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  He tried again to bend his mind around the situation. Cassandra Doom would love to have an inside source on the HET. But if Mona was passing information to her, why wasn’t she using it in her articles? If Cassandra wanted information about HET disasters, he was sure that Mona could supply her with daily evidence of incompetence, and there was nothing in any of the articles that he’d read that seemed to be based on North Edinburgh HET investigations. And the current leaks had ended up posted anonymously on Twitter. If there was one thing that you could be sure about with Cassandra Doom it was that she wasn’t shy about people knowing her opinion. So, while he might not approve of Mona’s taste in women, it was a bit of a leap to her being a mole.

  A part of him felt almost disappointed at that thought. When Maitland had accused Mona of leaking the information to Cassandra Doom, his first thought had been relief that the leaks weren’t coming from Marcus after all. He could go back to thinking of his friend as a slightly unworldly geek, instead of a bankrupt gambler, willing to sell his colleagues down the river for the chance of one more round of poker. Guilty as it made him feel, if one of his colleagues was leaking information, he’d rather it was Mona than Marcus.

  The door to Paterson’s room flew open. ‘How did you get on with the phone?’

  ‘Actually, Mr Paterson . . .’

  ‘And this Mona stuff.’ He stood in front of Bernard’s desk, frowning down at him. ‘What do you think? Is it true?’

  ‘Well, Mona didn’t exactly deny she was seeing Cassandra Doom, or whatever her real name is.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘But,’ Bernard continued, ‘I don’t see Mona leaking any information to her. I think she is really loyal to the HET, well, loyal to you at least. I could imagine Mona getting fired up about some real injustice, but not leaking the kind of low-level innuendo Cassandra Doom specialises in.’

  Paterson didn’t exactly nod, but inclined his head to one side to show that he didn’t entirely disagree. ‘It could be stuff she’s said by accident, you know, pillow talk.’

  This provoked a mental image that Bernard swiftly pushed aside. ‘She did say she’d only seen her twice.’

  He grunted. ‘Well, we’ll see. Anyway, the phone. It belongs to Helen Sopel’s deputy.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me what the pin code is.’

  ‘Apparently it’s Helen Sopel’s birthday. I assume we know that?’

  ‘I can get it from her Green Card. But is it just the day and month, or day, month and year? And if the year is included is it four digits or two?’

  ‘I don’t know. Give them all a try and tell me how you get on.’ He looked toward the door. ‘Do you think Mona went to the canteen? I should maybe go and speak to her.’

  ‘I think she was a bit upset when you called her a security risk. She might have gone a bit further afield.’

  He grunted. ‘Well, I’ll give it a try anyway.’

  Bernard listened to his boss’s footsteps recede, and be replaced by complete silence. He had a brief opportunity here to complete the task that he’d started last night, before he’d become distracted by phone bugs. He picked up his phone, remembered again about potential bugs, and pulled out his mobile instead. He contemplated it for a second, wondering if it was any more secure, then decided he had to use some method of communication, and before he could change his mind, quickly typed in Lucy’s number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, hi, ehm, Lucy, this is Bernard from the Health Enforcement Team. We met yesterday?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I thought you might be in touch.’

  He smiled. She remembered him at least. Maybe she’d been waiting for his call? ‘I was wondering if you’d be available to meet up tonight, maybe get some food? I was thinking The Stuffed Pepper at 7pm?’

  ‘Yes. I can do that.’ Her tone was solemn.

  Delighted as he was to hear the word ‘yes’, it wasn’t quite the joyful acceptance he’d hoped for.

  ‘Is there anything I need to bring with me, Bernard?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ He’d been intending to pay, so she didn’t need to bring any cash. Unless she was the kind of woman that liked to pay her own way, which he could totally respect. Or did she mean something else? Oh, God, how much had dating changed since he’d last swum in that particular pool?

  ‘For your investigation,’ she clarified. ‘Is there anything I need to bring from work?’

  Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. She hadn’t realised this was a date. He desperately tried to think of a way to correct her, but nothing sprang to mind. ‘No, no, just yourself is fine. See you at seven.’

  He hung up and sat staring dejectedly at his phone. Maitland made this kind of thing look so easy. He’d have to tell her about the misunderstanding as soon as he got there. It would be completely unethical to do otherwise. He could be accused of misusing the power vested in him as a HET officer. Although, now that he thought about it, it would take some of that ‘first date’ pressure off. Maybe he’d consider what to do over the rest of the afternoon.

  With renewed vigour he returned to Anneka’s phone and put the pin code in successfully. ‘Now, what’s your secret?’

  4

  Mona rode out of the building on a tidal wave of fury. Security risk. She’d done nothing wrong. The HET had the right to her full attention between the hours of nine and five and nothing more. It didn’t have the right to police how she spent her evenings, and it certainly didn’t have the right to tell her who she could and couldn’t become romantically involved with. Although, if she was honest, if Maitland had walked in one day saying he was dating Cassandra Doom, she’d have questioned his judgement. She’d have questioned his sanity. And Cassandra’s.

