‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean: what happens now?’
‘They arrest you.’
‘And then? Will I be charged? Tried? Convicted? Imprisoned?’
‘Of course. As you should be.’
‘“As I should be.”’ Wiseman chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Naïvety in a young man is excusable. In one of your age it’s pitiful. I take it this conversation is being recorded?’
Harry nodded. It was pointless to deny it. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’
‘For use in evidence against me. Naturally. Well, I think they have more than enough now, don’t you? So, this last … observation … can remain strictly between ourselves.’ Wiseman raised a cautionary finger to his lips, then leant close to Harry’s ear and whispered a few words to him.
‘What?’
‘You heard.’ Wiseman stood up, tossed the newspaper down on the bench and grabbed the briefcase. ‘Let’s go. It’s time you turned me in.’
Chapter Sixty-two
AFTER WISEMAN’S ARREST Harry was taken to the ground-floor office on the southern side of the square which had served as Knox’s observation post. Wiseman was en route to Strathclyde Police HQ for questioning by then, having cast Harry an enigmatic glance of farewell through the window of the squad car as he was driven away. The operation had ended in the smooth success Knox had confidently anticipated. He shook Harry by the hand in a congratulatory fashion. An air of quiet satisfaction hung over the comings and goings of the junior members of his team. All had ended well.
‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Barnett. It’s been invaluable.’
‘Am I free to go now?’
‘Certainly. But it’d be appreciated if you could remain close at hand for a little longer. We might need to check a few things with you. This is a complicated case and no mistake.’
‘How close?’
‘I was thinking … here in Glasgow. We’ve booked you and your wife into a city-centre hotel for a couple of nights. Well, we don’t need to hide you out at Milngavie now there’s no danger of you bumping into our chief suspect before we’re ready for him, do we? Your wife’s already on her way to the hotel, as a matter of fact. A couple of Strathclyde WPCs met her off her flight. So, why don’t you relax there? Visit your friend in hospital. Maybe take in a few sights. We’ll be in touch as soon as we need to be.’
‘All right.’
‘One thing, though. We couldn’t pick up something Wiseman said to you. Just before you vacated the bench. From what I could see on the monitor, he seemed to be whispering into your ear.’
‘He was.’
‘And what did he whisper?’
‘“I don’t regret a thing,”’ Harry lied. ‘That’s all.’
Harry phoned the hospital before leaving Blythswood Square to find out if there had been any change in Chipchase’s condition. Why he expected to hear bad news he could not afterwards have explained; he was not pessimistic by nature. Whatever the reason, though, his expectation was confounded. ‘There’s been a big improvement overnight,’ the sister informed him. ‘Mr Chipchase is sitting up and taking notice. He’ll probably be on a general ward before the end of the day. The doctor’s very pleased with him.’
So it was that Harry was able to greet Donna at the Millennium Hotel with the broadest smile he had worn in many weeks, though not as broad as the one with which she greeted him.
‘Hi, hon,’ she said, hugging him close. ‘Is it good to see you! There have been times this last couple of weeks—’
Harry silenced her with a kiss and gazed warmly into her eyes. ‘Don’t say it. I’m sorry for all the worry I’ve put you through. Let’s leave it at that.’
‘Leave it? You must be kidding. I want to hear every last detail.’
‘And you will. But remember: it’s over now. However hair-raising some of it may sound, it is over.’
‘Thank the good Lord for that.’
Harry nodded. ‘Amen.’
Two hours later, they were seated at Chipchase’s hospital bedside. He had been moved from intensive care to a private room. A large bandage covered his head, which had been shaved prior to the craniotomy, and a drip was attached to a cannula in his right arm. In the circumstances, he had no right to look as well as, strangely, he did.
His memory of recent events, however, was patchy. ‘A spot of amnesia’s only to be expected, according to the doc.’
‘There’s a lot of it about,’ said Harry with a smile. ‘I’ll fill you in on the ins and outs of our latest exploits next time I come in.’
‘But we are in the clear, right?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Great. Now, what do you mean by “next time I come in”? Won’t Donna be with you?’
‘Do you want me to be?’ Donna asked.
‘Too bloody right I do, darlin’. I want you to see me a good bit closer to my normal irresistible self. Then Harry will really have something to worry about.’ Chipchase winked. ‘Know what I mean?’
‘According to Marvin’s researches, some of the US troops they allegedly experimented on with MRQS in the fifties tried to sue the Defense Department,’ said Donna over an early lunch in a café back in the city centre. ‘The action failed for lack of evidence, of course, but …’
‘You think I should sue the MoD?’
‘No. But there’s bound to be hard evidence now for someone to act on. Or there will be when Wiseman stands trial.’
‘If he stands trial.’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’
‘No reason. Except he doesn’t expect to.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘It was almost the last thing he said to me before they arrested him. In a whisper, so they didn’t pick it up on the microphone. “I’ll never make it to court.”’
‘What made him say that?’
‘I don’t know. But if it’s true he wasn’t responsible for Dangerfield’s death …’
‘My God. They wouldn’t do that, would they?’
