Grievous Angel

Sixteen

‘What should I wear, Pops?’ Alex asked me, as she handed me a mug of tea. ‘I don’t have a black dress.’ She was a wee bit anxious; the truth about where she was going and what we were about to do had been settling upon her since breakfast.

‘They tend not to be fashion items for thirteen-year-olds, kid,’ I pointed out. ‘What did Grandpa like you to wear? It’s not about what other people expect, it’s about what he’d be thinking.’

She thought about it. ‘There’s the blue dress I bought with the money he gave me last Christmas. Would it do?’

‘That will be perfect, my love.’

‘Make-up?’ Under Daisy’s guidance and with my approval she had started to use cosmetics on the day she moved into her teens. She didn’t overdo it, for as Daisy had pointed out, she didn’t need to. ‘Would that be disrespectful?’

‘I’d tell you if it was.’

‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to upset Aunt Jean.’

‘You won’t.’ Jean was going to be sending her dad off to the good fire. I doubted if she’d even notice that her niece was wearing a bit of eyeliner and lipstick. ‘It’s not as if you’re going to be painted up like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver.’ We’d watched the video a couple of months before.

‘You lookin’ at me?’ she drawled, and headed for the stairs.

‘Don’t come down with your hair in a Mohican,’ I called after her.

The ribbing had lightened things but I was probably more tense than my daughter. I didn’t like Daldowie; or rather I disliked it more than any other crematorium I knew. It was one of those places where you saw distant relations and acquaintances, promised to see them soon and then never did until the next time you were there.

I decided to match the dress code I’d recommended to Alex, so I put on the linen suit I’d worn a few days before, but with a black shirt and tie. Then I packed a bag for the weekend, full of what I imagined might be sailor stuff.

Alison had advised Alex about what she should take with her. She and I had arranged that we’d all set off from my place; if I’d picked her up, it would have taken at least forty-five minutes longer to reach Carluke. When she arrived, in a black suit, we were ready to go. She scored a real Brownie point by heading straight for the back seat of the Beamer, leaving Alex in her usual place, up front. It was thoughtful, and I loved her for it. Yes, you read me right; I loved her for it.

We got to Thornton’s house just before one. There were quite a few people there, in addition to Jean, a couple of her aunts, one from either side of the family, Thornie’s much older brother, Uncle Moffat, who wasn’t quite sure where he was, and his best pal from the golf club. The great-aunts made a small fuss of Alex, and were polite to Alison, but mostly concentrated on sipping their Harvey’s Bristol Cream, and munching their salmon sandwiches as best they could with their loose dentures.

Sergeant Lowell Payne was there too, clean-cut, about my own age, and formal in dark suit, white shirt, black tie. My Special Branch contact had called me back, giving him a clean bill of health. He wasn’t expected to rise any higher than inspector, but that would give him a decent pension one day, and he had no bad habits for me to worry about. We were introduced, ‘Bob, Lowell. Lowell, Bob,’ but didn’t say much to each other. At that stage everyone was focused on what was to come. Alex stuck close to me, tight-lipped; one of the great-aunts had insisted on pinching her cheek, and Uncle Moffat kept calling out, loudly, ‘Who’s that lassie? Is that our Myra?’

I was grateful when the undertaker announced that we should go. There were two limos for six passengers… Thornie had a vehicle all to himself… so there was plenty of space. Jean offered Alex a seat in hers, as a close blood relative, but she chose to stay with me. The pace was indeed funereal, but the drivers were experts and we arrived at exactly the right time.

The service took half the time that the drive had. Psalm twenty-three, prayer, hymn, prayer ending in Lord’s Prayer (the Scottish version where we forgive debtors and our debts are forgiven too; that’ll be right!), eulogy, committal, benediction. All crematoria seem to operate to the same tight timetable, but at least the place was full of Thornton’s enduring friends, the minister knew all about him and wasn’t reading from a script provided by the family, and oh, as I was reminded, those Lanarkshire Proddies sure can sing. I didn’t join them; I only do that when I’ve had a couple of drinks and I know that somebody’s listening. Alison did, though; I hadn’t realised that she had such a nice contralto voice.

When it was all over, and Jean and I had shaken hands with the departing mourners at the door… I couldn’t let her do that on her own, and Lowell was too new on the scene… we moved on to a hotel in Bothwell, a place that must make a small fortune from the proximity of the crematorium, for more salmon sandwiches, more Bristol Cream, stories about the departed and the laughter that always comes from the release of tension. It unsettled Alex; I could see that either she was going to cry or she’d let someone have both barrels, so I took her into a corner and explained that one day she’d be doing exactly the same herself, probably after seeing me off.

