“You’d do that, really?”
“Keep an eye on it and call me back if it moves or someone gets out,” I said as I started the car. “Give us ten minutes.”
I dropped my phone in a cup holder where I’d be able to reach it if Haruto called again, put the car in gear, and peeled away from the Cohen house a little too quickly.
“Mr Sato?” Fletcher asked.
“And the Case of the Mysterious White Van,” I answered. “Up for a little detour?”
“It’s a lovely day for it.”
The Highland Archive Centre was built just off a curve in the River Ness in between several green parks, including the Inverness Botanic Gardens. The Centre looked as if someone had superglued two buildings together. The front half was shorter, built from glass and shiny, tan stone, while the back side was two stories high and made out of bright red brick. The blue-grey waters of the River Ness glimmered just behind the structure, giving the whole area a sort of lazy feel.
I glanced around as I pulled into the Centre’s small parking lot, and sure enough, there was the white delivery parked just across the street, A white delivery van, its backend speckled with different bumper stickers. It could have been a simple, innocent car, but the windows were a little too reflective, and I couldn’t even see through the windshield.
“Most delivery vans don’t just sit there,” Fletcher pointed out as we climbed casually from the car. “They finish their business and then get moving.”
I studied the vehicle out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t discern any movement. “Let’s check in with Haruto first. Then we’ll go have a chat with our mysterious delivery people.”
Hopefully, we just looked like tourists wanting to peruse the archives as we walked for the door, though why anyone would want to waste their time doing that, I wasn’t sure. To each their own, I supposed.
I held the door open for Fletcher, and we stepped into the cool, dry air of the lobby. The front half of the Centre was a little museum, tiny exhibits and artefacts in glass cases scattered across the room, lit up by lights on the floor. Carved blocks of text interspersed with colourful displays on television screens covered much of the walls, waiting to be read. I counted two people inside, and one of them was the receptionist.
Fletcher and I approached her desk, and she looked up from her book as if startled to find us there. She looked to be college-aged, an intern, maybe, her nose still just a little bit too large for her face.
“The museum is free,” she said. “You can just go right in.”
“We’re here to see Haruto Sato,” I explained.
“Oh. Mr Sato didn’t say he was expecting any visitors today.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to think of what she should do as this fell outside of what she had been trained for. “Let me give him a quick call.”
She picked up the corded phone attached to her desk, scanned the notecard beside it, and then dialled what I assumed was Haruto’s office. “Mr Sato? There are some people here to see you?”
“Tell him it’s Callum MacBain,” I said, realizing that he might panic and think we were his stalkers.
The receptionist nodded. “He says his name is Callum MacBain.” She listened for a moment. “Okay. I will.” She hung up the phone and looked back at us. “He says to head up to his office. If you’ll follow me, I’ll open the door for you.”
She led us to a set of sliding glass doors at the back of the museum, swiping her card over the reader set into the wall. She ushered us through then called the elevator for us as well. “Mr Sato’s office is on the first floor, at the end of the hallway as soon as you step out of the elevator.”
As the doors opened with a pleasant ding, she reached inside and placed her cad against a second reader, making the three buttons glow. “Thanks,” I said as I stepped through. The building had a basement, ground floor, and first floor, and I pressed the top button, the elevator pausing for just a moment before the doors slid shut and sealed us in.
“I hate elevators,” Fletcher muttered.
I looked at her sideways. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
She was first through the doors as they opened on the next floor, and I grinned as I followed her out. Haruto was waiting for us in the hallway, hovering by his office door, and he motioned for us to join him before disappearing back inside.