‘I’m not sure. But I’ll tell you what I am sure of. Whatever happens to Wiseman – if anything does – I won’t be challenging it. And I won’t be suing anyone. It was difficult enough to get off this particular hook. I don’t intend to do anything that might get me back on it.’
Relieved that Chipchase was on the mend and their shared troubles – bar a lot of no doubt time-consuming police paperwork – were over, Harry managed for the rest of the day to do just what Knox had recommended: he relaxed. Ordinarily, he would have pulled a face at Donna’s suggestion of a visit to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, such places tending to leave him weak at the ankles and yawning uncontrollably. But the prospect of strolling around anywhere with his wife was deliriously appealing after all he had been through. And she promised him they could go to a pub afterwards.
As fate would have it, the Kelvingrove was closed for refurbishment and they ended up in the Transport Museum on the other side of the road, where the vintage cars and venerable steam engines were actually of more interest to Harry than to Donna. As he explained to her later over a pint, it only confirmed what he was slowly coming to believe: his luck had changed at last.
Dinner at a good restaurant rounded off their day of unlooked-for contentment, marred only slightly by the knowledge that another parting was not far off. Donna would have to return to Vancouver as soon as possible to appease her ireful head of department. A week or so at least seemed likely to pass before Harry could join her. But this time, he promised, he would be accepting no out-of-the-blue invitations to far-flung get-togethers. This time, he would be caution personified.
‘It’s the quiet life for me after this, Donna. For us.’
‘Not too quiet, I hope.’
‘Unlikely, with Daisy around.’
‘She’s missed you.’
‘And I’ve missed her. But we’ll all be together soon.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Donna raised her glass.
And Harry raised his. ‘Cheers.’
<
br /> The bedside telephone roused Harry shortly before eight o’clock the following morning. It had been a late night – and a delightfully energetic one. A long lie-in was what Harry’s sluggish thought processes told him he needed. But the telephone did not stop ringing. A glance at Donna revealed her to be out for the count. He grabbed the receiver.
‘Hello?’ he said in a sandpapery sotto voce.
‘Gretchen at the front desk here, Mr Barnett,’ trilled a birdsong-bright female voice. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a lady in reception who wants to speak to you. She says it’s very important.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Rawson. Erica Rawson.’
Ah, Erica. Of course. Why had he not anticipated this? He rubbed his eyes and tried to concentrate, wondering whether his change of luck might not be as wholesale as he had fondly imagined.
‘Mr Barnett?’
‘Tell Miss Rawson I’ll be right down.’
Chapter Sixty-three
THERE WAS NO sign of Erica in reception. Gretchen pointed helpfully towards the main entrance. ‘She said she’d wait outside, Mr Barnett.’
‘Thanks.’ Harry plodded out apprehensively into a cool, leaden-skied morning. The Millennium Hotel fronted onto George Square, focal point of the city, round which rush-hour traffic was currently roaring. Erica was standing on the opposite side of the street from Harry, near the pelican crossing adjacent to the hotel. She was dressed in tracksuit and trainers, had her hands on her hips and was gazing expectantly in his direction.
She continued to study him as he waited for the crossing light to change in his favour. Harry struggled to put the brief interval this gave him for tactical deliberation to good use, but found his thoughts still fogged by the rudeness of his awakening. He had left a note for Donna: Gone for a stroll. Back soon. Order breakfast. That had sounded good to him and still did. But breakfast was already beginning to seem a distant and uncertain prospect. Yet Erica was alone. And George Square was as public a place as Harry could wish for. There was surely no threat to him. He felt marginally less anxious than when he left his room.
The traffic slowed to a halt. The green man lit up. Harry crossed. ‘Good morning,’ he said neutrally. ‘Come a long way?’
‘Haven’t we both?’ Erica nodded towards the hotel. ‘Does Donna know you’re meeting me?’
‘Not yet. She’s still asleep.’
‘Jet lag?’
‘It’s just early, Erica. Unless you’re a working girl.’
‘Which I am. But you’re right. It is early. As you can see, I was caught on the hop myself.’
‘Caught by what?’
‘Let’s get away from this din.’
The light had changed back in favour of the traffic by then and a retreat from the noise was welcome. They headed into the centre of the square, dominated by Glasgow’s answer to Nelson’s Column – a statue of Sir Walter Scott perched on a lofty pillar – and commenced a slow circuit round the plinth at its base.
‘I thought we should have a word before the police contacted you. They’ve told me what happened yesterday.’
‘I’m sure they have.’
‘But this morning … there was an unexpected development.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Wiseman was found dead in his cell a couple of hours ago.’
Harry said nothing. There was nothing he could say.
‘You don’t seem very surprised.’
‘I’ve had lot of surprises lately. Maybe I’m developing an immunity.’
‘They think it was a heart attack. There’ll have to be a post mortem, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
‘He may have had an ongoing heart condition, of course. But then a man of his age would be under a lot of stress in such a situation even if he was in perfect health.’
