by Iain Colvin
‘Stay in here,’ said Craig. He checked the other rooms. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen, and each room had been similarly ransacked. Craig re-joined Fiona in the living room. ‘Whoever was here has gone.’
Fiona replaced the seat cushions and looked for the phone, which she found on the carpet near the window. The receiver was off the hook and she had to press the studs on the cradle a few times to get a dialling tone. Craig looked around. The TV and video recorder were still there, as was the stereo unit. A thought came to him. ‘How quickly could you tell what’s missing?’ he asked.
‘I’ll check in a moment, after I call the landlord and the police.’
‘Hold on.’
‘It’s okay Craig, you can go to the Grosvenor Café for an hour until they’re done, I won’t let them find you.’
Craig took the receiver from Fiona, put it back on the cradle and placed the telephone back on its table. ‘Listen to me for just a second, Fi.’
‘Craig, I need to report this.’
Craig held her by both hands and led her to the sofa. ‘Fi, sit down for a moment.’ They sat down, and Craig could still see the fear in Fiona’s face. ‘I need you to check to see what’s missing, if anything. Did you keep any money here? Chequebooks, bank cards, jewellery?’
Fiona took her hands away from his and swept her hair back over an ear, trying to compose herself as she looked round.
‘My chequebook and guarantee card are in my handbag. I don’t have any money here. Oh no, that’s wrong, Chris and I have a food kitty in the kitchen, there’s usually a few quid in it for bread and milk et cetera.’
They went through to the kitchen and Fiona checked an old tea tin on top of the fridge. She opened the lid and pulled out three pound notes and some change. ‘That looks about right,’ she said. She suddenly turned round and went back into the hall, then into another room to the right of the kitchen. ‘It just dawned on me that Chris keeps some money beside the bed usually, for the rent.’ The bedding was on the floor as were the contents of the small wardrobe behind the door. Fiona went over to the bedside table. It was missing its drawer, because the drawer was now upside down on the bare mattress. She picked it up and put it back where it belonged. She sifted through a handful of items that had been dumped onto the bed, a small watch, some paper handkerchiefs, bits and pieces of make-up and a small white envelope, unsealed but with the flap tucked in. Fiona opened it and pulled out a handful of cash. She checked through the notes. ‘A hundred and forty pounds. That’s what the rent costs. It’s all here.’
She rushed out of the room and into her own bedroom. Her jewellery box was sitting on her dressing table, beside cans of hairspray and tubes of make-up, half empty bottles of perfume and a collection of glass, pottery and ceramic owls lined up in a row. She picked up the box. ‘The lock’s been forced,’ she told Craig. She opened the lid and ran a finger over the items inside; three gold rings, some bracelets, two necklaces, a strip of passport-sized photographs of Fiona and another girl, taken in a photo booth. She came across a small velvet pouch which she opened, tipping the contents into her palm. Craig could see the pair of diamond earrings her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. They’d cost an absolute fortune at the time, he remembered.
‘It’s all here,’ she said again. ‘They’ve burst the lock but didn’t take anything. I don’t understand it.’
‘They didn’t take the telly or the video. Or your hi-fi.’
‘Neither they have,’ agreed Fiona, puzzlement replacing the look of fear across her eyes. ‘Who would have done this but not taken anything?’
‘They were looking for something.’
‘What?’
Craig took the wallet from his jacket pocket. ‘This.’
Fiona looked at the wallet as if she was seeing it for the first time. ‘You think so?’
‘Yes. And I’ll tell you why. Claire’s house was burgled too. But the police couldn’t confirm if anything had been taken from there either.’ He took Fiona out into the hall again and opened the front door. He showed her the lock and the door frame. ‘Look. No sign of damage, and you opened the door with your key when we came in.’
Fiona’s puzzled expression deepened. ‘I don’t understand.’ She wrapped her arms round herself, hugging her own slim frame.
