by Marion Todd
She thought again about Gayle’s reasons for choosing St Andrews as a base. Was it really so she could work undisturbed and unobserved? Or was it because she had known all along where the leak was and she’d chosen the station closest to it? And, if the culprit really was someone close to St Andrews, what would that mean for Clare and her team?
Suddenly the room seemed uncomfortably small. Clare bit into the Jaffa Cake but her mouth was dry and she took a drink of coffee to wash it down. She saw Gayle’s eyes were on her and she made an effort to brighten. ‘How’s the hotel? Is it the Old Course?’
Gayle shook her head. ‘No, I’m at the Fairmont. Know it?’
Clare did. A huge five star hotel set on cliffs south of St Andrews, as opulent as it was expensive. ‘Nice.’
‘Well, life’s very short, Clare. And I’ve worked hard to get where I am so I don’t intend to stint myself. Mind you…’ She broke off.
‘Problem?’
Gayle shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes you do get a bit sick of hotel life. There are nights when I’d gladly kick off my shoes and flop down on the settee with cheese on toast.’
Clare reckoned she could definitely give hotel life a go for a few weeks. No dishes to do, someone in the room every day to tidy up and meals at the drop of a hat. Instead, she found herself saying, ‘I’m very handy with the toaster. Not that you’d want—’
Gayle’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh Clare – would you mind? I’d absolutely love an evening away from the hotel. It is lovely there but it would be so good to be in a real home, even for a couple of hours.’
‘Oh – of course. I’d love to have you. Um, I’m not sure what time I’ll finish tonight though.’
Gayle laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you with just a few hours’ notice, Clare. Anyway, I have a massage booked tonight.’ She flexed her shoulders and put a hand up to rub her neck. ‘Too much sitting over a laptop.’
Clare hoped the relief didn’t show on her face. ‘Tomorrow then? I’m in Edinburgh for the day but I should be home by early evening.’
Gayle beamed. ‘Splendid. Shall we say seven?’
* * *
It was only as she was washing the cups that Clare remembered she had been on her way to phone the DCI when Gayle had forestalled her. She left the cups to drain in the small kitchen and, noting that Gayle’s door was closed now, she went out to the car park. The painters were sitting on the tailgate of their van, enjoying a cup of tea.
‘Afternoon,’ one of them called to Clare, with a wink.
‘Afternoon lads,’ she said. ‘Any idea when you’ll be finished?’
‘Should be tonight, all being well. Halfway through the last coat on the eaves.’
She smiled her thanks and walked on to the far end of the car park. Checking there was no one around, she took the Alcatel from her pocket and clicked to dial the DCI’s number. He answered immediately.
‘Just checking the arrangements for tomorrow,’ she said. ‘For Tamsin.’
‘All in hand, Clare. The car will pick her up at seven.’
‘And the security arrangements?’
‘Two motorcycle outriders – one front, one behind.’
‘Any armed officers?’
‘Two in the car, plus the driver. And she’ll be wearing a vest.’
‘Names?’
The DCI reeled off the names of the armed officers and driver.
Clare recognised them. Good solid officers she could trust. That was something at least.
‘Happy?’ the DCI asked.
‘Actually, Al, I’ve had an idea…’
* * *
Clare was just on the point of packing up for the night when Nita and Gary returned from Johannes’s flat, clutching brown paper evidence bags.
‘Bank statements and receipts, mainly,’ Nita said. ‘But we did find these.’ She held out a small clear bag.
Clare took the bag and peered through the plastic at four bank cards, all from different banks. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘Under the bed,’ Nita said. ‘It was Gary who found them.’
‘But we checked under the bed.’
Gary smiled. ‘It was the carpet. He’d cut a tiny slit in it and slid the cards through that so they sat between the carpet and the floorboards. Then he’d fluffed it up again so the slit was hidden.’
