by V Clifford
Although they make a significant dent in the Maltesers, they are grown-up enough not to finish them, so as the von Trapps disappear over the mountains she takes the tray back to the kitchen. There’s another note under the door.
After dumping the tray she retrieves it and reads out loud, ‘He’d like to see you. Ring this number to organise a time.’ Whoever it happens to be, she doesn’t want to see ‘him’. She supposes it’s Whiteman and she takes the note through, collapsing into an armchair and handing it to John.
‘For Christ’s sake. What next? Stalkers at the swimming pool; now stalkers at the door. Viv, you’re not going to meet him? I take it this is Whiteman?’
She nods. ‘I think it must be. Who else would be so cloak and dagger about a meeting? Anyone else would just ring my bell. Glad he didn’t, he’d have spoiled the film. Marconi’s coming round here later. I’ll ask him what he thinks I should do. I have to say I’m no longer driven by getting a story.’
John’s face has paled, ‘Why’s Marconi coming here?’
‘To speak to you.’
‘Me? I’ve got nothing to say to the cops.’ His voice has lost its strength again.
‘Well he’s heard about the stuff that Croy’s been selling.’
‘Did you tell him about that?’
Viv can’t actually remember the details of what she’s said about John, but says, ‘Probably, but I can’t remember. All the stories have become one. I’m sorry. I really can’t remember. Marconi’s a good guy.’
‘But Viv, I’ll get done for using. You must be nuts if you think I’ll tell him anything.’
She sighs and lies back in the chair staring up at the ceiling. As the silence stretches out, neither of them fills it. Suddenly the buzzer makes them both jump.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Marcus. Come up. Top floor. It’s a hike.’
He arrives puffing and rests his hands on his knees. ‘It’s higher than it looks.’
Viv smiles, ‘I’m used to it. Come through. John’s in the sitting room.’ She shrugs and shakes her head, unsure about John’s reaction.
John stands up as Marconi enters, introducing himself as they shake hands, which Viv thinks is a good sign.
Marconi takes the lead. ‘I expect you’re reluctant to talk to me, but if we agree to do it off the record, would that help?’
John looks at Viv, then back at Marconi. ‘If you’re serious. It would have to be so far off the record that I’m not sure it would be any use.’
‘If you could let me be the judge of that it would be a start.’
‘How do I know that you’re not wired?’
Marconi laughs. ‘Sometimes I could kill TV producers. The whole world thinks we’re Miami Vice.’ He slips off his jacket and puts his arms in the air. ‘Go ahead, check.’
John hesitates and looks as if he won’t bother, then runs his hands all over Marconi. Satisfied, he nods. Viv flushes and smiles thinking she wouldn’t mind feeling a bit of that muscle definition either. ‘Okay. Shall I put the kettle on?’
They both say yes and she pads along to the kitchen to refill the kettle. When she returns with the tea they are already chatting. Marconi didn’t get his job by being a poor communicator.
‘Shall I leave you to it?’
John shakes his head. ‘No, Viv, stick around. You should hear it all. Robbie Croy is a bad bastard, but you know that already. He’s had a morality bypass and seems happy to sell contaminated drugs to unsuspecting idiots like me. God knows who else he’s duped. I can’t be the only one.’ Then thoughtfully he pauses. ‘You know it could actually just be me. He hates it that Sandy and I get on, but would he go as far as trying to kill me? Shit! Maybe Sandy’s had a warning from him, and that’s why he was determined that I couldn’t doss down at the flat any more. God, he’s such a creep. I’m not even sure that he’s gay. I think he’s one of those people who’ll do anything if it gives him a sense of power.’
Viv agrees. She’s met people like Croy before – Liam for one – and Croy strikes her as equally cut off from his emotions. That said he does anger pretty well. Putting her hand to her cheek she has a flash of him flattening her against the mirror. John’s voice interrupts the thought. ‘I bought stuff from him and it turned out to be rotten. After four days in the Royal Infirmary, one blood transfusion and too much bad food, I’m hopeful of survival. If it wasn’t for Mother Teresa here I’m not sure where I’d have ended up.’