Jean saw us and came across to join us. I left them to their aunt-niece chat and walked across to the corner that Alison and Lowell Payne had commandeered. I shook hands with the sergeant properly. It had been perfunctory at Thornie’s place. ‘Good to meet you,’ I said. ‘How’s Strathclyde taking to its new chief?’

‘Mr Govan? He’s way above my head, and I’m a long way from Pitt Street, thank heaven, but from what I hear he’s shaking things up.’

‘I’d expect no less,’ I agreed. ‘He lectured at a course I was on at Tulliallan; not a man to sugar the pill.’

‘I’ve heard much the same about you.’

I smiled. ‘I didn’t know I was being watched.’

‘We take an interest in you through here, since you’re one of us. Ever think about coming back?’ he asked.

‘Not once. Not once in fourteen years.’ In fact, John Govan had sounded me out, after his lecture, to see if I’d consider a move to Glasgow, but I’d declined, politely, as it pays to be with the most powerful police officer in the land.

‘Shoe the other foot,’ I continued. ‘Have you ever considered a move east?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘but Jean wouldn’t like it, and what she wants she can have as far as I’m concerned.’

On the basis of my background check and our brief acquaintance, I’d have found him a slot, but I decided not to pursue it. ‘How’s Hamilton?’ I asked him. ‘When I was a boy, the River Clyde was like the Berlin Wall, dividing it and Motherwell. The twain never met.’

He smiled. ‘It’s okay. There’s worse places to be… Motherwell, for example.’

‘It wasn’t always like that. There was a working-class morality about when the steel industry was at its height.’

‘Yes, but with the Protestant jackboot on the neck of the Catholic minority, through its old police force.’

I couldn’t argue; he knew the local history of my home town. He was an interesting guy, and forthright with it. I could see why he hadn’t been earmarked for higher rank. ‘Those were the days,’ I said to Alison. ‘I’m glad I missed them.’ I looked back at Lowell. ‘You’ll be a Hamilton boy, then?’

He nodded. ‘Born and bred.’

‘Big place, I know,’ I ventured, ‘but have you ever heard of a family called McGrew?’

‘Sure, as in Alafair. She was a budding actress, and good at her personal PR from an early age. Her name was always cropping up in the Hamilton Advertiser, for winning awards at the Athenaeum, or getting a bit part in Take the High Road.’

‘What’s the Athenaeum?’ Alison asked.

‘Royal College of Music and Drama in Glasgow,’ I told her. ‘Some very well-known people came out of there.’

‘Alafair hasn’t come up to Ian Richardson’s level, though,’ Lowell added. ‘I haven’t seen much about her lately.’

‘Career change. She married a footballer.’ I almost added, ‘And started playing away games,’ but decided to hold that back. ‘But he plays for Hibs,’ I went on, ‘hence her absence from the Advertiser, and from the telly.’

Sergeant Payne was sharp. ‘It wouldn’t be the guy Drysalter, would it?’

‘It would indeed.’

‘The hit and run victim?’

‘The same. Someone hit him, several times, with a baseball bat, and ran away… but that information stays within our domestic group, Lowell, okay?’

‘Sure, sir, Bob… whatever.’

Alison laughed. ‘I have the same trouble, sometimes.’

‘Which she’s getting over,’ I said. ‘I’ll be calling her “Ma’am” soon.’

‘You will this weekend. On board my brother’s boat I’m the first mate and you’re a deckhand.’

‘Shit, I thought you were the stewardess.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Speaking of which, we should be making a move. We’d better collect Alex and say our goodbyes. You know what happens at these things, Lowell, don’t you? Bets are laid on who’s going up the chimney next?’

He nodded towards Uncle Moffat, who was holding a large whisky in two small hands. ‘There won’t be too many takers,’ he muttered.

‘Thornie said the same thing about him after Myra’s funeral, but the old boy’s seen him off.’

We shook hands for a third time, as Alison went to rescue Alex from the great-aunts. ‘Do me a small favour if you can. See if you can pick up any local knowledge about Alafair’s family background.’ I took a card from the ever-present stash in my breast pocket and slipped it to him. ‘Just for fun. I’d like to know how she became the girl she is.’

The last leg of the journey was much less sombre than the first two. Alex promoted Alison to the front passenger seat, so that she could retreat into the back and listen to the Spice Girls and others on her CD Walkman.

‘Well,’ I began as I negotiated the complex interchange that led to the motorway network, ‘what did you think of that crew?’

‘What do they think of me,’ Alison countered, ‘that’s the question.’

‘Don’t let that worry you for one second. You and Jean seemed to get on fine and that’s all that matters.’

