by V Clifford
‘I’m fine.’ Then, emphatically, ‘Thanks for asking.’
Viv begins. ‘I was asked to look into a young boy missing from his home. He’d been away for three nights when I started, which means it’s nearly a week now. First I checked out the gay bars – the word was that he preferred young boys. On my first visit to Copa Cabana I bumped into Red.’
‘The name’s Sandra.’
‘Okay, but Red suits you better.’
Red smiles and says, ‘Whatever. People have called me much worse.’
‘Anyway it turned out that she was interested in Andrew Douglas as well, probably for different reasons, but I don’t know what they are.’
‘Drugs,’ utters Red.
‘That’s what I thought. Then, as a consequence of talking to some young men who know Andrew I visited an address in the Colonies and came across a guy, very ill and needing help, but he was not Andrew. I discovered that the flat belongs to Alexander MacDonald, a prison psychologist with a penchant for boys. While visiting the young man in hospital I encountered MacDonald who gave me a warning. Told me to back off and said I didn’t know what I was getting into. Also, while filling up my car with petrol I was given another warning. Warnings all over the place: nice to know people are looking out for me.’
Red cuts in, ‘You’ve missed out the minor detail of the explosion.’
‘Oh, that little detail. I was working in the office of Morgan Clifford, and someone blew up my car.’
Sal’s face is a picture of shock. ‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday. In the morning.’
‘I see.’
Viv’s not sure what Sal sees, but her tone suggests she’s acknowledging something of their first encounter.
‘Your friend DI Marconi thinks it’s to do with Morgan Clifford. But I really don’t think it was a terrorist attack. More, as Andrew’s “friends” keep telling me, a warning for me to back off.’
Sal sighs, ‘I’m with Marconi on this. If someone was prepared to blow up your car in such a prestigious location they mean business. And you need cover.’
‘Whoever they are they’ve also paid me a home visit. I’ve had a note under my door.’
Shaking her head Sal snorts, ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this all rather lightly, Dr Fraser?’
Viv raises her eyebrows at Sal’s return to formality.
Sal acknowledges this with a nod, ‘Okay. Viv?’
‘Well, I suppose things are beginning to stack up, but I’m not sure it merits a guard.’
‘If these people have access to explosives and know how to use them I’d say that they have more to hide than the odd ounce of marijuana. Don’t you?’
Viv bristles at this question. It reminds her of Jean Johnston and her years of ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I can see that there’s some mileage in that, but surely anyone can put a lighted taper in a petrol tank? A better question surely is, why me? I haven’t actually got anything. Well, nothing useful. But someone sees it otherwise.’
‘What exactly have you got?’
‘I’ve already told Marconi.’ Then, looking at them both she sighs and says, ‘All right, here we go again.’
Sal interrupts when Viv is describing the inside of the Colonies flat. ‘If you can remember all the details, what was in the bathroom and the fridge?’
Viv visualises the cupboard. She recalls and smiles. ‘It’s really more about what wasn’t there than what was, but there was a box of new toothbrushes in the bathroom. There must have been a couple of dozen in it. Now, even I call that obsessive. And loo roll, industrial packs of loo rolls. They obviously know something that we don’t! The fridge had lousy food in it. Value labels, nothing nutritional. Sell by dates were current.’
Sal stops writing and lifts her head, ‘Does sound like a hostel, doesn’t it?’ When Red and Viv don’t respond, Sal continues, ‘We’ll do better if we actually collaborate.’
‘I’ve already said it didn’t look like a home. Apart from the oversized TV, none of the features of domesticity were there. It was functional.’ Viv searches for an appropriate description. ‘It hasn’t got a woman’s touch, which in a gay home is pretty unusual.’
Red interrupts. ‘I think we should take another look.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, the explosion for a start.’ Sal shoots Viv a look of annoyance.
Viv thinks they’re all getting a bit tetchy. She continues: ‘Robbie Croy, the guy who just warned us off again, is supposed to be MacDonald’s special “friend”. If we could find out his address it would be worth looking there, but the flat’s pretty rudimentary, a stopgap at best. Come to think of it there weren’t any wardrobes or chests of drawers; just one bedside cabinet, but nowhere to store clothes. A neighbour said they were a bunch of paedophiles. Said she’s seen boys in school uniform going in.’
