by Marion Todd
‘What is it?’
Clare scanned it. ‘A Malbec. I don’t remember buying it. Someone must have brought it.’ She looked at the bottle. They had drunk more than half of it. ‘Fourteen per cent. We should probably stop. Early start tomorrow and all that.’ She rose. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’ She swayed slightly as she walked. ‘Oops. Just as well I didn’t break out the whisky.’ She filled the kettle and flicked the switch. The DCI appeared behind her in the kitchen, carrying plates, and she suddenly felt the kitchen was a lot smaller with two people in it. Benjy was sitting at her feet, gazing up hopefully.
‘Definitely not,’ she told him. She opened the back door and Benjy, seeing no titbits were forthcoming, trotted out to explore the garden. The DCI looked out of the window, following the dog’s progress. The sun was low in the sky now but Benjy’s activities had caught the security lamp and the garden was illuminated, strangely eerie in the half-light.
‘I see what you mean about your garden. Look, I meant what I said when I offered to help, you know.’
Clare was starting to think there really was a decent human being, underneath his usual formality. She wasn’t sure about letting him into her life outside work but she could see the offer was kindly meant. ‘Will you not have enough on, with your new house?’ she said, hoping to deflect the subject.
‘There’s always time to help a friend, Clare,’ he said. ‘And I like gardening.’
‘Wait till you get your new house.’ She tried to keep her tone light. ‘Then see if you have any spare time.’ She began loading the dishwasher, putting the leftovers in the fridge. Then she bent over the shirt and peered at the stain. ‘I think it’s going. But you’ll probably have to put it out on the washing line for a few days. The sun will help bleach it out.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll have to learn all these things.’
She turned to face him, her hands on the sink behind her. ‘Al, it will get better. Honestly. I promise. Just give it time.’ She saw his eyes were moist and she realised for the first time that they were a piercing blue. She’d never noticed before. She put a reassuring hand on his arm. He looked at her hand then back at her. A sharp bark brought her back to her senses and she moved to open the door for Benjy.
She carried a tray of coffee and mugs through to the sitting room. ‘I’ll just give this a minute,’ she said, indicating the cafetière. As they waited for the coffee to brew, they discussed the plan for the following morning.
‘The extra car is all arranged. It’ll be outside the flat at six thirty.’
‘Good. Thanks for that, Al. Wendy will be there all night so she can be ready any time.’
‘Good stuff.’ The DCI yawned. ‘I suppose I’d better get a taxi home now.’
Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘All the way back to Edinburgh? That’ll cost a fortune.’
He shrugged. ‘Serves me right for turning up here and drinking your wine.’
‘Don’t be daft. You can have the spare room. I’ll stick your shirt on a cool wash and tumble dry it for the morning.’
He looked at her again. His eyes really were blue. Why hadn’t she noticed before? He said something but she missed it.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, that’s really kind of you. If you’re sure I’m not imposing?’
‘Course not.’ She settled back down on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table.
‘Mind if I take my shoes off?’
‘Take your feet off, if you like,’ Clare slurred.
The DCI kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the table, next to Clare’s. They sat, side-by-side, in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then he said, ‘Can I tell you something?’
‘Go for it.’
‘I’ve always admired you,’ he said.
She laughed at this. ‘How very Victorian you sound, Chief Inspector.’
‘I’m serious, Clare. You get results. You’ve a name for it. Did you know that?’ He turned to look at her, blinking a couple of times as he focused on her face.
Clare’s eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope. There’s not a DCI in Scotland wouldn’t welcome you working for them. And – that hit-and-run case – remember it?’
Clare’s mind went back to the time she and Chris had been hunting a serial killer, intent on running down five men. ‘I remember.’
‘And you stood up to me when I had a go at you.’
She flushed at the memory. ‘How could I forget?’
‘I thought then,’ he said, ‘that you were one of the finest officers I had ever met. You stood up to me and you got the job done, even putting your own life at risk.’
