In the dark, Mcllhenney smiled. ‘Aye, great, eh!’
Just after 11.00 p.m. the ground floor light went out. A few seconds later there was a sudden blaze of light from an upstairs room. Joy Harvey appeared, framed in the window as she drew the curtains.
‘Fine piece of woman that,’ said McIlhenney. ‘I wonder how that wee chap manages all on his own?’
‘From what I’ve heard, he’s had a bit of help over the years!’
71
The first full working week of the New Year drew to a close in unseasonally mild weather. Saturday morning came in a flood of sunshine, with a hint of warmth rather than the frost which normally accompanies cloudless January skies in Scotland.
For the stake-out team it was business as usual. The only break from routine came when Andrew Harvey left home alone in the Toyota. The Transit van was parked 200 yards away in the drive of an unfinished house at the top of the cul-de-sac in which the Harvey villa was situated.
When Harvey cleared the house, Maggie Rose slipped from the van and gunned her MG Metro, parked out of the line of sight, into life. She had the Toyota in view as it reached the roundabout leading to Wardpark and Castlecary, but there were no surprises in store. Harvey drove straight to the factory, and drew up in its car park, alongside other vehicles. Six-day working, thought Maggie, the software business must be doing well.
Joy Harvey left half-an-hour after her husband, in a red Ford RS 2000 with a new ‘M’ prefix. McGuire followed her at a distance in the Transit. He was led into a covered car park beneath the sprawling Cumbernauld Town Centre.
As he pulled up, he saw Joy, her long legs carrying her at a brisk pace towards the Asda foodstore. He waited for a full minute before strolling absent-mindedly towards the supermarket. He took a trolley, and wheeled it casually along the first aisle, an inconspicuous unaccompanied male, one of several, picking items at random from the shelves. He spotted her easily, as she moved purposefully from section to section. Her trolley was almost filled to capacity with food, toiletries and kitchenware. ‘Those two fairly go through the groceries,’ McGuire muttered to himself. Eventually he saw her head towards the checkout, the trolley overflowing. He left his, and retraced his steps, as if to pick up a forgotten item. Then, slapping his jacket and swearing softly, as if he had forgotten his wallet, he spun on his heel and walked quickly out of the store.
He was back in the Transit, observing the Ford through its wing-mirror, by the time Joy returned. Eight Asda carrier bags were crammed into the trolley. She folded down the back seat and began to pack the car. McGuire noted that one of the carriers appeared to be filled entirely with toilet tissue and kitchen rolls. Two others contained cartons of orange juice, milk and various soft drinks. Another was full of fresh fruit.
Before she had finished loading her car, McGuire started the van and drove off. He was back on station well before she returned home. He called Maggie again.
Her car-phone rang out, then was answered. ‘How’s it going, sarge?’
‘Quietly. Our boy’s at work. How about you?’
‘We’ve been to Asda. Joy did a food-shop. Enough to feed a family of six for about a month. Are we sure that this pair don’t have kids?’
‘Or maybe a house-guest?’
Harvey returned home just after 1.00 p.m. He left the Toyota parked in the driveway. The RS 2000 stood in the open garage, apparently unpacked. Ten minutes after Harvey’s arrival, Maggie drove quietly up the slope and parked her car in its original position. She checked to ensure that no one was watching, before slipping back into the Transit.
McGuire handed her two large rolls, packed with tomato, lettuce and salami.
‘Thanks, Mario.’ She examined the filling. ‘Is this your Italian side coming out?’
‘Course not! The McGuires of Kilkenny were the salami eaters. The Corrieris of Milano were far too keen on their fresh breath to touch stuff like that. Their tastes lay in other areas!’ He flashed her a caricature of a lecherous grin.
‘You should be so lucky, constable!’
‘Yes, Sergeant, but you’ll have to contain yourself. Look. Our birds are flying!’
The double garage door was closing automatically. Harvey stood by the open hatchback of the Toyota, five Asda carrier-bags bulging in his hands. He lifted them with difficulty into the car, reached up on tip-toes and slammed the tailgate shut. Joy locked the front door and walked quickly out. She climbed into the driver’s seat. Her short fat husband clambered in on the passenger side. They saw a puff of exhaust smoke, then the white reversing lights came on and the sleek black car backed out of the driveway.
