Screen Savers

by Quintin Jardine

  Chief Inspector Brown folded his cards. ‘Pull up a chair from the table,’ I offered.

  They settled themselves in front of us, but Brown managed still to behave as if Prim and I weren’t there. ‘What are you working on just now, Inspector?’ he began.

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  For the second time in as many minutes, the policeman was stuck for a word. So he simply repeated the question, more emphatically this time. Dylan repeated his answer.

  ‘Look,’ snapped Brown. ‘Do I have to get your senior officer to order you to tell me?’

  As I looked at Mike, I saw something in his face I’d seen only once or twice before. ‘Just you fucking try it,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’ll do just that. Where d’you work from?’ The Chief Inspector’s mouth was set in a tight line.

  ‘Headquarters. Pitt Street.’

  ‘Right. Use your phone, Mr Blackwood?’

  ‘There’s one in the kitchen, Mr Brown,’ I told him. He stood and stomped off, leaving Divisional Officer Callaghan sitting in an awkward silence.

  When he returned, almost five minutes later, his face was distinctly red. I always feel sorry for people who blush. It’s like wearing a sign round your neck reading, ‘I’ve been a dickhead.’

  Brown settled awkwardly on to his dining chair. ‘You might have told me you were Special Branch,’ he mumbled.

  I stared across at my pal. ‘You might have told me too,’ I said. ‘If I’d known that our nation’s security was resting in your buttery grip I might have felt differently about staying in this country.’

  Dylan grinned. ‘Need to know, Oz. Need to know. I was transferred four months ago.’ He turned to Brown. ‘Now, can we forget about all that silver braid on your uniform and assume that I’m in charge here?’

  Not waiting for a reply he turned to the fireman. ‘What have you got, Mr Callaghan?’

  ‘Someone doesn’t like you, Mr Dylan,’ the DO replied. ‘There were two seats to this fire; the car’s petrol tank and another source. I think someone followed you here and when you were inside, secured a firebomb device close to the fuel tank, beside the exhaust. It had a small explosive charge, and a quantity of petrol in a plastic container. I’d say it had a trembler trigger and that the vibration from the silencer was enough to set it off.

  ‘The heat from the first blast was enough to blow the vapour and fuel in the main tank. If you’d still been in that motor, son,’ said the grizzled fireman, grimly, ‘you’d have been done to a fuckin’ crisp.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mike nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He looked at Callaghan, then at Brown. ‘But as far as your reports go, it was a wiring failure. A tragedy averted, but an accident nonetheless.’

  Brown drew in a deep breath and shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that, Inspector.’

  ‘Well I bloody do, Chief Inspector. That’s how you’ll write it up, and if anyone says anything different to the press, I’ll bloody have him. Police or fire service, it doesn’t matter, his carcass will be mine.’ I hadn’t realised till then that Mike was turning into a Glaswegian; his Edinburgh veneer was being worn away. He went on, ‘Oh yes, and one other thing; neither my name nor Miss Gantry’s will feature in your reports.

  ‘You can go and make another phone call if you like, but I promise you that is how it will be. I’m not having the world knowing that some bastard thinks he can kill an SB officer. I’m damn sure you’ll find that the Chief Constable will feel the same way.

  ‘Now, maybe you’d do us a favour and send for a traffic car to give Susie and me a lift out to Clarkston.’

  Brown nodded and left, meek and dismissed, Callaghan following in his wake. As soon as they were gone, I turned to Dylan. ‘What’s happening here, man?’ I demanded. I was confused, probably still a bit shocked from the blast, and just a touch impaired by the fine Austrian red. ‘What do we make of that?’

  He shrugged, but only with one shoulder since Susie had fallen asleep, immobilising the other. ‘I don’t know for sure, Oz. I haven’t been in SB all that long. I can’t tell you what I’m doing there, but I suppose it’s possible that what happened tonight was connected to that rather than to Susie’s letters.

  ‘I doubt it, though. Most of the people we target assume that they’re under surveillance and let us get on with it. As the new boy, I’m still on the routine stuff; I doubt if any of our customers even know I exist.

  ‘I don’t like even thinking it, far less saying it, but I fear that the letter-writer wasn’t kidding.’