Clare felt a lump in her throat. ‘Oh Al,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm again. This time she didn’t remove it. She could smell his cologne. Something woody. Expensive, probably. Instinctively her lips parted and she moved closer, finding his. After a few moments she drew back and rose, taking his hand in hers. She forgot Benjy. She forgot the cafetière full of coffee and she forgot the shirt soaking in the kitchen. She forgot everything else as she led him upstairs, flicking off the lights as she went.
Wednesday, 20 May
Chapter 20
Whether it was the wine or the strangeness of the man lying next to her she wasn’t sure, but Clare slept badly. She had stayed awake long after Al Gibson had drifted into a deep sleep, listening to his breathing. She lay, looking at the ceiling. What the hell had just happened? What was she thinking? Al Gibson was her boss, for God’s sake, on the rebound from his marriage break-up.
She glanced across at him, taking in his form as he slept. He lay on his back, one arm out of the covers, a muscular shoulder almost touching hers. She drew back and propped herself up on one elbow. A shaft of moonlight was shining through a gap in the curtains, giving the room a ghostly light and picking out his profile. She could see his chest hair, the stubble around his jaw, and she had a flashback to his arms around her just a few hours earlier.
And, as she lay looking at him, she suddenly remembered Geoff lying just where Al Gibson was now and a wave of nausea swept over her. What the hell had she done? For, despite all the photos of Geoff wrapped round the smiling blonde, for all her irritation at the wonderful time he seemed to be having, she never really believed he was being unfaithful to her. He just wasn’t the type. But that was exactly what she had just done.
And what about Al Gibson? This man, lying next to her – the man whose wife had left him, presumably for the Jag driver he had seen her with yesterday. He must be so hurt and he had sought comfort in Clare’s arms. But might Clare end up hurting him even more? He didn’t seem like the one-night stand kind of guy.
She slid back down on the pillow and tried to sleep. She would worry about facing him in the morning. And then she remembered his shirt, still lying on the kitchen work surface.
She slipped out of bed and, pulling a dressing gown round herself, she stole downstairs to put it on a wash-and-dry cycle. Benjy wandered sleepily from his bed, his tail attempting to wag, and she led him back before climbing the stairs again, wearier than ever from the wine. A glance at her bedside clock told her she had only a few hours until she had to be up. She drank a glass of water in the faint hope of warding off a hangover then climbed back into bed beside the sleeping DCI.
When the alarm sounded just before five she wakened with a start. She silenced it quickly and crept out of bed. With one eye on the DCI she opened the wardrobe door quietly and took out a fresh set of clothes. She carried these through to the bathroom, setting them down as she waited for the shower to run warm. Last night had been one thing but she wasn’t sure how she felt about dressing in front of DCI Alastair Gibson. Not when she was sober with a thumping headache, to boot.
When she returned to the bedroom he was switching off his phone alarm. He blinked a couple of times, as if trying to focus. ‘You’re dressed,’ he said.
Clare stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding out a towel. ‘I – er – I
thought I’d get dressed and give you some space…’ She tailed off, not knowing what else to say. She had no idea how to behave towards her boss the morning after sleeping with him. ‘The – er – bathroom’s down the hall. Shower’s easy enough. Just turn the knob.’ She gave him a smile and made to leave. ‘I’ll put coffee on.’
‘Clare—’ he said, but she was already running downstairs.
Over coffee and muesli he tried again. ‘Clare, I hope you don’t think I took advantage last night. The sob story about the Jag, my birthday. It wasn’t my intention…’
She shook her head, not meeting his eye. ‘Of course not, Al. We’re both adults. We got drunk and then – well, we got carried away.’
He eyed her. ‘I wasn’t that drunk.’
Clare felt her cheeks flush. She was trying to ignore a voice in her head telling her she hadn’t been that drunk either. She sipped her coffee, casting around for the right thing to say. ‘Al – I – well, Geoffrey and I – I’m just not sure where we are…’
He put a hand across the table, covering hers. ‘Clare, it’s fine. I mean, I really enjoyed last night. All of it. I enjoyed your company, not just the sex.’
She bridled at the word and it didn’t escape his notice.