Marconi gives Viv a look that she can’t work out – could have been respect. Then he nods at John, hoping he’ll continue, and in the following silence says, ‘Did you part with money and receive goods directly from him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was anyone else present?’
‘Nope. Just him and me.’
‘Where did this take place?’
Hesitating, John turns to look at Viv. She shrugs. He has to make his own decisions.
‘I don’t want to make it difficult for Sandy. The flat really is a refuge. Sandy’s warned Robbie about doing anything illegal there. But that’s where I bought it.’
‘Look, John, for now we’re really only interested in Croy, and we’re interested in him because he could be involved in something bigger. Drugs are bad enough, and what he did to you could put him back inside, but there’s more. And it’s the “more” that we’re trying to pin down.’
Viv spots a huge scratch on Marconi’s hand and is transfixed. He stops speaking and looks at her, then at his hand. ‘One of my cats. She doesn’t like having a manicure. This,’ he raises his hand, ‘is the consequence. She won.’
Viv, amazed that he’s the kind of man who has cats says, ‘She’s quite a fighter!’
‘Enough about the cats. Let’s get back to business. How long have you known Alexander MacDonald?’
‘About four, no five years. I came here to university and met up with a few guys from out of town who Sandy put up in the flat. Then when I graduated I went back to Turriff, supposedly to work on the farm, but that was always a non-starter. So, recently, like ten days ago, I came back, and was on his floor until your chum here rang for the ambulance.’
‘Okay. And how often have you encountered Robbie in the last ten days?’
John has to think about this. ‘A couple of times in the flat, the last when I bought the stuff from him, then again in the hospital. Luckily an Irish nurse with a bad temper asked him and Sandy to leave. It was then that Robbie mentioned you, “the bitch from the West Bow”.’ He nods at Viv.
Marconi looks at her but doesn’t ask her anything. He turns back to John. ‘What exactly did you think you were buying?’
‘E. But it was obviously more creative than that. As you see I’m still a touch on the khaki side.’
Viv has just been thinking how much better he looks, even since this morning. Thanks to Julie Andrews and bacon rolls.
Darkness has fallen, and Viv is sure that they’re almost done when Marconi’s mobile goes. He retreats to the hall while she and John fall back in their respective seats. She feels knackered, but imagines John must be completely spent. She’s relieved when Marconi comes back and says, ‘I think that’ll do for now.’
She holds back from asking how it went with Max. As if reading her mind Marconi remarks, ‘Max was whistling. He must be more afraid of Whiteman than I thought. You both look pretty tired. Time I went. Cheers, John.’
Once Viv and he are out of John’s earshot he says, ‘Well done. If Croy thinks we’ve got something on him we’ll have more leverage. Whiteman is the one we’d like. Croy is small fry in comparison.’
Viv looks shocked. ‘But he can’t get away with selling drugs. Surely you can get him on that alone?’
‘It’s not as simple as that and you know it. We might have to let a little fish go if it means we get Whiteman. I expect that if we do get Whiteman, Croy’s supplies will soon dry up.’
Viv nods and sighs.
He looks around. ‘I can see what Sal meant about the flat.
It is lovely.’
‘Thanks, but it was . . .’
He interrupts her. ‘It’s okay to take a compliment, Viv. It’s a sign of evolution.’
This makes her smile. She stands against the closed door with an unidentifiable sensation in her belly. The kernel of emotion stirring is alien to her these days.
John is dozing when she pushes the sitting room door, but with its creak he opens his eyes. ‘Well,’ he says wearily, ‘that’s me done for now. If Whiteman gets a sniff of who shopped Robbie, he’ll take it personally.’
Viv had thought of this and says, ‘That makes two of us then. If he traces it to you, he’ll then trace you to me and I’ll be the one for the chop.’
‘From what I hear it’ll more likely be barbecue.’
They both snigger.
‘That’s an appalling thing to say.’
‘I know, but it’s true. I bet Marconi will trace Andrew’s death to Whiteman. Or at least to Whiteman’s back door – he’s clever.’
‘Even the cleverest make mistakes, John. Perhaps setting Max up with Andrew will turn out to be his biggest yet.’
