by Lesley Kelly
‘Won’t she just think the HET’s at fault for not protecting its staff though, sir?’ asked Maitland.
Stuttle sighed. ‘A fair point. Mrs Carmichael does have a remarkable ability to make everything the fault of the HETs.’
Marguerite appeared in the office doorway. ‘Morning, everyone.’ She stopped in surprise when she realised there was an additional person in the office. ‘There are two people in to see the HET. They say they’ve got an appointment, but I didn’t want to disturb you before nine o’clock. Shall I send them up?’
‘Oh, well,’ said Stuttle, ‘unless we’re going to pop Carole into a cupboard for the duration of the visit, I guess she’s going to meet the minister too.’
‘’reat.’ Carole gave a thumbs-up and moved her damaged mouth into a shape that could have been a smile, but probably wasn’t.
Stuttle advanced on Marguerite, his hand outstretched. ‘I’m Cameron Stuttle, chief executive of the Scottish Health Enforcement Partnership. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
Marguerite looked over at them nervously, while she shook his hand. ‘I’m Marguerite, one of the admin assistants here, Mr Stuttle.’
‘And, Marguerite, were the visitors a curvaceous lady with rather uncontrollable auburn hair, and a tall pale, gentleman with dark hair?’
She nodded.
‘Sounds like Carlotta Carmichael MSP and her assistant Paul Shore.’
‘Oh my God.’ Marguerite slapped a hand to her mouth. ‘That woman’s an MSP and I never even offered her a cup of tea or anything. She’s been here about twenty minutes while I waited for you to be officially open.’
‘Twenty minutes?’ Stuttle looked pained. ‘That will have put her in a good mood. Oh, well, let’s get this over with. I’ll come down and get them.’
As Stuttle followed her out of the office, the sound of Marguerite’s voice drifted back. ‘I’m pure mortified, I really am. I should have recognised her off the telly . . .’
‘Carlotta’s not going to seem so bad after a trip down the stairs with Marguerite.’ Maitland grinned.
Bernard grunted in response.
‘Come on, Bernard. Lighten up.’
‘I’m just thinking we should have warned Stuttle about what happened to me last night.’
‘’ot ’appened?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’ Maitland looked dismissive. ‘Carlotta’s not going to know anything about that.’
‘I don’t know. She seems to know a lot of stuff that she really shouldn’t.’
‘And you didn’t believe me when I said she was a witch. Well, it’s too late now. We’ll just have to wing it, and . . .’
He broke off at the sound of voices in the corridor. ‘There is absolutely no need for you to be here, Cameron. I’m perfectly capable of meeting one of your teams, without you putting your usual sugar-coated spin on everything.’
‘I’m just here, Minister, in case you have any questions or queries about strategy that I can usefully answer.’
Carlotta appeared in the doorway, framed by Stuttle and her tall, pale assistant.
‘But seeing as you are here, maybe you could start being useful by introducing me to the HET team?’
‘This is Maitland Stevenson, who as you know is in charge while John Paterson is on leave . . .’
There was a brief snort. ‘Yes, there is a conversation to be had about the lax attitude to annual leave in this office, but we’ll get to that issue later.’
‘And Bernard McDonald.’ Bernard stuck his hand out toward Carlotta, and was ignored. Feeling foolish he folded his arms.
‘And this brave woman is Carole . . .’ He stopped, clearly with no idea what her surname actually was.
‘Brooks,’ Bernard helped him out.
Carlotta glanced in Carole’s direction, then her eyes widened as she caught sight of the bruises.
‘And what happened to you?’
‘An accident in the field, Minister. An operational hazard . . .’
‘And did the accident leave Carole unable to speak, Cameron?’
He looked annoyed but stepped away. Carole was doing a good impression of a bruised rabbit in a headlight.
‘Vas an ’cident.’
Carlotta exchanged a look with her assistant, then let her eyes continue wandering round the room. She turned around as she did so, her heels clicking as she pirouetted through a full 360-degree view of the office. ‘There is a distinct lack of organisation in this premises.’
