‘I was in the office late last night,’ Dan said. ‘Patrol stopped a car for faulty brake lights. Driver tried to leg it.’ Dan was getting into his stride now, relishing the news. ‘They called me to talk to him. He was panicky and refused to give his name or address at first.’
‘Yes, but how’s he connected to our baby milk case?’ Shona asked impatiently, scanning her pass and yanking open the security door.
‘The car boot was full of the stuff.’
‘You’re kidding me.’ She stopped on the stairs.
‘Nope. Seventeen tins wrapped in black bags,’ Dan said triumphantly. ‘Plus, he’s a possible for CCTV grabs of Suspect A. Right height and build.’
Shona punched the air. ‘Dan, you’ve just made me a very happy woman.’
‘That’s nice to hear, ma’am.’ Dan beamed.
‘But listen, are you going to hold him for the motoring offences? I’d really like him up here.’ Shona ran up the remaining stairs and into the empty CID office.
‘That’s why I’m calling you this early. Boss isn’t in yet. No charging decision’s been made. It’s a bit complicated.’
‘How?’
‘There’s some doubt over his identity. His English isn’t great. We think his first language is Farsi. I’m waiting on a translator.’
‘Where are you on the PACE clock?’ Shona asked.
‘We’re fine. He was brought in just after ten last night, so we’ve got fifteen hours to charge or release. But there’s something else. His driver’s licence looks dodgy; it could be a fake. That means he’s probably here illegally. We may have to hand him over to the Border Agency.’
Shona sat down at her desk and opened her notebook. ‘Okay, what’s his name?’
‘He gave the name Imran Wazir and an address in Carlisle. I’m running ANPR checks on the car.’
Shona glanced at her watch. ‘Dan, I can be with you in an hour. I’ll find you a translator. Let’s see how far we get before your guvnor arrives. Okay?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll set up the interview.’
Shona was pulling the CCTV images from the whiteboard when she heard a noise behind her. DC Kate Irving hung up her coat. ‘Morning, boss.’
‘Kate, the very person.’ Shona updated her constable on Dan’s call.
Kate’s pale grey eyes lit up with pleasure at the news. ‘Want me to come with you to Carlisle?’ she asked hopefully, her hand poised in mid-air in front of the coat stand.
‘No, I need you here. Find me someone who speaks Farsi, I want a translator, quick as you can. We’ll do it over the phone. I want him processed before the Home Office goons or immigration cart him off to a detention centre and I have to apply three weeks ago last Thursday, and in triplicate, to even talk to him.’ Shona was brushing her hair back from her forehead and stuffing papers into her handbag.
‘Maybe Ravi would know someone,’ Kate said flatly. This was her case, she should be doing the interview with Dan.
‘Why?’ Shona challenged her. ‘He’s second generation Scottish Asian. His family came here from Uganda, his first language is Punjabi. Farsi is spoken mostly in Iran and Afghanistan. Did you say that because of the colour of his skin?’
Kate f
lushed. ‘No,’ she faltered. ‘It’s just…’ She ground to a halt.
‘You see, Kate,’ said Shona, exasperated, ‘it is a good idea. Ravi has contacts within the Pakistani community, here and in Glasgow, and that’s relevant. He may know someone who speaks Farsi that we can access quickly. But when you field an idea, know why you are fielding it, and don’t be fazed if it’s questioned. Stick to your guns. Understand? Off you go, find Ravi.’
Murdo arrived just as Shona was running out the door, staring after her with a bemused look on his face. ‘What’s going on? Where’s the fire?’
Kate returned to her desk and picked up her phone. ‘Jesus. I swear serial killers take less pleasure in their victim’s pain than she does,’ she muttered.
Murdo raised an eyebrow at his DC. ‘Okay, I’ll get the kettle on. You can tell me in a minute.’
* * *