Fletcher and I crossed the short corridor and let ourselves into the room which stood in direct contrast to Haruto’s apartment. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed so full they seemed ready to burst. There was a desk in one corner with a laptop and a collection of open books, scattered papers, and uncapped pens, and a large table sat in the centre of the floor. On top of it, there were brushes in mason jars as well as pots of paint and other substances I couldn’t identify. Haruto seemed to be taking notes in three separate notebooks, all arrayed around a slim, ancient-looking manuscript held open at an angle on a strange stand. As we watched, Haruto donned a pair of white gloves, carefully closed the manuscript, slipped it into a vacuum-sealed bag, and then placed it in a case by his desk for safekeeping.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Haruto said as he took the gloves off and tucked them away. “Here, I’ll show you the van.”
We joined him at the window which all had their blinds drawn tightly shut, and Haruto pulled down one of the slats so we could all peer outside. The white delivery van was right where we’d last seen it. “It hasn’t moved,” Haruto whispered as if he somehow thought the people in the vehicle would be able to hear us talking about them.
“You said it’s been here for an hour?” Fletcher asked.
“Yes. It hasn’t moved.”
I had to admit that was a bit weird. Of course, it was possible that someone had gotten out while Haruto wasn’t looking and was now hung up on a problem with a particularly tricky delivery, but there was something about its too black glass that I didn’t like.
“Shall we go say hello?” I said to Fletcher.
She grinned, the expression just a little bit wicked.
“What about me?” Haruto asked, dropping his hold on the slim slat to twine his fingers together.
What about him? If there was some kind of danger, obviously, I didn’t want him anywhere near it, but at the same time, I wanted to know if he recognized anyone in the van. I decided his safety was the most important thing. “Wait here. Keep your phone close.”
Haruto looked relieved, shoulders slumping slightly as he let out the breath he’d been holding. He walked us back down the corridor and used his card to grant us access to the elevator, joining us on the ride down to the lobby where he would wait, hidden, while we went out to speak to his supposed stalkers.
Fletcher and I left the Highland Archive Centre and sauntered down the pavement towards the van as if we hadn’t a care in the world, though I hooked my thumb through a belt loop near my holster. The vehicle didn’t move as we approached, and I winked at Fletcher as I reached out and rapped on the window. After a moment, it began to roll down, something squeaking within the mechanism. Two young men stared out at us with flat expressions on their faces underneath all the stubble.
“What’s the crack, guys?” I said with false cheer.
The one in the passenger’s seat puffed on the cigarette. “There a problem?”
“Can I ask what you’re doing here?” I said, still smiling, though there was a sharp edge to the expression.
“Deliveries.”
“What sort of deliveries?”
“Who wants to know?”
The smile sank off my face. If they were really out on deliveries, they wouldn’t mind telling us the truth, but he kept answering a question with a question, and I didn’t like it.
“Inverness Police,” Fletcher said smoothly. “Normally, we’d leave you to your business, but you are loitering outside an active investigation, so I’m sure you understand why we decided to check-in.”
I peered between the men as Fletcher spoke, try
ing to search the vehicle subtly for anything incriminating. Both men dressed in grey and black, and I was sure I saw the bulge of a pistol under the passenger’s dark denim jacket. What kind of delivery man needed a gun? There was a manilla folder stuffed between the seat and the centre console, but its contents were tucked neatly inside, leaving nothing for the curious eye. The truck’s berth was cut off from the front half by a reflective glass partition and a band of steel mesh.
“Just doing your job, huh?” the driver sneered. “Is your job harassing random people?”
“Sometimes, yes,” I joked. I didn’t know if we wanted to tip our hand that investigating Haruto’s claims of stalking or leave him out of it. These people, if they were following him, would either move up the timetable for whatever it was they wanted to do, or they would leave him alone.
I decided to take the risk to see if I could get a reaction out of them. “Is there a reason Haruto Sato thinks you're stalking him?” I asked bluntly.
“Never heard of him,” the man said, but the skin around his eyes tightened just for a second. “Well, if there’s nothing else, we need to go. We’ve got a tight delivery schedule.”
“Of course. I’m sure that’s why you’ve been sitting here so long.” I patted the open window with my hand and winked at the men inside before I finally stepped back. “Come on, Fletcher. Gentlemen.”
