Pulling back the vertical blinds had revealed a view out across a twenty-foot strip of flat roof and over the road to a weird boxy building in pink granite with a sign fixed to its black front door: ‘CARPET SHOP BEHIND CHURCH ’.
What the hell was it with Rothesay and carpet shops? How much carpet did one small town need?
Henry had found himself a spot by the radiator, curled up and dead to the world, making wheezy snoring noises as we waited. And waited. And waited.
I checked my watch: twenty past two. ‘I’m giving it five more minutes, then sod the lot of them.’
‘Absolutely starving …’ She slumped back in her chair at the empty meeting table. Stared at the ceiling. ‘How long’s it been?’
‘Over half an hour.’
‘And not so much as a biscuit.’
‘Ah, now you mention it.’ I dug into my jacket pocket and came out with the two pre-packaged slices of cake I’d bought on the ferry. Each about the size of a small remote control. Held them out. ‘You want a cranberry-and-pistachio slice, or rocky road?’
‘Yes!’ She took both. Ripped open the plastic and tore a big bite out of the knobbly chocolate slice. The words all mushy as she chewed. ‘So are you going to tell me what it was Jennifer Prentice did?’
‘No.’
More chewing. ‘She showed me a text from Nick James saying she could borrow the car whenever she liked.’
‘Probably nicked his phone and sent it to herself.’
Franklin chomped on another mouthful. ‘You really don’t like her, do you?’
‘That woman’s a complete—’
The meeting room door creaked open and in marched a stiff-backed bald bloke in the full Police Scotland black. Three pips on his epaulettes and a full-bore Highlands and Islands accent that lilted higher than expected. ‘I understand you’re …’ His face pulled in around his scrunched lips. ‘Is that a dog? We don’t allow dogs in the station.’
Henry stayed where he was, but Franklin stood to attention. Hiding the rocky road slice behind her back. ‘Sir.’
Another uniform hurpled in after him, this one a good head shorter than his boss, his official-issue T-shirt stretched over a decent-sized beer belly. A thick brown beard covering his cheeks and chin. Saggy eyes. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting …’ All smiles and handshakes.
His fingers lingered over Franklin’s.
She slid her hand free and wiped it on her trouser leg, soon as he wasn’t looking.
The Chief Inspector stuck his nose in the air. ‘Detective Sergeant Rosalind Franklin, I understand you want to search through all of our historical missing person reports?’
‘Yes, sir.’
A cold fish eye swivelled in my direction. ‘And this is?’
‘Mr Henderson. He’s with the Lateral Investigative and Review Unit. We’re—’
‘While I’m quite happy to allow police officers access to our records, I draw the line at civilians. And dogs.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Sergeant Campbell will assist you. Sergeant Campbell, please make sure you escort Mr Henderson from the premises first.’ He turned on his heel, as if it was a parade ground manoeuvre, and marched from the room, head up, shoulders back.
Prick.
Sergeant Campbell grimaced. ‘Sorry about that. The Chief can be a tad … brusque?’ He placed a hand on Franklin’s shoulder. ‘But I’m sure we’ll get on like the best of friends.’ Rounding it off with a greasy smile.
Yeah, he was going to end up with a broken nose, like her old boss in Edinburgh.
24
‘Here we go, son. You want any sauces or mustard wi’ that?’ The woman in the black shirt and red waistcoat – both of which were too small for her – clinked the plate down on the table in front of me. Then brushed the grey hair from her eyes and leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘And I’ve got the chef to do a cheeky sausage for yer dug, too.’ Wink.
‘Thanks. This’ll be great.’
She squatted down to pet Henry. ‘Who’s a lovely wee boy, then? Oh, you’re just pure gorgeous, so you are.’
Our table was next to the window, with a view out over the castle’s remains, moat glinting in the golden light as the sun sank lower in the sky. More seagulls strutting about on the pavement, looking for an unsuspecting tourist to mug.
One more ruffle, then the waitress straightened up, beaming down at the lad. ‘Oh, he’s smashing.’