Bernard kept his fingers crossed that she didn’t notice the random pile of boxes they had pushed behind a partition screen. He held his breath as she stepped toward the screen. The only thing that could make her even more annoyed with them was if a box of files fell on her. Fortunately her twirling ended with her back to the partition.
‘I had expected something a little less chaotic.’
‘Well, you know how it is, Minister, with cuts to the budget that we have for administrative support . . .’
‘Administrative support! I’d say you are overstaffed with admin, judging by the fifteen minutes I spent downstairs listening to the young lady who showed us in conversing with her colleagues about every television programme that she watched last night, while singularly failing to do anything resembling work.’
She paused as if waiting for someone to leap to Marguerite’s defence. Bernard could think of nothing to say. On this issue, if no other, Mrs Carmichael was spot on. Marguerite’s ability to avoid work was second to none.
Stuttle reluctantly stepped up to the plate. ‘I don’t think you can extrapolate from one instance . . .’
‘But I’m not surprised about the lack of management oversight. I’ve long had concerns about the way the HETs are managed.’ She paused again, as if waiting for Stuttle to defend them. He seemed to sense the possibility of another kicking, and kept quiet. She looked annoyed, and continued. ‘For example, yesterday’s fiasco at the Committee.’ It was Maitland’s turn to feel the full weight of her glare, but he looked unperturbed. ‘That performance indicated that junior members of staff should not be attempting to deal with the complexities of a Parliamentary Committee. Why was the situation allowed to arise that John Paterson was on annual leave with no senior HET officer mandated to substitute for him?’
Stuttle looked over at the minister’s assistant. Some unspoken message passed between them, and he leaned over toward his boss.
‘These are operational matters, Minister,’ he murmured.
She smiled up at him, with all the warmth of a polar bear hovering over a hole in the ice. ‘I’m aware of that, Paul. Thank you for your assistance in keeping me right. But what I’m seeing here is the continuous mismanagement of operational issues, which may prompt us to have a review of the strategic direction of the HETs.’
Bernard had no idea what this meant, but judging by the colour Stuttle’s face turned, he fully caught her drift.
‘With all due respect, Minister, this mismanagement talk is nonsense.’
‘Is it?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘You can defend the health and safety management of the HET with two major incidents involving HET staff in one week?’
Oh God, she did know. He looked up at Maitland, who gave a tiny shrug in return. Bernard kicked himself. He should have told Stuttle the second he saw him; his omission had left his boss at a distinct disadvantage. Everyone stared at Stuttle and waited for his response.
‘And how exactly are you defining “major”, Minister?’
Their eyes all moved to Carlotta. It was like watching a tennis match, with bluffs and barbs being used as balls.
‘Well, I think this lady’s face says everything you need to know about the first incident. Perhaps you would care to clarify why the second incident is just a minor, everyday, run-of-the-mill occurrence?’
Stuttle remained silent, and Carlotta smiled, her point well made.
‘Time, Minister,’ her assistant tapped his watch.
Carlotta stopped smiling. ‘Everything
that I’ve seen here today confirms my suspicions. I don’t think I have any alternative other than to recommend to my Committee colleagues that we need to immediately move to establish an inspectorate for the HET teams. We need some quality control.’
Stuttle stared back at her, poker-faced, and she turned her attention to Carole. ‘Perhaps you could show me to the Ladies, before I leave?’
Stuttle followed them both to the door, which he closed firmly behind them. ‘Toilet trip, indeed. She’ll be logging every missing bit of paintwork en route to support her theories. And God help us all if there aren’t any paper towels in the dispenser! I suppose that would indicate inadequate mechanisms at the HET for the stock control of sanitary supplies and necessitate an immediate parliamentary review? I mean, Paul, really, what the fuck was all that about?’
‘Don’t blame me, Cam, this is the minister’s own idea.’ He looked round the room. ‘Though you lot didn’t exactly help yourselves – look at the state of this place.’
