Crossfire (The Clifford-Mackenzie Crime Series Book 1)

by R. D. Nixon

  Stein shrugged. ‘Well, you never know – the threat of a word in the right ear, and maybe Bradley’ll come clean on where Sarah’s real figurines are. I’m not above blackmail in this. Anyway, what is it with you and this guy?’ He poured himself more coffee, ignoring Mackenzie’s empty cup. ‘Every time you mention his name you get this look, like it’s got a nasty taste. You two have a history?’

  ‘My business is my business. I’ll be keeping an eye out for the…the child.’ Give the word enough emphasis, and perhaps he could get across how petty Stein was being, but the American didn’t appear to have noticed.

  ‘Thank you, Mackenzie. I’ll be on my cell if you need to tell me anything important. Good luck getting a signal though.’

  That was it then; breakfast over.

  Mackenzie left the hotel with no small sense of relief. No matter how he dressed – and especially when he wore jeans and a sweatshirt like today – he always felt like a tramp in The Burnside; not the largest, but doubtless one of the most expensive hotels this side of Inverness. Nothing but the best for any friend of Sarah Wallace. He vaguely remembered her. Their parents had known each other, but at five years his senior she’d held little interest for him. His brother Adrian, however, had had a massive crush on her, and thought his life was over when he heard she’d gone off with some halfwit constable...

  Mackenzie stopped dead, his mind doing mathematical somersaults. It could have been anyone, but Bradley had known the Wallaces for years; if he’d been that deeply involved with the family back then, it was likely he knew where the genuine figurines were.

  ‘He’d double his profit too, making Sarah pay for fakes,’ he muttered aloud, ignoring the glances of passers by. There was no way Bradley would offload anything so distinctive here in town, but a visit to a few of the local shops might yield some useful contacts. And of course there was always eBay. Mackenzie felt some of his personal cloud lifting; with any luck Andy Stein might be out of his hair sooner than he’d dared to hope.

  He began walking again, remembering the TV programme that had been playing at The Heathers last night; trinkets of even questionable vintage fetched unpredictable, and sometimes crazy, prices. He took out his phone and tapped a shortcut. The voice that answered the call was smooth, professional.

  ‘Clifford-Mackenzie.’

  ‘Maddy, hi.’

  ‘Hi yourself. How was the meeting?’

  ‘Short, miserly. Bugger didn’t even let me finish my bacon.’

  ‘Probably a good thing.’ Maddy sounded amused.

  ‘Are you calling me fat?’

  ‘Not yet, but with blokes your size it’s only ever a matter of time. Now, I take it you have either information or a request?’

  ‘Bit of both. Sarah Wallace used to knock about with a copper. Can you do some digging and find out who it was?’

  There was the sound of a page flicking over. ‘Okay, when was this?’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty sure Ade was just getting into girls – she was his first real crush – so I’d have only been about eleven.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Paul! That’s, what? Thirty years ago!’

  ‘I did say digging. I’m going to ask a few people myself. Adrian for one, Dad for another.’

  ‘I hope for all our sakes Adrian comes up trumps, then. What was the information you had?’

  ‘Nothing much. Stein’s told Mulholland the deal’s on, so it’ll be all systems go pretty soon.’ Something else she had said suddenly registered. ‘What do you mean, “all our sakes”?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why should it bother you if I have to see my dad about this?’

  ‘Because every time you have to go up to The Heathers you come back a proper Mr Narky Trousers, and I, for one, am fed up tip-toeing around until you’ve calmed down. Can I get on with my work now?’

  Mackenzie grinned. ‘Did you just say Mr Narky Trousers?’

  ‘Think yourself lucky – I could have said worse. I’ll check around and see what I can come up with, okay?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be back in the office around lunchtime.’

  ‘Bring me a chicken sandwich. Brown, no mayo.’

  Mackenzie was still smiling as he reached the pavement at the bottom of the car park; Maddy somehow always knew when he needed to be gently bullied along and when he needed to be left alone to let the memories win, just for a little while. He raised his head to take in the familiar shapes of the mountains, rising harsh-peaked and glowering on either side of the town. Some days, like today, he could look at those mountains and not hate them.