I dipped into my pocket and came out with the printout – Peter Smith and the unknown woman, standing together on the putting course. Passed it across. ‘Don’t suppose you recognise either of them, do you?’
‘Hold on …’ She produced a pair of reading glasses and perched them on the end of her nose, peering at the photograph. ‘Shell suits? Before my time, son, I’ve only been here thirty years. I can ask the chef, though? She’s been here since the dawn of time.’
‘That would be great.’
She plucked Henry’s sausage from the plate and tossed it to him. Smiling like a proud granny as the wee lad snatched it out of the air. ‘Clever boy!’
Then she was off, taking the printout with her, while I dipped a chip in my tiny dish of mayonnaise and Henry scarfed his cheeky sausage.
Sitting on the tabletop, my phone dinged and buzzed.
RHONA:
Chased up E Division – they’ve done
posters.
Beat cops & cars keeping an eye out.
Maybe they’ll get lucky & find Leah?
Doubt it though.
So did I.
Bit awkward: poking out a reply one-handed, but it left the other one free to scoop up my burger with chargrilled halloumi and mushrooms. Chewing while I texted.
Thanks Rhona. How’s Shifty holding up?
SEND.
Good burger. Have to make sure and tell Franklin all about it. She’d like that …
Having a late lunch with Henry: very nice
food.
Have you punched Sergeant Campbell in
the face yet? Twat that he is.
SEND.
I’d barely managed another bite before the phone ding-buzzed again.
DS FRANKLIN:
WHAT AN UTTER WASTE OF TIME!
They’ve brought every missing person file
out from storage going back to Noah’s Ark.
It’ll take DAYS to go through this lot!
Buzz-ding.
DS FRANKLIN:
And I’m starving. They haven’t even
offered me a cup of tea, and we’ve been
here for ages!
Turned my back for 2 minutes and
Campbell had my other cake slice!
Yeah, he’d looked the type. Still, I’m sure I could make her feel better:
If it’s any consolation, Henry’s eaten that
sausage I was going to buy you. He says
it was delicious.
SEND.
Sometimes, it was the simple things in life that gave you pleasure.
I was halfway through my burger before the next text came in.
RHONA:
Chief Super’s in giving Shifty a pep talk
now.
Can hear it through the wall.
Lots of shouting & swearing.
Apparently we’re an incompetent bunch of
arseholes.
Kid’s mother was all over the lunchtime
news saying the same thing.
Which is great when we’re the ones
slogging our guts out trying to find her kid
before some sicko strangles him.
Chief Superintendent Angus McEwan, the gift that kept on giving.
As if the team didn’t know how important it was to find Toby Macmillan. As if they didn’t know the first twenty-four hours were the most important. As if they didn’t know Toby was probably already dead. Because, let’s face it, Gòrach wasn’t really about the delayed gratification, was he? Well, except when it came to strangling his victims. That he liked to take
his time over.
Crunched my way through a couple of chips.
Unless that was part of his evolving MO, of course. Andrew Brennan is a victim of opportunity: no planning involved, dumped where he was killed. Oscar Harris: abducted, killed and the body hidden. Lewis Talbot: abducted, taken deep into the woods, killed over a long time, then hidden so well we didn’t find his body for nearly two months.
Maybe Gòrach had got himself a hideaway: somewhere he could keep a small boy for a few days? God knew there were enough abandoned buildings and shacks in the thick swathe of forest that ran from Camburn Woods to the Murders. Moncuir Wood alone was big enough to lose a small town in.
Might be worth chasing up.
Shifty,
Got an idea for you: get a thermal-imaging
camera and a helicopter. Do a sweep of
the woods. See if you can pick up Toby
Macmillan’s heat signature.
SEND.
Another bite of burger. Chewing as I stared out the window at the castle.
Wonder what Alice was up to …
Look at me: sitting here; shoving fried food into my face, one-handed; crouched over my phone like a braindead teenager. Supposed to be a grown man.
Rhona tells me you’ve been puking your
ring all day. Perhaps it’s time to lay off the
booze for a while, before we have to have
an intervention?
Henry says “Hi.”
SEND.
