Chapter 12
The first thing Reid saw as he reached the first floor offices was Sheila, leaning against the corridor wall outside the ladies'. He decided a longer wait would do Mr. Empey the world of good.
"Sheila. How's Mrs. Ainslie?"
"Oh, OK, sarge. She's just freshening up before I get McGowan to take her home." Seeing Reid was taken aback at this information, she clarified, "She basically told me everything she wanted to say before we even got into an interview room. Turns out she found a notebook in Tom's room very similar to the one in Dunsmore's house, and thought we should have it."
"Sound judge," replied Reid, as Sheila drew a slim black notebook from her jacket pocket. It was, indeed, almost identical to the book Reid had unearthed at the house in Fairfax Road. She flicked to its final page and stood beside him so they could both read it.
"Looks like a list of internal phone numbers to me," surmised her sergeant.
"And I'm willing to bet a month's beer money – sorry, sarge – that they're the extension numbers at Gold Star. I haven't checked it yet, but I still want to see if there's any internal phone record showing who called who within the warehouse. I dare say Ms Ellis can help us with that. I do remember thinking that they had quite a sophisticated-looking telecom system, for such a down-at-heel operation."
Reid thought for a moment and checked what time it was. "You sort things with McGowan and see Mrs. Ainslie down to the yard, and I'll meet you there in five minutes. If we get cracking, we can be down at the cash and carry before Empey returns, and I might even have the name of his accountant if I play my cards right. I'll just give Gryff a bell first."
**********
"Well, about time!" Empey almost exploded with outraged impatience, as Reid handed him a pile of ledgers.
"I apologise for the delay, Mr. Empey, but we have evidence procedures that need to be followed. If you'll bear with me for just a minute or two longer, I'll get Sergeant Coleman here to issue you with a receipt for them, all right?"
Still grumbling like a volcano, Empey dragged himself over to the desk while Gryff laboriously wrote out an extra-well detailed receipt, pushed the book towards Empey for a signature, and then spent a couple of minutes trying to find him a pen that worked – completely ignoring the fact that the one he had just used himself was lying underneath the counter.
Reid seized his opportunity. "You'll be able to get them to your accountant now, Mr. Empey," he said, laying a hand on the counter beside the books to underline his point.
The unwary Empey answered, "Yes, he wants to make an early start on them tomorrow, so I thought it best to pick them up today."
"Of course, of course," said Reid, and then, as Empey finally got to sign the receipt, "See that Mr. Empey gets a taxi, Sergeant, will you?"
Gryff nodded and gave a syrupy smile, and Reid, without another word, disappeared through the doors and almost sprinted down the corridor to the rear exit. Sheila had the Vectra running and ready to go, and in less than ten minutes they were parked at the warehouse.
"Empey's probably still trying to get away from Gryff," explained Reid. "He's got the best stock of time-wasting tactics I've ever seen."
"Did you find out who his accountant was?" enquired Boydeau, as she automatically took Reid's Rothmans from his hand, threw them into the back seat, and locked the car. He stood there glaring at her for a second, then gave up.
"Gryff was going to order a cab to take him there, so with a bit of luck..." he broke off as his mobile rang. "Gryff?...Nice one, that's great." Turning to Sheila as they approached the cash and carry entrance, he said, "Ashbourne's, on Prince Albert Road." Speaking into the phone again, he went on, "You still there, Gryff? Good. Get hold of Gent and Jordan, have them go over to Ashbourne's and make sure we've not been thrown a red herring...cheers."
"You think Empey might have sussed it?" asked Sheila quietly, seeing Ms Ellis' head was moving in their direction like Jodrell Bank.
"No point in chancing it," replied Reid, then to the frosty receptionist, "Good afternoon, Ms Ellis..."
She stared pointedly at the clock on the wall. It showed half-past four.
"What, do you close early today or something?" asked Boydeau, bluntly, intentionally putting Ellis on the back foot.
"No, of course not, we keep trade hours!" Ms Ellis bristled defensively. "It's just that ... Mr. Empey isn't here right now."
"Ah, that's because he's been at the police station, collecting the account books." Reid smiled warmly and leaned on the high reception desk as if he were having a chat with an old friend. "Quite a high-tech phone system you've got there." He nodded at the switchboard and the receptionist brightened up noticeably at this unlikely man taking an interest in her work.
"State of the art," she replied with pride. "It's all computerised..." she tapped a few keys on her PC and swung the screen round so the detectives could see it. "If I click on this, it shows me all the calls presently in the system. Click on this, and I can see how long a particular call has lasted. And it has excellent voicemail features too."
"Very impressive!" enthused Reid. "And does it store all this information as well?"
"Of course! Here, for example, is a list of all the calls I made yesterday, to customers with outstanding accounts."