‘Whoever broke in was a professional. They picked the lock.’ He rubbed the top of Fiona’s arm. ‘I think you should stay at your mum and dad’s for a few nights.’
‘Shouldn’t we phone the police?’
‘I think it would be a waste of time.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because despite the mess, there’s no damage, nothing’s been taken, and I’d bet any money the police wouldn’t find any fingerprints.’
Fiona looked at him and the penny dropped. ‘Do you think that the same person who did this also burgled Claire’s house?’
Craig didn’t want to make Fiona any more scared than she already was. ‘I’m not saying that, but whoever did this knew what he was doing.’ An icy hand gripped Craig’s chest as he came to the realisation that the burglar had also known what he was doing when he broke Claire’s kitchen window. It must have been a smokescreen to throw the local police off the track and make them think it was an opportunist’s crime. To divert them away from the fact that he had broken in with one purpose in mind – to find the letter.
‘We should go now,’ said Craig.
‘But the mess.’
‘Forget it.’
‘But Chris will come back and find it. We should leave a note at least.’
‘Okay, leave a note. Tell him not to stay here until he speaks to you.’
‘Chris is a she. Christine.’
‘Oh.’
Under other circumstances Craig would have been delighted to hear the news that Chris was a female, but right now he wanted to be out of the flat as soon as humanly possible. He went through to the living room, and hurriedly stacked some books and tapes back on the shelves until he found the telephone note pad and paper hidden among the mess on the floor. He brought it through for Fiona. She scrawled a note, and using a length of Sellotape retrieved from the kitchen, pinned it to the outside of her flatmate’s bedroom door. Craig read it, then ripped it off. ‘You can’t tell her where you are or leave a phone number. Tell her to go to her parents and you’ll call her there.’
‘Her parents live in Doncaster.’
Craig thought for a second. ‘Okay, tell her to go to the police.’
‘What?’
‘When are you expecting her back?’
‘Sunday.’
‘I’ll have gone to the police myself by then. Probably. In any event, it’ll be the safest thing for her to do. Say you’re okay, you’ll explain later, and tell her to stay at a pal’s till you get a chance to speak to her.’
‘She’ll be worried.’
‘What’s the first thing she’ll do when she sees your note?’
Fiona pondered for a moment. ‘She’ll phone my mum and dad looking for me.’
‘Ideal. Just don’t write asking her to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if whoever broke in didn’t find what they were looking for, they’ll either come back here, or try to find out where you could be. Have you got anything here with your home address in Edinburgh written on it?’
‘I don’t think so. All my mail goes home and the mail that comes here is for the landlord.’
‘Okay. Good.’
Fiona rewrote the note on a fresh piece of paper and stuck it to the door, then they picked up their belongings and the canvas bag and left the flat.
Half an hour later they were back at Queen Street station. The elation they’d felt when they left the Swedish Consulate was now a distant memory. Craig’s overwhelming sense of guilt had returned with a vengeance. Firstly he’d roped Claire into this mess, then his parents and sister, now Fiona. And God knows what had happened to Brian Irving. Ther
e was another feeling that cut through his guilt however. Craig was angry. Furious. It wasn’t merely the injustice of it that riled him, it was the fact that someone thought they had a right to break into Claire’s house, and now Fiona’s flat. When he’d heard about Claire’s murder he was shocked to the core, but now that shock had turned into a cold, burning rage. Claire had been defenceless, but she’d challenged the intruder nevertheless. The papers said the killer hadn’t broken into the house with the intention of killing her, because she’d been stabbed with one of her own kitchen knives. Craig wished he had been there; if he had, then maybe Claire would still be alive.
Fiona roused him from his train of thought. ‘We’re much earlier than we said we’d be, it’s only just gone twelve. What do you want to do before we see Lynn?’
‘I’ll give her a call and see if she’s free,’ said Craig. He made his way to the bank of payphones, dialled 192 and got Hamilton Dunbar’s number. He hung up and redialled the office number, and asked to speak to Lynn.
