Fire in the Blood

by George McCartney

  ‘Fortunately this machine seems to record in overlapping three minute segments,’ replied Annie. ‘So it should be easy enough to make a copy of the file with the clearest images on it, and then fire it off as an email attachment to Andy. I’ll do that right now.’

  Turning to Peggy, Jack said, ‘This has been really helpful and remember, if he shows his face in here again, just behave normally and phone me right away as soon as you get a chance.’

  ‘I could always thump him with an old police baton I keep under the bar. He wouldn’t be the first nasty piece of work that I’ve had to lay out on the floor with that.’

  ‘No, that wouldn’t be a good idea, Peggy, but you could offer him the two for one happy hour deal, on that new Nuttbanger lager. Five or six bottles of that stuff have the same effect, it just takes a little longer.’

  Driving away from the Royal Bar, Annie sighed with relief and said, ‘That wasn’t quite as bad as I thought it would be. Thank God you rescued me, when she had me pinned by the wrists, ready to launch into the third degree.’

  ‘Well I thought we were probably as well telling her most of the story, so she at least knows what’s going on. And, of course, now that she’s in the loop she’ll be on the lookout for Burke, if he shows up at the bar again.’

  ‘So where to now, boss?’

  They then headed into the city centre to pick up a backlog of mail, which had been accumulating in their separate PO boxes. Sifting through the bundle of letters and bills, which had diverted from his office, Jack was delighted to discover that Annie’s earlier efforts to chase up several unpaid invoices, had been partially successful. He waved aloft three cheques, which totalled £1,250, and said, ‘Great news, Annie, this means that your first pay cheque definitely won’t bounce. Remind me to do a pay-in slip for the bank while we’re here.’

  Their next stop was at a small electronics shop specialising in surveillance and security equipment, located in a side street near the city centre. Jack stayed outside with the Land Rover, which was parked on a double yellow line, while Annie went in and bought three of the tiny remote cameras, which she had previously checked out online.

  On her return, she took one of the cameras out of its box to update Jack. ‘The guy in the shop said that these little babies are so light, you can fix them to a wall with Velcro pads, which just peel off and stick to any surface. So they should be perfect to use on the stair walls where the cameras are going. I think, if I can put them high enough up, above and to the side of the entrance doors, they shouldn’t attract too much attention.’

  ‘I think it’s definitely worth a go, Annie, to find out one way or another if Burke’s still around.’

  ‘I also got a pretty good deal because I was buying three of them. The full price was six hundred, but he knocked fifty quid off and threw in a couple of packs of spare batteries and the fixing pads as well. So, that was all good, but I had to use my credit card to pay, again. I thought it might melt, but the transaction did eventually go through. I’ll need to get a pay day loan at the end of the month to cover all this stuff, assuming I ever do get paid that is.’

  ‘Stop worrying, you’ll be paid at the end of the month, just as we agreed. I set up a direct debit for your wages on the day of the interview. And as soon as these cheques clear, I’ll square you up for everything you’ve bought on your card.’

  ‘You’d better,’ said Annie. ‘We’re not far from the office, so let’s install the first camera there and make sure that it works. Then we can do the same at both of our flats.’

  Ten minutes later Annie was perched on top of a wobbly wooden step ladder, outside the entrance to Jack’s fourth floor office, deciding on the best position for the tiny remote camera. ‘This looks to be okay here,’ she said, using two adhesive Velcro pads to stick the device to a wall opposite the entrance door. ‘But the only way to be really sure, is to switch it on and give it a try.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Jack. ‘How about if you go inside the office and close the door, then I’ll creep back up the stairs and pretend to be Burke.’

  As the door closed Jack went to the landing below and then climbed up to the fourth floor. He was satisfied that the camera was not in his immediate field of vision as he approached the office door, where he pulled a funny face at the camera and then did an impromtu highland jig for Annie’s benefit.

  Less than a minute later he could hear the text alert sound on Annie’s iPhone and she opened the door with a broad grin and said, ‘Look at the screen, it worked perfectly. As soon as the camera’s PIR sensed you lurking out there on the landing, it took a picture and a few seconds later I received a text alert and a file attachment, with a really clear picture of the lunatic outside. By the way, those dance moves will need a little work before I can risk taking you clubbing.’

  They then spent the next hour visiting both of their homes, where they repeated the same set up and test procedure, leaving a remote camera to cover the entrance door at each location.

  Chapter 39

  Since neither of them wanted to risk moving back into their flats, with the madman Burke still on the loose, they were left with the choice of either booking into a hotel, or trying to fix up a short term let on a flat. They decided that renting a flat would probably offer more security and privacy than a hotel, and Annie fired up her MacBook to establish what was available in the city at short notice.

  After ten minutes spent searching through the websites of various agencies, which specialise in short-term holiday lets, Annie found a sleek looking loft style, two-bedroom self-catering flat, with secure off-street parking, located only two miles from Glasgow city centre.

  ‘I think this one would be perfect, come and see. What do you think, boss?’