  This short hill gave him a clear view over most of his hometown, and its quietly prospering shops and businesses. Most of the people he could see were locals who’d driven in from outlying towns; even at the height of the season tourists tended to bypass Abergarry in favour of Fort William when it came to setting up base. No need for a bed and breakfast every other building here then, just this one hotel. Expensive as it was, it was rarely full, but it kept going, and kept charging through the roof, and people kept paying. People like Andy Stein, no doubt bankrolled by his pet heiress.

  Mackenzie started down the the slope, but as he took a backward glance at The Burnside, before making his way to the office, something caught his gaze and held it: Stein had left the hotel and was crossing the forecourt to his car, and he seemed to have gained a small shadow.

  Mackenzie watched carefully. The boy kept his distance, but it was clear he was following the American, and he occasionally raised his right arm to his mouth. It took a moment for Mackenzie to realise he was talking into his sleeve – no doubt into an imaginary microphone.

  He fought down a familiar ache, and retraced his steps until he was once more standing across the road from the hotel. The boy would have to be told, for his own safety as well as for Stein’s peace of mind, not to mention Clifford-Mackenzie’s bank balance... And now it was raining again. Perfect. Where the hell was the kid’s mother anyway?

  In the few days since their arrival in Scotland, Charis had discovered three things: the first was that she still had a long way to go in her quest to let Jamie be the adventurous boy he was turning out to be; secondly, that as romantic and dramatic as these views were, there was a lot to be said for being able to nip down to Tesco Metro for a pint of milk and a sandwich; and thirdly, she now knew how hopeless she was at predicting what the weather was going to do. She could have sworn, or maybe it was the last vestiges of her dwindling optimism, that today was going to be brighter; last night she’d actually been able to go to sleep with the zip of the tent open and her head almost touching the grass. But this morning she’d once again had to squint to see the distant, layered peaks through the misty rain.

  She’d honestly believed everyone back home had been winding her up when they told her it would more than likely be cold and wet, even in August, but the sun was up now, sort of, and it had clearly been a struggle. Clouds still had the upper hand, and although it had stopped raining long enough to cook breakfast, the air was chilly and damp, decidedly un-summery. A fourth realisation, and one she pretended had never even featured in her imagination, was that the Highlands were not, after all, populated by strapping, red-haired, gentle-but-tough heroes, as her favourite books suggested.

  ‘Hey, lazybones, grub’s up.’ She shook the edge of the tent and flinched as a stray raindrop flew from the nylon and found its icy way inside the collar of her jacket. There was a grunt from the depths of the sleeping bag, and after a moment Jamie appeared, blinking slowly, his mouth puffy and still sealed shut.

  ‘Breakfast.’ Charis gestured at the camping stove at her crossed feet. She and Jamie looked at the frying pan, at each other, and back down at the pan. ‘Not good, is it?’

  There was a pause while Jamie unstuck his lips and cleared his throat, evidently searching for the diplomatic answer. ‘Um. It’s okay, I like it crispy.’

  ‘Well, let’s be honest, there’s crispy, and then there’s cremated.’

  Jam
ie picked up a stick he’d been peeling the night before and used it to prod the tiny, curled black strips. ‘We’ve got bread,’ he said, ever helpful.

  Charis reached into the tent and pulled out a wedge-shaped packet.’ Yeah, we’ve got bread; it’s just a pity it got used as a pillow last night.’

  ‘That wasn’t me!’

  ‘Nope. Wasn’t you.’ Charis sighed, then, catching Jamie’s mournful expression as he prodded the bacon once more, she gave in. ‘I think a little trip into town’s in order, don’t you? Have you seen my camera?’

  ‘No.’ Jamie scooted back inside the tent to find his shoes. ‘It’s probably in the car.’

  ‘Good, we’re going to visit a blackhouse later. I’ll need it then.’