‘She seemed all right. Was Myra like her?’

‘Not much. Jean’s much more reserved than she was. She’s coming out of it now, though, having rectified her mistake.’

‘What mistake?’

‘Her first husband. Prick.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘That description was generous. But you’re right about Jean and me, we’ve always got on.’ I didn’t see any need to tell her how well we’d got on at one time. ‘The great-aunts, though, they’ve never been close to us. They didn’t approve of Myra. They thought she was “flighty”, a fine old Lanarkshire word for a girl with a bit of personality. She was that all right. As for old Moffat, he may be doolally now, but even when he had his wits about him he was an old cunt, pardon my French.’ I glanced in the mirror, but Alex was isolated by her headphones and couldn’t have overheard. ‘You can tell at funerals, those who’ve come along out of respect and those who’re there with an eye on the will. Those who were can forget it. Thornton changed his will after Myra died; he discussed it with me because he felt I should know. Before then everything was to be split equally between his two daughters; afterwards, Alex replaced her mother as a fifty per cent beneficiary. It’ll be a tidy amount too; she and I will need to discuss how it should be invested. If the aunts had known that they wouldn’t have looked in her direction.’

‘You can choose your friends,’ Alison began to quote, ‘but…’

‘… not your family,’ I concluded. ‘Thornie didn’t believe that, though,’ I told her. ‘He always said that the best of friends were those who chose you, and as you saw by the turnout today, a lot of people chose him, and very wisely too. The old aunts,’ I continued, ‘they didn’t approve of me either so we never saw any of her family when Myra was alive, apart from the odd cousin who fancied a day at the seaside.’

‘What did they have against you, for God’s sake?’ she laughed.

‘My mother was an alcoholic. When Myra and I got engaged, there was a family party and my mum got pished at it. The aunts, as you’ve seen, are real prissy old tight-arses, so we were off their Christmas card list before we were even on it. They’d have been afraid of my father anyway; they regarded lawyers as a class apart. Not Thornie, though; he and my old man were always perfectly civil to each other and they even played a bit of golf together, a big deal, although my father was far too aloof for them ever to become close.’

‘You’re bitter about your family, Bob,’ she ventured.

‘No, I’m not. I’m sad about them. Mostly I’m sad for Alex, because I think it’s a shame that she can’t sit at a big table every Christmas with a dozen so people that are her own kith and kin.’

She reached out and stroked my forearm. ‘You may find that Jean and Sergeant Payne start filling that table quite soon. He seems… smitten; an old-fashioned word but it works, and she seems suited.’

‘Yeah, he’s a good guy. I like him. I hope they do settle down. They make a nice couple and Jean’ll be a good mother.’ I winked at her. ‘You do realise they’re probably saying much the same about us right now,’ I added.

‘As long as they don’t build their hopes up. They want family, we want careers, and I’m about as broody as a stone.’

‘But are you happy?’ I asked.

‘With my life? Yes, I told you so. It’s exactly as I’d like it. Two weeks ago I thought you’d lost interest in me, and I wasn’t too chuffed about that. You’ve shown me I was wrong, and I’m happy about that. I’m looking forward to spending time with you and Alex, but I want to keep her at a certain distance so she doesn’t ever start to think of me as a mother figure.’

‘And me? What do you want from me?’

She frowned. ‘Of you I ask one thing alone. When you are lonely in the dark of night, and when I stop being the one you call first, don’t call me at all. Give that promise to me, and I will give the same to you.’

I reached across, took her hand, and squeezed it. ‘You’ve got it.’

Eden Higgins and his son Rory were on board and waiting for us when we arrived at Inverkip Marina. The boat was impressive. It was called Palacio de Ginebra, a name that amused me, looked to be about forty feet long and had a couple of masts, with booms and other stuff, like lots of rope that was going to need pulling, and sails rolled up and ready for unfurling, or whatever it was you did with them.

The furniture tycoon looked as if he spent more time at sea than he did in his showrooms. He was lean and weather-beaten and the muscle on his arms was well defined. His hair was frizzy, dark streaked with grey. He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed his love of New York.

‘Good to meet you, Bob, and you, Alex.’ His greeting was relaxed, and it spoke volumes. I wasn’t the first male crew member that his sister had brought along for the voyage, although probably the first one with a teenage daughter in tow.

There was a table on what Alison told me was the afterdeck, with a jug of Sangria, a large bottle of Coca-Cola and four glasses. ‘The Coke was intended for the kids,’ he said as he started to pour, ‘but looking at Alex, she might prefer the other.’

‘That would depend on what’s in it, Eden.’ Sangria comes in many forms, some of them highly alcoholic, and we were on a boat called the Gin Palace.