‘Hello, Lynn Simon speaking.’
‘Hi Lynn, it’s Craig.’
‘Oh Craig, thank God you phoned.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Your policeman, Detective Sergeant Wilson, was here.’
‘What?’
‘Detective Sergeant Wilson was here in my office this morning, asking questions about you and Brian Irving.’
‘How’s that possible?’ Craig mentally retraced his steps since Monday. He was almost certain he hadn’t made any slip-ups.
‘Did you tell anyone where you were going?’ asked Lynn.
‘No. Wait a minute. Yes, my parents, on the phone. I told them I was meeting you. Not by name, but I said I was meeting an Edinburgh literary agent.’
‘That must be it, they must have told the police.’
‘Shite. God, I’m sorry Lynn. What happened?’
‘It’s okay, I fended him off. But I wouldn’t come to the office again if I were you. Where are you now?’
‘We’re back at Queen Street. Lynn, we went to Fiona’s flat in Hillhead. She’s been burgled. But there were no signs of a forced entry and nothing was taken.’
‘What? Bloody hell. Do you think they were after you?’
‘It’s hard to escape that conclusion. But the really strange thing is, I didn’t tell anyone I was going to Fiona’s, not even my parents.’
‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that the police know about your past and present partners in crime, Craig.’
‘Maybe not, but I don’t think the police count breaking and entering as part of routine procedure.’ A troubled thought crossed his mind, and he was almost reluctant to voice it. ‘Not unless the police themselves have got something to hide.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. But my options seem to be narrowing.’
‘You mean they’ve narrowed down to Clive Prior?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want me to phone him?’
‘Yes. Can you tell him I want to come and see him?’
‘You want to see him? Why don’t we just phone him?’
‘Because a phone call won’t give me what I want.’ What Craig actually meant was that he’d already had his fingers burned by an academic once and he wasn’t going to take any chances a second time. He’d spoken to Brian Irving on the phone and he’d subsequently disappeared with Craig’s document. He wasn’t going to take the risk again even though he knew he needed Clive Prior’s help. ‘Anyway, I think he’ll want to make the time to see me.’
‘Why so?’
‘We picked up the package from the Consulate.’
‘Really? So it was there?’
‘It sure was. We haven’t opened it yet. Events sort of overtook us.’
‘Okay. I’ll tell Professor Prior that you want to meet him.’
‘Thanks. If Brian Irving thought he was a good man to speak to then I’m sure it’ll be time well spent.’
‘Leave it with me. Where will you go now?’
‘We’ll head to Fiona’s mum and dad’s.’
‘Okay, I’ll get finished up here as quickly as I can and I’ll meet you there.’
‘Good. See you later.’
Craig hung up and re-joined Fiona who had been checking on the Edinburgh train. He quickly brought her up to date with Lynn’s news, and they were about to make their way to the platform when a thought occurred to Craig.
‘Have you got ten pence?’
Fiona ferreted around in her bag and produced a purse from which she retrieved two ten pence pieces. Craig took them and went back to the payphones. He dialled the number again and was put through to Lynn.
‘Hi Craig, did you forget something?’
‘Yes. Could you do me a favour? When you come to Denis and Valerie’s house, could you take a roundabout route?’
‘What?’
‘Please. Just indulge me. Take a couple of buses or a taxi in the wrong direction, or make it look like you’re taking a train.’
‘You think the police would follow me?’
‘They found you once.’
Lynn thought about it.
‘Okay. And you should buy some tickets to Helensburgh.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘What’s sauce for the goose.’
‘Point taken.’
Craig hung up and wondered how he’d explain this to Fiona without making it look like he’d gone completely paranoid. He clutched the canvas bag all the tighter as he made his way back to her.
Chapter 27
There was no one home when Craig and Fiona arrived back at the house in Church Hill, so Fiona used her key to let them in. They took off their jackets, hung them up, and went through to the kitchen. Craig could see Fiona visibly relax as she put the kettle on, clearly relieved to be back in the protective womb of her parents’ house once again. He wanted to put his arms around her and give her a hug. Instead he just said, ‘You were great today, really great.’