  Parking in Abergarry on an August Saturday morning wasn’t the easy matter it had been the evening before. All the passing tourists seemed to have converged on the town on their way to Fort William, and after driving around the tiny car park for the second time, Charis gave up and went further up the town, where she spotted a small hotel with a half-empty forecourt. It was Residents Only, apparently, but she manoeuvred the hired Ford Focus into a corner spot, windscreen facing the wall to hide the lack of permit, and flashed a triumphant grin at Jamie.

  ‘Right, I’m going to get some cash.’ She hesitated, then made the decision. ‘You wait here for a bit; no point both of us traipsing around like lost sheep.’ Another chance to prove she wasn’t the paranoid wreck she had been, and this time she hoped to improve on last night’s performance. ‘Meet me outside that bakery there,’ she pointed, ‘in ten minutes. We’ll get breakfast in the café before we go shopping. Ten minutes, no longer. If I’m not there, there’ll be a good reason, so just wait for me.’ She handed the car keys back through the window. ‘Got your inhaler?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  She ignored his bored tone. ‘Good. Don’t forget to lock the car, okay? Just press that button on the key ’til it ploinks.’

  Still searching for a cashpoint fifteen minutes later, she growled under her breath. How, in a town this size, was it so hard to find what you were looking for? She’d have to go back and meet Jamie before he got restless and wandered off, and it was starting to rain again. Bugger this stupid, wet place; it might have all the dramatic splendour promised by her fifteen-year obsession with the Outlander books, but she hadn’t expected the rain to be so…sneaky. A good, honest downpour was one thing; this was just rude.

  She walked quickly back up to the bakery and stood under the awning, peering up the street past the sudden sea of umbrellas that had materialised. They must be used to it here; where else would you have to carry an umbrella in August, just in case? There was no sign of a ten-year-old boy in a red hooded top, and Charis took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to focus her mind. Don’t panic, he’ll be here any minute—

  ‘Is this yours?’

  Charis jerked around and adjusted her line of vision to take into account the height of the man who’d appeared behind her. She immediately wished she hadn’t; his expression was anything but friendly. No red-haired, heroic Jamie Fraser here, but the character’s namesake was there beside him, and although the boy was clearly embarrassed, he was unhurt and not at all worried.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Charis said. She didn’t look back at that stern, headmaster-ish glare, but put her arm around Jamie, hugging him until he squirmed to get away.

  ‘You need to keep a better watch on him then.’

  Charis felt herself tightening up again. ‘Well, you need to mind your own business.’

  ‘As a matter of fact he was my business. And your thanks are gratefully accepted.’ The sarcasm was so heavy, he had to be joking, and Charis glanced up at him again with a reluctant smile ready, but there was no humour in the hazel eyes that stared back down at her.

  Her own irritation swept back. ‘I fail to see how it’s got anything to do with you, unless he ran out in front of your car, and he wouldn’t—’

  ‘Bike.’

  ‘Bike, whatever. Like I said, thanks for bringing him back. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a cashpoint to track down...’ She paused. ‘Were you about to run him down?’

  ‘No. But a word of advice, Ms Boulton—’

  ‘How d’you know my name?’

  ‘I told him,’ Jamie put in. Charis noticed he was staring up at the tall Scot with a familiar look that made her shrink inside.

  ‘A word of advice,’ the man repeated. ‘Your boy has a curious streak a mile wide; you’d do well to take better care of him.’ Just as she opened her mouth to snap at him, he added, ‘End of the street, turn left, then left again.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Cashpoint.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks.’ She sighed and tried on a more grateful tone. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to sound rude—’

  ‘Just take care of your boy, Ms Boulton.’ There was a flash of something almost approachable in his expression, but it was gone in an instant, and he nodded at Jamie and left.

  Charis watched her son, who was staring after the man with that same admiring expression he had reserved for his father, in the days before he’d learned what his father was. ‘What exactly did you do, Jay? And what did he say to you?’

  ‘I was playing detectives, and he just came up to me, and…kind of joined in.’

  ‘Joined in how?’