The driver gave me a phoney, one-finger salute and then rolled up the window and started the car. Fletcher and I watched them reverse out of their parking spot and take off down the street.
“Do you think they’re actually watching Haruto?” Fletcher said.
“Seems like it.”
“And you want to follow them, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
We hurried back to our own car and peeled out after the white van. The roads around the park were wide and long, so the shady men were still well within sight, and it wasn’t hard to wind our way after them, gaining ground while trying not to get too close.
“Are you sure about this?” Fletcher asked as she texted Haruto to let him know what we were doing. He no doubt became concerned when he saw us leave so quickly.
“Of course.”
I was not, but I was running on my gut. It was all I had to go on.
As soon as we left the lazy streets between the parks, the white delivery van noticed us following and hit the gas, ducking between the lanes and taking a sharp right turn. That wasn’t suspicious at all. I had to hit the brakes before I could follow as a small blue car cut me off in the oncoming lane. As soon as it passed, I popped the clutch and screeched through the turn, accelerating rapidly as I swapped through the gears. I caught a glimpse of the van’s tail end whipping around another corner, and since the street was empty, I had no trouble edging my speed higher and higher. I shifted into neutral as I hit the turn, using the car’s momentum to make it through, jumping back into gear as soon as I could.
But the delivery van was gone. I snapped my head around, searching for it even as I kept my speed high.
“There!” Fletcher yelled, pointing down an intersection as we flew past it, and I cursed. I wasn’t very familiar with the streets in this part of town, and Inverness wasn’t laid out like one of those American cities where the whole thing was a grid, and you could predict where each one would wind up.
So I hit the brakes, threw the car in reverse, and shot down the right street as quickly as I could. It was a long road without many off-shoots, but for a few no-outlet loops, so the delivery van was forced to drive straight down it, allowing us to keep it in sight and make up a bit of ground since my smaller car had an easier time picking up speed.
The road ended, and the van turned left, entering traffic, and this time, I was able to slip smoothly in behind it. There were three other vehicles between us, the road single lane, both of us hemmed in by cars on either end until our suspects saw an opening and swung sharply to the right. I cut off an oncoming sedan in order to follow, and a horn blasted angrily in my wake.
“Is there a plan for when we catch up to them?” Fletcher asked, one hand wrapped tightly around the panic bar on the roof. “We didn’t actually see them doing anything incriminating. Loitering isn’t technically a crime.”
“Then why’d they run?” My knuckles were white on the steering wheel as I bore down on the accelerator, eyes locked on the back of the van.
“Still not proof.”
“I’ve seen that van before. Outside Finn’s school, and outside the bar last night.”
“Yeah, because that’s what most delivery vans look like,” Fletcher pointed out.
“I’ve got a gut feeling.”
“Gut feelings don’t hold up in--” Her words cut off as I spun the wheel as hard as I could to follow the van down an alley barely wide enough for it, and she smacked into the door.
We were barely a car’s length behind them. Truth be told, I didn’t know what we’d do when we caught up, but I was certain they knew something about Finn’s disappearance. Maybe they were even in league with Richard Smith, keeping an eye on the investigation for the man.
The delivery van shot out of the far end of the alley, back end fishtailing as the driver struggled to control the turn, losing speed.
“Get ready,” I said. This was where we would get them. I was sure of it.
I was primed to cut in front of the van as soon as we hit the wider street, but as soon as we cleared the alley mouth, something slammed into the driver’s side of our car. The world went black and white as we jerked sharply to the side, bumper clipping the edge of the wall, spinning us around. My head reeled, every screech of metal on metal a flash of colour across my eyes, and I could barely tell that we had skidded to a halt, car rocking but staying on four tires. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel much of anything, either, as the entire world continued to tremble around me, its features blotted out by too many blobs of sharp, white light.
