow, he was eating a salad from a transparent plastic bowl.
‘This isn’t just food,’ he said. ‘It’s M and S food.’
Daniels smiled. His attempt at mimicking Dervla Kirwan, the voice of the Marks and Spencer ad campaign, was dreadful.
He held up the bowl. ‘You’re eyeing my grub. Want some?’
‘Not for me thanks, guv.’
‘No appetite for good food? You’d better sit down then. It must be serious.’
He knew her too well.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. Her stomach rumbled audibly.
‘Doesn’t sound like it.’ Chasing a cherry tomato around the salad bowl, he eventually managed to spike it with a white plastic fork and popped it into his mouth whole. ‘Is there something specific I can help you with? Pull up a perch.’
‘I was wondering how Ivy’s case is going.’ She remained standing, acting like she was just passing the time of day – normal office chat. ‘Got any definite leads yet?’
‘Eh?’ Naylor carried on eating. ‘I know I’m good, Kate. But I’m no miracle worker. How did you get on?’
‘Maggie Reid’s alibi collapsed. I need to interview her again.’ She rubbed at the back of her neck, playing for time, feeling hot and hoping it didn’t show. Then she lost her bottle altogether as guilt crept into the equation. Naylor wasn’t just her boss. He was a good mate too and had been for as long as she could remember. She smiled weakly. ‘I’d . . . better get on.’
She hadn’t reached the door when his voice caught up with her. ‘This got anything to do with what you found in Ivy’s car?’ he asked.
With her back to him, she froze. Pressing her lips tightly together, she turned to face him. His eyes were smiling – a good sign, she thought – then they weren’t. She found she couldn’t read him. There was an awkward silence for a moment. Out of the corner of her left eye, she caught movement in the office outside. Carmichael’s cheeky face popped up at the internal window, then Brown’s, Maxwell’s and finally Robson’s, fanning out like cards. They were doubled up laughing.
Daniels blushed as they walked away. Anticipating a bollocking, she tried to find a reasonable explanation for involving herself in his case. Direct disobedience of an order was a situation she’d been in before and one she’d vowed never to repeat. On the last occasion it had been a different boss, but all the same . . . Here she was again, keeping things from her guv’nor, digging herself a bloody big hole. Why oh why couldn’t she play it straight for once?
‘Pull another stunt like that and I’ll be forced to put you on the naughty step,’ Naylor said.
‘I won’t, Ron. I promise.’ She sat down and pulled her chair closer to his desk. ‘You’re not going to believe what I found—’
Her attempt to leave Gormley out of it failed.
‘I know exactly what you found and who you were with when you found it. But don’t you worry. The B Team will sort it.’
Daniels cringed. That bastard Wallace had grassed them up. ‘We really were rumbled, weren’t we?’
‘Spectacularly.’
The guv’nor sat back in his chair, enjoying himself at her expense. Same old Naylor she’d known at training school: happy to roll with the punches and not averse to bending the rules himself.
‘Where is the big man anyway?’ he asked.
‘Powdering his nose.’
‘Is that a euphemism for hiding?’
‘Something like that, but under my direction. Guv, please leave Hank out of this. I take full responsibility.’ Her plea brought no response. The result of the postcode search barged its way into her head: Camelot Group plc, an address at Tolpits Lane, Watford, Hertfordshire. She was desperate that Naylor take immediate action. ‘You going to get on to Lottery HQ? Winners are the only ones who make that trip.’
His triumph dissolved. ‘Carmichael’s already been on to them.’
‘And?’
‘There were five winning jackpot tickets on Wednesday night. Only one was bought in the north-east. All winners have been authenticated and prizes paid out.’
‘Already?’ Daniels was shocked. ‘Surely not?’
‘’Fraid so. A cool 1.1 million each.’
Daniels whistled. ‘We’re not looking for someone who just searched a bag and found a lottery ticket, are we? Not if they knew where it was bought and when. And they had to have done, to make a claim without raising suspicion—’
‘Indeed,’ Naylor said. ‘Ivy must’ve told her attacker everything.’
‘Silly, silly woman . . .’ Daniels paused. ‘Which also means she trusted them. Either that or she was forced to reveal the information under duress. What can Camelot tell us?’
‘Not a great deal. They have contacted the winners. Four are happy to talk to us if we can guarantee discretion. Their identities are obviously a closely guarded secret and they are anxious not to have personal details disclosed to the media—’
‘That’s a given, guv. And the fifth? I assume that’s the winner from this region.’
Nodding, he glanced at a sheet of paper on his desk. ‘Jennifer Rankin: tall, mid to late twenties, redhead, described as well dressed and respectable with looks to go with her newfound wealth. She produced everything they asked for: when and where the winning ticket was purchased; the fact that she used the same numbers every week, as well as passport, driving licence, rent documents, utility bills and bank account details. She had the lot, Kate. There was nothing suspicious about her.’
The Super leaned back in his seat, placed his elbows on the arms of his chair, linking his long fingers, his eyes sending her a message that there was more to it than that. Daniels had seen that look before. If she was reading him right, she figured that the news wasn’t good.
‘I’m nearly afraid to ask,’ she said.
‘Rankin declined assistance with money management, opting for no publicity. Winners are offered an advisory panel of legal and financial experts but she wasn’t having any of that. She told Camelot staff that she was an entrepreneur with her own team of financial advisors who’d take care of that side of things for her.’
‘I bet she did. The money transfer went through?’
‘Worse than that. The cash has since been transferred again and again from the destination account to offshore accounts all over the knot end. Ones that have been set up for months. Rankin’s address is an empty flat. Andy said it hasn’t been lived in for months.’
‘Fuck!’ Daniels’ jaw tightened. ‘It’s totally clean?’
‘’Fraid so.’
That meant only one thing.
They had a major player on their hands.