He paused, chuckling quietly. ‘Was she done? Was she hell? From there she took me to this unisex hairdresser, the place she goes to, and handed me over to this bloke. He struck me as a bit of a mincer, but so what? To each his own.’
‘Excuse me?’ Lottie exclaimed. ‘Did Dan Provan just say that? Dan the closet homophobe . . . with the closet door open?’
He nodded. ‘You heard me right. Quite a few o’ Lulu’s friends in Australia bat for the other team. Ah talked to them, and let’s just say Ah understand them better now.’
‘Thank God for that!’ she gasped. ‘I’ve been wondering how to introduce you to my girlfriend. Joke!’ she added loudly, as his eyes widened. ‘I’m glad you’ve joined the twenty-first century, though.’
‘It’s a good place to be,’ he admitted. ‘Anyway, back to the barber’s. “The moustache has to go,” Lulu told him. “That’s first. After that, turn him into something a little less unkempt.” So,’ he said, ‘the wee ’tache wound up on the floor – cut-throat bloody razor, too – then he shampooed my hair, blew it dry, and left me looking like . . . this.’ He tapped his head. ‘And you know what? When he was done and I looked in the mirror . . .’
‘You wondered where that respectable-looking bloke had been hiding for all these years,’ she retorted.
‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘I really had let myself go, Lottie, had I no’?’
‘I tried to tell you often enough,’ she replied, ‘but you weren’t ready to listen. “Blending in”, you called it, without realising that even in the pubs you went to, you actually stood out, because most people don’t look like that any more. Just make sure you don’t regress,’ she warned.
‘No chance of that. Lulu says she’s going to Skype me at least once a week to make sure. Even if she doesn’t, there’s no worries. She did more than just dress me and groom me. The next stop was a sports shop, for runnin’ shoes, shorts and a couple of vests. Then she took me to her gym, would you believe, and signed me up for a fitness course with one of their trainers.’
‘Bloody hell! Does she want to inherit early?’
‘That’s what I asked her, but after the first couple of sessions, it was good. The lad gave me a circuit, using all their machines: treadmills, rowing, cycles, cross-trainers and this bastard of a thing called a Versaclimber.’
‘You look none the worse for it,’ she admitted.
‘I am none the worse for it. I don’t know if I ever told you, but in my young days, as well as playin’ junior football, Ah was a runner. Roads and cross-country mostly; I did a couple of marathons, finished both of them just inside three hours.’
‘No,’ she said, surprised, ‘you never told me that. Why did you stop?’
‘Marriage, kids, job, lack of dedication, got to like the beer too much. Ah’m going to start again, though. There are plenty of guys my age still running decent times . . . not that it’s about times, really. Just finishing’s enough.’
‘What else did Lulu fix up for you? Socially?’
Dan laughed. ‘Women, you mean? Her pals are all at least twenty years younger than me. Mind you, there was a work colleague, a divorcee in her forties, that she introduced me to at the beach party she had for me . . .’
‘Beach party,’ Lottie repeated. ‘A beach party for Dan Provan,’ she said in tones of wonder. ‘Absolutely surreal. So,’ she continued, ‘did you score?’
‘If Ah had, it’s been so long I wouldnae have remembered what to do. But no, she was a nice woman, sure, but no’ the type for a quickie with someone who’ll be on the other side of the world in a few weeks. Come to think of it,’ he mused, ‘neither am I.’
‘But you’re saying,’ she suggested, ‘that your interest in the opposite sex has been revived, now that you’re . . . more marketable?’
It’s never been missing, he thought, but declined to express it aloud. He was just about old enough to be her father, but his feelings for his colleague, boss and friend were complicated, and to be kept to himself.
‘Nah,’ he replied, ‘still dormant.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ Lottie said.
‘I won’t; I’m five feet eight.’
‘You know what I mean. You’ve scrubbed up very well, Dan.’ She laughed. ‘I tell you, if you were ten years younger . . .’
‘Stop it, you’re breaking my heart.’ She had no idea of the truth that he spoke.