  Jack looked over her shoulder as Annie scrolled through a series of pictures of the flat’s interior. ‘You’re right, it does look pretty good. But how much is it?’ he said, warily.

  ‘Well they’re offering a special deal on it, because of a last minute cancellation,’ said Annie, enthusiastically.

  ‘I said, how much?’

  ‘It’s only £600 for four nights, but the normal price is £1000. And if we need to extend, for a few more nights, it says that would be negotiable.’

  ‘Only £600! Bloody hell, that’s more than I paid for my first car. So you’re saving me four hundred pounds, that’s very considerate of you. Tell me, does it have a flush toilet?’ said Jack, anxious to erase all memory of the less than fragrant composting dunny, located behind the beach hut.

  ‘It’s actually got two, and both of them have a matching bidet, so when you’re sitting on the throne you’ll be able to do your feet at the same time. And there’s also a huge power shower.’

  ‘Does it say anything about toilet paper?’

  ‘Funnily enough, the web site doesn’t specifically mention toilet paper but, from the pictures, it looks like they’ve got miles of it. Probably double-quilted and as much as you want. Oh, and there’s also a cleaner included, who comes in every day.’

  Smiling, Jack said, ‘Okay then, Annie, go ahead and book it. I think we’re probably entitled to a little bit of luxury, after living in a garden shed for the last two weeks.’

  Annie then completed an online booking for a four night stay and, five minutes later, received email confirmation from the agency, advising that access would be available from 4 p.m. that day, with the flat keys to be collected from the concierge desk on the ground floor.

  Two hours later, at four-thirty, Jack was standing outside on the flat’s small balcony, with a coffee and cigarette. He leaned on the handrail and said over his shoulder, ‘Okay, there’s no sea view and it’s a fair old walk to the nearest beach. But still, I could definitely get used to this. It was a good pick, Annie.’

  ‘By the way, boss, do you want the bedroom with the mirror on the ceiling, or the other one?’ asked Annie, giggling.

  ‘You have the mirror one,’ said Jack emphatically. ‘To be honest, the thought of wa
king up in the middle of the night with a wrinkly old guy hovering directly above me, would definitely not be conducive to a good night’s sleep.’

  Chapter 40

  The next morning Annie went out for a run before breakfast, as Jack stretched out on a leather settee, watching Premier League football highlights on a fifty-inch plasma screen television. His phone rang and, not recognising the caller’s number, he hesitated momentarily before muting the television and picking up. ‘Hello … yes, this is Jack Davidson speaking.’

  ‘Good morning Mr Davidson, this is Rupert Jones,’ said a smooth cultured voice, with an English accent. ‘I asked my neighbour, Tommy Kemp, to pass on my card a few days ago.’

  ‘Yes, he did give me your card. But to be honest, I just put it in my wallet and then completely forgot about it. It’s been a busy few days with work, one way and another.’

  ‘Yes, quite so, but I must say I’m filled with admiration for the way you brought the odious Barlow brothers to book. It’s rapidly become the stuff of legend in the local farming community. How you and your partner first lured them into a trap, obviously with some help from the police, and then gave them a well-deserved thrashing before they were hauled off to prison. All things considered, it was a very impressive piece of work.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly like that.’

  ‘Come now, Mr Davidson, I’m impressed by your modesty but please permit me to give credit, where credit’s due. However, to get to the point of my phone call, I’m hoping that you might be available to assist with a personal problem, concerning the whereabouts of my stepdaughter, Angela, who’s been missing for almost three years. Perhaps we could meet and I’ll explain more about it. Then you can decide if it’s something that you can help me with.’

  Jack hesitated, because he was heartily sick of eating eggs twice a day and reluctant to take on another farmer as a client. Sensing Jack’s apprehension, Rupert Jones then quickly added, ‘I fully appreciate that employing top talent from the big city does not come cheaply and, if you agree to take the case on, you can be sure that I will not be difficult to deal with regarding your fee.’

  ‘I take it that you’ve not always been a farmer?’ said Jack, who was thinking that being flattered and offered a virtual blank cheque by a prospective client was quite a novel experience.

  Rupert Jones chuckled and said, ‘You’re quite correct, I was a merchant banker for many years, working in the City of London Square Mile. But I retired in two thousand and eight, although I keep in touch with some of my old colleagues who are still active in the business. And occasionally I still take a punt in the market, if I hear about a good investment opportunity.’

  ‘I’m afraid just mentioning two thousand and eight still sends a shiver down my spine,’ said Jack, sourly. ‘I’ll probably need to work three or four years longer because of what happened that year.’

  ‘I can totally sympathise, Mr Davidson. Of course the prevailing feeling in the City in the years leading up to the financial crash, was that the good times would never end and, because the then Labour Government favoured so-called light touch regulation, we could pretty much do whatever we wanted. And we did, to our eternal shame. When I think about some of the things that went on, even within my own firm, selling products linked to sub-prime mortgages, derivatives and all the rest of it, it still makes my hair stand on end. Between you and me, acting in our clients’ best interest frequently came some considerable way behind increasing the size of the firm’s annual bonus pot. It wasn’t our finest hour, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So were you caught out yourself, when the roof fell in?’ said Jack, hoping against hope.