Clare shook her head. ‘Just when you think you’ve seen every trick in the book.’ She saw Chris emerging from the incident room, heading for the exit, and she called him over. His face fell and he trailed across, one eye on the door. Clare ignored this. ‘Chris, look – tomorrow’s going to be busy. Can you take this stuff and go through it now please? It seems Johannes had multiple bank accounts and I want to know why. It’s possible Marek had other accounts too. If so, we’d be better to get a warrant. As far as we know he’s still alive so the other banks – if there are any –they might be sticky too.’
Chris yawned. ‘Will it do tomorrow? I’m dog tired.’
‘Nope. I need you for something else tomorrow. Look – if you phone the banks’ fraud lines tonight and get the warrant requested, we might get the info for you to go through later on tomorrow or Thursday. Make the calls now and then I’ll tell you about tomorrow.’
* * *
Clare opened the door of Daisy Cottage to an uproarious welcome from Benjy. He’d clearly had a busy day. Once again, her favourite cushion was placed over on the other chair while, in the kitchen, he had nudged the bin so it was blocking the door to the garden. ‘You’re not getting enough exercise,’ she told him. She kicked off her shoes and ran upstairs to change into her dog-walking clothes then, moving the kitchen bin back to its rightful place, she picked up his lead and headed out into the evening sun. Benjy immediately made for the flower bed and fence he’d shown such an interest in the previous night, his nose to the ground as he followed a trail. As she stepped over the brambles once more she made a mental note to call Moira that evening about Bill’s offer to help in the garden. She reached the gate and whistled to Benjy. He seemed reluctant to leave the fence, only giving up when Clare uttered a stern ‘Benjy, come!’
They walked on through the woods, Benjy tearing around, investigating smells, marking his territory and generally having a wonderful time. ‘We don’t do enough of this,’ Clare told him, clipping the lead on as they came to a single-track road.
Her thoughts turned to Gayle and their conversation earlier. What had possessed her to invite Gayle for supper? And in the middle of a murder investigation, to say nothing of keeping an eye on Tamsin.
Tamsin. With Johannes’s murder to investigate, Marek’s disappearance and then those hidden bank cards, she had forgotten about Tamsin. They were on their way back to the cottage now so Clare unclipped Benjy’s lead and took out her mobile. But before she could dial Wendy’s number it rang. She glanced at the display.
Diane.
Her finger hovered over the Decline button then she remembered Gayle’s advice to act normally and she clicked to take the call.
‘Diane, how are you? Sorry I missed your other calls. I’m up to my eyes just now.’
There was a hesitation, just long enough to alert Clare that Diane knew something was wrong. Then she said, ‘Are you okay, Clare?’
‘Of course. All fine. Just busy. We’ve had a murder and,’ she broke off, wondering what to say, ‘a few other things going on. You know how it is.’ She hoped she sounded bright enough. But why was Diane asking? Had she spotted Gayle’s activity on the network? Was Gayle not as clever at being covert as she claimed? ‘Anyway, never mind me,’ she went on, trying to deflect any concerns Diane might have had. ‘How are things with you? Busy?’
‘Are we ever anything else?’ Diane said. She hesitated then went on. ‘I heard there’s a new comms system in the offing. I can’t say I’m looking forward to that.’
Clare’s mind worked quickly. Was Diane fishing? She must have spotted something. But Gayle had told her what to say and she had to s
tick to that. For all she knew, Gayle could have bugged her phone to make sure she didn’t say anything about her investigations. ‘Nor me,’ she said, hoping she sounded convincing. ‘Matter of fact, there’s someone in my station this week, working on it.’
‘Seems an odd place to be based. I’d have thought Gartcosh would have been better.’
She had a point, Clare thought. The Scottish Crime Campus at Gartcosh would have all the space and facilities Gayle could possibly need for her investigation. But then maybe it would be more difficult to work there covertly. ‘Oh, don’t ask me,’ she said, attempting to sound bright. ‘Something about needing peace to work. To be honest, Diane, we are usually quieter than most stations. I’m guessing she didn’t bargain on a murder investigation happening while she was here.’
‘It’s a woman then?’
‘Yeah. Don’t see much of her, really. She just gets on with her work and I get on with mine.’
Diane seemed to swallow that. ‘Oh well – as long as she doesn’t get in your way. Anyway,’ she said, brightening. ‘I do have one bit of good news.’