Sal doesn’t rise to this. ‘We must keep an open mind.’
But Red bursts out, ‘Yeah sure, Sal. Open to what? What else is being kept from us?’
Viv doesn’t understand this comment from Red, but the look that passes from Sal back to Red is a warning and Red backs down. Sal resumes. ‘I’ll check with Marconi?’
‘Check what? Have I missed something?’ Red is even more hostile now.
Viv, amused at the sparring of the other two, interjects, ‘Well, is one of you going to fill me in on what’s going on? In the interests of . . . collaboration,’ she adds, with just a touch of sarcasm.
Then she remembers the state of the young man in the Royal. ‘If John Black survives he’ll be a useful source, but the last time I saw him it wasn’t looking good. We should check how he’s doing. The nurse said they thought he’d had a bad drug cocktail. That he wasn’t the first with those symptoms.’
Sal lifts the phone. ‘Could you find DI Marconi, please, and ask him to join us? In room three in the unit.’ She listens for a minute then says, ‘Okay, do what you can.’
Viv can’t work out what Sal’s role is. People do as she asks; her tone is respectful and she puts people at ease, but she’s definitely got more power here than a profiler.
Nodding at the phone Sal says, ‘They’ll try to locate him, but they’re not sure if he’s still in the building. What else have you got, Sandra?’
‘The missing boy may have been found, but that’s not looking good because he hasn’t been identified yet.’
Sal tilts her head.
‘The body’s too charred.’
‘Damn. What about dentals?’
‘Yep. We’re waiting, and if it is Andrew it certainly ups the stakes. Explosions and drugs are one thing. Murder takes it to another level. Apart from that I’ve got much the same kind of info as Viv. Viv may have a bit more, though.’
This puts Viv back in the hot seat. ‘I’ve spoken to his mates in Copa Cabana and one of them is really worried. He’s been in touch with Andrew since he went AWOL, but he doesn’t know if Andrew went of his own accord or if he was forced. He also said there was an older man, apparently good looking, with Andrew on the night that he went missing.’
Just as she’s wondering whether to say she has the number from which Andrew made his last call, Marconi raps at the door and breezes in. He looks strained, but gets straight to business. ‘What’s happening, then?’
Sal answers. ‘We’re not sure how much more we have than Viv has already given you, but what there is seems enough to get a search warrant for the flat in the Colonies.’
‘What makes you think that?’
Sal fills him in on Robbie’s new attempt to put the frighteners on Viv and adds that he’s injured Sandra. Red adds, ‘I did send out a description to the surveillance guys, but they only tracked him as far as GHQ then lost him. Said that it was as busy as ever up there. You’d think they’d move on. They’re a hardy lot considering these temperatures.’
This brings a smile to everyone’s lips. Calton Hill has long been known as GHQ, Gay Head Quarters. Since the toilets at the East E
nd closed, due to over-activity, Calton Hill has become the place to go, and it’s easier to escape from, if a tad chilly. Marconi turns to Viv. ‘Describe to me again what you saw in that flat?’
Viv does a rerun, jots down a floor plan and hands it to Marconi.
‘As you see, it isn’t the grandest of places; three or four steps take you from one room to another . . . stepping over multiple sleeping bags, mind.’
Marconi immediately lifts the phone and asks for a car to do a drive-by. ‘See if there’s any activity. Lights, TV on, any voices.’
Viv interrupts him before he hangs up. ‘There’s a nosey neighbour. The name on her buzzer is Walker. She’ll give them access, and undoubtedly a bit of grief. She complained that the police don’t do anything about their activities.’
Marconi passes this on and nods his thanks to Viv. Red makes to stand but collapses back into her chair, drawing air through her teeth. ‘I could do with some painkillers and an ice pack.’
Viv says, ‘How far is it to your place?’
Red grins. ‘Thanks for asking, I’ll get a PC to drive me home.’
Relieved, Viv explains, ‘I don’t have any more to give you and I’d really love to go home.’
Marconi nods. ‘We’ll be in touch if anything turns up at the flat.’
