Twenty-Five
Miller was about to head into Akers’s office for the morning briefing when a call was put through to his desk from reception. The caller had already provided his name, so Miller had a fair idea as to why this particular civic-minded member of the public was calling.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to enjoy himself.
‘Mr McDougall … how are you today?’
If Malky McDougall was thrown by the formality of Miller’s greeting, he didn’t let on. In fact, he seemed more than happy to play along. ‘I’m fine and dandy, Detective Sergeant. Yourself?’
‘Ticking along nicely, thanks,’ Miller said. ‘Things couldn’t be better.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Well, actually of course, they could. A lottery win wouldn’t go amiss, and if the officer immediately senior to me developed an unsightly and painful rash around his nether regions that would certainly be cause for celebration. That one’s unlikely, I know.’
‘It never hurts to dream,’ McDougall said.
‘Or if – and this is a slightly more realistic example – you were calling with information about that Audi we caught on the ANPR system … the one registered to one of Mrs Cutler’s many companies … remember?’
‘Funny you should mention it, because that’s exactly why I’m calling.’
‘Really? Oh, that’s fantastic news.’ Miller scrabbled for a scrap of paper that wasn’t there, that he knew he wouldn’t need.
‘OK … I’ve got a pen and paper, so I can take down the details of the driver when you’re ready.
The driver of the vehicle at the time in question, obviously.
So, whenever you like … just a name and address will do for now. ’
‘Ach, well that’s where we have a problem,’ McDougall said.
‘We’ve got a problem?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘It’s funny, I had a feeling we might,’ Miller said.
‘See … whoever was driving that Audi was definitely not an employee of any of Mrs Cutler’s companies, and was not driving it with our blessing or say-so. The fact is, I haven’t got the first idea as to who he, or she, might be. We’re keen to help, so it’s hugely frustrating to tell you the truth.’
‘Is it, now?’
‘Aye,’ McDougall said. ‘Hugely.’
‘To be clear, you’re saying that the car was stolen?’
‘I believe that’s the correct legal terminology, aye.’
Miller sat back in his chair, stared up at the cobwebby ceiling of the incident room and sighed theatrically. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr McDougall, we were starting to wonder if something along those lines might have happened, seeing as we recovered the car this morning.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes indeed. It was found on Plymouth Road, by the railway line.’
‘Oh, yeah, I know it.’
‘Course you do.’
‘There’s a big supermarket there, correct?’
‘There certainly is. The Audi was abandoned by the Aldi.’
‘So, when might I be able to swing by and pick it up?’
‘I’m sorry to say you’d be wasting your time, Mr McDougall, because there isn’t a fat lot of it left that’s worth picking up.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘Cost you more than it’s worth to tow it away.’
‘Honestly, these kids … I can only assume it was kids. Not content with pinching the thing for a spot of ramraiding or whatever, they then have to set fire to it. I swear … it’s hard to find the right words for them.’
‘Scamps is what they are,’ Miller said. ‘Proper little scamps.’
‘Bloody animals, that’s what I’d call them.’
‘That was a good guess, by the way.’
‘What guess?’
‘The car being set on fire.’ Miller had almost been able to hear the grin in McDougall’s voice a few moments before. ‘Only, I never said anything about it being torched.’
There was only the slightest of hesitations.
‘Well … how else would you destroy crucial evidence? I can only presume that’s why they set fire to it.
Fingerprints and what have you.’ It was McDougall’s turn to sigh for effect.
‘I’m just sorry we couldn’t be of more help.
I’m talking on behalf of myself and Mrs Cutler here, of course. ’
‘I hope she’s not too upset about the car.’
‘She’ll live,’ McDougall said.
Miller looked across to see Xiu heading for the DCI’s office and signalled to let her know he would be right behind her. ‘Right, well … off you bugger then, Malky,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ve got children to frighten and I’m already way over my daily “listening to bullshit” allowance.’
With all pretence at civility now abandoned, Google -McDougall signed off with a typically terse directive.
It was one with which Miller could only have complied were he a skilled contortionist whose genitals were both outlandishly large and oddly shaped, but he still felt chuffed that he’d managed to wind Jacqui Cutler’s right-hand man up a little.
A narrow victory on points, but they all counted.