by V Clifford
Mac ran down the front steps of Fettes and met her as she pulled her rucksack from the front seat.
‘Hi, I’ve got a lightish load today and thought I’d come with you to see what secrets the flat has to share.’
‘Yeah sure. You just want to keep an eye on me. Trust me Mac. I’m a doctor.’
‘But you’re a fragile doctor, so why don’t we just take your car?’
She threw her sack back into the car and he jumped into the passenger seat. She glanced over at him. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve had shit happen a few times in my life and know I’ll survive.’
‘I know, but life isn’t only about survival - it’s about being kind and making it better for people that you care about, so why don’t you cut me some slack and let me help you?’ He signed inverted commas when he mentioned the h-word.
She wasn’t the most likely person to accept help. It felt weak or at the very least needy. It was a way of letting people in, and a way of giving people ammunition that they could use against her.
She started up the Rav and said, ‘What’s the address?’
‘Calton Terrace Mews. Number 313. Auspicious or what?’
She frowned. ‘What, you going all superstitious on me? Nice address, though. Do you know it?’
‘Nope. Not ever been there.’
‘One of Edinburgh’s hidden gems. Ultimate des res.’ She glanced at him. He was definitely one of life’s good guys. Could she learn to trust him? Properly trust him?
He said, ‘What are we waiting for then?’
They drove east toward Inverleith Road, then made a right up into Canonmills and on to Broughton Street where they got snarled up in road works. Another ten minutes and they were pulling into the mews.
Mac whistled. ‘I see what you mean. This is pretty fab.’
‘By the way I’m not convinced I want to work for this guy.’
‘Call it a convenient distraction with some cash attached.’
‘He hasn’t got back to me to agree my terms yet.’
‘Terms have never stopped you before. Come on. Let’s have a nosey.’
She shook her head. ‘Incorrigible. That’s what you are. If I do this we’ve got to do something about that wife beater.’
‘What, you think he isn’t getting country justice?’
‘Whatever he’s getting it won’t be the life of fear that she and the kids now have ahead of them. She’ll never know a relaxed day or night and God knows what wee Lisa will do with those images. Bastard.’
He squeezed her arm. ‘Having access to the estate might be useful.’
She got his meaning and nodded.
They dumped the Rav at one side of the courtyard and strolled over to find the flat, which actually turned out to be a house on top of a double garage.
‘What I’d give for a garage. I must have shortened my life by at least 50 per cent looking for a parking space at the West Bow.’
Mac rang the bell then knocked on the door with its heavy brass knocker. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing.
Viv bent down and looked through the letterbox. ‘Wow. Check this out.’
Mac also bent down and peered in. ‘They’ve certainly invested in the place.’ He held up the keys and shook them. ‘Shall we?’ He handed her a pair of latex gloves. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
Gloved up, Mac opened the door and stepped onto a huge flagstone. There were letters neatly propped up against the wall, a sign that someone had already been in.
She said, ‘Has Sholto been in recently? Did he say?’
Mac shook his head. ‘He hasn’t been down since David went missing.’
A narrow glass staircase led up to the first floor but a short corridor to the right of the front door had two doors leading off it.
He said, ‘I’ll take the ground floor.’
She nodded and headed up the stairs. Weird to be able to stand on glass without slipping, and to be able to see directly below her. It messed with the brain. The staircase ended in the centre of a huge open plan space. Black highly polished kitchen units along the left wall reflected the light and books from the other side of the room. A large Belfast sink with what looked like solid dark grey marble worktops on either side of it took up four metres at the far end. A smart coffee maker and a Kitchen Aid sat neatly side by side. Three large sash and case windows faced onto the courtyard and flooded the room with light. The other wall with floor to ceiling bookcases filled with rows of old books seemed incongruous amidst this ultra modern design. The house felt warm. She knelt down and touched the wooden floor. The under-floor heating was on. She undid her jacket and began to poke about in drawers. A glass dining table that could seat six at a push gleamed, not a fingerprint anywhere. Same applied to the kitchen units. Had their cleaner been in and efficiently wiped all the surfaces? There was definitely a hint of lavender in the air.