‘Oh,’ Clare said, glad to change the subject. ‘Is it your mum? Have you managed to find somewhere for her?’
‘I wish. I’ve found a few nursing homes nearby though. I’ve made a list so I just need to start visiting them. And then I’ll have to break it to Mum.’
Clare was prevented from replying by Benjy who had shot off after a squirrel. Thankfully the squirrel had retreated up a tree but Benjy stood at the foot of it, barking loudly. ‘Hold on, Diane. I’ve a dog who’s being a bit of a thug, here.’ She clipped the lead back on Benjy’s collar and dragged him away from the tree. ‘Okay, sorted that. Where were we?’
‘Oh, just me moaning on, as usual,’ Diane said. ‘Sorry, Clare.’
‘Don’t be daft. Offload to me any time at all. But did you say you had some good news?’
‘Oh yes. My new assistant started on Monday and he seems pretty clued up.’
‘Now that is good news. I’m so glad Diane.’
‘You and me both, Clare. I had set aside some time to show him the ropes but he doesn’t seem to need any help. He arrived on Monday and, after I’d shown him round, I gave him a couple of simple jobs that I thought would keep him busy for the morning. He did them in an hour and came looking for something else to do.’
‘Wow! You’d better hang onto him, Diane.’
‘I intend to. No one’s poaching this one from me.’
‘Where’s he come from? Is he new to Police Scotland?’
‘No. He’s been at Gartcosh for the past five years. Do you know any of the techy guys there? His name’s Craig Thomson.’
Clare searched her memory. The name didn’t ring a bell. ‘Don’t think so. But I’m so glad he’s working out well.’
Clare walked on, listening as Diane chatted on about Craig, about his skills, how he was a keen gamer, planning to develop his own games.
‘What he doesn’t know about coding…’ Diane was saying.
‘Did he say why he wanted a transfer through here? Surely there would be more opportunities for promotion at Gartcosh?’
‘Yeah, I wondered about that too. But I think, reading between the lines, he wants more free time to spend developing his games. Plus he seems to have an on-off girlfriend in Fife so that may have something to do with it.’
Clare was at her back gate now and she opened it, unclipping Benjy’s lead. He rushed up the path and stood waiting at the back door. ‘Diane, I’d better go. Listen, it’s been great to chat but let’s catch up properly, yeah? Once this case is behind me.’
‘I’d like that, Clare.’
As Clare closed the back door behind her and kicked off her shoes, Benjy began to bark. Seconds later the front doorbell rang. She sighed. It had been a long day already. All she wanted was to slam something quick and easy into the microwave and take a long, hot bath. Shutting an excited Benjy in the kitchen, she trailed through to the front door in her stocking soles. She opened it and saw DCI Alastair Gibson standing on the threshold holding a bottle of wine.
Chapter 19
‘It’s my birthday,’ he said, by way of apology, de-corking the wine, as Clare went to fetch two glasses. ‘And, to be honest, I could do with seeing a friendly face.’
Clare turned, glasses in hand. He looked tired, his shoulders hunched and his eyes, which were normally so alert, lacked expression. His jacket hung open and he had loosened his tie.
‘Something wrong?’
He didn’t answer immediately, but took the glasses from Clare and poured the wine.
‘Just half a glass for me,’ she said. ‘In case something happens.’
He carried on pouring. ‘I spoke to our lads outside the flat five minutes ago and it’s all fine. Wendy’s spending the night there, just to be on the safe side, and the Dundee inspector is on call.’ He held out a glass for her. ‘And I need this.’
Clare eyed him for a moment then she took the glass and led him through to the sitting room, pulling the coffee table over in front of the sofa.
He laid down his glass and sat, sinking back with a loud sigh.
Clare put her glass down and sat on the edge of the sofa, an elbow on the arm. She waited and, when it didn’t look like he was going to speak, she said, ‘So?’
He leaned forward and picked up his glass, taking a drink. Then he met her eye. ‘I saw the Jag today.’
She thought she understood. ‘I’m sorry, Al. Must be hard seeing Alison driving around in it.’