‘And what was the “second incident” she was banging on about?’ asked Stuttle.
Maitland opened his mouth.
‘On second thoughts, put it all in an e-mail to me. I need to be somewhere right now.’ He looked round at them all. ‘Not the best result we could hope for. Still, must be a world record between an agency being set up to do something and an inspectorate being established to tell them they’re doing it wrong.’
‘The minister has still got to get the idea through Parliament, so it’s not exactly imminent, if it happens at all. Resources implications, and all that,’ said Paul. ‘Anyway, shall we?’ He nodded toward the door.
‘Tell your boss I want him in my office the minute he’s back at work.’ Stuttle pointed a finger at Maitland. ‘The minute.’
The door slammed behind them, and suddenly the office seemed very quiet.
‘You can tell Paterson about all this,’ said Bernard.
Maitland grunted, and looked up as Carole came back in. ‘Did she interrogate you all the way to the Ladies?’
‘’Es but I’m gunfitleble so not a pwoblem.’
‘You’re what?’
She sighed. Picking up a pen she scrawled a word on a bit of paper.
‘Oh, you’re unintelligible.’
‘I need a cup of tea,’ said Bernard.
‘There’s no milk.’
‘I’ll borrow some from the admin team.’
When he walked into the admin office, five pairs of eyes turned toward him. The one set that didn’t was Marguerite’s, who had her head in her hands. Her shoulders were going up and down.
‘You won’t believe what that visitor of yours said to her,’ said one of the older administrators, accusingly.
‘Was it something to do with working hard and not chatting about TV?’
Marguerite let out a cry of misery, not unlike the sound of a cat losing a territorial dispute. Five pairs of administrative professionals’ eyes glared at him, daring him to continue.
‘Can I borrow . . . actually never mind, I’ll go to the shop.’
He hurried out of the building before anyone shot him with a staple gun. He was surprised to find the sun was shining. After the frostiness of the morning’s meeting it felt good to bask in the warmth of its rays. While the encounter couldn’t have been said to go well, at least it was over. They’d have a cup of tea, and he’d make sure Maitland filled in the forms for Ian Jacobsen properly. With any luck Paterson would be back by tomorrow and no matter how annoyed he was with him, he would have to be more annoyed with Maitland as he was in charge. Bernard would be sure to tell Paterson ‘I told you so’, though he might do it in sufficiently academic language that Paterson wouldn’t be clear enough on the point that he was making to yell at him. He turned the corner, heading toward the small newsagents that kept the HET team supplied with milk, newspapers and unhealthy snacks. Yes, things could be worse. He might even splash out on some Jaffa Cakes.
He became aware of the low grumble of a car’s engine, which seemed to be driving along slowly just behind him. Suddenly, the sense of danger that Bernard had been nursing since the events at Megan’s returned with a vengeance. Maybe the driver was just stopping to ask directions, but he didn’t want to risk it. He turned sharply on his heel, aiming to return in the direction of the HET offices, and bumped straight into a solidly built bald man. He attempted to dive past him, but found his arm being grabbed. Within seconds his other arm was being forced up his back, and he was pushed toward what he could now see was a black BMW.
Without quite registering his feet leaving the ground, he found he was sitting on the back seat, sandwiched between the bald man and a guy in a brown leather jacket. ‘Where are we going?’
‘The boss wants a word.’
Bernard wondered if he had his mobile with him. Could he dial 999 without anyone seeing him do it? His hand edged toward his pocket.
‘Touch your phone and I’ll break your arms. Put your hands where I can see them.’
Bernard put his hands on his thighs and watched them tremble.
This made the bald man laugh. ‘Relax, pal, if the boss wanted you dead you’d be travelling in the boot. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.’
5
‘Mona.’
Somewhere, in a far-off distance from her dream, a man’s voice was calling her name. She ignored him. The pull of sleep was strong and she kept her eyes firmly shut.
‘Mona.’ A hand shaking her shoulder finally jolted her back into the world of wakefulness, and she reluctantly came to. She felt chilled, and every bone ached.