You know, an intervention might not be such a bad idea. Maybe it’d help Alice live to see her thirty-third birthday.
‘So this is where you’ve been hiding.’
Wonderful.
And Mother thought the universe hated her.
I looked up and there was Jennifer Prentice, hauling out the chair opposite and sinking into it.
Big glass of red wine in one hand. A tight smile that barely dented her frozen face. ‘Wasn’t hard to find you, in case you’re wondering. Your pretty little detective sergeant girl said you’d both skipped lunch, so I looked for the nearest restaurant to the police station, open on a Sunday afternoon, that lets dogs in. And there you were, sitting in the window.’
I went back to my burger. ‘Sod off, Jennifer.’
‘She’s quite something, isn’t she? DS Franklin? Bet she’d be great in a threesome. That lovely dark skin of hers, all naked and glistening. It’d look very sexy next to mine, wouldn’t it? Our limbs intertwined, lips and tongues exploring each other. You’d like that.’
And with that delightful image, the burger curdled in my mouth.
I dumped the rest of it back on the plate. ‘Whatever you want, might as well bugger off right now, because you’re not getting it.’
Ding-buzz.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
I’m sorry
Odd …
Maybe Alice had borrowed a phone from one of Shifty’s team and that’s why the number wasn’t recognised? That’s what happened when you got too drunk to put your mobile on to charge overnight.
‘Now, Ash, is that any way to talk to an old friend? One who has a proposition for you?’ Jennifer’s wink wasn’t anywhere near as appealing as the waitress’s. ‘And not a sexual one this time.’ She looked over her shoulder.
I followed her gaze.
Helen MacNeil was outside, standing with her arms folded, back against the railings, coat buffeted by the wind. Face like she was trying to stare down the world.
‘Thank God, right? I mean, can you imagine that in the nude?’ Jennifer faked a shudder. Then leaned forwards. Glanced left and right as if someone might be eavesdropping. ‘Six million pounds. I checked it out: Steve Jericho’s place got knocked over fifteen years ago. Hallelujah Bingo, cash-in-transit job. Official report was they made off with twenty grand, but unofficially Steve Jericho had got his hands on Nigel Cavendish’s stash – all the stuff he’d robbed from private collections and museums, going back to the seventies.’
‘Cavendish?’ Why did that name sound—
‘Hacked to pieces in his living room with a machete. Anyway, Helen says Billy “the Axe” Macgregor was the one who nicked Steve Jericho’s stuff. No one ever found the armoured car, or its driver.’ Jennifer’s eyes widened. ‘She says it’s still in Oldcastle, and she knows where.’
‘Did you follow me all the way here for that?’ I scrubbed my hands clean on the napkin. ‘Not interested.’
‘Four million for her and two million for us.’ A glistening pink tongue flickered around Jennifer’s lips. ‘That’s one million pounds each, all we have to do is find Gordon Smith. And you’re doing that anyway! It’s a win-win.’ She sat back and toasted me with her glass, before downing a mouthful.
Ding-buzz.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
I didn’t want 2 let them arrest U but I had
2 run
grandad doesn’t like it when I talk 2
people
Wait a minute.
Wait a bloody sodding minute.
Ding-buzz.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
We go 2 the Xmas market every year as a
treat but U was shouting at me & the
police was there & if they cot us he would
B V angry
I don’t want 2 make him angry
I scraped my chair back, grabbed the phone and stuffed it into my pocket. ‘I’m not going to do anything with you, Jennifer. Not now. Not ever.’ Gave her a smile as I hauled on my jacket. ‘And Helen offered me two million, so why the hell would I need you?’ Picked up my walking stick and Henry’s lead. Nodded at the half-eaten burger and chips. ‘You can finish that if you like.’
Dumped fifteen quid on the bar on the way past, and limped into the windy sunshine.
Fiddled my phone out again and hit the call icon at the top of the two unknown text messages. It rang twice, then disconnected.
Ding-buzz.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
U can’t call me!!!!!!!! Grandad doesn’t no I
have this phone! He can’t find out!!!!! If
he finds out it’ll upset him & he’ll be angry
with me!!!!!!!