He drank again then, after a moment, he said, ‘Wasn’t her driving.’
Clare stared. ‘She’s sold it? Your lovely car?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. She was in the passenger seat.’
‘So who was driving?’
He spread his hands. ‘No idea. Some bloke. Looks like Tom – what’s his name – from the Avengers films…’
‘Hiddleston,’ Clare said, reaching for the bottle and topping up their glasses. It was clearly going to be a long night.
‘Yeah, that’s him. All twinkling eyes and designer stubble.’
‘He is very good looking.’
He stared at her. ‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Tom Hiddleston, not Alison’s – whatever he is.’
He winced. ‘Driving my car – the bastard.’ He flicked a glance at Clare. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this, Clare. You’ve had a long day.’
She smiled. ‘Forget it. It’s a rotten thing to happen any day but especially on your birthday. Listen, Al – have you eaten?’
He shook his head. ‘I was going to pick up a take-away on my way back to Edinburgh.’
‘Fancy a curry?’
‘Always.’
Clare rose. ‘I’ve a menu for the local curry house somewhere. It’s pretty good and they deliver out here.’
Forty minutes later they were sitting at Clare’s dining table, sniffing at foil containers and setting them out on heatproof mats. ‘I always order far too much,’ she said. ‘Look how much rice there is.’
The DCI tore off a strip of naan and dipped it into a tub of tandoori sauce. ‘So, Clare, you’ve heard my tale of woe. How are things with you and…’
‘Geoffrey? Oh, I don’t know, Al.’ She hesitated. Admittedly she now knew more than she might have wished about the Gibsons’ marriage but did she really want to divulge the ins and outs of her relationship with Geoff? Did she even know what the ins and outs were any more?
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’ He picked up the wine bottle and emptied the dregs into her glass.
Clare rose from the table. ‘I’ll get another.’ She went through to the kitchen, glad of the distraction. She bent to pull a bottle from the wine rack and checked it was red. Then she carried it back through to the table and began to remove the cork. She glanced across the table. He had taken off his tie and was now more relaxed than she could ever remember seeing him. And, as she refilled their gl
asses, she saw him drip tandoori sauce on his white shirt. ‘Al – your shirt!’
He looked down and groaned. ‘Oh God. It’s a Paul Smith.’
‘Paul Smith?’ Clare was aghast. ‘For a work shirt? Al! How much did that cost?’
He dabbed at the stain with a piece of kitchen roll. ‘Don’t ask!’
Clare rose. ‘Should have gone to Tesco. Three in a pack – cheap as chips. Take it off. And stop dabbing at it, for God’s sake. You’ll make it worse.’
He stared at her. She wasn’t sure if it was the suggestion that he buy his shirts from Tesco or the invitation to remove his, but he seemed disconcerted.
‘Your shirt,’ she persisted. ‘Take it off and I’ll soak it.’
He hesitated then began unbuttoning it.
She felt obliged to avert her eyes as she waited for him to hand her the shirt. But a quick glance told her he was as toned as she had thought at the parkrun. Just the right amount of chest hair, tending to grey. ‘I’ll soak it in a solution of vinegar and soap,’ she said. ‘Apparently glycerine is best for curry stains but who the hell has that in the house?’
‘I do.’
She stared. ‘You have glycerine in the house? Why on earth?’
‘Alison uses it when she makes the Christmas cake – used it,’ he corrected himself. ‘Something to do with keeping the icing from going hard.’ He watched Clare as she made up a solution of vinegar, liquid soap and water, then said, ‘Do you mean to tell me, Inspector Mackay, that you don’t make your own Christmas cake?’
‘With my organisational skills, Chief Inspector Gibson, I’m lucky if I remember to buy a Christmas cake, never mind make one.’ She spread the shirt out next to the sink and began working the solution into the stain. ‘Right. We’ll leave that to soak. Back to the curry.’
Sitting opposite her shirtless boss, Clare began to relax. He cut a comical figure, eating curry bare-chested. She sipped at her glass then picked up the bottle and perused the label. ‘This is pretty good.’