‘My car, Mario come on!’
‘Okay. Don’t forget the bloody rolls!’
The Toyota was clear of the cul-de-sac before Maggie had reversed out to follow it. She was three hundred yards behind when she saw it swing left, and circle the roundabout at the foot of the hill to join the A80, heading towards Stirling.
She tailed them, still at a safe distance, as the A80 became the M80, then watched half-a-mile later as the Toyota veered left to join the M876. Joy maintained a steady eighty-five miles per hour.
‘Christ,’ said McGuire, ‘if she puts her foot down in that beast, it’s goodbye to us.’
‘Don’t you believe it, cowboy, this wee thing can go too. Anyway, if the worst comes to the worst, we can phone in and have them stopped for speeding.’
Maggie drove skilfully, matching the Toyota’s speed. She kept other vehicles between her and her quarry, but always stayed close enough to observe the options taken at junctions. Eventually the M876 merged with the Edinburgh-bound M9.
‘Where do you think we’re going?’ McGuire asked.
‘God knows. Could be the bloody football. Is it Hearts or Hibs at home today?’
‘Oh, aye, and was that their half-time piece that Harvey loaded into the boot? Anyway, I hardly see the wee man as a rabid Hibs fan? No, it could be they’re heading for the Bridge. Will I call in?’
Maggie nodded and handed him the car-phone. He punched in Martin’s home number. A girl’s voice answered.
‘Hello, miss. Is Chief Inspector Martin in?’
‘He’s shaving. Hold on, I’ll call him. Andy!’ A second later she came back on the line. ‘Sorry, who’s that?’ McGuire introduced himself. ‘It’s DC McGuire,’ she called. ‘Sounds as if he’s travelling.’
A few seconds later Martin came to the telephone. ‘Hi, Mario. What’s up?’ McGuire explained. And as he did so his earlier guess was proved right. The Toyota headed for the Forth Road Bridge. Maggie followed tucked behind a maroon Sierra, from which a green and white football scarf trailed.
‘One other thing, sir. Joy bought a hell of a load of groceries this morning, and they loaded more than half of them into the car before they left.’
‘Okay, Mario, that’s good work. Call when you get where you’re going. I’ll wait here for you.’ His tone changed as he spoke away from the phone. ‘Sorry, Janie. Can’t be helped.’
Then he was back. ‘I’ll call Brian Mackie and tell him that the caravan’s on the move. Tell Maggie not to let them twig her.’
‘Would you like to tell her yourself, sir?’
Martin laughed. ‘No, maybe not. Good luck.’ He hung up and checked Mackie’s home number. The DI took some time to answer the call. When he did so he sounded as if he was rubbing the sleep from his voice. But he snapped awake quickly as Martin explained.
‘Stay by your phone, Brian, until we can establish where they’re going. Call your mate and have him ready in case you have to move fast. And when you do head out, make sure you have a full tank. You’ll be heading north, but at the moment it could be anywhere.’
There was no answer from Stockbridge when he called Skinner. He dialled Gullane, and Sarah answered. Bob, she said, had gone for a short-notice round of golf. Martin told her what had happened.
‘I’ll call the boss when they arrive wherever they’re going. Pending further instructions, I�
��ll do no more than maintain the surveillance. So long.’
He put the telephone back in its cradle and turned back to Janie. ‘Might as well put on a record. We could be here for a while.’
72
And then the telephone rang.
‘Oh, fuck!’ Andy swore only in moments of extreme stress.
‘Not until you answer that bloody thing!’ She rolled away, reached out an arm and handed him the telephone.
Maggie Rose spoke. ‘We’ve arrived, sir. We’re in Earlsferry, in the East Neuk of Fife. The Harveys seem to have a weekend cottage here. McGuire called directory enquiries. They’re on the phone here. The house is called Earl’s Cottage. It’s on the beach.
‘It’ll be difficult to keep it under observation, and impossible from the car. But we can get a clear view from the beach. There are hardly any people about. Most of the houses must be holiday places; there’s no sign of life in any of them. No lights, no smoke from the chimneys.’