Someone shook my shoulder, but their words were a buzz against my eardrum. I could only hear that screech of metal, over and over again. They grabbed my face and turned it towards them, shaking me again, still speaking, and slowly, Fletcher’s face swam into view, concern writ across her features.
“Callum, are you with me?” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Hands off my face,” I grunted. I began to hurt, now that she’d dragged me back into reality, the entire right side of my body throbbing, but it didn’t feel as if anything was broken.
Fletcher quickly let go of me.
I struggled to shove my door open as the whole thing was bent out of shape and then tumbled out of the car, my legs jellied beneath me, the pavement rough on my palms. Coloured spots still danced at the edges of my vision, playing around the dark pant legs and leather boots that walked towards me. I craned my neck to look up, but the person’s face was blotted out by the sun, and I shoved myself upright as they reached me, wobbling slightly. The driver’s stubbled face blinked into view just before he grabbed me by the duster and slung me into the road.
I hit the pavement hard but managed to turn it into an awkward roll, stumbling upright. I went for my gun, but someone grabbed my arm from the right and twisted it, forcing me to let go of the pistol. I swung with my other fist, pivoting into the blow, and punched my assailant in the solar plexus. They dropped my arm, wheezing, but they stood over my weapon, and I saw the angry face of the van’s passenger as he glared up at me.
“Who are you? What do you want with Haruto?” I growled, but before he could answer, I felt someone coming up behind me, and I spun to find the driver creeping up on me, silver knife in hand.
“Freeze!” Fletcher yelled. She had her gun drawn and pointing at the driver’s head.
The man did as he was told, but there was a sick smile on his face that I didn’t like.
The SUV that hit us finally divulged its passengers, spitting a man and woman out into the street between Fletcher and me. Each had a gun pointed at her, and I saw fear flicker
across her face.
Hell of a second day on the job, rookie.
But I couldn’t help her. I had my own problems. The man behind me, who I would call Goon due to the rather squashed quality of his nose, recovered from the blow to his stomach and kicked my gun away. It skittered down the cobblestones and under a dumpster, and as he drew his own, he leered at me while his friend, Turtleneck because of his fashion choices, continued to approach me.
“Who are you people?” I asked again.
I heard Goon’s gun cock, and I immediately dropped to the ground. The silenced shot whumped through the alley, and without wasting a second, I flung myself into his legs, sending us both crashing into the wall just behind him. I scrambled for his gun hand, found it, and pounded it against the pavement until he finally let go.
Fingers grabbed my hair and pulled. I snapped my hand up, grabbing the knife-bearing wrist as it descended towards my neck, and then I drove my head back, right into Turtleneck’s hip, and he stumbled. I twisted, scalp screaming, and shot to my feet, ramming the crown of my skull into his chin. We both staggered. Pain flared through my head, sending black spots across my vision, and I heard two more shots ring dully, still silenced, though I couldn’t tell where they came from.
Fletcher and I needed to get out of there, that much was clear. Never mind trying to take one of the guys in. We were outnumbered, outgunned, and these people actually wanted to kill us, not scare just us off the case. What the hell was Haruto wrapped up in? What could these violent people possibly want with a nervous book restorer?
My vision cleared to find Turtleneck ass-flat on the ground, Goon reaching for his pistol once again, and one of Fletcher’s assailants down, clutching his arm, while the other lunged at her. Fletcher caught her arm, spun the woman, and slammed her into the side of the SUV.
“Fletcher, let’s go,” I yelled as our assailants began to gather themselves again like some kind of automaton set that just kept kicking.
I lashed out at Goon’s gun, hoping to knock it away once more, but I missed, stumbled, cursed, and took off running towards Fletcher. I eyed the dumpster, desperate to reclaim my gun and embarrassed that I lost it in the first place, but a bullet bounced off the metal side, and I had to leave my weapon behind.
Buried Secrets (DCI MacBain Scottish Crimes Book 1) Page 7