The line went dead and Winter placed Danny’s mobile on the dashboard, taking his own out of his pocket and finding Rachel’s name in his contact book. Danny looked over at him with raised eyebrows but Winter just lifted a hand to tell him to wait and he’d find out.
‘Mr Neilson,’ Danny laughed. ‘I liked that. You’re learning, son.’
Rachel picked up after a few rings and it was immediately obvious that she was driving too.
‘Hi, Tony. Go ahead.’
‘We’ve just heard from Jered Dunbar and he’s told us where Bradley is.’
‘Excellent. Where?’
‘He says he’s at an official council site in Dumbarton. It’s called Dennystown Forge.’
‘Says he is? You not believe him?’
‘I don’t know. Probably, yes. It came from Tommy Baillie and I think he’d be straight with us. We’ve still got info to put Sam Dunbar in jail.’
‘Christ, don’t remind me. I’ll get my jotters for that one if anyone finds out. So what’s your problem with what Jered told us?’
‘He said Bradley might know we’re coming. I don’t know if he was just winding me up or what but he hinted that he or someone else let Bradley know.’
‘Shit. Let’s hope he’s winding us up. Okay, I’d better go. You far from Whitby?’
‘Less than an hour.’
‘Let me know as soon as you’ve spoken to them, Tony.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘Ha ha. I’m really grateful for everything, Tony. I promise I’ll make it up to you when you get back.’
‘Promises, promises. Rachel, we may actually know who Barbie is and where Bradley is. This could all be over soon.’
‘Yeah, maybe. But so far we don’t have anyone. Let’s not count any chickens.’
For the second time in a few minutes, the phone line went dead on him.
CHAPTER 50
Detective Constables Julia Corrieri and Mike McCaughey had been given babysitting duties for Greg Deans. Corrieri, ever Narey’s eager beaver, didn’t mind in the slightest but McCaughey was more resentful of the task, given that it was mind-numbingly dull. While Corrieri had used the time to pore over her missing persons lists in the hope of seeing something she had missed the first time, McCaughey just watched TV or complained. He’d much rather have been out on the street, doing his action man routine with dealers or gangsters and he wasn’t slow to tell anyone who would listen.
Deans had dispatched Janet and Leanne, his wife and daughter, to his sister’s house in Aberdeen to get them away from any potential threat — and any further prospect of them knowing what he’d got involved with when he was younger. Narey had agreed to the move readily. While she didn’t have much time for Deans’ pleas for secrecy, she did want to keep his family out of harm’s way.
For the two and a half days that they had been looking after Deans, the detectives had worked twelve-hour shifts: Corrieri was there from noon till midnight and McCaughey took over until she returned the following day. It wasn’t so much that it was inappropriate for Corrieri to be there at night; it was more that there would be fewer opportunities for McCaughey to moan at someone. As a result, by the time Corrieri got back, he was bored, frustrated and grouchy.
He knew by the knock at the door it was her but McCaughey still insisted that Deans retreat into the sitting room until he had opened the front door. He eyed her up through the peephole and pulled the door ajar slightly in an overly theatrical manner, his blond hair pushed back on his head.
‘Password?’
‘Plonker.’
‘That’ll do. Thank God you’re here. I’m bored out of my tree.’
‘Nothing happening then?’
‘Sadly not,’ he grimaced.
‘You’d actually prefer it if someone attacked Deans so you’d have something to do?’
‘Yeah,’ he grinned.
‘Boys…’ she shook her head despairingly. ‘All the same. Okay, macho man, you can go fight crime on the mean streets of Gotham. The cavalry’s here.’
‘Fight crime? I wish. I’m off home to get some kip. Deans is in the front room.’
Corrieri groaned internally. She had been charged with befriending Deans in the hope that he would let slip some nugget of information he’d been keeping from the cops up till then. She chatted to him, listened to his worries about himself and his family, put up with his protestations of innocence about what had happened in the Trossachs and generally tried not to show that Deans made her skin crawl.
It was partly that she knew what he, Paton, Mosson and Bradley had done with the girl all those years ago. She wasn’t a prude and it wasn’t the sex she had a problem with. If Lily, who they now knew as Barbie, was a willing participant, then that was down to her. It wouldn’t have been Corrieri’s choice but the girl was young and drunk yet seemingly able to make her own mind up about what would happen. Corrieri was determined not to judge her but she reserved the right not to allow Deans the same luxury. For a start, he was old enough to have known better and, much more than that, he was a coward to have kept the truth to himself for so long when the girl’s parents must have been desperate to know what had happened to their daughter.
The only slack she was prepared to cut him was that he did seem genuinely terrified about anything happening to his family. DS Narey was more sceptical and felt Deans was at least as concerned about covering his own backside as he was about protecting his wife and daughter. However, Julia, with her Scots — Italian background, was all about family and gave Deans some credit for his worries. It meant she was alone with him in the big house on Vancouver Road, something she didn’t particularly like, but that was her job.
There was something she was getting from Narey as well that was throwing her a bit: the DS was normally as cool as they came but this case seemed to have her on edge. Corrieri didn’t know the full background but was aware there had been moves going on before the rest of the squad knew anything about them. Whatever it was, Corrieri trusted Narey completely and knew she’d be doing the right thing. It was a standing joke in Stewart Street station that Corrieri was in awe of the DS and the mickey-taking annoyed Corrieri for one very good reason: it was true. There was less than ten years between them but Corrieri knew Narey was everything she wanted to be in terms of being a cop.
She knocked politely on the door to the sitting room and was beckoned in to see Deans sitting in the armchair, a pile of books by his side and his left hand running fretfully through his reddish hair. He looked up expectantly at her entrance.
‘DC Corrieri. Do you have any news?’
‘No, I’m sorry. There’s nothing happening.’
The man’s face fell and he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes.
‘I was just hoping… Your colleague refuses to tell me anything. But I need to know what’s happening with Bradley. Surely you people must be closer to finding him by now.’
‘We’re doing everything we can, Mr Deans. We’ll find Peter Bradley sooner rather than later.’
Deans’ fist pounded into the arm of his chair.
‘That’s not good enough. Two people are dead. I’m… I’m scared.’
Three people are dead, Corrieri thought. And perhaps if you hadn’t been a coward and an arsehole, then all three deaths could have been avoided, starting with the girl on the lake. However, she knew her opinions didn’t matter and they were certainly not what Deans wanted to hear. She had, she reminded herself, at least to appear to be neutral.
‘I understand that, Mr Deans. You have round-the-clock protection. Your family has been moved. Peter Bradley is being pursued. We are doing all we can after a… late start in trying to find him.’
Deans’ mouth opened, then reluctantly closed again.
‘I’m sorry. You’re right but I’m still worried. I think Paddy Bradley knew my sister lived in Aberdeen. I know it was a long time ago but if he remembers…’