‘How long have you been there?’
‘Ten minutes, no more. Mario’s down watching the house now.’
‘Can you remember if the Harveys’ house has a chimney?’
‘Yes. It’s a newish place, two storeys. There’s a big picture window upstairs and a big feature chimney up one wall.’
‘Was it smoking when they arrived?’
‘It was, sir, it was! There must be someone else in there!’
‘Steady on, Maggie.’ He swung his feet out of bed and sat on the edge. ‘Don’t get too excited. There could be a local who comes in to light the fire before they arrive. Keep the house under surveillance, and I’ll contact DI Mackie. He and McIlhenney will bring up an overnight bag for you two. They’ll do tonight. You book into a hotel oraBand B or something, and relieve them again in the morning.
‘And, Maggie, book in on a Mr and Mrs basis. Remember this is a secret enquiry. I don’t want you looking out of the ordinary, and any couple booking separate rooms in a place like Earlsferry on a Saturday in winter will surely do that.’
Maggie snorted at the other end of the line. ‘McGiure’s just going to love that!’
‘You can handle it, Sergeant. Pull rank on him if you have to.’
‘Rank isn’t all I’ll pull!’ The line went dead.
73
Earlsferry sits alongside Elie on a wide bay which looks across the Firth of Forth to the beaches and hills of East Lothian. The gloaming of late afternoon had begun to obscure the coast opposite when Maggie Rose rejoined McGuire.
He was seated on a bench, his left arm looped along its back, ostensibly looking out to sea while covering the only exit from the Harvey cottage. He was in view himself from the far side of the picture window on the upper level of the house. Twice he had seen Joy Harvey framed in the glass.
Maggie sat down beside him and linked her arm through his. She relayed Martin’s orders. McGuire smiled awkwardly, surprisingly embarrassed
‘Huh,’ she said, ‘you might show a bit more enthusiasm.’ She pulled him to her and spoke into his ear. ‘Let’s try to play the part. Any sign of movement from up there?’
McGuire looked over her shoulder. ‘Damn all. I’ve seen her a couple of times, but no one else. We’re a bit open here, but we can see the gate. What do we do if they go out, split up?’
‘No we’ll have to stick together. We’re here as a couple, so we can’t keep dashing off in opposite directions all the time.’
‘I thought that’s what real couples did!’
74
Maggie and McGuire were no longer on their bench when Mackie and McIlhenney appeared, moving quietly down the lane, each clad in dark donkey jackets over thick polo-necked sweaters and police uniform trousers. They moved carefully in the dark, looking first towards the house, then at the moonlit beach.
‘Here, sir.’ Maggie Rose’s voice came from behind a clump of sand dunes. She and McGuire had moved from the beach as darkness had approached, to a point from which they could view both lane and house, without being seen from either.
Mackie and McIlhenney sat on the sand beside them. McIlhenney laid a brown paper carrier bag against the dune. ‘Thermoses and sandwiches, he explained to McGuire, who said nothing, but reached into the bag and brought out a half bottle of OVD rum.
‘What’s this then, hair tonic?’
‘It’s okay for you pair,’ McIlhenney grumbled. ‘We’re here a’ night.
‘No action?’ Mackie asked.
‘No, sir,’ said Maggie. ‘The upstairs curtains have been half drawn, like you see them now, since about four-thirty. The room’s dimly lit so we’ve only seen figures moving about; only two as far as we’ve been able to tell. No one’s been out since they arrived. The car’s never moved.
‘Do you want us to hang about for a while in case they get off their mark?’
‘No, Maggie, that’s all right. It’s after eight now. They’re not going back to Cumbernauld tonight. If they decide to go to the pub we’ll jus let them get on with it, unless more than two of them come out.
‘Your case is in the boot of my car. It’s parked behind yours. Which hotel will you be in, if we do need to contact you?’
‘We’ll book into that big grey one just off the main road. I think it was called “The Beachview”.’
‘It would be in a place like this. Okay, off you go. Be back here for eight sharp.’