Mac shouted, ‘Come down and take a look at this.’
She hesitated, glanced at a large mahogany desk with an iMac on it, but took the stairs to see what he’d found.
‘What do you see in here?’
She looked around a small but beautifully decorated bedroom. Classical. Nothing like upstairs. The bed had a large carved headboard, more Louis XIV than Philippe Starck, which defined the room. Mac pointed his thumb at the ceiling adorned with mirrored tiles. ‘Cute!’
‘Now, now. It might not be to your taste but . . . ah. I see it now.’
The central light, a sphere made of overlapping glass spokes, had the tiniest edge of an envelope sticking out of it.
‘You lift me up and I’ll grab it.’
Mac took hold of her just above the knees and lifted her as if she was weightless. She pulled the envelope free and handed it to him. It had ‘Sholto’ handwritten with real pen and ink.
‘Stylish or what?’
Mac nodded. ‘We do have permission from Sholto to come and look but not to open his mail. We’ll have to take it back to him and see what it says.’
Viv sighed. ‘It was put up there for a reason. So, why would someone do that? And you’d do that knowing that only someone lying on that bed would see it. We only caught it because we’re searching for anything odd. I think we should open it. We can always seal it again. Come on. Let’s put the kettle on.’
Mac shook his head. ‘See you. It’s like being with a naughty child. There’s no way we are opening this.’ He slid the envelope inside his jacket pocket.
‘Spoilsport! There’s a desk upstairs I’d like to take a look at before we go.’
She headed back up and nudged the mouse on the desk. Nothing happened. Everything had been shut down. She pulled open a large drawer. It had an assortment of business cards from gardeners, plumbers and other people whose details had at least been saved from the trash. A couple of receipts, probably too old to be of consequence but she photographed them anyway. A stash of biros, Pritt sticks and assorted stationery stuff took up the most space. She felt around at the back of the drawer but there was nothing trapped. She moved onto the next one. It was full of spectacle cases. She checked inside. Each one had a different frame, obviously one for every occasion. There was no laptop to be seen. No phone, no iPad. If Sholto’s man had been taken by force it was unlikely they’d let him pack his tech so where were they? Maybe he didn’t have any. Yeah, and which world was he living in?
Mac whistled again as he reached the top of the stairs. ‘Definitely a des res as you say. What do you reckon it’s worth?’
‘I’d guess around 400K, maybe more. When both bedrooms have en suite it’s more desirable. How the other half live.’
‘You could have one of these.’
‘I suppose. I must say the garage thing could swing it, but it’s not for sale and we’re not here as buyers.’
He stood with his knuckles perched on his hips. ‘There’s something not right. Is it the lavender? Everywhere is spotless. Too spotless.’
‘Yeah, but inside those drawers tell a different tale, a
lthough I’d be really worried if they were tidy. I’ve just got to take a look at the computer and then we’re done.’
She pressed the switch at the back of the screen and waited for it to come to life. Mac sighed and looked as if he was about to object.
‘Don’t watch if you’re that bothered.’
‘I’m not. I just think we are all doomed when it is so easy to gain access to our most personal info.’
‘You do know that it’s not called the information revolution for nothing?’ She continued clicking on the keyboard. ‘Bingo!’
‘No way! How could you possibly get in that quickly.’
She tapped the side of her nose. ‘You don’t want to know.’
Mac continued round the room checking inside kitchen cupboards, pulling out drawers and looking inside the fridge. ‘Old Mother Hubbard or what?’
‘I’d guess they eat out a lot.’
‘Or they’re starving. Although they do have pasta and tins of tomatoes so they’re prepared for the end of the world.’
‘How’s their stash of loo roll? That’s how you tell someone who is really prepared. I mean people can live without lots of things but loo roll isn’t one of them.’
