With My Little Eye

by Gerald Hammond

  A congratulatory grunt went round the table.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mr Laird. By the slope of his shoulders and the stillness of his hands Douglas knew that he was beginning to relax. ‘I’m happy to know it. But why did you choose this rather strange moment to reveal all.’

  Honeypot smiled. ‘Because that makes this my case. There is to be a gradual transfer of responsibilities. I remain in Edinburgh and the Lothians – mostly, I think, so that I can retain control of the dog unit – and you remain based in Edinburgh but with special responsibility for the Borders.’

  ‘I wish you more luck with this case than I’ve had,’ said her husband. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Almost.’ She glanced round the interested faces. ‘It will come out at the press conference so there’s no point being coy about it just now. The powers felt that two Superintendent Lairds would be one too many and could cause confusion. It is strongly suggested that I revert to using my maiden name. So I am Superintendent Honoria Potterton-Phipps. But I really think that we could drop the Phipps professionally. How does that grab you?’

  ‘Not uncomfortably,’ said her husband. ‘When we first met, you were Detective Sergeant Potterton-Phipps, aka Honeypot. Now that you’re no longer my superior officer I can start calling you Honeypot again.’

  ‘Not that you ever stopped.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Douglas said, ‘that a congratulatory drink would be out of order?’

  Both the senior officers smiled. ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Honeypot. ‘Ask us again when you’re no longer witnesses in an active case.’

  When Superintendent Potterton had been shown the secret voyeur’s cabinet and the officers had departed, Tash and Douglas had a moment of privacy.

  She said, ‘Never mind. They can come and dance at our wedding.’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind about getting married?’ Douglas said. ‘Or is this your oblique way of telling me something?’

  ‘It’s my oblique way of telling you that we have a young Young on the way. Don’t squeeze me quite so hard or you’ll damage Douglas Junior. That’s better.’ She produced a joyous grin. ‘Everybody told me that nothing is a hundred per cent safe. I believed them but thought that I was probably the stork-proof exception. The surgery phoned me my test results yesterday. We must have rung the bell on the very first shot. Now, come and help me search the bedroom again. I want to be quite sure that we’re not going to figure on somebody’s candid camera.’

  ‘I have already done that,’ Douglas said. ‘Twice.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  The disappearance of George Eastwick following the unexplained death of his brother caused a minor and short-lived stir in the media. The flatholders in Underwood House were troubled for a while by the intrusion of reporters but all mention of voyeurism, which would have been meat and drink to the tabloids, had been carefully expurgated so that a brief resurgence of interest, which had been roused when Crimewatch had made mention of the desire of the police to discuss with George the death of his brother, began to die again. No very good photograph of him had been produced and, although at first glance the feeling had been that he would soon be found, it was realized that a short haircut, the removal of some facial hair and adoption of a determined smile would allow him to mingle unnoticed with the men in almost any Scottish street.

  Absorbing though the vanishing of George Eastwick may have been to those in Underwood House, the approaching nuptials of Tash and Douglas soon took first place. A comedy had been shown on TV that finished with the presumably happy couple, their parents and the priest, standing unaccompanied in the middle of a field. Substitute a registrar for the priest and Douglas felt that the scenario had much to commend it. Their friends and family, however, threw up their hands in horror at the prospect of being deprived of the excuse for a good party at the expense of a man who was doing very nicely out of Arab oil; and Tash was easily persuaded to their viewpoint. Summer had almost trickled away during the many stops and starts of the Eastwick case. Some of Tash’s relatives were understood to be straight-laced and it seemed possible that Tash might be embarrassed by an early appearance of bumps and kicks, so a date in September was chosen and arrangements were agreed with the hotel and the registrar.

  A wedding, it seemed, was simplified little if at all by the transfer from church to hotel. One journey by bridal car was obviated but routines that were everyday to a church ceremony had to be considered afresh. Any attempt to involve Douglas in all the work was countered by his pointing out how busy he was in his professional life. This was valid, but was accompanied by the snag that poor Tash was just as heavily engaged on Douglas’s business in addition to being the obvious person both to make decisions and to implement them, all this while carrying her extra burden. All the three loads upon her small person, however, were gladly taken up. Everything that she wanted out of life was being gifted to her. Douglas found her typing left-handed a list of those who simply had to be invited while in the other hand she held the telephone over which she was ordering flowers.

  The small team of police had gradually been whittled away as lead after lead had been found to go nowhere. A mere detective inspector had been bossing around the few remaining officers until eventually it appeared that the Eastwick case had been solved and that the only missing element was the proof that might eventually be found along with the guilty man. The case was consigned to a high shelf, to await that or any other new break.

  It came as a surprise, therefore, when Honeypot herself arrived unaccompanied in an even newer Range Rover and asked for a word with Tash. Douglas joined them at Tash’s request. They settled in Douglas’s small sitting room with coffee on the low table.

  ‘I had the feeling,’ Honeypot said, ‘that if I sent a more junior officer to discuss this matter you might feel that we were not taking it seriously, but I can assure you that we are taking it very seriously indeed.

