I See You(27)

‘I see. There’s just a small issue.’ Tamir was still smiling, but her eyes flicked down at her desk and she shifted slightly in her chair. ‘There’s a certain amount of protocol that needs to be followed in the case of chatlines: companies have to be licensed, and when they advertise they have to provide the advertiser – us, in this case – with their licence number. To be perfectly frank we don’t go after chatline advertisers. You’ll have seen the section is quite small. They’re what I’d call a necessary evil.’

‘Why necessary?’ Kelly said.

Tamir looked at her as though the answer was obvious. ‘They pay well. Most of that sort of advertising – sex lines, escorts, dating agencies and so on – is all online nowadays, but our print readership is still high, and advertising is what pays for it all. As you can imagine, the sex industry is open to all kinds of abuse, so our measures make sure any chatline operators are properly licensed and therefore regulated.’ She looked down at her desk again.

‘But these protocols weren’t followed in this case?’

‘I’m afraid not. The client first approached us at the end of September, with adverts to run daily throughout October. Shortly before the end of the month they submitted a second batch of adverts, and they did the same for November. The account was handled by a new member of staff, a man called Ben Clarke, and he processed the order without a licence number.’

‘That’s not allowed?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Can I speak to Ben?’

‘I’ll get his details from HR. He left a couple of weeks ago – I’m afraid we have a rather high turnover of staff here.’

‘How did the client pay?’ Kelly said.

Tamir consulted the notes written on her pad. ‘By credit card. We can let you have those details, and the address of the client too, of course, but I’ll need a data protection waiver from your side.’

‘Of course.’ Damn. Tamir Barron had agreed to see Kelly so readily, she had been holding out hope that the other woman would simply hand over the file. A data protection waiver would need an inspector’s signature, which Kelly wouldn’t be able to get without coming clean about her extra-curricular investigations. ‘In the meantime, perhaps you could let me have copies of the adverts; both those you’ve run, and those waiting to run?’ She held Tamir’s gaze as confidently as she could.

‘A data protection waiver—’ she started.

‘Is necessary for personal details such as addresses and credit cards. I quite understand. But there are no personal details in those adverts, are there? And we are talking about a potential crime series.’ Kelly’s heart banged in her chest so loudly she was surprised Tamir couldn’t hear it. Did she need a data protection waiver for the adverts too? She couldn’t remember, and she mentally crossed her fingers that Tamir wouldn’t know either.

‘A series? Have there been other robberies?’

‘I can’t tell you anything else, I’m afraid.’ Data protection, Kelly wanted to add.

There was a pause.

‘I’ll get copies made of the adverts and have them sent down to reception. You can wait for them there.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Needless to say we’ve spoken to all our staff about the importance of adhering to procedure.’

‘Thank you. You’ll cancel the remaining adverts, I presume?’

‘Cancel them?’

‘The adverts that haven’t run yet. You can’t put them in the paper. They could be facilitating crimes against women.’

‘I sympathise, DC Swift, but with the greatest respect, it’s your job to protect the public, not mine. Our job is to print newspapers.’

‘Could you stop for a few days though? Not cancel the adverts altogether, but …’ Kelly tailed off, aware she sounded unprofessional. She needed concrete proof the adverts related to criminal activity. The link between Cathy Tanning’s keys and her advert was clear, but Zoe Walker hadn’t been a victim of crime. It wasn’t enough.

‘I’m afraid not. The client has paid in advance; I’ll need to get permission from my boss before I can cancel the contract. Unless of course you have a court order?’

The expression on Tamir’s face was neutral, but her eyes were hard and Kelly decided not to push it. She mirrored the other woman’s polite smile.

‘I don’t have a court order, no. Not yet.’

No sooner had Kelly pressed the doorbell than she heard the excited shrieks of her nephews, running to greet her. Five-year-old Alfie wore a Spiderman outfit, teamed with a plastic Viking helmet, while his three-year-old brother Fergus ran towards her on podgy bare legs, his T-shirt sporting the Minion figures he adored.

‘What’s this?’ Kelly said, feigning amazement as she looked at Fergus’s lower half. ‘Big-boy pants?’ The boy grinned and lifted his T-shirt to better show off his briefs.

‘Early days,’ Lexi said as she appeared behind the boys. She scooped up Fergus and kissed Kelly in one fluid movement. ‘Watch where you step.’

Lexi and her husband Stuart lived in St Albans, in an area teeming with yummy mummies and their buggies. After leaving Durham, Lexi had done a PGCE course, finding a job teaching history at the local secondary school. She’d met Stuart – the deputy head – there, and they’d been together ever since.