‘So what’s the Gold Coast like?’ she asked.
‘Pretty golden, Ah’ll give them that. It’s hot, that’s the main thing. They could never have held the Commonwealth Games there at the height of their summer; people would have died.’
‘And Lulu, is she happy there?’
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, a little sadly, Lottie thought. ‘She’ll never be back, I’m sure of that. She’s tryin’ to talk her brother into going out. I don’t think he will, though; Jamie’s doing well in Fire and Rescue, and he likes it. He’s in line for promotion to station manager in a couple of years. If he went to Australia, he’d have to start at the foot of the ladder.’
‘Literally?’
‘Eh?’
She grinned. ‘Ladder. Fireman. Get it?’
‘Ah! The jet lag must be worse than I thought. Aye, very funny.’ He paused. ‘Talking about kids, where’s the wee man? Where’s wee Jakey? Ah thought he might have come with you.’
Even in profile, he saw her face cloud over. ‘He’s with his dad today,’ she said, quietly, ‘until five, when he drops him off with my Auntie Ann at my place.’
Provan frowned. ‘And that’s okay wi’ you?’ he asked her, quietly.
‘No, but it’s okay with the sheriff, and that’s what matters. Scott went to court and asked for full visitation rights.’
‘Even though he’s still in jail?’ he exclaimed.
‘He’s on home leave at weekends, and he’ll be released on parole within the next fortnight.’
‘Even so. Visitation rights? Fuck! After what he did?’
‘His dad got him a lawyer. Moss Lee; heard of him?’
‘Who hasn’t? He’s a nasty piece of work.’
‘Agreed, but he’s flavour of the month, especially in family law. The judges are wary of him because he always goes to appeal if he loses, and in sheriff court cases he has a record of judgements being overturned. He argued that supplying police uniforms to criminals doesn’t alter your parental rights. Scott submitted a statement to the hearing; he claimed that I was influencing Jakey against him and . . .’
Lottie’s mounting anger and outrage were obvious. As she stopped in mid sentence, her knuckles showed white on the wheel.
‘Go on,’ Dan said, quietly. ‘What else?’
‘He claimed that you were too.’
‘Me?’ he exploded.
‘I’m afraid so. He told the sheriff you were a drunk and a waster.’ She hesitated for a moment before adding, ‘And he implied that there was something between us.’
‘Us?’
‘You and me. Outside work. Jakey’s grandpa heard him call you “Uncle Dan” one day. The bastard Lee went to town on that.’
‘In open court?’
‘No, it was what they call a child welfare hearing,’ she explained.
‘Did you have a lawyer?’
‘I didn’t think I’d need one. It was pitched to me as a simple discussion before a sheriff. I’d no idea Lee would be there until I turned up at the court.’
Dan whistled. ‘When he said what he did, what did you say?’
‘I told the sheriff that was bollocks, that you were a family friend as well as a colleague and that Jakey calls you that out of respect and nothing else. And don’t worry, I also told him that you’re a well-respected officer with a clean record, and absolutely no history of alcohol abuse. The sheriff didn’t press the point. She asked me if I was fir
mly opposed to Scott having access. I couldn’t say that I was absolutely against it, so the Sheriff said he could have him every other weekend, under the supervision of his own parents. But she also added that Scott’s mother should be involved in his day-to-day care as well as my Auntie Ann. That I didn’t like, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.’
‘I’m sorry, Lottie,’ Provan growled. ‘Ah should have been there as a witness. Lee would never have said that if I’d been in the room.’
‘Yes he would, Dan. But you couldn’t have been there; the rules don’t allow it. Suppose you had been, and gone off at Lee, it would have made things worse, not better.’
‘Thanks a bundle. Ah’ll get that shite of a lawyer, though, I promise.’
‘No you won’t. You’ll forget it, and let it lie.’
‘It’s Scott that’s the drunk waster,’ he protested.
‘Maybe prison will have sorted him out.’