The meeting is clearly at an end. Red seeks out a PC and asks Viv if she’d like a lift. She’s in two minds, wondering if Sal's doing anything when she’s finished here, but accepts anyway.
Minutes later, just as she steps into the car Sal rushes out and shouts, ‘Viv! One more thing!’ She looks into the car and says to Red, ‘I’d like a word with Viv. It’s other business.’
Red raises her eyebrows. ‘Sure thing, Doc.’
Viv gets out and stands avoiding eye contact until Sal says, ‘It’s about the flat.’ Then laughs. ‘Well it’s not really about the flat.’
Rolling a stone under her foot, with her eyes on the ground, Viv smiles before looking up and saying, ‘We could discuss it somewhere warmer.’
Sal’s face lights up. ‘Okay, I’ll get my coat.’
‘Italian do?’
‘Great! Two minutes.’
Chapter Nine
They are lucky to get a table. San Marino is hotching with Italians; a good sign. The tension between them had melted away while they were walking and making chit-chat, but now they’re confined the atmosphere is electric. Viv shifts the cutlery and adjusts the place mat, squaring it with Sal’s. When the waiter offers them menus they both speak at the same time. It’s pathetic. Viv excuses herself and heads to the loo. Taking deep breaths and looking at herself in the mirror she tries to give herself a talking to. Taking a lipstick from her inside pocket she applies it then immediately scrubs it off, leaving her lips as swollen as her cheek. She splashes cold water on her face, then dries it with the hand drier; she takes another deep breath before returning to the table.
‘Phew! Needed that!’
Sal smiles and leans across the table as if she’s about to move a stray hair from Viv’s eyes. Viv sits back in surprise. Immediately regretting this, she says, ‘Sorry. I’m a bit edgy. It must be the last couple of days catching up with me.’
They both turn their attention to the menu.
Sal says, ‘I’m not that hungry. A salad will do me.’
‘Me neither, but if I don’t eat I’ll pass out and that would be embarrassing.’
‘How have you managed the last couple of days, Viv? It’s not every day that someone blows up your car.’
Viv is mortified to feel tears pricking her eyes. She jogs along through life and as long as no one is too nice to her she manages. The tone of Sal’s voice has made contact with part of her that she does everything possible to keep buried. Eyes firmly on the menu she says, ‘I think I’ll have the risotto.’ She lets out a breath, looks up and meets Sal’s eyes, then quickly looks away. This wasn’t such a good idea.
‘You don’t have to be so brave you know.’
‘I’m fine . . . thanks.’ This comes out more defensively than she means it to and she looks again at Sal. ‘This is difficult . . .’
A silence follows and is fortuitously interrupted by a jaunty waiter. He places a jug of water and some bread on the table, allowing Viv a moment to steady her thoughts. ‘So how come you’re an academic and a police officer?’ A rich question given her own occupations.
‘Oh, I’m not a police officer. I definitely see myself as an academic.’
‘You seem to spend an awful lot of time in Fettes for an academic.’ Sal doesn’t answer. Viv continues, ‘What is it you teach?’ Back on safe territory, Viv sits back and lets her shoulders drop.
‘I teach a few courses, but the one I’m most passionate about is the history of Freud and psychoanalysis.’
Viv raises her eyebrows. ‘Wow! I love Freud, In fact I used a Freudian model for my field work. Strange guy. Even though he was a bit of a misogynist, with a reputation for gay bashing, I couldn’t help myself becoming hooked.’
Sal smiles and shakes her head. ‘Poor Freud. So misunderstood. He was a product of his time. I know it’s a bit of a cliché but he did have homosexual friends and a view of women’s psyches that reflected his time. He wasn’t as bad as people have made him out to be. There’s no middle ground with Freud; you either love him or hate him, and that tells us more about ourselves than about Freud, doesn’t it?’
‘I suppose. But surely the stuff about penis envy must cause you some . . . distress?’
‘Oh sure, he made mistakes, but we ought to be careful. Everybody makes mistakes.’
Their food comes and the atmosphere lightens.
‘So what have your mistakes been, Dr Chapman?’