Mac shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Depends if you have a bidet or not.’
She snorted. ‘You still need loo roll and this conversation has taken a wrong turn. Look check this out.’
Mac stepped up behind her and she scrolled down the screen. ‘Rude emails to Sholto from the soon-to-be wife.’
They suddenly both raised their heads and cocked their ears. There was a noise from downstairs that sounded like someone turning a key in the door. They waited in silence. The front door opened but didn’t close. Footsteps sounded on the bottom stair then whoever it was about turned and bolted out of the front door. They chased, and caught sight of a man disappearing round the corner and heading towards the Calton Hill observatory. Mac raced after him. Viv returned to the computer. No point in both of them getting exhausted. Now that she had the email address she’d be able to access it from home. That way she’d not get stressed about Mac standing over her with his rule-book attitude.
He returned within a few minutes his trousers wet and muddy down one side.
‘What happened to you?’
‘I went my length. Leather soles. There were too many people milling about up there. He disappeared.’ He held up a set of keys. ‘He forgot to take these. Look at this odd silver key ring.’
Mac held it aloft. ‘You recognise this?’ An eight-pointed cross inside a shield dangled from his hand.
‘Think it could be the insignia of the Knights of Malta but I’m not sure.’ She raised her eyebrows.
He shook his head. ‘What? It doesn’t have to be of any significance. The guy I’ve just chased could be their cleaner.’
‘Interesting that he would run, though. If he’s their cleaner he’d feel he had more right to be here than anyone.’
‘He might have been scared.’
‘He might. But there could be another reason for him taking off and leaving the key in the door.’
‘I bet he’s already regretting it. We’ll keep hold of them and return them to Sholto. He’ll recognise them if the guy is the cleaner or a friend. He needn’t be staff. He could just be a mate with high anxiety. Curious, though.’
She switched off the computer and scanned the room to make sure they were leaving it as they found it. Then Mac locked up and they went back to the car. They were just about to get in when someone shouted to them from across the courtyard.
‘Eh, hello. Are you friends of Sholto and David?’ A slim tanned man in his fifties wearing dark blue heavy linen trousers and a pale blue linen shirt walked towards them. His leather slippers, embossed with the same eight-pointed cross as the key ring, flip-flopped over the cobbled surface. Mac and Viv glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.
‘I’ve been away but usually expect to see them when I return. We play in a bridge four. I’ve tried the door and both of their mobile phones but to no avail.’
Mac stepped round from the open door of the Rav. ‘Yes we are friends. You sound as if you know them well.’
‘Yes, well it’s difficult to find a bridge four these days.’
Mac smiled. ‘We’ll let Sholto know that you were asking after him.’
The wind whipped at the man’s beautifully cut white hair and he ran his hand through it in a vain attempt to tame it. ‘That would be kind. We’re dying to get a date in the diary.’ He turned and walked toward his house.
Viv coughed. ‘Should we say who was asking after him?’
He turned and touched his forehead. ‘Oh, of course. Antonio.’
They got into the car and belted up. ‘So no significance with the Knights of Malta then?’
Mac grinned. ‘Keeping an open mind. Your suspicious gene is off the scale.’
‘We always say there’s no such thing as coincidence. Trust me, I’m a doctor - two eight-pointed crosses within the space of five minutes and you have to call me suspicious. I mean I don’t remember ever seeing so much insignia in my life before this morning. What are they? Or should I say who are they?’
She started up the car and set off.
‘The Ancient Order of the Knights of Malta, as far as I know. They’re a group of people who do good works, fund raising. I think my dad knew about them.’
‘Is that a euphemism for his being one of them or do you really mean he just knew about them?’
‘I’m not absolutely sure. I think he could have been one.’
She laughed. ‘Wow! How weird are we? Thinking that we’ve had ordinary childhoods with ordinary working-class parents and it turns out that I’ve got a spy in my family and you’ve got a member of some secret society. What else are we going to uncover? Now I’m dying to know more about them.’