‘But, if you’re not comfortable with – with what happened – well that’s fine. I won’t mention it again.’ He picked up her hand and put it to his lips. ‘But I did enjoy it.’ He smiled and Clare saw those blue eyes again.
She let him kiss her hand then, gently, she withdrew it. A sudden image of them falling into bed the previous night flashed across her mind and she closed her eyes as she relived it. His hands beneath her sweatshirt, her hands loosening his belt; and, despite the lack of sleep, the earliness of the hour, she found she wanted him all over again.
But that couldn’t happen and she opened her eyes, forcing the memory to the back of her mind. There was Geoff to consider after all, and Al Gibson was her boss. ‘Al…’ she began.
He put down his coffee. ‘Yes?’
‘Work – I mean, it might be awkward.’
He smiled. ‘Clare, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We had a great time. Bloody brilliant, actually. And, yes, I would like to see you again. But I’m realistic enough to know you still have unfinished business with Geoffrey. I do know that. And work, well – we’re both professionals. I think we can manage that. Don’t you?’
Clare smiled back, wishing she shared his confidence. He made it sound so easy so why didn’t it feel like it? Not knowing what else to say, she rose from the table. ‘I’ll get your shirt.’ She moved into the kitchen and clicked open the washing machine. Carrying the shirt over to the kitchen window, she inspected it. ‘I think it’s nearly gone,’ she called. ‘It’s a bit crumpled though. I could run the iron over it if you…’ And suddenly she realised he was behind her. Standing so close she could smell her own shower gel on him. She closed her eyes, her head still thick from the wine. He took the shirt from her and folded it roughly.
‘It’s fine, Clare. I always have a spare in the boot of the car.’
She stood for a moment, looking at him as he moved about the room, collecting his shoes, jacket, wallet.
‘I’ll head across to the flat,’ he said, perching on the arm of the sofa to lace his shoes. ‘Just check everything’s okay then I’ll go back home. You’re going to the trial?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll follow you over to the flat once I’ve cleared up here. I’ll wait for them to leave then I’ll travel behind Tamsin’s convoy.’
‘Let me know how she gets on,’ he said, heading for the door. He hesitated as he reached it and seemed to be struggling for the right words. Then he said, ‘Clare, thank you. For last night. For putting up with me. I really didn’t mean to take advantage…’
She smiled. ‘Of course not, Al. We’re both adults. And I did enjoy it.’ She took his hand in hers. ‘I really did. I’m just not sure it’s the right time – for either of us.’
He returned the smile. ‘Maybe not.’ And, with that, he opened the door and went out into the cool May morning.
* * *
Wendy and a clearly anxious Tamsin were waiting when Clare arrived just after six.
‘We’ve had tears and tantrums already,’ Wendy said, her voice low as she led Clare up the stairs. ‘She’s in a bit of a state.’
Clare put a hand to her head and rubbed her temple. ‘She’s still going to testify though?’
Wendy nodded. ‘Yeah, I calmed her down. Then the DCI appeared and he was really good with her.’ She glanced over her shoulder, then said, ‘Matter of fact, I reckon he’s at the capers. Judging by his appearance, he didn’t go home last night.’
‘Oh?’ Clare tried to keep her tone light.
‘Hadn’t shaved and he looked as if he hadn’t slept much either.’ Wendy raised an eyebrow.
‘Well, well,’ Clare said, hoping she wasn’t giving herself away. She followed Wendy into the flat and forced a smile for Tamsin’s benefit. ‘So, anything else I should know?’
‘That blue van’s been past a couple of times,’ Wendy said. ‘One of our lads made to approach it and it roared off. They radioed for another car to block the street off at one end in case it appeared again.’
‘And did it?’
‘Yes but it headed down Church Street this time.’
Clare moved to the window and pulled the blinds open just enough to look out. ‘When was this?’
‘Half five then again at ten to six.’
‘Dammit. I must have just missed them. Did you see the occupants?’
‘Yeah,’ Wendy said. ‘A big lad in front – bald head. Could be Paddy but it’s hard to tell, looking down at a windscreen. There was a blonde woman next to him. White-blonde, from what I could see. Cropped hair. Maybe wearing something red.’