‘Oh yes. Men of his age can find all sorts of situations stressful.’
‘You seem to have coped pretty well with recent events. But then you’ve had more experience than most of such things.’
‘Have I?’
‘There’s a file on you, Harry. Not such a slim one either. I’ve taken a look at it. Interesting reading. Very interesting.’
‘Perhaps I should ask to see it myself. Under the Freedom of Information Act.’
‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’
‘No?’
‘How’s Barry?’
‘Getting better, thanks.’
‘Good.’
There was a momentary silence between them. Then Harry said, ‘Well, it was … kind of you to bring me the news … about Wiseman.’
‘Not really. But I have been kind to you. Kinder than you know. Let me explain how things stand. With Wiseman dead, there’ll be no trial. No trial, no publicity. Operation Clean Sheet stays forgotten. That’s how we’d like it to be. That’s how it can be. If you behave sensibly. And Barry too, of course. I’ll assume you speak for him in this. I can guarantee all the police investigations involving you will be dropped. You’ll be able to go back to Canada and your life with Donna and Daisy. And Barry will be able to go back to … whatever he does best. Provided you agree to accept the status quo, that is. Provided you undertake not to rock the boat. Make waves and there’s a danger you may drown in them. Which would be regrettable. And unnecessary. When you have so much to live for.’
‘I have, yes.’
‘I’ve read the transcript of your conversation with Wiseman. My interpretation of your comments immediately following his denial of responsibility for Dangerfield’s death is that you didn’t believe him. Is that correct?’
‘Absolutely.’ It was the lie that had to be told. Dangerfield, fair-minded fellow that he was, would have understood why. But, still, it was a hard thing to have to do. Harry silently tendered his old comrade a heartfelt apology.
‘Good. And Chief Inspector Knox tells me the unrecorded remark Wiseman made to you towards the end of the conversation was actually “I don’t regret a thing.” Is that also correct?’
‘It is.’
‘You’re never likely to present some other version?’
‘I’ll stick to what I told Knox. There’ll be no other version. Ever.’
‘Good.’
‘Mind if I ask a few questions?’
‘Please do.’
‘Has Dr Starkie gone home yet?’
‘No. But he will soon. Very soon.’
‘And Ailsa Redpath? What’s going to happen to her?’
‘Nothing. The Procurator Fiscal will conclude she killed the man calling himself Frank in a legitimate act of self-defence. He’ll also conclude, in the light of this morning’s development, that no purpose would be served by a continuing investigation of the circumstances surrounding the events of two days ago.’
‘That’s neat.’
‘I’m glad you approve.’
‘And the others. Fripp, Gregson, Judd and Tancred. They’ll be … left to get on with their lives?’
‘Everyone will, Harry. As long as you let them.’
‘Me? You’ve nothing to worry about there. I’ve always been a live-and-let-live sort of bloke.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
They halted, facing the hotel. Pedestrians passed them en route across the square. The traffic continued to surge round it. A flight of pigeons lifted off from the war memorial away to their right. The world went on moving. ‘Tell me, Erica,’ Harry said slowly, ‘is MRQS still being used?’
‘Not as such.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I think you should be getting back now. But before you do …’ She unzipped a pocket in her tracksuit top and took out two passports, held together by a rubber band. ‘Returned by the Grampian police. Your passport – and Barry’s.’
Harry took them from her outstretched hand. And waited for the answer to his question that he suspected he was never going to get.
Erica smiled. ‘That means you’re free to go.’
Chapt
er Sixty-four
THE FUNERAL OF Murdo Munro took place on Vatersay a week later. Harry was the only mourner who was neither a relative nor an islander. Ailsa had asked him to attend if he could, though her husband’s demeanour suggested he would have preferred him to stay away. Others may have felt the same. Dougie McLeish for one shot him several disapproving glances as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Nothing was actually said, though. Even by McLeish.
Much would be said later, of course. The rumour mill would grind on, probably for years. Harry knew that. He also knew that attending the gathering held afterwards in Vatersay’s community hall would not be the smartest of moves. Murdo’s friends were aware that a great deal was being kept from them about the circumstances of his death. They did not need Harry’s company to remind them of the fact.
Ailsa was to some degree in the same position as Harry, though granted special consideration as the sister of the deceased and only surviving child of the late lamented Hamish. This, she explained when she drove Harry up to the airport in good time for his flight back to Glasgow, was the real reason why she had pressed him to come in the first place.
‘You’re the only person who experienced it all with me,’ she said, as they crossed the causeway to Barra. ‘I’m holding out on people to greater or lesser degrees and they know it. Aunts, uncles, cousins, old friends of the family. Even my own children. I tell them so much and no more. It’s in their own interests, of course, but …’
‘It rankles.’
‘It does. With them and me. There’s no alternative. I realize that. And Iain agrees. I’ve told him everything. As I assume you have your wife. Does she feel the same way?’
‘Yes. Let sleeping dogs lie seems to be the general consensus.’
‘Sleeping dogs – or dead ones.’
‘What has Knox told you about Wiseman’s death?’
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