‘It’s safe, I promise,’ he replied. ‘Red wine only and that’s pretty diluted.’

‘In that case, it’ll be Alex’s choice. But can we change first?’

‘Of course. Alison will show you where you’re bunked.’

I’d been expecting something akin to a railway sleeping compartment, but I had underestimated Eden’s taste and his wealth. The vessel was beautifully fitted out below decks, with a dayroom, a galley, and three cabins. The largest of those was ours and I didn’t need to be told that, normally, it was the captain’s.

We went casual, and rejoined our host. Alex opted for Sangria. It didn’t surprise me since I’d been allowing her that occasional taste since the previous summer. I let her get on with it, even though the base was red, since it was well watered. Rory was a nice kid, he looked a little bit like his aunt, but with some features that owed nothing to the Higgins side of the family. It was evident from the start that he was in awe of my daughter.

When the jug was empty, Alison announced that she was going below to cook, and told the cabin boy that he would be helping. Alex would have stayed with us, but I tipped her a very discreet wink; she read the message and followed.

The evening was calm and warm. I’d checked the weekend weather forecast and, to my relief, it had promised fair. Once we were alone, Eden pulled a couple of beers from a small built-in fridge, popped the tops and handed one to me. Suddenly I realised how Lowell Payne must have felt at the funeral.

‘Cut to the chase, Eden,’ I said.

His dark eyebrows rose and he smiled. ‘Whatever do you mean, sir?’

‘You know well enough. Let’s skip the opening pleasantries and get straight to what you’re bound to ask me sooner or later.’

He had a booming laugh. ‘You didn’t major in subtlety at Glasgow, did you, Bob?’

‘I can do it when I have to, but I prefer the cards dealt face up. It makes the game a whole lot easier.’

‘True. I wish there were people like you in business. That’s my environment, you see, you keep your hand well hidden. Okay, to it; can I expect to be calling you brother one day?’

‘No,’ I replied, looking him in the eye. ‘Now that we’ve sized each other up for a while, Alison and I are in the early stages of what’s looking like being a very comfortable relationship, one that suits us both. We have a shared outlook on life, we have shared ambitions, and we are very fond of each other. But you should know your sister well enough to realise that if she’s offered a choice between marriage and a chief constable’s silver braid, then you may phone the tailor and commission the uniform. I’m the same.’

‘You’re a man, though,’ he countered, ‘in a masculine world. You don’t have to make that choice. I’ll bet there isn’t one chief in Scotland who’s a single man.’

‘You’d lose. Two of them are divorced, due largely to the pressures that the job placed on their marriages while they were on the way up, as I am now, as Alison is now. There would be twice the stress if we were man and wife, or even a full-time couple. There is a level of commitment between us, my daughter is happy with the way things are, and that’s enough for all of us.’ I looked away for a second, then caught his gaze again. ‘And there’s this. I’ve lowered one wife into her grave already, I relive it every day, and I have a great resistance to ever repeating the experience for real.’

‘Of course.’

‘Have you had this conversation with Alison?’ I asked.

‘Are you kidding?’ he replied. ‘Am I carrying my balls in a brown paper bag? But you understand, don’t you, why I feel that I have to clear the air with you?’

‘Sure, and I don’t have a problem with it. She’s your sister, for a start, and you care about her. On top of that you’re a very wealthy man, and you need to be sure that she’s not attracting pot-hunters. For the record, I’m nowhere near your level, but I’m not poor.’ I paused. ‘But what the hell am I talking about?’ I laughed. ‘You know all that, for you’ve had me checked out. I knew that as soon as you told me what university I went to, for I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned it to Alison, only that I’m a graduate. You probably know how much I inherited from my father, and where it’s invested. You probably know the value of various insurance policies and death-in-employment benefits that were paid out when Myra was killed. You might even know how much I have in my bank accounts. Am I right?’

He flinched, and I saw him flush beneath the tan.

‘Eden,’ I told him, ‘it’s all right. I don’t mind. I’ve just done much the same thing with my sister-in-law’s new boyfriend, and I have access to resources that you don’t. But… I need to know this.. . did your people find out anything else about me, and my family background?’

He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘They discovered that you have a brother named Michael, who lives in a charitable institution not that far from here, supported by a small trust fund administered on his behalf by a firm of solicitors in Glasgow.’

‘Then your investigators have been too good for their own good. Alison knows nothing of Michael’s existence. Even my daughter isn’t aware that she has an uncle. We might have been born to the same parents, but that man has been dead to me for the last twenty years, as he was to them. Until right now, I had no clear idea of where he was, and I still don’t want you to tell me his exact location. I hate him, more than it’s safe for me to hate another human being.’

