by Iain North
‘The car alarm being set,’ he whispered.
‘I can’t imagine car thieves make it out here very often,’ Amber said.
A moment later they saw light streaming out of one of the cottage windows.
Amber unfastened her seatbelt as if readying herself for something to happen. Jim eased the car forward, up on to the grassy verge. Conifer branches flicked over the nearside windows.
‘How do I get out?’ Amber scowled.
‘We’re not getting out.’
‘You mean we’re just going to sit here, again?’
‘Aye.’
Glaring at him: ‘This just gets better and better.’
‘We’re observing.’
‘Observing what?’
‘Whether she has any visitors.’
‘Like who?’
‘If Caleypharma are up to no good, my guess is that someone, maybe Mike Macerlane, will want to come and see Miss Anderson. Have a quiet word with her.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
Jim shrugged. ‘Then we try something else.’
Amber slunk down in her seat. ‘Great.’
Jim watched Siobhan wandering about her kitchen, from the freezer on one side of the window to what he presumed was a microwave on the other. He saw her fill the kettle from the sink tap below the window and take a mug down from a peg on the pine-panelled wall at the back of the room. Just one mug, that was a good sign. She was alone. If a guest called, as he hoped, it wouldn’t be pre-arranged. He’d just arrive unannounced for a quick chat and then disappear back into the night.
He had clocked Macerlane’s car number at the hotel, jotted it down in his pad for future identification purposes.
Siobhan left the room. A light went on upstairs and curtains were drawn. Two minutes ticked past. He timed it on the car clock. She reappeared in the kitchen, decanted water from the kettle in her cup and took something out of the microwave. Supper. He thought of his own stomach. It was beyond the point of rumbling now. It had reached the severed throat stage. The last time they’d eaten was at six.
He kept his eyes on the house as he whispered to Amber: ‘There should be some Mars Bars in the glove box.’
No answer. He looked round. Her eyes were closed. So much for youthful enthusiasm, he thought. He leaned across, opened the compartment and retrieved a chocolate bar. His chomping broke the silence for a minute or two as he watched the light in the kitchen die.
Another hour passed. The conifer branches slapped against the misted car windows. Jim woke with a jolt. It wasn’t the conifer branches that had dragged him from his slumber. The knuckles of a black glove were rattling the window.
‘Shite!’ he hissed
A white beam of light glided across the glass. He saw black and white chequers, the black and white chequers of a police officer’s cap.
Jim lowered the window. ‘Officer?’
‘Sir.’
The policeman peered at Amber, snoozing in the passenger seat.
Jim felt his cheeks redden. ‘We were just out for a drive.’
‘Aye, sir.’ The officer was not convinced.
They slumped together in the back of the police car.
‘Bloody pigs,’ Amber snarled under her breath.
If the policeman heard her, he ignored it. He’d probably heard it all before.
The car skirted back up the track and slid out on to the main road. Jim twisted his head around just in time to see a silver-coloured Mercedes pull in behind them. He could just make out the registration number.
‘What’s going to happen?’ Amber asked, genuinely anxious.
His mind was on the silver Mercedes, but he needed to reassure her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.’
He didn’t know how. If this went to court he would have some explaining to do, especially if an enterprising journalist filed a copy of the story to his local paper. Sometimes he resented his own profession for the upset it could cause, all in the name of justice and righteousness.
*****
The duty sergeant turned them out of the police station at 6am after issuing cautions to both Jim and Amber. It was more embarrassing than anything else. They stood, heads bowed, like naughty teenagers while he read them the riot act, shook his head as if morally outraged, and then showed them the door.
They caught a taxi back to the hotel and collapsed into separate beds.
Jim couldn’t sleep. He was up again half an hour later. He showered, dressed, ordered breakfast and sat down with his notebook to review his scribbles.
He jotted down the number of the silver Mercedes he spotted at the top of the track before then flicked back through his pad to find the details of Macerlane’s car.
‘Damn!’ They didn’t match. But the letters were the same and the numbers were only a few digits out of sequence, which suggested the two cars were used by the same company – bought or leased as part of a fleet. It was all he needed.
Amber was fast asleep. He left her there, grabbed the Mazda keys, a few other things, and jogged out to the car park. It was only when he got there that he remembered the Mazda was sitting several miles out of town.
He backtracked to the foyer and asked the receptionist to phone a taxi. Five minutes of heel-kicking later a white Mercedes pulled up at the front door.
‘Where to mate?’
‘The Longman Industrial Estate.’