  ‘Enquiries into George Eastwick have been continuing but the information has been reaching us in drips and drabs. However, it does reach us in the end and we don’t like the way it adds up. Before Mr Eastwick vanished he was in approved lodgings and he was inclined to take a drink. In his cups, he let a few things slip that his fellow lodgers have quoted to us.

  ‘We already knew that he is not short of money. He had owned his flat in Falkirk outright – he sold it without difficulty for a very good price and that money disappeared along with him.

  ‘He also has a source of information. I thought that we had closed off one leak coming out of the police, but apparently not completely. If you have money, you can buy information. He satisfied himself that you two, and particularly you, Miss Jamieson, were responsible for highlighting the facts that have brought him into so much trouble. Why he singled out you in particular remains a mystery. He is a man filled with hatred and just now that hatred seems to be focussed on you.’

  ‘It … it beats me,’ Tash said. She seemed undecided whether to give Douglas the credit or to accept the threat to herself.

  Douglas felt his mouth go dry. ‘You would have got there eventually without any help from us,’ he said.

  ‘Possibly, although it was your familiarity with the building that led you to it. Anyway, you should put that argument to him rather than to me.’

  Douglas and Tash exchanged a look. Hers was frightened, his was more surprised. ‘But what can he do?’ Tash asked. ‘Would he dare to show his face around here again?’

  ‘Not if he has any common sense,’ said Douglas.

  ‘The question,’ said Honeypot, ‘is whether he does have any sense, common or otherwise. It may well be argued that to be filled up with hatred leaves no room for sense. From reports, the man was barely rational even earlier. To kill his own brother in order to gain possession of the cabinet de voyeur or out of a quarrel arising from the same cause, seems hardly rational. And then to see his capital melting away while struggling to stay one jump ahead of the police could easily push him over the brink. But, as I’m
sure you know, an irrational person can show great cunning on subjects outside their immediate obsession.

  ‘To attempt an answer to your questions, Miss Jamieson, if he has changed his appearance, yes, he might well dare to show his face around here. And something else very serious has come belatedly to my attention. There has been much talk lately about uniting all the Scottish forces into one police force. I can see the difficulties but they should be faced, or else a much more efficient means of sharing information should be devised.’

  ‘When you become chief constable,’ said Douglas, ‘you can make that proposal, but that would undoubtedly land you with the job of devising and introducing it.’

  Honeypot looked at him suspiciously for a moment, wondering whether the suggestion had contained an element of sarcasm, but apparently she was satisfied. ‘Well, thank you. It has taken all this time for the information to reach me that Mr Eastwick has a firearms certificate, issued by a different police force, on which he holds a point two two three rifle for the control of roe deer. He had left it in the care of an Edinburgh gunsmith who knew nothing of his troubles. I don’t know if Mr Young knows anything about rifles—’

  Douglas had belonged to a stalking family. ‘Point two two three? Very high velocity,’ he said. ‘Flat trajectory. Pinpoint accuracy.’

  ‘You do, then. That rifle was collected. Mr Eastwick’s van was found in the car park at Perth railway station. He could be anywhere by now. If he has stolen a replacement vehicle we may find him through that; if he has purchased one it may be much more difficult and, if he’s using public transport, even if there weren’t enough men carrying bagged rifles for the stalking he would only need a large golf bag. Any man carrying a gun case or a golf bag is being stopped, but so far without result.’

  Douglas gripped Tash’s hand more tightly. He could feel her trembling. ‘So where do we go from here?’ he asked.

  ‘That,’ said Honeypot, ‘is exactly what I was going to ask you. You get married in about ten days, I believe?’

  ‘True,’ said Douglas. Tash just smiled.

  ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’re going for a long honeymoon somewhere a long way away?’

  ‘We intend to visit my mother,’ Douglas said. ‘That seems to be inescapable. She’s in sheltered housing near Aberdeen. She has the early stages of Alzheimer’s. We’ve considered bringing her down here but she won’t move. That’s quite understandable. All her friends are up there. After that, we plan to tour – in Britain, if the fine weather lasts. Tash feels that she’s never seen much of her own country.’

  ‘I couldn’t persuade you to defer the visit to your mother, could I?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘I’ve never met Douglas’s mother,’ Tash explained. ‘She doesn’t travel but she’s always wanted to see Douglas married. All our other friends and relations are around here. The best compromise seemed to be to make an immediate visit, tell her all about it and give her a copy of the video.’

  ‘I can see where this is leading,’ said Douglas. ‘I was sure that George came from up that way. My father’s last posting was in Aberdeen so I spent some years there and I was certain that I recognized the accent.’ He was tempted to give a little lecture on the origins of the Doric language. Tash was always avid for fresh knowledge. But this was not the time. ‘He would find it easiest to melt into the background where his accent was the norm.’