  ‘ “You are going to die with your world in ashes all around you.” ’ Both of us looked round at Prim as she spoke. ‘That’s what the last letter said, wasn’t it. Looks as if we should have taken it literally.’

  ‘When I catch this bastard,’ Mike muttered, looking more thunderous than I had ever seen him, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll . . . What’s worse than reducing him to ashes, Oz?’

  ‘How about a really good kick up the arse?’

  He nodded, grimly. ‘That’s where I’ll start, then.’

  ‘That’s where you’ll start?’

  ‘Oh yes. This is a different game now. Office bodyguard or not, I never really thought that those letters were meant to be taken literally; I always guessed, just like you did, that they were only the ravings of some crank. I’d never have exposed you to real danger, pal.’

  I scowled at him. ‘You mean apart from the real danger of a kicking from Malkie Campbell?’

  ‘Ach, I’ve got faith in your ability to handle the likes of him . . . as you did.’ He looked up at the ceiling, with a sudden, tension-relieving grin. ‘Christ, I wish I’d seen the look on his face when he clapped eyes on your big pal.’

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘what you’re telling us is now that we’ve done all the hard work and identified your number one suspect, we’re off the case.’

  ‘Exactly. Thanks for all you’ve done up to this point, both of you, but this belongs with the police now.’

  ‘But what about Susie? What about the effect on her business? What about your reasons for involving her in the first place?’

  ‘Not a problem any more. There’s no danger of publicity now. Chief Inspector Chocolate there, he’ll write up his report like I told him, and that’ll be that as far as the official side is concerned. This’ll be a Special Branch inquiry from now on.

  ‘I’ll take this to my boss first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll tell him about the car thing. I’ll mention the letters at the same time, and tell him that it was because of my Special Branch involvement that I asked you to look into it informally, rather than make an official police complaint. He’ll buy that all right. He’ll also agree that on the off-chance the explosion could have been job-related, our lot should investigate it.’

  The un-Dylanlike grim expression returned. ‘I tell you, Mr Stephen Donn . . . if it is him . . . has no idea what he’s bitten off.’

  I couldn’t help it: I wasn’t ready to believe completely in the new Mike. ‘Oh aye?’ I asked. ‘You think your outfit can find this guy, if his own mother doesn’t know where he is?’

  ‘You sure she doesn’t?’ he shot back. ‘Look at the sequence of events. You go to see Mira Donn this afternoon asking her about Stephen. A few hours later, Susie’s car blows up.’

  ‘No,’ I protested. ‘No way would she be involved in this.’

  ‘She doesn’t need to be. She only needs a mobile number that she didn’t bother to tell you about. She only needs to have phoned her son to ask him what the hell’s going on.’

  I had to admit that it sounded plausible.

  ‘If you find Donn,’ I asked, ‘what will you—’

  ‘DI Dylan,’ Chief Inspector Brown’s voice barked from the doorway, cutting off my question in mid-ask. ‘Car’s here for you. Don’t keep them waiting now.’

  His shout woke Susie. She looked around, moist-eyed, dazed and confused. ‘Whrr . . .?’ she mumbled.

  ‘You’re on your way home, love.
Let’s go now.’ Mike half-lifted her to her feet and walked her to the door, his arm round her waist.

  ‘Keep us in touch won’t you,’ said Prim as we followed them to the front door.

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it when everything’s sorted,’ Dylan replied. ‘But not before. Meantime you just forget it and concentrate on the boy Oz’s acting debut.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘Tell me, boy. Have you ever given any thought to the possibility of planning your life?’ Mac the Dentist gazed at me over the top of his pint. ‘Thinking beyond the next few days, I mean.’

  Prim and I hadn’t slept much after our flat was finally cleared of police and firemen. We had lain wide-awake for most of the night, as the truth of our friends’ narrow escape had come home to us.

  ‘Oz, you do know that Mike’s right, don’t you. We’ve got to leave Stephen Donn to him from now on.’

  ‘Sure, I know that. After what happened tonight it would be crazy to try to stay involved. No way would I put you in danger.’

  ‘Nor I you. Except . . .’

  ‘. . . except nothing. But I know what you mean.’