Holy shit. It was her.
Leah, tell me where you are and we’ll
come get you. You don’t have to be
scared, we can fix this if you tell me
where you are.
Send.
Ding-buzz.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
I don’t no where we R! I’m frightened!!!
He’s bin there all my live & I love him but
he scares me so much
He’s coming back I have 2 go!!!
Right, there was only one thing for it.
Leah, I need you to keep your phone
switched on for me, so we can trace your
location. Turn the volume and the vibrate
setting off, and leave the phone switched
on.
We’ll find you, I promise!
SEND.
Soon as it went, I called Mother.
‘DI Malcolmson?’
‘It’s Ash. Remember …’
Helen MacNeil was staring at me.
By rights, I should go over there and tell her.
Tell her what? That her granddaughter isn’t safe and laying low in Edinburgh after all? That she’s been grabbed by Gordon Smith, and can’t get away because she’s terrified of him? That we had no idea where she was now? How exactly was that going to help?
Yeah. Maybe not.
I gave Helen a small wave instead and limped off down the High Street, towards the ferry terminal.
‘Ash? Remember what?’
Keeping my voice low, in case Helen decided to follow. ‘You really need to get that warrant out for Leah MacNeil’s mobile phone. She’s been in touch: Leah’s with Gordon Smith.’ I ducked around the corner – sheltering in the lee of an off-licence – out of the wind and Helen’s line of sight. ‘You still there?’
‘Ash, I hate t
o be a cynical Charlotte, but some might think this was a bit convenient, given your—’
‘Fine: I’ll forward you the texts. Hold on.’ I did, sending my replies on too. ‘She’s with him and she’s scared. If you get a warrant, we get her. And if we get her …?’
‘We get him.’ The sound went all scrunched, as if Mother had put a hand over her phone’s microphone. ‘John, whatever you’re doing, stop it and get a warrant for Leah MacNeil’s mobile phone location!’
DC Watt’s reply was too muffled to make out. Probably whingeing, knowing him.
And Mother was back. ‘Any luck IDing the Bute victim?’
‘Had to leave that to Franklin and a sergeant. The local Chief Inspector doesn’t think civilians should have access to missing person archives. Doesn’t allow dogs in his station, either.’
‘He sounds lovely.’
‘Nothing’s been digitised. It’s going to take them a long time to wade through everything. And the last ferry back to the mainland’s at seven.’
‘Hold on …’
‘Anything from Dotty and Elliot?’
Silence.
A couple of Russian tourists trundled their wheelie suitcases past, arguing about something.
A taxi stopped to let an old man, bent like a question mark, hobble into the off-licence behind me. Techno music vibrating out through the car windows.
‘I’m sorry if I’m boring you, but—’
‘There’s another ferry. If you go up to … Rhubodach? Am I saying that right? Last one from there sails at nine. Think Rosalind could be finished by then?’
‘No idea. Maybe?’
‘Let me know if not and we’ll get a B-and-B sorted. And keep all your receipts!’ With that, she hung up.
Henry thumped down at my feet, staring up at me as if I was the divine provider of sausages.
‘Better hope she gets us somewhere that takes greedy hairy monsters, or you’re sleeping in the car tonight.’
That didn’t seem to dent his enthusiasm any, instead his tail wagged even harder.
‘Scuse me?’ It was the waitress from the restaurant, arms wrapped around herself, grey hair flailing in the wind.
‘I put the money on the counter.’
‘Oh, I know, thanks. No, you left this behind.’ Holding out the printout of Peter Smith and the young woman. ‘I asked Elsie, but she doesn’t recognise either of them, so I showed it round all the staff and customers.’ Her mouth made a creased zigzag. ‘Sorry. Maybe someone else knows who they are though?’ She pointed across the square, at a narrow street between a jewellery shop and a red-painted bar with a couple of Tennent’s ‘T’s hanging outside. ‘You could try the Black Bull? The library’s got a book group, meets there on Sunday evenings: seven for half seven. Mostly gossipy auld wifies and nosy auld mannies, but that’s maybe what you’re after, son?’
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