By now, Reid had come round behind the reception desk and was nodding appreciatively at Ms Ellis' running commentary. "I bet, though, you can't get it to tell you...oh, I don't know...say, who was phoning who in the warehouse two days ago!"
Ellis snorted in derision. "Just you watch this." She punched some keys, clicked the mouse, and up came a list of calls from the Tuesday.
"Printable too?" asked Reid, and almost at once the list was churning out of the printer at Ms Ellis' side. She handed it to him almost triumphantly.
"That must make your work a lot easier," he said with feeling.
"I don't know what I did without it. The best thing Mr. Empey ever did was to have this system installed."
Reid had surreptitiously handed the list to Boydeau, who turned her back on him and strolled over to the notice board. She pretended to read it as she scanned the call log and compared the numbers on it with the extension numbers in Tom Ainslie's book. She saw at once that Empey's extension was listed on quite a few occasions – not in itself remarkable - but also that on their second visit to Empey, he had terminated an internal call. She consulted the list once more. It had been to Jack Richardson. Now that was interesting.
Reid was still making telephone small talk with Ms Ellis, who was now wreathed in smiles, and wished them a pleasant evening as they took their farewells.
"I wonder how long it'll take her to realise we didn't actually do anything but talk to her?" smiled Boydeau, as they got back into the car.
"Just drive," ordered Reid, "and bloody well give me those Rothmans back."
**********
"So, first thing in the morning, we'll go back and have a talk with Jack Richardson," suggested Sheila, as Reid puffed a cloud of smoke high into the air.
They had taken the scenic route back to the nick, at Reid's insistence, and had stopped halfway so he could have a fag without polluting the car. Boydeau had parked up on a long stretch of road overlooking Elmheath Common, which stretched from the foot of the quarry to the distant glimmering expanse of Lyne Water. The warm evening made it a pleasant place to stop and take stock, and they leaned companionably together on the side of the car, taking in the view.
"I'd like to go over what we have on him so far, sarge, back at the office. I know we've got him listed on the payroll and personnel records, but I don't think we ever found so much as a parking ticket against him on the PNC."
Reid considered his cigarette as he finished it. "Yeeesss," he said, looking down at the ground, but Boydeau could tell his mind was now goodness knows where, doing goodness knows what.
"And then I thought that we could sneak into the DCI's office late tonight, and decorate it with toilet paper and shaving foam. How does that sound?"
"Mmmm? Oh, yes, no problem." There was a long pause, during which neither of them spoke, and then Reid said sullenly, "I suppose you think you're bloody clever."
Sheila grinned and merely replied, "I'll get on with the paperwork, sarge."
He pointed his cigarette packet at her. "You do that, constable. And if you find so much as a full stop that doesn't look right, you let me know."
They drove back to Northcote in silence, and Sheila was surprised when Reid got straight out of her car, grunted, " 'Night!" and made for his own vehicle, all while lighting up again.
"Sarge!" she called, in a mock-plaintive tone, "I didn't mean it about BB's office!"
Reid waved at her without turning round, got in the car, slammed it into gear, and revved off out of the parking yard. Sheila stayed where she was, trying hard to figure out what was going on in that man's head. She appreciated full well the problems he'd had to work through, and it was becoming more and more apparent that he still had a long way to go with them. It didn't, however, affect her confidence in him as a police officer. Even his severe drug habit hadn't done that, before he'd gone to Denton. As it was, she trusted him with her life, or, for that matter, the life of anyone he was called on to work with.
But at times like this, she wished he was more grounded, so that she could bounce ideas off him for longer, as she'd wanted to earlier; things worked so much better when he was in tune. She sighed, and got out of the car only to find, to her horror, that DI Pyle himself was advancing down the stairs into the empty yard. It was too late to dive back into her car; she had no alternative but to carry on, and her heart was in her mouth as they passed each other. They exchanged cursory nods and she muttered a polite (if monotone), "'Night, guv." She was almost inside the back door of the station when "Boydeau!" rang out through the air.
Leaning back around the porch, she replied, "Yes, guv?"
"Where's Reid? I wanted a word with him."
Mentally crossing her fingers that Pyle hadn't already looked in CID, she answered, "I think he's upstairs, sir. I've just got back myself." She fervently hoped that Pyle had no idea what Reid's car looked like.
The surly inspector harrumphed, shook his head, and said, "Never mind. It'll wait till tomorrow. But you tell him I want to see him!" He stabbed the air with his finger for emphasis.
"Will do, guv'nor. Goodnight." Before anything further could transpire, Sheila put herself on the right side of the station doors and made for her office, blowing her cheeks out with relief. Gryff was approaching her from the opposite direction.
"Where's DS Reid?" he asked, unusually grim-faced.
"What am I, chopped liver?"
"No, seriously, Sheila, there's been a 999 shout to the Gold Star Cash and Carry not five minutes since. The place is on fire like enough to burn down."