‘Christ, Bob,’ he muttered, ‘I had no idea.’

‘Why should you? But now that you do, I need you to promise me two things, that you’ll shred every copy of the report your people gave you, and that you’ll make sure they do the same. While you’re at it, tell them from me that they should forget they ever heard of Michael, for if anyone else ever mentions him to me in the future, my first thought is going to be that it came from them. It’ll take me about two minutes to find out who they are, and not much longer for me to put them out of business.’

‘Consider all that done,’ Eden promised. ‘By the way, the report was for my eyes only; it’s in my private safe in my office.’ He glanced at me, with a tiny smile. ‘Bob, if that’s what you’d do to people who annoyed you by accident, how would you deal with someone who went out of his way to piss you off?’

I laughed. ‘That hasn’t happened for a long time.’

He finished his beer and fetched two more. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to marry my sister?’ he murmured, just as Rory appeared to tell us that the food was ready. ‘I’d love to have you in our gang.’

Eden and I got on like a house on fire after that. We ate below decks, then took a late evening walk around the marina before we turned in. There were some very impressive boats there, but nothing beat the Palacio de Ginebra for sheer class. ‘Where are we going tomorrow?’ I asked, before we turned in.

‘Nowhere too ambitious,’ Eden replied. ‘Alison and I reckon that since it’s your first trip, we might just sail down to Campbeltown, moor there for the night and come back up on Sunday.’

‘Great. Like Ali says, I’m only the deckhand.’

I hadn’t been sure about sleeping on something that was moving about all night, even if gently. I was still wondering whether I’d manage when I woke next morning, aware of the light that had found its way into the cabin in spite of the heavy curtain over the porthole. Alison was smiling at me, her eyes still fuzzy. ‘We’re turning into a couple,’ she murmured. ‘You fell asleep on me.’

‘Well, baby,’ I whispered, ‘I’m awake now.’

Even at that we were still up and ready to go by seven fifteen, although we were the last into the dayroom. I was excited. I couldn’t remember how long it was since I’d done something absolutely new, that wasn’t related to work. I couldn’t remember how long it was since I’d been as separated from the job, mentally as well as physically.

Sailing turned out to be far easier than I’d expected, or feared. Life jackets were mandatory equipment on board, so falling over the side wasn’t a big deal, and all I had to do was… whatever I was told. Once the sails were set they had to be adjusted every now and then, but mostly the real work was left to whoever was keeping us on course. As Rory proved, that was child’s play… provided, as his aunt pointed out when I remarked upon it, that the child knew what he was doing.

Eden set a course out of Inverkip that took us west of the Isles of Cumbrae, Great and Little, views I’d never seen before, since my few trips there had been from Largs, on the east, and then out into the open Firth of Clyde. I’m not a hugely travelled man, but I’m a patriotic Scot and every so often I’m struck with a burst of pride in my country’s beauty. Too many of us, me included, spend too little time in its contemplation.

The wind wasn’t strong but we still made decent time, until Eden decided that we’d moor off Lamlash for lunch. Once we’d eaten, he took Alex, Rory and me across to the Holy Island in the motorised inflatable that the Gin Palace towed behind it, leaving Alison on wash-up duty. We walked around the lovely wee island for an hour; my daughter and I each shot a full roll of film. The place is a centre for world peace these days, and I can understand why, although I wonder how its students feel when they see a missile-carrying nuclear submarine go by, out of the base at Faslane.

Back on board, we spent the afternoon cruising round the south of Arran and on towards the Mull of Kintyre and Campbeltown, our destination. We sailed into its loch, which is really a big bay, then found our pre-booked mooring on the pier and tied up for the night. Dinner hadn’t been planned, so I went ashore and found a restaurant that had one table left for five, my contribution to the trip. ‘You’re lucky to get in at such short notice on a Saturday night,’ the owner advised me, ‘but Paul’s not here just now, and so that makes a difference.’ At the time I didn’t have the faintest idea of what she meant, but Alex explained later.

The food, local shellfish and beef from Northern Ireland… we were closer to the Irish mainland than to our point of departure… was outstanding, but the greatest memory I have of that night is one of enlightenment.

As I looked at my surroundings, at my companions, and considered how we’d got there, I felt an epiphany, a realisation that I’d been shown a world outside that in which I’d been immersed for the previous fifteen years, and by which I’d become completely consumed. The evening is locked away in the treasure chest of my mind like a movie shot in soft focus, and every so often I close my eyes, take it out, and replay it.