‘Sorry to interrupt your slumbers but we’re nearly there.’
She smiled at Ian. Despite his comments of the night before, she’d been extremely glad to see him. Their paths had crossed, briefly, a few months earlier when one of their cases had strayed into Police Scotland territory. With his help, and that of his colleague (whom she’d been introduced to while speeding away from the service station and whose name now escaped her), they’d managed to get the professor back on the road and had raced through the night in the direction of the Scottish border.
‘I thought I was too wired to sleep, but I pretty much went out like a light.’ She turned to the constable on the back seat – Bob, she was pretty sure it was Bob – ‘How is he?’
‘Good, I think.’
‘Has he been snoring the whole way?’
Probably-Bob pulled a face. ‘If only it was just snoring.’
‘Any word on my guv’nor?’
‘Your boss phoned my boss to tell him he was still alive.’
‘Oh thank God.’ She closed her eyes and allowed a feeling of relief to wash over her. ‘Is either of them hurt?’
‘Neither has more than bumps and bruises, but they’ve headed off to Casualty just to be on the safe side.’
‘So, what exactly happened back there? Who were those people?’
Ian laughed. ‘Some nutters who dislike the tone of the professor’s views tried to kill him. And I hit a man who was aiming a gun in your general direction with a very heavy piece of kitchen equipment.’
His tone was dismissive, almost light-hearted. The forced jollity was completely at odds with the gravity of the night’s events. She’d expected Stuttle’s guys to be businesslike, serious, concerned with the urgent matter of keeping them safe. She wouldn’t have been surprised to be bawled out by them, to have her competence questioned about the way things had turned out. She would have found that unfair, and would have told them so loudly and clearly, but she would have understood it. But flippancy? What was this all about?
‘What do you mean, “some nutters”?’
‘Well, you know what it’s like with public figures, especially in this day and age. Every nutjob with a Twitter account is issuing death threats against people like the professor, after they get some bee in their bonnet. You know, they start thinking that he’s trying to kill everyone rather than cure them.’
‘True, but nutjobs on Twi
tter don’t generally have the wherewithal to lure someone to London, poison him, have him followed, then try to shoot him. That smacks of organisational involvement.’
‘Mona,’ Bob leaned forward, his hand on the side of her seat. ‘Relax! You’ve done your bit, take it easy now.’
She shifted in her seat so that his hand was no longer touching her. ‘He knew my name.’
‘What?’
‘The guy with the gun, he knew my name. He said, “Come out, Ms Whyte.”’
There was a long silence. ‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ said Ian.
‘Yeah, Mona, it’s been a really stressful few days for you, and I bet you haven’t had a lot of sleep. Like I said,’ Bob’s hand found her shoulder, and patted it, ‘you’ve done your bit. Relax.’
Mona stared out the window, and thought about all the things that were wrong with the conversation. She was tired, weary to her core, but she knew what she had heard last night. She knew also that Stuttle’s guys were making a cack-handed attempt to get her so confused about the past few hours’ events that she would shut up. What she didn’t know – yet – was why. The unmistakeable bulge under Ian and Bob’s jackets meant that somebody, somewhere, had authorised this being an armed excursion. Did Stuttle suspect when he sent them down here that things could turn out like this? Or had things gone wrong very quickly?
‘You’re very quiet.’ Ian glanced over at her. ‘Are you annoyed with us?’
‘No, of course not,’ she lied, and forced herself to smile. ‘I know none of this is your fault. I’m pretty furious with Mr Stuttle for nearly getting me killed though.’
‘Believe me, no one is more freaked out at the turn of events than Stuttle. He’s going to want to keep this all very quiet.’
‘This would be a very good time to be asking Stuttle for a pay rise,’ said Bob, laughing.
‘Yeah, totally.’ Ian joined in the laughter, which became increasingly strained as Mona didn’t respond.
‘Anyway,’ said Ian. ‘Time to wake the professor, do you think?’