‘Sure, and a bright fuckin’ light will have shone in his eyes on the road to Damascus. What about his girlfriend? Is she still inside?’
‘Christine McGlashan was paroled three months ago. Her name was never mentioned at the hearing, and I never thought to ask. To be honest, I don’t know if she’s still in the picture.’
‘Leave that to me,’ he said. ‘Ah’ll find out.’
‘No, Dan, please. Do nothing.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ he murmured grudgingly. ‘Let me ask you something, though. How do you feel about Scott now? I know it wasn’t the ideal marriage, with his drinking himself out of the police service, but . . . is there still anything,’ he tapped his chest, ‘in here?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, there is. Contempt. Maybe just a wee bit of pity that he’s made so big a mess of his life, but nothing else, I promise you.’
‘Do you want me to stop seeing the wee fella?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Absolutely not! Jakey likes you and he respects you. Dan, I need you around more than ever, now that Scott’s parents have suddenly wakened up to the fact that they have a grandson.’
He nodded. ‘Then Ah’m here for you. Now,’ he said abruptly, his tone changing, ‘what about the job? What have I missed there?’
‘About the same as me. This is my first weekend on call since I got off the course.’
‘How was it? Useful?’
‘Time will tell. Most of the stuff I knew already.’ She glanced across at him. ‘Are you pleased to be back, or has this break made you think about cashing in your pension?’
‘Yes and no,’ he replied, ‘in that order. What it has done is waken me up. I’ve been asleep at the wheel, being dragged along on your coat-tails.’
‘There are people who’d say it was the other way around,’ Lottie told him.
‘Then they’d be wrong. My coat-tails arenae big enough for you.’
‘Cheers, pal,’ she chuckled.
‘Metaphorically. You know what Ah mean. McGuire didnae send you on a course just to keep you occupied while I was away. You’re bound for command rank; being in Serious Crimes is just a step on the way.’ He put his hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn.
‘Jet lag?’ she asked, her eyes fixed on the overhead road signs that showed the exit from the M8 on to the M74.
‘So they tell me. Lulu’s advice is to ignore it and just stick to a normal routine wherever you are.’
‘So we’ll see you in the office on Monday as usual?’
‘Bleary eyed and kangaroo tai—’
The blare of Mann’s ringtone, magnified by the car’s Bluetooth speakers, drowned out the rest of his Antipodean metaphor.
‘I’d better take it,’ she called out, then hit the receive button on the steering wheel. ‘Yes?’
‘DI Mann?’ A woman’s voice: one they both knew. Detective Chief Inspector Sandra Bulloch was their line manager in the Serious Crimes division.
‘Two for the price of one, gaffer,’ Provan called out.
‘DS Provan? You’re back?’
‘Fresh off the plane. I brought you a boomerang. I thought it was appropriate, since everything winds up back on your desk.’
‘Where are you, DI Mann?’ Bulloch demanded, ignoring his wisecrack. The tension in her voice surprised them both.
‘I’m on the motorway, on the way to drop Dan off in Cambuslang.’
‘Then turn around, please, you’re needed in Ayr. Sergeant, you’d best be involved from the start, so you should come too.’
‘As long as you’re ready for the coconut shirt, ma’am.’
‘The crime-scene tunic will cover it up,’ she replied curtly. ‘It’s a fatality, and it’s landed on us rather than divisional CID.’
‘High profile?’ Mann asked.
‘You could say. Remember the supermodel that was murdered in Edinburgh last year? This will be even bigger.’
Two
‘Ah don’t like that woman,’ Dan Provan confessed, as Mann set her speed limiter to fifty on entering the average speed camera zone. He had been uncharacteristically silent for most of the journey; the DI suspected that he had been dozing.
‘Which one?’
‘The one we’re going to meet, Bulloch.’
‘Sandra’s not here to make friends. That doesn’t make her a bad boss.’
‘Just as well, for she never will make any until she learns to smile. As for bein’ a bad boss or a good one, popularity, motivation and success are interlinked. People will work harder for you if they like you than they will if they fear you; that’s basic, and by that measure she fails.’
