“Raffles. Don’t get all het up. I don’t think that will help your current health or wellbeing.”
Harry dropped a cold pint of lager in front of him. “Here, drink this.”
“Ah, the hair of the dog.”
“Remember not to have the whole dog ...”
“Aye right!! You know that I just love being consistently inconsistent.”
“Anyway, just make sure that you use the information I have passed on to you to nail that bastard Alf Hunter and his cronies. You know we don’t stop fishing because we get old, we get old because we stop fishing. Remember that, Raffles.”
“Don’t worry Harry, my friend.” I’ll dae what the Polis can’t dae.”
“One of the things I miss most when I’m away is the unique Scottish sense of humour, but what I won’t miss is the rain, the cold and the warm beer.”
“Aye, you’ll come back. They always do.”
Leaving Edinburgh once again so soon was not what Harry had planned. There were many things he had wanted to do and things to see. Only one more sleep and he would be on his way back to Brisbane with the new love of his life. He decided that he would take his last walk along his beloved promenade. He grinned to himself as he walked past a sign outside a pub at the end of the promenade which read. “When I read about the evils of drinking I gave up reading.” Typically, unique Scottish humour.
In a way, he would miss the fine drizzle that was starting to fall. Never heavy but it somehow always managed to soak you through and through. He donned his raincoat, opened his golf umbrella and continued on his walk.
Passing the artificial football pitches reminded him of the Olympic-sized pool that once stood there alongside the now demolished power station. Rain didn’t stop the enthusiasm of the footballers. It was just a part of life in Scotland. He continued to the end of the promenade, strolled up Kings Road, then turned onto the High Street that would take him back to Bath Street.
The fifteen-minute walk to his apartment brought back distant memories. He passed what used to be the rear entrance of the Portobello Glassworks which closed in the seventies. The pubs along the way hadn’t really changed, only in name. A Chinese shop now replaced the Woolworth’s grocery store and the well-known Rankin Florist shop on the corner of Bath Street was now a Greggs Bakery. The old George cinema in Bath Street was now a disused bingo hall situated near Harry’s apartment block halfway down the street. He had no doubt that it would be a prime development site for future residential apartments.
He walked onto the promenade just outside his apartment and sat on the empty wet bench admiring the distant fields in Fife on the other side of the Forth. The sun pounding the fields stretching as far as the eye could see and newly tilled ready for the next crop. He had lost count how many times he had sat here looking over the bay to Fife. Sun shining there while at the same time it was pissing down here in Portobello.
Christ, at that point it hit him like a sledge hammer. That was the clue that Sandy Hall has given him. The penny dropped. Look out for the farmer. It was staring him in the face. The farmer. The crop. That’s what he was telling him. Crops is the nickname for Sam Cropley. The mole in the police.
Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees. It was now up to the detectives to prove that he was in fact the mole. He suspected that they already had worked that out. Unfortunately, proof is a necessary ingredient in any recipe and now maybe the cake could be finished. With criminals past and present dropping like flies, maybe Cropley would get to retirement without being uncovered.
He had to look forward and leave the past behind him. He spent the next half hour planning how he would recommence and write the stories for the Guardian about his unfinished investigations into the corrupt politician and the dodgy councillor when he arrived in Brisbane.
There was one last thing Harry had to attend to before he left.
Portobello cemetery was extremely cold and quiet. Very few souls had ventured out to visit their loved ones. Who could blame them on a bleak windy winter’s day like today?
A visibly distressed young couple stood over their baby’s grave sobbing and holding hands. The world was not a fair place. An elderly couple were struggling to keep their hats on as they placed flowers in a copper vase at the base of a weathered headstone.
Harry stood in silence accompanied by his thoughts, the good, the bad and the indifferent times. Two graves side by side, one holding the remains of the two girls, the other holding his dreams. He talked to her through his thoughts. Telling her that they would meet again sometime in the future. Telling her that she should have told him about her planned takeover of her husband’s racket. Standing there all alone he realised that a partner can replace many things but nothing could replace a partner.
As Harry left and glanced back for the last time, he noticed a small grey cloud weep on the fresh flowers he had just laid at the graveside. He was convinced that they were not alone.
Chapter 85
It was chaos at Edinburgh airport as Harry and Skye lined up at the business check-in aisle for their connecting flight to London for the long-haul Qantas flight to Brisbane.
“What do you think you are going to miss most about Scotland?” Harry asked his partner.
“Certainly not the weather, but maybe the pubs.”
“Well I can assure you that the weather will be to your liking and I’ll take you round a few pubs in Brisbane that will take your mind off home.
“Exciting times, Harry. Boy, I’m glad that I bought the apartment in your complex. Otherwise we might never have met.”
“What’s meant to be is meant to be.”
The flight to London was only one hour. During the flight, Harry pretended to sleep but was going over and over in his mind the recent events, reassuring himself that he had done as much as he possibly could to find out the truth behind Carole’s demise and the timing was right to move back to Australia with Skye. On both counts he felt satisfied. He was also comfortable that his good friend James Scully would not allow the case to go cold.