Sal plays around with her fork in the air as if warming up for fencing, then laughs and says, ‘Well, my most recent one was thinking I knew somebody quite well when I didn’t know them at all. Made a bit of a fool of myself but, hey, life’s short. I’ll get over it. How about you? Bet you don’t often make mistakes.’
Viv’s reply is quick – too quick? ‘I was going to say the same to you.’ She adds, ‘My biggest mistake so far was not telling someone how much they meant to me.’ She looks down at her plate then up into Sal’s face. ‘Before it was too late . . . She died.’
She is unsure why this has come out. She doesn’t even know this woman. Feeling the colour rushing up her neck to her cheeks she tries to lighten up again. ‘But I make tons of mistakes every day. Take the car that’s just been blown up. I bought it against all reason. It looked great, but that was its only virtue. So I suppose they did me a favour! Mistakes are fine though, as long as you’re willing to admit them.’
‘But that’s rarer than you think. You know it used to be rare to find plagiarism in the university, but now almost every semester there’s something.’
‘Which uni?’
‘Central. I used to be at Edinburgh, but Central offered me a fellowship so I took it, and I already have a lovely house in a village called Doune. It’s only a ten-minute drive from work. I couldn’t live without the big skies.’
Viv watches the change in Sal’s demeanour as she talks about home and knows what she means about the big sky thing. Her own flat has fantastic views and that was her main reason for taking it. She hadn’t imagined that Sal would be a country person.
‘I didn’t have you down as a country girl. I imagined you being addicted to pavements and cappuccino bars. Wrong again.’
‘I’m glad to have been in your imagination.’
Viv colours again. This little woman is lovely. Power packed and lovely. Viv should be on her guard.
They both finish as much of their food as they can, then order coffee. Sal has cappuccino and Viv an Americano – although she doesn’t usually drink coffee after ten unless she’s on an all-nighter.
‘At least I was right about the cappuccino,’ she says, meekly enough.
They are interrupted by Sal’s phone. She excuses herself and goes outside
to take the call, returning with a smile. ‘It was Mac.’
Viv gives her a quizzical look.
‘DI Marconi. We were at school together, and his nickname was Mac. The local kids couldn’t get their mouths round the Italian names in his family so they got called the Macs. Anyway he’s had a report of activity at the flat; he’s on his way there now and asked if I’d like to go with him. He’s coming by.’
They pay and head outside. Marconi is already pulling up. He gets out of the car and gives Viv a look that’s difficult to interpret, but seems a lot like a dismissal. He opens the passenger door and puts his hand on Sal’s back. Her shrinking is entirely visible. This isn’t the first time that Viv’s had to compete with a man who hasn’t read the signs.
She smiles at Marconi who says, ‘Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’
Viv looks at Sal who says, ‘Get in, you can come with us.’
Marconi starts to protest, but Sal pats his arm. He relents but not without firing Viv a look in the mirror.
The journey is short and very awkward.
Sal tries. ‘So what did the uniforms report?’
Marconi is petulant. ‘I didn’t send uniforms . . . They saw a guy get out of a transit van and head into the building. He fits the description of Robbie Croy.’
Viv cuts in. ‘Surely he’s not that daft?’
‘It seems he is. Anyway they watched and the lights went on in the flat and he seemed to busy himself from room to room. Just when they phoned in, another guy turned up. Older, not looking too fit. They’re both still in the flat at the moment.’
‘So what’s next?’ Sal says.
‘I plan to have a chat with them. But I don’t plan to have Dr Fraser with me when I do!’
Sal turns to Viv with a look that says ‘this is out of my control’. Viv smiles and shakes her head. She almost rubs Sal’s shoulder but instead says, ‘I’ll get out here.’
Her sentence is barely finished when Marconi pulls up at the kerb, about fifty metres from the car park of the flat. Viv jumps out and says to Sal, ‘Speak soon?’
‘Sure, I’ll keep you posted.’ They drive off. Viv watches as they turn into the car park. Not sure how to play this, she hovers around for a few minutes, enough time for them to get into the building. Then running over to the door, she tries it. Locked. She presses the buzzer for Walker and a woman’s voice says, ‘Christ! What now?’