‘We can only hope.’ His mobile rings, ‘Do you mind if I take this? It’s my sis.’
Viv waves her hands and nods.
In the kitchen she pulls out some chicken and spinach from the fridge, wondering if she could do something interesting with them. Viv’s the first to admit her cooking skills leave a lot to be desired, but practice makes perfect and all that. Taking a copy of The Naked Chef off the shelf she scans the index for chicken, then for spinach. Nothing listed that combines them. She’ll have to ad lib. As she peels some garlic and crushes it beneath a knife she thinks about where she might have been eating tonight if she’d gone north. The Summer Isles Hotel, or the Inverlodge; either would have been a treat – both have views to die for. She switches on Classic FM, and quickly switches it off again. The sound of Elgar’s cello concerto, one of Dawn’s favourite pieces, isn’t what she needs right now.
Dawn’s face inveigles itself into Viv’s mind. She wonders what would have happened if the RSNO hadn’t been struggling to find a double bassist. Dawn hadn’t wanted to commit to a Scottish job, but they eventually persuaded her. Once she got on the road she loved it, but she rapidly grew into someone that Viv no longer knew: drinking too much and not turning up when she’d arranged to. Viv soon wondered if there was someone else. When it became clear that there were several, she was so angry with herself. Hurt didn’t even begin to describe what she felt. Viv put the betrayal down to the artistic temperament. A lie that she was willing to put up with every time Dawn came back filled with promises and remorse. Bad times. What would have happened if she’d lived? A drunken car crash – no one knew whether it was an accident or deliberate. Dawn had always ridden an emotional merry-go-round, self-doubt exacerbated by self-loathing. Viv can admit now that she is relieved it is all finally over. But nothing is ever completely straightforward. Dawn left everything she owned to Viv: her small flat and various ‘assets’. Viv hasn’t been able to face lawyers for details, but knows she’ll have to sometime.
John comes into the kitchen to see Viv poised with the knife in mid- air. ‘You okay?’
She’s startled. ‘Yes, fine. Trying to create dinner.’
‘You sure you don’t mind? I feel like a complete free loader, Viv, and I’m really not like that.’
‘It doesn’t feel like that to me. Besides I’m enjoying the company to be honest. No, delete that last bit. I hate when people say, “to be honest” – usually means they’re lying and I’m not. It’s nice to have someone around for a change. I spend too much time on my own. It’s unnatural.’
John picks up the peeler and sets to on a few unsuspecting tatties.
‘Don’t do too many. They’re my big downfall. It must be my Irish roots. I love tatties, in fact my hips love them so much they never part with them. D’you know what? When I was at school there was a girl, Catherine Rider, she used to sing, ‘There’ll be hips, hips as big as battleships in the store, in the store . . .’ I’ll never forgive her for drawing attention to them. It doesn’t matter that the rest of me looks okay; having saddlebags is my great imperfection. Well, one of them.’
‘It’s one of the bonuses of being a man. No saddle bags!’
‘Don’t rub it in or there’ll be no dinner for you.’
Her proximity to him in this tiny kitchen should be claustrophobic, but isn’t. They manage to skirt around each other until their tasks are complete and all they have to do is wait.
John’s mobile vibrates in his pocket and he dries his hands and moves into the hall to see who the caller is. He mouths, ‘It’s Sandy!’ Then, ‘Hello. Hello. Sandy, are you there? Hello! No one there. Sandy! Are you okay? Shit! I’ll ring him back. What if he’s unwell? He’s asthmatic, I’ve seen him collapse, it was horrible. God what shall I do?’ He says this as he redials the number. ‘It’s gone to answerphone. I don’t know what to do, Viv. I’m not in any fit state to get myself down there. Would you go?’
Viv lets out a huge sigh, and with knife still in hand puts her hands on her hips. ‘You really think he’ll be at the flat? He could be anywhere.’
‘We’ve got to try something. I can’t not do anything!’ His voice reaches a pitch that she hasn’t heard before.