  ‘He said that I was getting involved in something I shouldn’t.’ Jamie spoke slowly, as if trying to remember it word for word. ‘And that I might get hurt if the wrong people found out. Just like the telly! How cool is that?’

  Charis didn’t know about cool, but she certainly felt a chill as she made out the already distant figure striding easily up the hill, hatless, coatless; obviously, and not surprisingly, used to the rain. He didn’t seem to her like the sort to join in a kid’s innocent detective game; he looked too miserable to have any imagination at all, in fact. She just stopped herself from putting her arm around Jamie’s shoulder again, and instead straightened his hoodie and led him in the direction of the bank.

  As they walked, she managed to get the full story. Jamie had just ‘ploinked’ the car key, locking the Focus, when he’d spotted the American he’d seen last night leaving the hotel. Bored with waiting, he’d naturally tailed him, pretending he was reporting back via a microphone hidden in his sleeve. The man had got into a posh, silver-grey car of some kind, and Jamie had taken out his notebook and written down the number. That was when he’d felt a hand on his arm and his notebook had been taken away.

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ Charis noticed passers by staring at her and lowered her voice. ‘Then what? Did he give it back?’

  ‘Yeah, but he tore the page out, and that’s when he said that thing about the wrong people finding out. He’s funny!’

  ‘No, he’s not. He was out of order. Bang out,’ she amended, as she recalled the way he’d admonished her in the street. It was none of his business, and although she’d felt a bit ungracious for telling him so, she was glad she had; there was no way she was going to let someone else step into the bully-shaped space Daniel had left.

  ‘He rides a motorbike,’ Jamie was saying.

  ‘So? Does that make him Mad Max?’

  ‘It makes him cool.’

  ‘Don’t talk cobblers! Plenty of people ride motorbikes.’

  ‘Yeah, but—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more. I’m getting some cash, then we need to go shopping for more food. Plus I promised to get something for your Aunty Suze. Better check your inhaler too, while you’re here, in case you need a refill. There’s a chemist up the road.’

  She took her cash from the machine and looked around. They were at the entrance to a small courtyard; Inverlochy Court, the sign said. Shops lined the edges, an ornamental garden stood in the middle, its plants drooping under the weight of the rain, and the wooden benches were full of puddles.

  Charis shivered. ‘We’ll go up here a minute, see if we can find something for Suze that�
�s not too tacky.’

  ‘Do we have to?’ Jamie sighed.

  ‘Yes we do. And if I were you, I’d just be thankful we’re not packing up and going home right now.’

  ‘What’re we doing after?’

  ‘That blackhouse I told you about, a few miles out of town. If you stop giving me grief, I’ll let you have half a glass of wine and lemonade tonight.’ Jamie’s face lit up, and Charis’s irritation melted. Once more she had to resist the temptation to pull him close, and once more she ruffled his hair instead.

  They wandered up through the small courtyard, dismissing each of the few shops until, almost tucked away at the end, they found a small, brightly lit window displaying porcelain and glass figures. The sign was simple and elegant.

  Cameron and Son

  Fine Porcelain

  Charis wrinkled her nose as she peered in, but the figures weren’t actually that bad when you looked at them properly. Suze quite liked ornaments, and there were some pretty enough pieces in there, as long as they weren’t too pricey.

  ‘Might be out of here quicker than you think,’ she told Jamie, who tried to appear enthusiastic. Charis poked her tongue out at him to make him giggle, and pushed open the door.

  The man who appeared from a room in the back smiled at her, albeit a little distractedly, as he wiped his hands on a cloth tucked into his belt. She smiled back, thinking how much nicer he seemed than that other bloke; around the same age, late thirties or so, but a bit of friendliness made all the difference.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m here for my sister. She likes...’ she waved her hands vaguely around her, ‘…stuff like this. I said I’d bring something back for her.’

  ‘Ah, your sister likes it, but you don’t?’ His expression was of one who had been struck in the heart, but his tone was teasing, and Charis grinned.

  ‘Well, you know. Each to their own.’