Later, when everyone else had turned in, leaving Alison and me alone on the afterdeck, I told her what I was feeling. My excitement of the morning had grown into an understanding that all things were possible, and that my life need not necessarily be set on a course that was unalterable. ‘I could do this,’ I said to her. ‘I could sell my place in Spain, buy a boat like this, and operate it commercially. It is possible. This is just, so different, so… so damn nice.’

She smiled. ‘And what about Alex? Do you think she’ll settle for a life as a boat girl?’

‘In four years’ time,’ I pointed out, ‘Alex will be gone, off to university, to study law, she says, at Glasgow, same as me. A friend of mine at the golf club once said to me that a son will never leave home, truly, until he marries, but with daughters, once they’re gone, they’re gone. They need their own space.’

‘I’ll grant you that,’ she conceded.

‘There you are then. When that happens, I will barely have cleared forty. I will be a relatively young man. I could do this.’

We were still talking about it after we’d turned in for the night; I gave free rein to my liberated imagination, while Alison stayed practical. ‘Bob, this is the Firth of Clyde,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s been lovely today, but wet and windy is the norm. I’ve been out in those conditions, you haven’t, and believe me, when the weather is rough, the last thing you want is the worry of bloody passengers.’

That didn’t put me off. ‘Okay, then we won’t charter it out. We’ll just live on it.’

She laughed. ‘You couldn’t, not all the time. You’d go mad.’

‘No I wouldn’t. If we didn’t take passengers, I would write. There are a couple of true crime books I could do right now, and who’s better prepared than the likes of me to do crime fiction? Or we could sail the bloody world, and do travel books. I could make television programmes.’

She laid a hand on my chest and kissed me. ‘Calm down, big boy,’ she whispered. ‘If wishes were horses we’d all get a ride.’

‘But we can. Maybe we have to, Ali. You talk about going mad; there’s a far greater chance of that happening if I stay in the job than if I leave it. I began this week looking at dead people, some left where they had been killed. I saw a man who’d been disembowelled, in his own home, his own fucking castle. On Thursday I interviewed a kid who’d been systematically crippled with a baseball bat, for reasons that still aren’t entirely clear to me. Later on that same day I had a confrontation with a guy who tried to pull a gun on me. I dealt with all that, love. I switched off from all the blood and the suffering, and I met the violence with greater violence. Then I went home to my daughter, and we had fish for tea. That is my life, and it’s yours; it’s how I live, it’s how you live. This weekend I’ve been shown a way of changing it, and you’re trying to talk me out of it?’

She stroked my cheek, my forehead, my hair. ‘No, lover, I’m not. If that’s how you feel and if that’s what you want, then I want it for you. But will you still want it on Monday morning? And what’s this “we” all of a sudden?’

‘Surely you can’t believe that I’d save my own life and leave you lost in the deep, dark jungle.’ I kissed her. ‘Besides, I’ll need someone to teach me how to sail the thing. Come away with me.’

‘Ask me again, when you’re really ready to do it.’

‘What will you say when I do?’

‘Surely you can’t believe that I’d let you head off into the sunset without a bloody clue how to set the sails?’

But I never did buy that damn boat. I never did ask her. If I had, I’d have saved her life. Ultimately she was someone else I betrayed.

My last great romantic vision endured through that night and into the morning. It stayed with me well into the afternoon, all through the cruise up the windward coast of Arran, and until we were within sight of Inverkip. For all that time, my mind was still set on sailing boats and sunsets.

And then my mobile sounded. I was in the cabin at the time, packing my bag. I retrieved it from the jacket I’d worn at the funeral, where it had spent the last two days. It was at the limit of its battery life, but there was just enough juice left for me to answer.

‘Bob, is that you?’

The voice threw me for a second or two, until I realised that it was Sergeant Payne. ‘Yes, Lowell, what’s up?’

‘I’ve done that checking up for you, on the McGrew family. It’s pretty much as reported in the Tizer. They lived in a house up Wellhall Road, past the Philips factory, a nice big place; a detached villa. The mother’s name was Violet, but there was never any dad around from when they moved in, and that was, oh, about fifteen years ago, when Alafair was at primary school. I had a chat with the neighbours, a Mr and Mrs Shearer; they say that she was a widow, left comfortably off by her late husband. She told them he had been “in business”, that was all. Violet died four years ago, when Alafair was about twenty, from cancer. The house was sold a couple of years later. The son kept it on for a while, then he left.’

‘She’s got a brother?’

‘Yes. He’s seven years older than she is. The Shearers had a lot of time for him.’

‘Did they give you his name?’

‘Yes, Peter.’

‘Anything else about him?’ I asked. ‘Do they know what he did for a living?’