Skye nudged him to remind him to put up his tray and fasten his seat belt as they were about to land in London.
They now had around two hours to kill before boarding the plane for the long haul flight to Australia.
They did a bit of duty-free shopping and had a coffee or two to fill in some more time. Qantas were well known for being punctual and this flight was no different.
Sitting in the Qantas club waiting for their boarding call they got talking to a young couple with a small baby. They introduced themselves.
“Hi, my name is Kevin. This is my wife Lorraine and our baby daughter Simone.”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Harry and this is my partner Skye. You guys going on holiday?”
“No, we’re immigrating to Australia. Me, my family and an invisible suitcase full of dreams and ideas.”
“Good on you. Which part?”
“Brisbane, I have an uncle who lives in the suburb of Albany Creek.”
“Know it well, not far from where we live.”
“And you?”
“I lived in Brisbane a few years ago and now we’re heading back for good.”
Harry handed him his business card. “Here’s my email address. Contact us when you get settled.”
The tannoy system announced that their plane was ready for boarding as Kevin studied the card in silence.
“What was your name again son?”
“Kevin, Kevin Wilson …”
Harry Cram returns in
EVELASTING GUILT
Book Launch December 2017
Chapter 1
DCI Craig Spencer was sitting by the fireside drinking a cup of tea and watching his favourite early morning food program on BBC Scotland when it was suddenly interrupted by a newsflash... Unconfirmed reports of ten dead, dozens injured and hostages taken on a luxury cruise ship in the Firth of Forth... Updates to follow...
Before he got to his mobile it rang. He c
hecked the screen before answering. It was DI Darling.
“What the fuck is happening Andy?”
“You’ve seen the news then, sir?”
“Yes.”
“More information is coming in sir. Some unconfirmed reports put the death toll at around twenty. It’s changing rapidly. Sounds like it could be a terrorist attack on a cruise ship berthed in the Firth of Forth.”
“I'm on my way, get the team assembled and set up number three office as the main incident centre. Has the Detective Superintendent arrived in the station yet?
“Yes, he has just arrived.”
“I'll be there in twenty minutes.” No one and I mean no one is to leave the station.”
“Right Sir.”
“Who has been despatched to the scene?”
“At this point in time DI White, DC Cropley, DC Reilly, Sergeant Blackie, PCs Reilly and Gordon should just about be arriving on site.”
“Okay, talk to you when I get in. I can’t believe this is happening here in Edinburgh and so soon after the terror attacks recently in Manchester and London. Nobody is safe anywhere, anymore. Remember, no one leaves.”
Spencer called Detective Superintendent Sam Johnston from his mobile phone as he drove from his home in Barnton towards the station at Leith. No answer. He left a message then turned on the radio hoping he might get an update before he reached his destination. Nothing, the news obviously hadn’t yet hit the airways.
Dozens of Ambulances with sirens blaring and police cars doing the same were heading in the opposite direction towards Queensferry where the drama was unfolding. People stood at street corners, staring and wondering what the hell was going down. Edinburgh was not used to this sort of mayhem.
The traffic heading into the City was fairly light considering it was a Friday morning. The festival was in full swing at this time of the year, meaning thousands of tourists were swarming all over the City, day and night. A catalyst for chaos and panic.
The Edinburgh Festival was established in nineteen forty seven and had grown to form what is acknowledged as the world’s largest annual cultural festival attracting millions of people to the city in the Summer. A yearly unwanted headache for the already stretched Scottish police force.
The entrance to the off street car park at the Leith station was already full of hungry reporters as he approached the steel barrier. He kept the car windows closed and ignored the flashbulbs going off and the questions being shouted through the window at him as he waited for the barrier to raise. Journalists were not known for their patience or good manners as they shoved multiple cameras against the window and waved their notepads in the air hoping for some response.
Finally after what seemed an eternity, the barrier slowly lifted and Spencer drove into the safety of the police car park.
Inside the station was like he'd never seen before. Phones going off everywhere, people darting from office to office, coffee being spilt, tempers flaring, some individuals trying to assert their authority and small groups nervously watching TV screens. Organised chaos would be the best way to describe it.
For more information, please visit my website: www.harrycram.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would sincerely like to thank the following people. Without them Harry Cram may not have been brought to life.
Jessie & Eddie Anderson, Maureen & Andrew Arnaotopoulos, Peter Bradford, Stuart Cox, Bob Darling, John Darling, Sheldyn Dixon, Lynn Douglass, Paul Dwyer, Trish Fenly, Sam Gantree, Graham & Sue Ladd, Sam Mancini, Michelle & Paul Mclay, Prem & Betty Menon, Paul Naske, Aileen & Ian Orr, Siobhan & Mark Otmarich, Warwick Richards, Craig & Bronwyn Robertson, Ray Schmidt, Peter & Linda Sheedy, Colin & Lisa Spencer, Jackie & Ronnie Stenhouse, Garry Thistlewaite, Ben Thomas, Ferg & Heather Watt, Ron Webb, Matt Webster, Kate & Peter Wilkie, Tom Young, Sarah Young and Brian Young.
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