‘Let’s think this through. When was the last time you saw Sandy? Was it with Robbie at the hospital? Did he say where they were heading? You see I’m not sure if I were him, that I’d be hanging out at the flat, knowing that the police are interested in Robbie – even in you, come to think of it.’
His face drains and she knows she’s not going to get out of this. She sighs and negotiates past him into the hall. ‘All right, I’ll go and see if he’s at the flat. But if he isn’t there I’ll be coming straight back.’
With the smell of chicken and garlic flickering round her nostrils she peevishly grabs her jacket and wallet and heads for the door.
She’s onto the street before John has time to suggest an alternative. It’s still damp and drizzly, definitely a night to be tucked up in doors. Not even the smokers are out. Before she reaches the top of the road her hair is clamped to her head. This kind of drizzle is more damaging to a good blow-dry than a downpour; it’s more sneaky. She spots an orange light.
The cabbie is chatty and Viv can’t imagine it’s been a quiet day for him with weather like this. On nearing the Colonies she’s alerted by a spinning blue light in the car park and she asks to be dropped at the main road, which allows her to approach unnoticed. She sidles into the car park and crouches behind a four by four. Two paramedics bring out a stretcher from Sandy’s building. She can’t make out who they are carrying, so she moves onto the next car and crouches down, which is fine but not exactly inconspicuous. The woman she met – Sandy’s next-door neighbour – is at the entrance to the building and has her hand up to her mouth. Viv thinks the woman might have spotted her so she raises her own hand in the slightest wave, but there’s too much commotion for her to notice. Surprised that an ambulance is still cause for a crowd to gather, Viv checks out the other people standing in the rain. It wouldn’t be the first time an accomplice has hung around to watch the playing out of events – if indeed there’s been an accomplice.
Another blue light arrives along with an Audi. Marconi steps out of the Audi and Viv ducks down. Not sure why she has done this, she straightens up and looks over the bonnet. Marconi is met by a tall guy in black jeans and a leather jacket – the unofficial uniform of CID – who leads him straight to the neighbour. Marconi guides her back inside holding her arm. Viv makes her way across the car park and asks a middle-aged bloke in a fawn anorak, just about to get into his car, who’s in the ambulance. He confirms that it’s MacDonald. Viv says to one of the paramedics, ‘Is anyone going with him?’
‘Not that I’ve heard and not that he’ll care. He’s unconscious.’
She rejects the idea of getting into the ambulance, and instead tri
es briefly to think of ways she might justify being here to Marconi – she’ll worry about that when the time comes. In the hubbub, she slips into the building unnoticed, and makes her way to the neighbour’s flat. A young PC opens the door in response to her tap and recognises her from a meeting at Fettes. He lets her in without any questions. Marconi does a double-take when she walks into the sitting room, and the neighbour remarks, ‘I thought you said you weren’t police.’
Marconi is standing with his hands on his hips. Viv stutters a reply, ‘I . . . I’m not, but I do help them with their enquiries when I can.’
Marconi stares in disbelief then asks, ‘What brings you here, Dr Fraser?’
‘We might speak outside.’ She gestures to the landing, and Marconi moves after a microsecond’s hesitation.
‘What exactly are you doing here, Viv? Haven’t we talked enough about “coincidence”?’
‘He rang.’
‘Who rang?’
‘Sandy rang John on his mobile, but couldn’t speak. Since John isn’t well enough to come gallivanting out here he persuaded me to come in order to put his mind at ease.’
‘What time was the call?’
‘Twenty, twenty-five minutes ago. Half an hour tops. We could find out exactly from John. What happened? John says that he’s asthmatic and has collapsed before.’
‘It could be that, we’ll have to wait and see. Now you head home and I’ll get back to my interview.’ His tone is way too patronising for her liking.
As he turns his back she blurts out, ‘She hates him.’
Screwing up his eyes and shaking his head he turns round again and enquires, ‘And how would you know that?’
‘I spoke to her the day that I found John. We had a kind of chat.’
‘What kind of chat?’
‘Actually she offered her opinions and her sightings and I listened. Remember I was keen to find Andrew at that point. She claims they’re a bunch of paedophiles. So no bias there.’