‘Mr Shearer said that he joined the army after he left school. He came back home when his mother fell ill, but they hadn’t a real clue what he did when he lived there after that. Mrs Shearer did ask him once. He told her he was a company director, but no more than that. Their impression was that whatever it was, he worked from home, because he didn’t keep regular hours.’

Just as he finished, my battery gave out, so I couldn’t thank him for his help. But had he helped me? My gut told me that he had, but I couldn’t work out how. Alafair McGrew, the battered Alafair McGrew, had an ex-soldier brother. So was it possible that I’d been wrong about big Lennie? Had she turned to brother Peter, not Manson? Could Tony’s mumble about sending a message have been bullshit, to make me think that he was in charge of the situation? Men like him hate to lose face.

In my mind’s eye, a couple of bricks had moved, and begun to arrange themselves into a pattern. They were a long way from building anything solid, but it was a start, a move in the only direction I cared about, forward.

I didn’t admit it to myself then, but that’s when I knew that I wouldn’t buy that schooner, that I was what I was for a reason, and that I couldn’t run, walk, or sail away from myself.

I turned and saw Alison in the doorway. ‘Who was that?’ she asked.

‘Alex’s future uncle, with the result of a check I asked him to do for me. At the moment, it’s raised no more than a question, but it could turn into an answer to one of my puzzles.’

‘Mine too?’ she asked.

‘Sorry, no.’

She smiled. ‘That’s a pity. I’m not looking forward to that helicopter trip on Tuesday any more than you are.’

We went back into the marina under engine power and tied up. We all helped to make the schooner secure; once it was, I thanked Eden for the experience. ‘We’ll go further next time,’ he promised, ‘and maybe in more normal weather conditions. You’re not a real sailor until you’ve done a whole cruise in waterproofs.’

I made it back to Gullane just inside two hours from Inverkip. I asked Alison if she wanted to stay, but she’d run out of clothes, and also, she didn’t fancy another early start, so she headed back to Edinburgh. Before she left, I asked her to call Shell the next morning, and postpone the oil platform visit by a couple of days. Telfer would keep, and I had some digging to do. I started that evening. At the same course at the police college that John Govan had addressed, I’d met a little man who’d been introduced as Lieutenant Adam Arrow. He was there to talk to us about counter-terrorism; he’d been frank and some of the stories that he’d told had given us all a different slant on Northern Ireland, as well as opening our eyes to coming threats. He and I had bonded, after a fashion, and he’d given me a couple of numbers, office and mobile. As soon as Alex, as bushed after her weekend as I was, had gone to bed, I called him on the latter.

He took a few seconds to answer, time I guessed he was spending identifying my landline number. ‘Bob,’ he exclaimed when he did pick up. ‘How the fook are you?’ His Derbyshire accent tended to come and go, but it was genuine. ‘Who have you killed and what do you want us to clean up?’

‘It’s nice to know my phone isn’t tapped,’ I said.

‘Not by us, it isn’t. I can’t speak for other services, mind you.’

‘I don’t mind them hearing this. I’m looking for some background on a former army man. His name’s Peter McGrew, he’s Scottish, home town Hamilton, and I’m told his service began in the first half of the eighties and ended early nineties. That’s all I know about him.’

‘That should be enough, unless there are two of them. What’s he done?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, I hope. But his sister suffered a bit of domestic violence on my patch and now someone’s reshaped her husband’s legs. You might have read about it, since the guy’s a Scotland international footballer.’

‘That hit and run? Lad wi’ funny name?’

‘That’s the one,’ I confirmed. ‘No vehicle involved.’

‘A punishment beating? I wonder if the guy’s ever served in Ireland,’ he mused. ‘It wouldn’t look good if it came out that one of ours was copying the Provos.’

‘Don’t get too excited. There’s another strong suspect. Anyway, it won’t come out. The victim’s not going to change his story. I want to know the truth, that’s all, out of old-fashioned curiosity. It’s an itch that needs scratching.’

‘Then I will assuage it.’

Adam Arrow was always as good as his word. That was one of the things that kept us close to the very end. I made it into the office by a quarter to nine the next morning, to find a message on my desk, ‘Call Adam’, and a London number.

‘Got him,’ he said, as soon as he took my call. ‘Peter Hastings McGrew, date of birth fifteenth of March nineteen sixty-five… the fookin’ Ides of March, mate; beware… entered Sandhurst in eighty-three, commissioned one year later, served with the Tenth Gurkha Rifles until nineteen ninety-one, when he left the service shortly after being promoted captain.’

‘Excellent. Do you know where he is now?’

‘Not a fookin’ clue,’ he replied. ‘He could be anywhere in the world.’

