Whatever computer glitch had been keeping his emails from him was suddenly mended. Callanach opened his laptop to find forty-two messages he hadn’t yet read. He started at the top.
Good morning, sir.
Tripp had messaged, no less formal in email than he was in the flesh.
I heard from DCI Turner that you’re on administrative leave. I hope it’s all right emailing, but I wanted to let you know that we’re making good progress with the cases here. If you need anything, please call my mobile. I hope you’re well.
Callanach smiled. His newly promoted detective sergeant was understandably formal, but the message was well-intentioned. Tripp was nothing if not loyal and together they’d made an unlikely but successful team. Until now.
Callanach opened the next email, which was from his bank, then one reminding his about a dental appointment – at least he had plenty of time for that sort of thing now – before deciding to get himself a coffee. No point using up all his distractions at once when his days were so long and uneventful.
Returning to his desk, he ran his eyes down the emails to figure out where he’d got to in the list. That should’ve been obvious and easy, only every email on the page was marked as read. He tried to remember if they’d been like that when they’d popped up, or only since he’d been reading them, but he couldn’t recall it clearly. Picking up his phone, he sent himself an email, with the word ‘Coffee’ on the subject line, and hit send. A minute later it came through in bold, marked as unread, no problem at all.
Scrolling back to emails from months ago, the ones that had slipped through his junk filter and sat unread in his inbox, he found several still marked as unread. So his computer was functioning properly, and his emails were sending and receiving properly.
He stared at the screen before typing in his mother’s name and opening up her recent emails to him. He found what he’d been looking for in an email dated 10 March. His mother, too, had received no emails for a few days, then hers had made a remarkable appearance. She hadn’t said whether they’d been marked as read or not, but there was a good chance it was something she might not have noticed. The emails from Callanach to his mother had named Jenson and Western specifically. They created a clear path from him to the dead men and Callanach was as sure as he could be that someone else had read them.
That left two possibilities: one was that someone with a grievance had been looking for a weak point and was intent on setting him up for the murders. If that was the case, the list was endless. He’d crossed too many gang members, crime bosses and corporate criminals – any of whom could have organised a hacking – to be able to point to a single one who might want vengeance. The other option, and a far more disturbing one, was that Pax Graham had moved from simply being suspicious of him to deciding to dig deeper into his story, thereby obtaining a court order to look at his emails.
Callanach considered taking a sip of his coffee, but his stomach was making it clear it would be rejected. If DS Graham had his emails, it could only be because Ava had approved the application.
She wouldn’t, Callanach thought. Or at least she wouldn’t have before. Right now, she was so angry … it didn’t bear thinking about. The only thing was that Ava already knew about his emails to his mother. Handing those emails over to Graham would also implicate her. So perhaps Ava wasn’t involved. She wasn’t the only superior officer who could approve the application. Detective Superintendent Overbeck could have done that, and with Ava wrapped up in the Hawksmith and Shozo investigations, it was entirely possible that Graham had gone straight to his boss’s boss. Overbeck would be quite happy to see him crushed. She’d made it perfectly clear he wasn’t her choice for a new detective inspector when he’d joined Police Scotland. That didn’t explain who’d killed Jenson and Western, though.
The next email was from DS Lively. Callanach clicked it open, hoping it would contain a case update.
Are you taking up modelling again, now that you’re on a long holiday? it began. No ‘sir’ or pleasantries. Typical Lively.
We can all get to the mirror in the gents now that you’re not here, and I’ve taken that chair you like and moved it to my desk. Some wee bastard’s still killing people. Guess you’re seeing that on the news. The Chief’s got a bug up her arse, so you should probably come back soon and help us out. There’s a beer on me if you fancy it.
Lively.
In spite of everything, Callanach smiled. Lively was the last person he’d have assumed was concerned about him. Frankly, he’d doubted Lively even knew what his email login was, but he’d made the effort to get in contact. The beer he’d take with a pinch of salt. Lively wasn’t known for getting his wallet out, but the thought was a kind one and sufficiently out of character that Callanach wondered if he ought to be worried.
His mobile rang and for a second Callanach thought it would be his larger-than-life, rougher-than-sandpaper sergeant following up. Instead, DS Graham’s softer accent came through.
‘What can I do for you?’ Callanach asked.
‘We need an additional statement for clarity. Just a procedural matter relating to the forensics we’ve got back. Would tomorrow morning suit?’ Graham asked.
‘Sure, I’ll come into the station,’ Callanach said.
‘Best not in the circumstances. We’ll come to you.’
As much as Callanach wanted to ask what it was about, he knew the strategies too well to show any level of concern. Best to be completely laid-back about it.
‘Sure. Whatever you need. Is 9 a.m. okay?’
‘That would be great,’ Graham said. ‘I don’t suppose DCI Turner’s been in touch today, has she?’
‘No, not at all,’ Callanach said.
It wasn’t a lie, so he wasn’t sure why he felt as if it was. Probably because it struck him that Graham wasn’t just checking up on him. He was checking up on Ava, too.
‘Should she have?’
‘No, I just lost track of her. Lots going on here. See you tomorrow.’
Callanach rang off. Graham’s voice had been friendly and relaxed, but he was nobody’s fool. Lively’s email had confirmed that Ava wasn’t happy at the moment. She was inevitably having to deal with every update on the Jenson–Western case and each time it was discussed, she’d be reminded what had happened between them. Perhaps it was time they talked. Hopefully by now she’d been able to put what he’d done into context.
He checked his watch. It was mid-afternoon. Right now she’d be in the middle of briefings, and up to her neck in forensics reports and witness statements. Phoning would only make things worse. He texted instead, keeping it light and brief, making sure he didn’t reference work.
Hi, wondering if you have time to get a coffee? No rush but this week would be good.
Luc.
For the hour that followed he checked his phone every few minutes for a response, then forced himself to put it on a shelf. Eventually, he grew so fed up with his own desperation that he turned it off altogether.