‘Oh I don’t think so.’
‘Yes you were. Firstly in the Consulate, then in the flat. Talented and brave in the same day. Add blowing bubbles and we could sell tickets.’
She snorted daintily, as if trying to stop herself from laughing but not quite managing to. ‘Cheeky.’
The sound of the doorbell interrupted them, and they both jumped at the unexpected intrusion. Fiona stuck her head through the kitchen doorway and peered down the hall. Craig had closed the storm door on their way in so she couldn’t see who it was. ‘Could you get it, Craig? Please. I’m still a bit jittery from before.’
‘Of course.’ He slipped past her and walked down the hall. As he opened the door, Craig felt a jangle of nerves too. He opened the door a few inches and was relieved to see Lynn standing there.
‘Only me,’ she said, but there was no mirth in her voice. ‘I’m frozen stiff, can I come in?’
Craig apologised and opened the door wide. Lynn stepped inside and Craig shut the storm door behind her. They went through to the kitchen and Lynn took off her raincoat and jacket.
‘A bus and two taxis I took to get here,’ she said. ‘I’ve been standing on the corner for ten minutes, then I saw you arrive.’
‘Coffee? Tea?’ asked Fiona.
‘Tea, please.’ She squeezed Fiona’s arm on her way past. ‘How are you? You must have had an awful shock.’
‘I did. I’m glad Craig was there.’
‘Was there much mess?’
‘That’s the thing, there was no damage as such, just things shoved on the floor mainly.’
‘It’s as if they were looking for something in particular. They were methodical in their messiness, if you know what I mean,’ said Craig.
‘And nothing was taken?’ asked Lynn.
‘Not a thing. Not even my diamond earrings, although they broke the lock on my jewellery box to get into it,’ said Fiona.
Lynn and Craig exchanged looks, and Craig knew that Lynn was thinking the s
ame as him.
‘I think they were looking for the wallet, or the letter, said Lynn.
‘Anything else wouldn’t make sense,’ agreed Craig.
‘Except now there are two letters,’ Lynn added. Her eyes strayed to the bag Craig had placed on the kitchen table. ‘And a package, by the look of things.’
‘Will we?’ asked Fiona.
‘Got any wire-cutters?’ said Craig.
They sat around the table and Craig clipped at the metal strip that sealed the bag. It wasn’t too different from the metal bands used to seal note remittances at the bank. The soft metal snapped easily enough under the torque of the secateurs Fiona had fetched from the greenhouse in the garden. Craig pulled the metal through a series of eyelets in the canvas bag, unfolded the bag and laid it flat. He reached inside and pulled out a black leather pouch, perhaps eighteen inches long by twelve inches wide, with a brass zip along one long edge, secured by a small locking clasp mechanism, like the ones you’d find on a briefcase.
‘It’s a document pouch,’ said Lynn. ‘And whatever’s inside looks quite thick.’
Craig held the pouch loosely and moved his hands up and down, as if guessing its weight. ‘Not too heavy.’ He examined the fastening. ‘I’ll have to break the lock. Does your dad have pliers anywhere?’
Fiona left the kitchen and returned two minutes later with a metal toolbox. Craig opened out both sides of the box and dug around the bottom, pulling out a pair of heavy pliers and a thick screwdriver. He set to work on the lock and decided after a couple of minutes that it would be easier to break the metal tag attached to the zip rather than the actual fastening itself. After several twists and thumps, the tag gave way. Craig unzipped the pouch, reached inside and pulled out a neat clutch of papers, tied together with a piece of red ribbon. On the front page, printed across the top half of the paper, was a stylised coat of arms. It was of a large black eagle, with wings outstretched, holding in its claws a laurel wreath. Inside the wreath was a symbol. A thick, black crooked cross, turned forty-five degrees from the vertical.