‘Nothing serious?’
‘Stress.’ Traynor shrugged to show that it was only to be expected. They followed him up some stairs and through a small open-plan office. A young woman sat hunched over a computer.
‘Working late again, Janet?’ Traynor asked with a smile. She didn’t respond, but watched and waited. Rebus, unseen by Traynor, rewarded Janet Eylot with a wink.
Traynor’s office was small and functional. Through the glass sat a bank of CCTV screens, flicking between a dozen on-site locations. ‘Only one chair, I’m afraid,’ he said, retreating behind his desk.
‘I’m fine standing, sir,’ Rebus told him, nodding for Wylie to take the seat. But she decided to stand too. Traynor, having lowered himself on to his own chair, now found himself having to look up at the detectives.
‘The Yurgiis are here?’ Rebus asked, feigning interest in the CCTV screens.
‘They are, yes.’
‘But not the husband?’
‘Slipped away...’ He shrugged. ‘Not our problem. It was the Immigration Service that screwed up.’
‘And you’re not part of the Immigration Service?’
Traynor snorted. ‘Whitemire is run by Cencrast Security, which in turn is a subsidiary of ForeTrust.’
‘The private sector, in other words?’
‘Exactly.’
‘ForeTrust’s American, isn’t it?’ Wylie added.
‘That’s right. They own private prisons in the United States.’
‘And here in Britain?’
Traynor admitted as much with a bow of the head. ‘Now, about the Yurgiis...’ He played with his watch-strap, hinting that he had better things to do with his time.
‘Well, sir,’ Rebus began, ‘I showed you that piece in the newspaper, and you didn’t bat an eye... didn’t seem interested in the headline or the story.’ He paused. ‘Which gives me the feeling you already know what happened.’ Rebus pressed his knuckles to the desktop and leaned down. ‘And that makes me wonder why you didn’t get in touch.’
Traynor met Rebus’s eyes for a second, then turned his attention to the CCTV screens. ‘Know how much bad press we get, Inspector? More than we deserve — a hell of a lot more. Ask the inspection teams — we’re audited quarterly. They’ll tell you this place is humane and efficient and we don’t cut corners.’ He pointed to a screen showing a group of men playing cards around a table. ‘We know these are people, and we treat them as such.’
‘Mr Traynor, if I’d wanted the brochure I could have sent away for one.’ Rebus leaned down further so the young man could not escape his gaze. ‘Reading between the corporate lines, I’d say you were afraid Whitemire would become part of the story. That’s why you did nothing... and that, Mr Traynor, counts as obstruction. How long do you think Cencrast would keep you on with a criminal record?’
Traynor’s face began to flush from the neck up. ‘You can’t prove I knew anything,’ he blustered.
‘But I can try, can’t I?’ Rebus’s smile was perhaps the least pleasant the young man had ever been treated to. Rebus stood up straight and turned towards Wylie, giving her a completely different kind of smile before returning his attention to Traynor.
‘Now, let’s get back to the Yurgiis, shall we?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’
‘I don’t know everyone’s life story,’ Traynor said defensively.
‘Then you might want to refer to their file.’
Traynor nodded and got up, heading out to ask Janet Eylot for the relevant documents.
‘Nice going,’ Wylie said under her breath.
‘And lots of fun, to boot.’
Rebus’s face hardened again as Traynor returned. The young man sat down and riffled through the sheets of paper. The story he told was simple enough on the surface. The Yurgii family were Turkish Kurds. They had arrived first in Germany, claiming to have been under threat in their own country. Family members had disappeared. The father gave his name as Stef... Traynor looked up at this.
‘They’d no papers on them, nothing to prove he was telling the truth. Doesn’t sound a very Kurdish name, does it? Then again... says here he was a journalist...’
Yes, a journalist, writing stories critical of the government. Working under various aliases in an attempt to keep his family safe. When an uncle and cousin had gone missing, it was assumed they’d been arrested and would be tortured for details about Stef.
‘Gives his age as twenty-nine... could be lying there too, of course.’
Wife, twenty-five, children, six and four. They’d told the authorities in Germany that they wanted to live in the UK, and the Germans had obliged — four fewer refugees for them to worry about. However, upon hearing the family’s case, it had been decided by Immigration in Glasgow that they should be deported: back to Germany at first, and from there probably to Turkey.
‘Any reason given?’ Rebus asked.
‘They hadn’t proved they weren’t economic migrants.’
‘Tough one,’ Wylie said, folding her arms. ‘Like proving you’re not a witch...’
‘These matters are gone into with great thoroughness,’ Traynor said defensively.
‘So how long have they been here?’ Rebus asked.
‘Seven months.’
‘That’s a long time.’
‘Mrs Yurgii refuses to leave.’
‘Can she do that?’
‘She has a lawyer working for her.’
‘Not Mo Dirwan?’
‘How did you guess?’
Rebus cursed silently: if he’d taken up Dirwan’s offer, he could have been the one to break the news to the widow. ‘Does Mrs Yurgii speak English?’
‘A little.’
‘She needs to come to Edinburgh to identify the body. Will she understand that?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Is there anyone who could translate?’
Traynor shook his head.
‘Her kids stay with her?’ Wylie asked.
‘Yes.’
‘All day?’ She watched him nod. ‘They don’t go to school or anything?’
‘There’s a teacher comes here.’
‘How many children exactly?’
‘Anything from five to twenty, depending on who’s being kept here.’
‘All different ages, different nationalities?’
‘Nigerians, Russians, Somalis...’
‘And just the one teacher?’
Traynor smiled. ‘Don’t swallow the media line, Detective Sergeant. I know we’ve been called “Scotland’s Camp X-Ray”... protestors ringing the perimeter, hands joined...’ He paused, suddenly looking tired. ‘We’re just processing them, that’s all. We’re not monsters and this isn’t a prison camp. Those new buildings you saw as you came in — specially constructed family units. TVs and a cafeteria, table-tennis and snack machines...’
‘And which of those don’t you get in a prison?’ Rebus asked.
‘If they’d left the country when told, they wouldn’t be here.’ Traynor patted the file. ‘The officials have made their decision.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now, I’m assuming you’d like to see Mrs Yurgii...’
‘In a minute,’ Rebus said. ‘First, what do your notes tell you about Stef doing a runner?’
‘Just that when officers went to the Yurgiis’ flat...’
‘Which was where?’
‘Sighthill in Glasgow.’
‘A cheery spot.’
‘Better than some, Inspector... Anyway, when they arrived, Mr Yurgii wasn’t home. According to his wife, he had left the previous night.’
‘He got wind you were coming?’
‘It wasn’t a secret. The judgement had been delivered; their lawyer had informed them of it.’