  She jogged out of the building, dimly aware of several heads in the admin department turning to see who was going past in such a hurry. She wondered if Maitland had got round to passing the news on to them yet. That would be a joy to deal with. Although she suspected they’d be far more interested in the fact that she liked a woman, than who that woman actually was. She could picture a future conversation with Marguerite involving a lot of questions that she really didn’t want to answer.

  As soon as she was out of the building she picked up her pace and sprinted round the corner to the newsagents.

  ‘Daily Citizen, please.’

  The middle-aged Asian woman behind the counter handed it to her. ‘You in a hurry, love?’

  ‘Little bit. Thanks.’

  She opened the paper on the counter and flicked directly to the Cassandra Doom column. Cassandra was on fine form, ranting about the NHS, the new double yellow lines on the street near her house and the state of education in Scotland. She had nothing, however, to say about the Health Enforcement Teams in general, and not a word about the North Edinburgh HET in particular. Even more importantly, not a single line referenced missing civil servants. Mona heaved an inward sigh of relief and started to laugh.

  ‘Must have been a good joke.’ The shop owner peered at the page in an attempt to see what her crazy customer was finding so funny.

  ‘Something like that.’

  She waved goodbye to the shopkeeper and headed out, pausing only to pull out her mobile and turn it off. Bernard might be right about the phones being bugged or he might be being completely paranoid, but either way the leaks had to be coming from somewhere. Who knew what tracking software had been included in her HET-issue mobile phone? She didn’t want anyone cyber-stalking where she was, or who she was talking to, so for the next couple of hours she was going AWOL.

  She headed to the main street in nearby Newington. She passed the charity shops, off-licences, takeaways, vintage clothes emporiums, and the other retailers meeting the needs of the local student population, ignoring them all until she saw what she needed on the other side of the road. Dodging through the traffic, she dived into a shop selling mobile phones. The buzzer sounded as she pushed open the door, and the young guy behind the counter, all tattoos and piercings, looked up. Somethi
ng about him struck her as familiar. His eyebrows shot up when he saw her, suggesting that he recognised her too. If there was a mutual connection, he didn’t acknowledge it. She suspected they’d crossed paths in her former life at Police Scotland.

  She approached the counter. ‘I’d like a pay-as-you-go phone, just a cheap one, and a SIM card.’

  He reached behind him. ‘How about these?’ He placed a slightly battered-looking phone and a pre-packaged SIM card in front of her. ‘The phone’s recycled.’

  He watched her nervously as she picked up the phone and gave it the once-over. ‘OK, I’ll take it.’

  She placed two ten-pound notes on the counter, sincerely hoping she hadn’t just bought stolen property, and got out as quickly as possible. She peered back through the window. The shopkeeper was leaning against the back wall of the shop, one hand on his head, the other hanging limply at his side, radiating relief. He definitely had her down as Police; he’d have to be insanely stupid to have sold her a dodgy phone. If the day ever came when she returned to CID, she’d be asking a few questions about this particular shop.

  Putting the transaction out of her mind, she ducked down a side street, looking for a quiet place to assemble her new purchase. After a minute’s walk she spied an empty bench. The SIM card was duly inserted into her new old phone, and she dialled Elaine’s number.

  ‘It’s me, Mona.’

  There was a moment’s pause. ‘Well, hello. I wasn’t sure I was going to hear from you again after the speed with which you galloped out of the pub last night. I thought you might be the kind that smooches a girl then never calls.’

  The memory of kissing Elaine’s soft, cider-drenched lips came in to her mind. ‘Can we not talk about that? Anyway, I wanted to say I read your column.’

  ‘And I kept my promise. Are you phoning to say thank you?’

  ‘Do you want to see me again?’

  She laughed, a throaty rasp that Mona remembered from their first date. ‘Of course, darling! I thought I made that clear enough yesterday.’

  ‘Then I’m going to need a favour.’

  There was a moment of dead air. ‘I’m not sure I work like that.’

  Mona was silent in return, and after a second Elaine gave in. ‘What is this favour?’

  ‘I need an address for someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Alexander Bircham-Fowler.’

  ‘The Professor? Interesting. Any chance you could tell me why you want to speak to him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This is a little bit one-sided for my liking, Mona.’

  She felt a sudden burst of anger. ‘Forget it then. Sorry I asked.’ She ended the call and threw the phone into her bag.

  Almost immediately she regretted it. Talk about a bull in a china shop. Elaine owed her nothing; in fact, she’d already sat on a story just to save Mona’s blushes. It was a bit much to phone up and demand that she do her another favour. And what had made her think she was such a great prize that the promise of a date with her would get her a no strings attached act of kindness from a journalist? She groaned. Her hand hovered over her bag, as she considered phoning back. Maybe later, she thought.

  It was nearly an hour since she’d stormed out of the office; was that enough time for her colleagues to have calmed down? She didn’t feel entirely composed herself, but then maybe while she was still fired by fury she should go back and stand her corner with Paterson, and follow that by finding Maitland and telling him where to shove it. She’d tell them both that she didn’t need to run her romantic choices past the HET staff, she could date who she liked without permission from her co-workers. She wasn’t sure that she did either like Elaine or want to date her, but they didn’t need to know that.