  ‘Fortunately, no. Some of the older hands, myself included, saw which way the wind was blowing and went liquid early on in two thousand and eight, just before the markets headed south. I had a very bad feeling about the way things were going, so I followed my instincts and sold everything. It was the smartest thing I ever did, believe me.’

  ‘I do believe you, but how did you end up on a farm down on the Solway coast? That’s a long way from London.’

  ‘My wife was actually born on this farm, but her family had a run of bad luck and illness when she was still a child and they had to sell up. So when the place eventually came back on to the market, five years ago, we jumped at the chance to buy it and turn it into our retirement base. It’s a beautiful coastal location and we’ve spent a fair bit of time refurbishing and extending the main buildings, but as for the farming side of things … well, that’s definitely not my area of expertise. Thankfully, I have a good farm manager to look after the animals and crops, while I swan around the place wearing a wax jacket and tweed cap, pretending that I understand what the poor chap is rambling on about.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Jack. ‘It’s true what they say, every man to his trade.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Rupert Jones. ‘Which brings me back to the point of my phone call.’

  Jack decided to play hard to get, and interrupted, ‘I’ll be frank with you, Mr Jones, my big problem at the moment, is that almost all of my time is being taken up with a single case.’

  Obviously not accustomed to being turned down, Jones then said, ‘Oh, that’s a great pity. Are you sure that there’s no way that you could juggle things around to accommodate me? It would be worth a lot to my family, if this matter could be resolved quickly. If it helps, the fee I have in mind is ten thousand pounds, if you can find Angela. With a bonus of another ten thousand, if you can then persuade her to make contact with her mother.’

  ‘Okay then, tell me a bit more about the background and I’ll give you my answer.’

  ‘My stepdaughter, Angela, has been estranged from the family for almost three years now. The whole thing was completely stupid, and came about because my wife was trying to prevent her daughter from making some of the same mistakes she had made herself, as a young woman. However, she probably went too far and I think, looking back on it, she would admit that herself. In any event, after months of endless arguments, it all came to a head and they both ended up having a furious row about her choice of boyfriends. Harsh words were exchanged and eventually an ultimatum was given that there would be no further negotiations and she simply had to abide by her mother’s rules, if she wanted to remain in the house. Anyway, they both refused to back down and Angela simply packed her bags and left. It was a week before her eighteenth birthday.’

  ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘We believe that when Angela left home, she went travelling abroad for a year or more, with a boyfriend. He was the one who was the subject of the final argument with her mother.’

  ‘Does she still receive any financial support from your family?’ asked Jack.

  ‘No. not any longer. She’s always been very independent and strong willed, just like her mother, and more than capable of making her own way in the world. Even when she was still at school, she always had part-time jobs, although she didn’t need to because she had a monthly allowance. I think she just wanted to be like the rest of her friends.’

  ‘To cut a long story short, my wife has been unwell for almost two years and she has been receiving treatment for breast cancer which, fortunately, is now in remission. However, the illness has concentrated her mind to reach out and try and effect a reconciliation with her only daughter, before any more precious years are lost. Perfectly understandable, but the problem is that we don’t know where she is. We think that when she returned to Britain, she split up with the boyfriend and then lived in London for a time, moving in with various friends. One of our neighbours actually bumped into to her one day when she was shopping in Debenhams, in Oxford Street, and they chatted for a few minutes. But that was the last confirmed sighting of her.’

  ‘Tell me, what were her interests, when she was at school?’ said Jack.

  ‘Well, to the best of my knowledge, she never expressed any strong interest in either going to university, or in starting out on any particular career
path. I think that lack of direction might have been part of the problem, but I do know that her overriding passion at school was for art, and painting in particular. I think that obsession was probably to the detriment of her other studies.’

  ‘So, has there been any further communication with her? You know, phone calls, emails or postcards, since your neighbour saw her in London?’

  ‘For the last three years the only contact of any kind has been a single card at Christmas time. The last two cards we received were posted in Glasgow, so we’re assuming that she must have settled there. I should say that two private enquiry firms, who are both based in Glasgow, have already tried to track her down, without any success. So I’m hoping that it might be third time lucky, if you agree to take the case.’

  This information immediately started Jack thinking and he sat up quickly and switched off the television, before saying, ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do, Mr Jones. By chance, I’m actually going to be working in Glasgow for the next week or so and, depending on how certain things pan out, I may be able to spend some time trying to trace Angela. If I can find her good and well, but if I can’t there won’t be any charge for my time. How does that sound?’

  ‘I’m more than happy with that, said Jones. ‘If you text me your email address, I’ll send a folder containing background information, photographs and a copy of the most recent report by the last firm that tried to find her.’

  ‘Right then, leave it with me and I’ll be in touch,’ said Jack, ending the call and smiling to himself, as he put his phone back on the breakfast counter.

  When Annie returned from her run, she draped a towel around her neck and slumped down on the settee, while draining a bottle of water.