  ‘It’s frustrating having come this far. And you’ve always said . . .’

  ‘. . . that Mike as a detective couldn’t find his arse with both hands? I know, but I suppose—’

  ‘Suppose nothing. Mike’s right.’ A giggle in the dark. ‘Mind you it’ll be the first time . . .’

  In the end though, we had agreed that difficult as it might be to suppress our mutual curiosity, we would have to make the effort. I had to prepare for a weekend GWA trip to Holland by learning a few words of Dutch, read up on my part in Miles’ and Dawn’s movie - working title Project 37 according to my script - and Prim had the business to run. By Thursday, though, we were going crazy, frustrated at not knowing what was going on. I tried calling Dylan on his mobile during the day, but came up with the ‘unavailable’ message every time. In the end, we had decided to give ourselves a complete break by driving up to Anstruther that afternoon to see my folks and flash Prim’s sparkler at them.

  We took them by surprise. Mac the Dentist had just ushered the day’s last patient out of his surgery, and Mary, my stepmother, was still in her going shopping clothes. They congratulated us as we had expected, even if I did detect a split second’s hesitation on Mary’s part; understandable in the circumstances. Two hours later we were sitting in the bar of the Ship Inn in Elie, having a drink while we waited for our table to be prepared in the restaurant next door.

  I looked back at my Dad. ‘What do you think Prim and I are doing now, if not planning our lives?’

  ‘Ah, that’s not what I mean and you know it. You’re still the same bloody mayfly you were when you were a kid. I never know what you’re going to be up to next; and how can I when you don’t bloody know yourself.’ He grinned at Prim. ‘As for this one here, she’s your partner in crime.

  ‘Christ, look at you, the pair of you. You’ve got all that money, and what are you doing with it? Not a damn thing. Okay, you bought our Ellie a house, and that was good, but you’ve still got a fortune. You could be investing it in a proper business and running that; or you could just be living on it and getting your golf back to a decent standard. But no, not you two. You’re still tearing about interviewing hooks and crooks for lawyers, introducing wrestlers, selling bloody toys on telly, and now acting, for any sake.’

  Suddenly his grin vanished; he reached out grabbed one of my hands and one of Prim’s and squeezed them both. ‘Still, I’m glad you’ve made up your minds about the most important thing. You’ve had enough hurt in other ways; you’re right to grab each other now. I don’t know anyone who won’t be happy for you. Isn’t that right Mary?’

  Next to him, my stepmother nodded and smiled. ‘Of course it is. The world goes on, and we all have to go on with it. This afternoon is history already, gone with everything that has passed before. You have to live with your memories, but it is possible to live happily with all of them.’ She linked her arm through my Dad’s. ‘We’re proof of that, aren’t we, Mac.’

  ‘We sure are, my dear. So just you two follow our example. And remember to stop and smell the flowers . . . for as long as you like. Take some time for yourselves. Have a couple of kids. Find a direction and stick to it. Most of all, steer clear of the private detective business. That’s brought you nothing but grief.’

  We hadn’t got round to telling them about Mike and Susie’s problem; at that moment we decided that we wouldn’t bother. Instead we nodded and promised them that we would think about curtailing things in the future and about keeping our activities on more of a straight line.

  We allowed ourselves to be talked into discussing wedding plans, of which in truth, until that time we hadn’t even begun to think. Mary was all for Prim turning matters over to her mother, but that seed fell on stony ground.

  ‘My folks are Churchy,’ my fiancée explained. ‘I’m not. And all that apart, there’s no way I’m letting anyone stick me in a white frock and parade me through the town in a Roller.’

  ‘Hey, what about me?’ I protested.

  ‘You can wear the frock if you like. I’m just not into that sort of show.’

  Eventually we hit on the proposal that we would get married on our own turf, in the Registry Office in Glasgow, and that we would have a reception in the Hilton, within sight of our flat. The hard part about that would be selling the idea to Ma Phillips, when we saw her on the following Sunday. Dad wouldn’t be a problem; he never was where Prim was concerned.