‘Be careful what you wish for. But they’re not in the slightest secret.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, there aren’t that many of them left, but don’t be fooled by their numbers. Their members include some of the most powerful people in the world not least the current Holy Father.’
‘Shit! You mean the Pope?’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I wonder what the hell we’re getting into here. That man, Antonio, has probably been watching the house all morning. He must have seen the other chap running off. So what’s the connection apart from their obvious passion for heraldry?’
‘Want to check David’s flat?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Why not? Might as well see what it has to offer.’
‘Maybe it’ll have a temple shrine with child sacrifices on it.’
‘Don’t even go there. I’m not kidding. This could turn out to be more challenging that Sholto’s boyfriend heading off for a bit of R’n’R without telling him.’
‘Oh, good. So I’m not the only suspicious body in the car then?’
Mac’s phone vibrated and he checked the screen. ‘Trouble.’ He put the call onto speaker-phone. ‘Hi Marconi here. I’ve got Viv in the car with me.’
‘Right. Where are you?’
‘Just at the top of Leith.’
‘Great. Head round to CC. You as well, Viv. We have a situation.’
She glanced at Mac and smirked, then rubbed her palms together. ‘Excellent. On our way.’
Mac looked at her in alarm. ‘I prefer my drivers to keep both hands on the wheel.’
Chapter Twelve
This was only Viv’s second visit to Command Centre. The first was to collect her mother. And on that occasion she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They drove round into Northumberland Street Lane and, as before, entered through a garage door. Once into the underground car park they exited the car to be met by Ruddy as he bustled towards them and immediately drew Viv to him by the elbow. This was uncharacteristic of him. He was a completely hands-off kind of guy. He guided them through a set of doors, which only opened on Rudd
y’s second attempt with his fingerprint. The buzz of high voltage electricity coursed above them. Lights underground seemed noisier than those above or maybe it was her sudden awareness of how claustrophobic the space was. She imagined the amount of earth, rock and no doubt water that pressed down on the roof. She swallowed and rubbed her palms down her trousers. Now was not the time to panic.
They rushed along grey-blue carpeted corridors and took a set of steep stairs further into the bowels of the building. Eventually, Ruddy pushed open the door to a large room. They entered and the door clicked shut behind them. He gestured to a large table with twelve chairs round it. There were photographs scattered over its surface at one end. Viv was intrigued. In one, a man, wearing the scarlet robes of a cardinal, was lying ominously spreadeagled on a flagstone floor. Something about the scene, his robes, troubled her. She squinted at them but couldn’t think what it was that wasn’t right. The way he lay was odd. She tried to imagine what he’d need to have done to end up with his arms straight above his head. What had he been doing? His robe was buckled round his shins. Also, there seemed to be a black robe beneath the other one. How many robes does one man need?
She broke into the loaded silence, ‘Is he dead or what?’
Ruddy raised his eyebrows. ‘Dead obviously otherwise we wouldn’t be interested. These are for our eyes only.’
Yeah, sure. There was no way that someone as high profile as a cardinal could die and it not hit the front pages. She scrutinised one of the prints. ‘So, I take it he is dead by someone else’s hand?’
‘We think so. But because it looks that way doesn’t make it thus.’ Ruddy shuffled through the prints and pushed one over towards them.
Mac lifted it. ‘I think I recognise him. He looks like a guy that did time for fraud. Found God inside. He’s been making waves. I could be wrong.’
Ruddy said, ‘Interesting. In what way, and for whom has he been making waves?’
Mac scratched his head. ‘It’s only hearsay, but I occasionally get nobbled at the Hibs matches by a group of Edinburgh businessmen. They’re big supporters of the faith. I’ve heard the occasional criticism, which is unusual. There’s still so much power in a robe, no matter what the colour.’ He tapped the photograph with his forefinger. ‘If I’m right he was involved with the . . .’