  Honeypot was leaning back in her chair. She was obviously deep in thought although her smooth brow remained unfurrowed. ‘There have been sightings of him reported from Aberdeenshire, but no more than for anywhere else. That’s what you always get with such an uncertain description and a rotten photograph. I hope that we’ve stopped any more leakage of information but I can’t be sure – we have less control over civilian employees in headquarters than over serving officers. On such vague grounds I’d hardly feel justified in asking you to change the date of your wedding or your planned visit to your mother. And I’m sure you’ll appreciate that we do not have the resources to provide you with a bodyguard; and if you could afford three people full time – because that’s what it takes – you wouldn’t be working so hard in a small way of business. But there is the possibility that he might become aware of your presence in Aberdeenshire and follow you up. Could I suggest that you make your visit a quick one and then hop on a cruise ship for the rest of your honeymoon?’

  Tash and Douglas conferred by a quick glance. ‘If we could get a late booking, without having to take a whole suite on a Cunarder, we could go along with that,’ Douglas said.

  ‘I’ll find out about bookings and get back to you. Meanwhile, stay away from lit windows, keep your car closer to the front door and if somebody produces police identification and says to come quickly, don’t argue about it, just come. Have a good look first at the identification and don’t hesitate to phone me if you have any doubts.’

  Honeypot got up and smoothed her skirt over her perfect hips. ‘One more thing. You have a certificate with two shotguns on it. You are legally entitled to hold those guns. You may legally carry them, within certain restrictions that I’m sure you know about. If you point them at anybody you will be taking a serious risk of being in the wrong or, indeed, of giving him a legal right to shoot you. Think about that. If you shoot somebody in self-defence you will initially be in the wrong, the burden of proof will be on you and it will be my regrettable duty to arrest you. You may or may not be acquitted. The law may say that you should have waited for a properly authorized officer to rescue you. And the law is the law, whether I agree with it or not.’

  When the Range Rover had pulled away with a deceptive smoothness that spoke of a considerable expenditure above the usual purchase price, Douglas led Tash back to his sitting room. Without releasing her fingers he sank into one of the deep chairs and pulled her down onto his knee.

  ‘This calls for a little discussion,’ he said.

  Tash wriggled into a more comfortable and affectionate position. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Tash, sweetheart, I can’t bear to put you in any danger. We could postpone our wedding until they’ve caught him.’

  ‘No,’ said Tash. ‘No. I don’t want that.’

  It cut Douglas to the heart to see her distress but he continued, ‘Tash, I can’t take chances with our happiness. I think we’re both happier now than we’ve ever been.’

  She struggled up to her feet. ‘I was. But now I think you’re afraid of committing yourself. Is that it? Have you got cold feet?’ She fought to speak calmly but there was a sob in her voice. ‘Or have you gone off me already? Is the honeymoon over before it’s even started?’

  She had the look of a troubled child and he was reminded how young she was. He knew that this could be serious and yet he wanted to laugh.

  He jumped up, grabbed her by the elbows, dragged her into his arms and spoke urgently. ‘Silly sausage! There’s nothing in the world that I want more than to be married to you. But that bad bastard is threatening you. I shan’t sleep easily while he’s on the prowl. I think we’re safe here if we take a little care, but as soon as we start travelling around we could be easy meat. My mother’s in the phone book, for God’s sake! Did you arrange for the wedding to be videoed?’

  She nodded. ‘But it’s a very short ceremony.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Perhaps we could get away for the moment with putting a greeting message from each of us onto the same DVD and sending it to her with a promise to visit later.’ There were tears on her cheeks and, well aware that he was living a cliché, he began kissing them away.

  She seemed comforted but still adamant. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That wouldn’t do. You’d have to give her a jolly good excuse and I can’t think of a better one than the truth; but she’d be worried sick if you told her that there was somebody after us with a rifle. I’m just trying to imagine myself as an old woman with Alzheimer’s disease, not understanding why my son won’t bring his bride for me to meet.’


  Douglas was about to suggest that they could plead some non-life-threatening illness for one of them when the buzzer of the entryphone sounded. Still wound together they walked to answer it.

  A voice said, ‘Mr Young? I’m from Lothian and Borders Police, Technical Division. Superintendent Laird instructed that I sweep your flat for bugs.’

  Douglas said, ‘Bring your identification up with you,’ as Tash pressed the button.

  ‘There you are,’ Tash said. ‘Honeypot doesn’t mean to let anything happen to us.’

  The man, when he had brought his boxes of tricks upstairs, was small and pop-eyed. He found nothing but he said, ‘I’ll be back. I don’t necessarily find them if they’re not switched on at the time, and there can be new ones put in later. But you’re clean for now.’

  His identification was indisputable. Earlier, it had been his job to report on the video set-up between the bedrooms and the basement flat which, he said, had been ingenious and almost up to professional standard. Tash and Douglas felt that his admiration was misplaced.

  TWENTY-THREE

  During the run-up to the wedding, Douglas refused to be seen taking more than the most obvious and basic precautions against making life easy for a sniper. He knew that Honeypot was taking what precautions limited manpower would allow but he preferred not to remind Tash of the threats. Unknown to her he was slipping out of the house around dawn and dusk, carrying one of his shotguns loaded with heavy shot, to slip quietly through the woodland strips surrounding the house and gardens. Several times from the cover of a favourite clump of rhododendrons he saw an unmarked police car cruise slowly past and twice an officer got out and circled the house. Such visits might not prove very efficacious but they might well add up to a deterrent.