  Mac the Dentist was pulling teeth next morning, so he kept a check on his intake. Nevertheless, by the time our taxi came to collect us, he was fairly relaxed. ‘What age are you now, son?’ he asked, as he stood on the narrow pavement outside the Ship, watching the girls slide into the back seat of the cab. ‘Thirty-two, isn’t it?’

  My Dad is the great pillar of wisdom in my life. Whenever I’ve been worried, confused, uncertain, bewildered or just downright scared, he’s been there for me. Most times he’s just laughed, given me a figurative cuff round the ear, told me not to be daft, and everything’s been all right. But on occasion, he’s gone all serious; that’s just about the only time he ever calls me son.

  I nodded, trying to ignore the sign. ‘You should know as well as I do,’ I told him. ‘Maybe better. After all I hadn’t a bloody clue what age I was until I was at least three; so you’ve known what age I was for longer than I have. Understand?’

  ‘Daft bugger,’ he grumbled. ‘However many years it is you’ve been kidding folk along on this planet, there’s never been one of them when you could put anything over on me. Even when you and Jan split up, and both of you really thought you had, too, I knew better.’

  He tapped me on the chest. ‘Just like right now. I know there’s something going on you’re not telling me about, and it makes me suspect that you’ve been up to your sleuthing tricks again.

  ‘If I’m right, you remember this. Those of us who are lucky enough to be given a second shot at happiness have to do everything in our power to make sure that we don’t . . . fuck . . . it . . . up!’

  Chapter 15

  There can be few greater contrasts in Scottish humanity than that between Prim’s father and my own.

  Where Macintosh Blackstone is effusive, outspoken and self-willed, David Phillips is reserved, understated and compliant. Where my Dad practises the skilled but muscular science of dentistry, David is an artist. He built his furniture design and cabinet-making business into one of the most noted and successful in Scotland, then retired in his early fifties to pursue his hobby, carving and painting wooden soldiers. Thanks to Prim’s enterprising mother, this became a second career.

  David frowned, appraisingly, as he eyed Prim’s engagement ring across the dinner table, then nodded. ‘Craftsmanship,’ he said. ‘Anyone can set a stone in metal, but only a craftsman can set it as well as that. Look after it, in time it’ll be an heirloom.’

  ‘Dav
id!’ Elanore Phillips’ bell-like voice rang down the length of the table. If there is anyone in Prim’s family who’s a match for my Dad it’s her Mum. Elanore was a social worker . . . and a very caring one, her daughter assures me . . . but she chose to retire at the same time as her husband, to pursue her own secret passion, writing stories for children. Between them they turned their big Gothic house in Auchterarder into a unique, private, arts centre.

  Mum Phillips tends to take the lead in any family discussion. I heard Dawn groan beside me as she looked directly at Prim, and said, ‘Now, about the wedding.’

  I kept my fingers crossed. I had already done the big church performance once, with Jan. Much as I love Prim, there was no way I wanted to go through that scene again, but because I love her, I would have if she’d given in to her mother.

  Fortunately that hasn’t happened since Prim was around fourteen. ‘I promise you, Mum,’ she answered. ‘When it happens, you’ll be among the first to know.’

  ‘Oh come, come, Primavera. Dawn’s already done me out of one big day by marrying in California. You don’t have any excuse.’

  A confrontation between the two strong women of the Phillips family is something to see. I’ll swear I noticed David begin to smile, then bite it off, hard. Next to him, Miles, who wasn’t used to the domestic fireworks display, took a sudden interest in his place-mat.

  ‘Excuse, Mother?’ said Prim, slightly lowering her voice, as she does when she’s about to level someone. ‘I don’t have to excuse myself to anyone . . . other than Oz, every now and again.

  ‘Now listen up. You’ve had your wedding. Okay, it was thirty-five years ago, but you’ll have to make do with it. This one’s ours, and we’re calling the shots. If you behave yourself then Oz and I will let you be there, but we’ll be making all the arrangements and we’ll be doing it our way . . . which will be quiet. You and Dad can pick up the tab . . . I’ll give in to that tradition . . . but that’ll be it.’

  Most people would have had the sense to cave in and drop the subject, but Elanore is made of sterner stuff than that. She’s a romantic, too, and there are few things less shakeable than a determined romantic. She glowered along the table at her husband, but Dad Phillips, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.