It was just the other side of the dual carriageway. Jim could have walked, but he needed transport later to collect his car.
Workers were starting to arrive at the Caleypharma factory. A snack bar caravan opposite the main entrance was doing a roaring trade in bacon butties and polystyrene cups of tea.
The driver clocked his meter. ‘Two pounds exactly.’
‘Can we just wait here a bit?’ Jim asked.
‘It’ll cost you.’
‘No problem. I need you to take me out of town later.’ Jim peered through the windscreen, watched the procession of cars pull through the Caleypharma gates. He sat his notepad on his knee.
‘Are we likely to be here for a bit?’ The driver switched off the engine and pulled his key out of the ignition.
‘Five or ten minutes.’
‘I’ll get myself some breakfast then.’ He left the cab and wandered over to the snack bar.
A couple of Mercedes with numbers close to the one he wanted arrived. Then finally he spotted an exact match. Jim got out of the car and wandered up to the perimeter fence. He took out his digital camera and snapped the driver as he got out, locked the car door – a good clear headshot – and headed into work.
Back in the taxi, the driver was munching on a heavily filled roll. The windscreen was misting over. ‘You finished?’ he mumbled through his mouthful.
‘Aye.
‘Where next?’
Jim gave directions and was finally reunited with his Mazda. He paid the driver and skidded back out on to the dual carriageway behind him. The events on the early hours, combined with a lack of sleep, had made him tense, and irritable. He floored the accelerator until he hit l00mph – a pointless reaction to the police’s heavy handedness, but he felt he was striking back. He shot past the taxi. Headlamps flashed.
The burst of speed was what he needed to clear his head and he was riding a level plain when he arrived back at the hotel. Amber was still asleep. He crept into the room, opened the curtains and sat down in a warming ray of sunlight.
The Caleypharma brochure Mike Macerlane handed Jim when they met was on the counter. He flicked through the heavy gloss pages to one carrying pictures of the main men and women within the company. He scanned the smiling heads until he founded the face he sought: Head of research and development, Professor Gerry Gallagher. A hairy man whose age was difficult to pin down. He could have been in his 50s, then again maybe his 60s or even 70s. Heavy spectacles, a runaway beard and unkempt mop clouded the age issue. The public relations people had obviously attempted to tidy him up, but failed miserably and left the photo
grapher to it. Gallagher was the top scientist at Caleypharma, with a string of successful drug treatments to his name. So his appearance was clearly not their top priority.
The CV in the brochure was limited to a small block of text next to the picture. But what was important to Jim was that he was man in the silver Mercedes. And he was Mike Macerlane’s boss.
Jim knew he had spooked them. Macerlane must have reported back after their meeting. Gallagher then hotfooted it under the cover of darkness to Siobhan Anderson’s cottage in the country. The arrival of the police merely underlined the fact he had raised their hackles.
Gallagher must have parked up, walked past the car, seen them and grabbed the opportunity to knock the pesky reporter off his back. Jim knew he had been stupid, falling asleep in the car, but he had Mike Macerlane and Gerry Gallagher right where he wanted them – troubled. It felt good.
Jim knew there was something about Providon they didn’t want in the public domain. Maybe they were just concerned about commercial confidentiality. It was time for a bit of background research. He needed to know more about Gallagher – where he came from, what he did. A search of the cuttings was needed.
Jim put a call in to Brian Baxter, set the wheels in motion. He couldn’t promise a scoop for Sunday’s paper but he was following up strong leads. Brian was happy enough with that. It was another little white lie – Jim’s life was full of them – but he could hardly tell his news editor that he was stumbling about in the dark, hopelessly fumbling for something that may not even be there.
Jim checked his watch before calling George.
‘What’s fresh?’
‘The police have finished their work at Kishorn,’ the old hack replied. ‘I took a look down last night. Stuff has been coming in at all hours. They’re staffed up and the first rig is due to arrive at the start of next week. It’s on its way down from Shetland as we speak.’
‘That’s one in the eye for the protestors.’
‘They’re still there. We’ll see what happens. How was your night?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘Like that, eh?’
‘Aye.’ Jim paused for a moment and then remembered the real reason for the call. ‘Have you ever come across a guy called Gerry Gallagher? He’s a scientist, a professor.’
There was silence while George sifted through the vast databases that occupied his skull.
Finally he responded. ‘No.’
‘Oh well, it was worth a shot.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘I’m not entirely sure yet. But I’ll let you know.’
‘Are you coming by this way?’
‘We’ve a few things to do here. I’ll give you a call.’
‘I’ll set the beers up.’