‘That’s also what they tell you on command courses,’ the DI conceded. ‘You’d make a better tutor than most of the people there. But don’t be too hard on her; okay, she’s serious, but it doesn’t make her a bad cop. She can’t be; she’s made detective chief inspector. Bob Skinner took a shine to her, remember, when he came into the old Strathclyde force as the last chief constable pre-unification. He made her his exec.’
‘So he did,’ Provan agreed, ‘but Ah always assumed that was because he wanted a hatchet woman in his outer office. Max Allan, the old ACC, stuck her away in Special Branch, because there it didn’t matter whether she pissed folk off or no’.’
‘Maybe not,’ Lottie countered, ‘but Andy Martin put her in Serious Crimes when he was chief, and DCC McGuire’s kept her there . . . the same perceptive man that sent you to Australia for two months.’
He grunted. ‘We’ll see. Does this car know where it’s going?’
‘The satnav does. Kirkhill Road, Sandra said; that’s what I programmed into it. We’re not far from Ayr now; it won’t be much longer.’
‘Ayr,’ the refurbished DS murmured. ‘When I joined the force, they used to say that the top gangsters in Glasgow lived down this way. I’ve got no idea whether that was true.’
‘That would be before they all moved to the Costa del Sol,’ Mann chuckled.
‘Aye, but now we’ve got European arrest warrants, they might be movin’ back.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder if this is a gang thing we’re going to. It’ll no’ be a run-of-the-mill suspicious death if it’s been passed straight on to our division.’
‘Time will tell.’ She grimaced. ‘Bloody average speed cameras,’ she grumbled.
‘Lottie,’ Provan sighed, ‘we’re the fuckin’ polis. Blue lights and put the foot down.’
She smiled and took his advice.
Kirkhill Road was a narrow thoroughfare located in one of the most affluent parts of the prosperous burgh. The entrance from the larger approach thoroughfare was partly blocked by a police minibus, with two uniformed officers on duty. Mann showed her warrant card and they waved her through; as she made the turn, a man ran up to her car brandishing a mobile phone. Her suspicion that she was being filmed was confirmed when he shouted, ‘Fergus Muirhouse, South Ayrshire TV; can you tell m
e anything about the incident, Detective Inspector?’
She braked, pushed a button to lower her window and gazed at him evenly. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘because as you can see, we’ve only just arrived. How do you know me?’ she asked.
‘I saw you in Glasgow City Chambers, DI Mann,’ he volunteered, ‘when Chief Constable Field was shot. You were with Bob Skinner.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember you.’
‘No worries. The place was mobbed; I was right at the back.’
‘You’re quick off the mark today.’
‘I live in Irvine,’ the reporter explained. ‘I won’t be on my own for long, though. Can’t you give me a head start on the rest? All my source told me was that paramedics had been called to an incident down the road there, at Leo’s place.’
‘Then you know as much as we do,’ Mann lied. ‘When we find out more, there might be a statement, but I can’t make any promises. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’ She closed the window and slipped her car into gear.
The street was in shadow, beneath mature trees in gardens on either side; the houses had names, not numbers, but the detectives were guided to their destination by two parked patrol cars, and by a uniformed constable standing guard at a stone-pillared gateway.
Mann parked behind the first police car. ‘Hold on,’ Provan said as he unclipped his seat belt and climbed out, then opened the boot and rummaged in his cabin bag. ‘Got it,’ he muttered as he hung around his neck the lanyard that carried his warrant card.
‘Did you take that to Australia?’ the DI exclaimed.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Do you think I forgot about the job for a whole two months? I had a look at the force out there.’
‘Tempted?’
‘It would be a nice place tae work and the money’s good. But like you said, I’m past it.’
‘I never said that!’ Lottie protested.
He smiled. ‘If I was ten years younger, ye said.’
‘I didn’t mean that you were past it,’ she exclaimed.
‘Then what did you mean?’
She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered quietly.
A Brush With Death Page 2