  If she was going to confront them, it was time to get it over with. She started walking back in the direction of the office, retracing her route through Newington, although this time she crossed the road to avoid going past the phone shop. A police car shot past, sirens blaring, and turned into the street where her office was. She picked up her pace, changing to a slow jog. It was probably nothing to do with the HET but given the events of the previous day she was a bit twitchy. A minute later, a further police car shot past, and this time Mona started to seriously worry. Given the Police Scotland manpower crisis, police cars travelling in pairs was a rare sight, and unlike magpies it was rarely two for joy. Something was up. Another bomb hoax? Something worse? Her jogging turned into full-blown sprinting. She turned the corner at speed and crashed straight into Bernard.

  ‘Mona, thank God.’ For a moment she thought he was going to hug her, but he settled for a pat on her shoulder.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Bomb hoax.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the group of people from their offices who were being shepherded away from the building by the police. ‘Yet again.’

  ‘Again? Probably more teenagers messing about. Shall we get out of here until we get the all-clear? Head to a café or something?’

  ‘No!’ He looked surprisingly distraught at her suggestion. ‘We can’t go. I need your help to get back in there.’

  ‘There’s been a bomb threat! You can’t just nip back in.’ She regarded him suspiciously. ‘Why do you need to get back in there, anyway? What have you done?’

  His expression resembled that of a schoolboy caught smoking behind the bike sheds. ‘I was looking at Anneka’s phone when the threat came in . . .’

  ‘Oh, God, please tell me you secured it before you came out?’

  ‘The Facilities Manager was shouting at me, and I panicked, and . . .’

  ‘Bernard!’

  He looked miserably at his feet. ‘It’s lying on my desk. I really, really need to get back in there. Help me sneak in somehow.’

  ‘You can’t go back in, you could die.’

  ‘It’s not going to be an actual bomb threat, is it? It’s much more likely that it’s a ruse so someone else can get into the office and steal the phone.’

  ‘Which only you, Paterson and I know about.’

  ‘What about the bugging? It’s probably all over Twitter by now that we have it.’

  ‘Possibly, but even if it is you can’t chance going back in.’

  ‘Negligible risk of death in there.’ He pointed at the building. ‘Out here, odds on certainty of me being executed when Stuttle and Paterson find out I’ve lost another piece of evidence.’

  ‘Still, Bernard . . .’

  He pointed at the building again. ‘I repeat, negligible . . .’

  His voice was drowned out by the noise of an explosion, and two of the windows on the first floor blowing out. There were screams from some of the crowd as broken glass rained down on the heads of the bystanders. Even above all the noise, Mona could make out the caterwauling coming from Marguerite.

  ‘What just happened?’ She looked round at the crowd, as if there was someone who could actually answer that question.

  ‘They blew up the HET office.’ Bernard’s complexion had paled to the colour of milk. ‘We’re obviously a target now. We’ve upset someone very important and now there’s a vendetta against us.’

  ‘But we’re on the second floor. It’s the first floor that’s on fire.’ She did a quick calculation in her mind and worked out which room had been targeted.

  She felt a large hand on her shoulder. ‘You two OK?’ asked Paterson. His eyes were darting between the building and the crowd.

  ‘We’re fine, Guv. Any sign of the others?’

  ‘I haven’t found them yet. Either of you know where they went?’

  ‘They both went out earlier,’ said Bernard. ‘But, look!’ He pointed over Mona’s shoulder. ‘Here’s Carole coming. She looks pretty upset.’

  ‘Maitland, is he here?’ Carole shouted, as she ran toward them.

  ‘No.’ Mona looked at her in surprise. ‘We assumed he was with you.’

  Carole shook her head vigorously, her long hair shaking around her. ‘I think he’s st
ill in there.’

  ‘Not possible,’ said Paterson. ‘They evacuated the building when we got the phone call. He would have heard to come out.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t.’ She bit her lip. ‘He went for a sleep in the third-floor conference room. He was going to lie under the table so that no one could see him, and I said I’d cover for him if anyone asked where he was. I thought it would be OK if I nipped out for half an hour.’

  ‘For what? A meeting with your lawyer? Anything happens to that boy I’m holding you responsible. This is your fault.’ Paterson started running in the direction of the fireman at the building entrance. He shouted back over his shoulder. ‘You and your bloody attitude.’

  Carole buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh, God. What have I done?’

  Mona put an arm round her shoulder, and watched Paterson gesticulate the story into the face of the fireman. There was a flurry of action, and three firemen disappeared into the building.

  Her new phone beeped. With her free hand she pulled it out of her pocket: she had a text.

  Elaine had sent her an address.

  5

  ‘Bernard, I need to do something.’

  ‘Now?’ He was only half-listening to Mona, too busy staring at the mess on the first floor. Smoke was pouring out of the broken windows, but there were no visible flames. It looked like the firefighters had it all pretty much under control. If Maitland really had been on the third floor when the explosion happened, surely he was in with a chance.

  ‘Yes, sorry. Can you handle things here?’ She gently shoved Carole in his direction, and he took over half-heartedly comforting her, patting her on the shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, OK.’

  ‘Text me the second you hear about Maitland.’