Clare looked at Tamsin. ‘Does that ring a bell? The blonde woman?’
Tamsin nodded, her face lined with worry. ‘Sounds like Paddy’s sister, Rose.’
‘Rose Grant?’
‘I think so.’
‘Does she have previous, Tamsin?’
Tamsin shook her head. ‘No. She’s too clever for that. Always managed to keep her nose clean, that one.’ She shivered. ‘But you wouldn’t mess with Rose. If she’s coming after me…’
‘Okay, Tamsin. Now you listen to me: Paddy and Rose – they’re just trying to scare you. But we’ll keep you safe. Trust us on that, Tamsin. There’s no way Paddy Grant can get to you.’
Tamsin shrugged. ‘Maybe not today but what about after? After the trial?’ Her voice shook and Clare saw she was clasping her hands to stop them shaking.
Clare went to sit down beside her. ‘From what I can gather, you’ll be given a new identity. A new life, away from here. No one will know where you are or even who you are.’
Tamsin didn’t look convinced but she said no more.
‘Time for a cuppa,’ Wendy said, flicking the switch on the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea for me,’ Clare said.
Tamsin waved this away. ‘Cannae face anything.’
While Wendy dunked a teabag in each mug, Clare moved to the window again to peep out. As she looked, she saw Chris’s red Golf GTi draw into the street and park opposite. ‘Chris is here,’ she said, checking her watch. She glanced at Wendy. ‘Better drink up.’
Minutes later a Volvo saloon with the blue and yellow Police Scotland markings pulled into the street, the lightbar on the roof flashing. It drew into the kerb outside the flat and the lights were switched off.
‘Ready?’ Clare asked. Wendy nodded, picked up Tamsin’s coat and pulled it on. Tucking her own hair inside, she put the hood up and headed down the stairs to the front door. Clare, watching from the window, saw a uniformed officer jump out of the car and hold open a door for Wendy who did her best to copy Tamsin’s gait. The officer closed the door behind her, jumped into the passenger seat and the car roared away, siren blaring and lightbar flashing. Seconds later Chris p
ulled out and headed off in the same direction as the marked car.
Clare took out her phone and dialled Chris’s number. ‘Keep a fair bit back,’ she told him. ‘If they lose you they’ll slow down till you catch up.’
‘I have tailed a car before, you know,’ Chris’s voice said.
‘And let me know the minute you get eyes on that blue van.’
‘Wilco, Inspector.’
Clare ended the call and gave Tamsin a smile.
‘You really think this will work?’ Tamsin asked.
‘Should do. If Paddy is tailing the car Chris should spot him soon.’
While they waited in the flat for another car, Clare helped Tamsin into a Kevlar vest.
‘Is this really needed?’ she asked.
‘Probably not,’ Clare said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. ‘The chances of someone trying to reach you are so slim. But just knowing that you’re wearing it can help. It’s got me through many a sticky moment.’
Tamsin looked doubtful but she said nothing more as Clare checked the fastenings on the vest.
‘Comfy?’
Tamsin did a few experimental moves with her arms. ‘Suppose. How long do I have to keep it on?’
‘Just till you’re back here.’
‘Christ. The whole day?’
‘Afraid so.’
Clare took up position by the window. It was still early and, other than a couple of delivery men unloading cages from lorries, there were few cars around. Certainly no sign of a blue Transit van. After fifteen minutes of this vigil she saw another car pull up outside. A dark grey saloon, this time with no visible markings.
‘We’ll wait for the motorcycles,’ Clare said. ‘Then we’ll get you out and into the car.’
Clare’s phone began to buzz and she clicked to take the call. ‘Chris?’
‘Blue van appeared on cue. It just overtook me and cut in front. Had to slam on the anchors.’
‘He’s making no secret of it, then,’ Clare said. ‘Stick on his tail, Chris.’
She hung up the call and went to check the window again. The motorcycle outriders had just arrived. ‘That’s them here. Ready?’