‘Cheers. ‘
Jim hung up. What next? He knew he should call Jenny at some point, but first he needed to speak to Helen McBurney again.
The rush hour was over so it didn’t take Jim long to cross town to the bleak housing estate that passed as home for dozens of unfortunate souls. He hoped she would be able to answer the final question about Billy Reid and Loch Kishorn. He needed to close that book before he could focus all his attention on Caleypharma.
She was in, as expected. What else had she to do?
‘How’s Katrina?’ Jim asked, as he plonked himself down on the sofa.
‘She should be out of hospital tomorrow.’
He didn’t broach the subject of HIV with Mrs McBurney. He presumed she didn’t know. It was Katrina’s little secret, one of many probably. She would probably tell her mother when the time was right. If ever there was a right time for something like that.
Instead he simply replied: ‘That’s good.’
‘I just want her home. So I can take care of her.’
He tried to offer some reassurance. ‘It’ll only be a few weeks. ‘
‘I suppose so. Anyway, what can I do for you?’
‘I was wondering if you knew a lad called Billy Reid.’
She didn’t have to think. ‘Billy. Tragic. I read about it in the paper.’
Jim nodded sympathetically. ‘He’d gone there to see Bennet.’
Mrs McBurney sat down by the TV and lit up a cigarette. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
Finally he was getting somewhere. ‘Why’s that?’
‘You don’t know?’
He shook his head.
Mrs McBurney drew on her fag and exhaled slowly. ‘Billy was Amanda’s brother.’
‘Her brother?’
‘Stepbrother,’ she corrected. ‘As I told you before, Amanda’s mum and dad split up not long after...’ She broke off, took another draw to steady her nerves. ‘After it all happened. Her dad moved Glasgow, married Billy’s mum.’
‘Were they close?’
‘Billy and Amanda? No’ really. Amanda stayed with her mum. I think they met up few times when they were kids, during the holidays when Amanda went down to see her dad. Billy must have found out what happened. It’s not the sort of thing you can keep secret in a family.’
‘I visited the place yesterday,’ Jim admitted.
She wasn’t really interested. ‘Aye.’
‘I saw Katrina’s flowers.’
She perked up a bit. ‘She goes there every week, takes fresh flowers for Amanda. In the summer she picks them herself.’
‘Was that where...?’ He was unsure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask.
Mrs McBurney finished the sentence for him: ‘Took her life?’ She nodded slowly, sadly. ‘She was only 14. She did it with her school tie. Over the branch.’
There was no florist on the estate, only a newsagent and an off-licence – cigarettes and alcohol the real essentials for life here. But there was a petrol station further down the road that sold £2.99 bunches – for men who were going to be late home... again. It was early so they were still fresh. Jim bought two bunches.
He brushed his way through the bushes again – at least this time they were dry – and walked swiftly along the track and down the narrow path to the old oak. He knelt below the tree and placed both bouquets against the trunk, one from him, one from Katrina.
*****
Amber woke to find Jim packing his overnight bag.
‘Are we leaving?’ she asked, propping herself up on her shoulders.
‘I am.’
‘She rubbed her eyes before finally focussing on him. ‘What?’
‘I’ve a wedding to go to. Tomorrow. In Majorca.’
‘You’re going?’
He looked straight at her. ‘I’m the best man.’
‘You’re cutting it a bit fine.’
‘Jenny booked me an early morning flight tomorrow.’
Amber’s head rolled back into her pillow. ‘What about me?’
‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to turn up with you.’
‘I mean the story.’
‘I need some time to think about it. The best way forward.’
‘What about me?’
‘What about you?’
She swivelled her legs over the side of the mattress and stood up. ‘What am I going to do?’
Jim folded a pair of trousers and stuffed them into the top of his bag. ‘I want you to do a couple of things for me.’
She smiled. ‘Name them.’
‘I want you to go down to Kyle of Lochalsh. George is expecting you. Keep an eye on things. There’s an oil rig coming in and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more trouble brewing.’
‘More bodies in the dock?’
‘Let’s hope not.’ He retrieved socks from the top of the radiator. ‘And I want you to find out all you can about Caleypharma.’
He paired the socks up and packed them away.
Little was said as they drove to Inverness Airport. Jim handed Amber the keys to his Mazda after checking in for the flight to Glasgow.
‘You’ll need these.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll see you in a couple of d
ays.’
Her eyes were misty. ‘Have a good time.’
They stood facing each other for a moment. Jim let his hand luggage slip from his fingers on to the floor.