75
The Beachview Hotel was a big rambling building, probably Victorian in origin. They entered through a newly built bar, in which three drinkers sat, each alone at his table. McGuire asked for reception and the barman pointed towards a doorway. ‘Through there, sir and round to your left.’
They followed his directions and found the check-in desk in a comfortably furnished hall. Two elderly ladies sat in chairs in the far corner, watching a large television set which needed an adjustment to its colour control, McGuire rang a brass bell, and seconds later a fresh-faced girl appeared.
‘Can we have an en-suite room for the night, please?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ She smiled at him, a shade knowingly. ‘Double or twin?’ He looked at Maggie.
‘Double,’ she said, returning the girl’s secret smile.
McGuire signed the register and the girl handed him a key. ‘Room 211 sir. Up the stairs and to your left. Dinner’s being served now, until ten o’clock. Breakfast starts at seven-fifteen.’
‘Even on Sunday?’ McGuire sounded surprised.
‘It’s for the golfers. We don’t finish until ten, though, so you’ve no need to rush.
‘The dining-room’s back through the bar, then straight on.’
Room 211 was clean and fresh and the fittings in the en-suite bathroom, though old-fashioned, were high quality, with a six-foot bath. Maggie plugged in the stopper and turned on the taps.
‘I was going to ask for a twin, you know,’ McGuire said, plaintively.
‘Sure you were. We’ve got to keep up the act, anyway. I know you’ll have slept on the floor before now, being as cosmopolitan as you are. Or that bath looks big enough for you.’
She flipped open the catches on the suitcase. ‘Let’s see what Brian’s brought us.’
She looked in. ‘Marks and Spencer best. Shirt, Y-s and socks for you, heavy sweater, skirt, underwear and etceteras for me. What else?
Deodorant, make-up, ok, shaving kit, toothbrushes and paste, shampoo, even a hairdryer. Presumably the SB slush fund paid for this lot.
‘I’m going to grab a quick bath.’
She found a newspaper in the bag, passed it across to him and disappeared into the bathroom. Mario glanced at the front page. He stretched out on the bed. Idly he glanced into the small suitcase, looked again. No nightclothes. He laughed, loudly enough for Maggie to hear through the heavy bathroom door.
76
It was just after nine o’clock when they walked downstairs, Maggie clutching Mario’s arm tightly. She had changed into the skirt, and the heavy, but close-fitting sweater. The lipstick was
pale for her, but not too bad.
The service was swift, which was as well, since they were both hungry after a hectic day. It had been a long time since those rolls.
As they finished their meal, Maggie took Mario’s left hand in her right. The dining-room was empty save for an elderly couple who were eyeing them surreptitiously. She leaned over, and nibbled his ear. As the couple looked away, Mario smiled.
Maggie spoke softly. ‘You know, it’s a fact: people always forget couples like us. You’d think we’d stand out, but we don’t. Other people find us embarrassing and look away. Just like that pair over there.’
They declined coffee and moved through to the bar, which was much busier than before. ‘What would you like, love?’ Mario said in a voice clear enough to carry, as they took a table facing the door.
‘I would love a Bacardi-and-tonic, please, darling,’ she answered in a throaty voice which, for a moment, she hardly recognised as her own. He went over to the bar, where the efficient barman had already begun to pour Maggie’s drink, and asked for a pint of Belhaven 80 Shilling ale for himself.
Waiting, he glanced around the room. His eyes stopped for a split second at a table near the entrance, then moved on, his expression unchanged. Joy and Andrew Harvey were seated there. She was sipping a lager, he was staring at a large whisky, and at three empty glasses which stood beside it.
He carried the drinks back to Maggie. He slipped into the bench seat beside her, then, without warning, pulled her firmly against him and kissed her. Their heads together, he whispered. ‘You can’t see them from here because of those blokes in the middle of the floor, but our pals are sat right opposite us. we’d better put your invisibility theory to the test.’
‘Mm,’ she replied, and flicked her tongue into his ear. A tremor ran down the length of his body, and he was, very suddenly, very hard. ‘What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?’ she whispered to him, and suddenly he was racked with silent laughter.
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