‘But don’t your guys remain on reserve after they leave the service?’

‘Not this one. He had an accident while he was on exercise in Brunei. He severed a tendon in his left arm. As a result he can barely grip a cup of tea wi’ that hand, let alone a baseball bat. I’ve seen the medical report, Bob. If this bloke worked his brother-in-law over, then he did it one-handed.’

I sighed. My alternative theory had just gone up in smoke. ‘Thanks, mate,’ I said. ‘I owe you one.’

‘Be sure I’ll call it in one day,’ Arrow promised, and hung up.

I was still itching. I called Martin and McGuire into my office. ‘A job for you both,’ I told them. ‘I want information on a man called Peter McGrew, middle name Hastings, age thirty-one. He’s ex-army, ex-Gurkha Rifles, lived formerly in Hamilton, and he is Alafair Drysalter’s brother. I want to be fair to the family. Having spoken to her, I want to talk to him now. Andy, get on to the DVLA in Swansea. Let’s assume he has a driving licence; it’ll have an address on it. While you’re at it, find out if he owns a car; if he does, get its registration details. Mario, he told his former neighbours he was a company director. Phone Companies House. Give them his name, find out if that’s true, and if it is, what’s the company? On your bikes, lads.’

Computer systems weren’t nearly as advanced in those days as they are now, but they existed, and they worked. Martin was back to me first inside fifteen minutes. ‘He’s got a licence, boss, and there’s a car registered in his name. The address on both is in Wellhall Road, Hamilton.’

‘Fuck it!’ I snapped. ‘He hasn’t changed it.’

‘That’s an offence; we can do him for that.’ Martin smiled.

I didn’t. ‘What about the car?’

‘VW Golf GTI, black… what else?… registration L712FTG. He’s had it from new.’

‘That’s progress, Andy,’ I said.

‘Do you want me to put it on a watch list and have it pulled over on sight?’

‘We’ve got no reason to do that. Sit on it for now.’ I looked through the glass. McGuire was still on the phone, in deep discussion from the looks of things, but as we watched, he nodded a couple of times and hung up, then swung his chair round and headed for us, beaming.

‘Peter Hastings McGrew, boss,’ he began, almost before he was through the door, ‘is a director of several companies, all tying into a single holding company called Rodatrop plc. Together the group owns pubs all over Scotland, a casino in Glasgow, a video hire chain and three private hire and taxi businesses. McGrew is one of two directors of all the companies; the other’s his sister, Alafair Drysalter.’

I whistled.

‘It gets better,’ he laughed. ‘The companies were all set up two years ago, to acquire the assets of an earlier company, called Conan plc. Its sole director was one Perry Holmes. Even I know who he is.’

I leapt out of my chair. ‘Come on, you two boys, with me. Fred,’ I called to Leggat as we headed for the door, ‘we’re off out.’

We were in Frederick Street before McGuire ventured the question. ‘Where are we going, boss?’

‘You’re a detective, Mario,’ I chuckled. ‘You tell me.’

‘Back to see Alafair?’

‘Good try, but not yet. Andy?’

‘Register House.’

‘Nearly. In fact, it’s New Register House, but you’re on the right track.’

I parked in Register Place; on that occasion I did leave a ‘Police business’ card, with the force crest and the chief constable’s facsimile signature, showing on the dashboard. It wasn’t there to be abused, but it was easier than having tickets written off. I led the way round past the Cafe Royal and the Guildford Arms, where Charles Redpath had encountered Don Telfer, and through the front entrance of New Register House. It’s a fine edifice in its own right, although it was created by the Victorians as a mere overflow from, and is hidden behind, Robert Adam’s Register House, built in the previous century, a public building in which Scotland’s national archives are housed.

As a cop you make some professional friends, and if you’re wise you’ll keep them throughout your career. Jim Glossop was one of mine; I’d known him for ten years and during that time he’d cut a few corners for me. I asked for him at the front desk. As we waited, I explained to the boys the reason for our rush from Fettes. ‘When Violet McGrew and her kids lived in Hamilton, she led the neighbours to believe that she was a widow. Maybe that was true, but then again. ..’

‘Mob-handed, are we, Bob?’ Jim Glossop exclaimed, as he appeared through a door on my right.

‘New playmates. I thought they should meet you; Mario McGuire and Andy Martin, detective constables both. I need a parentage check, Jim. Two people, brother and sister: Peter Hastings McGrew, date of birth March fifteen, sixty-five, birthplace uncertain, and Alafair McGrew, no d.o.b. but she’s seven years younger than him. Mother’s name Violet, now deceased; I’d like to know who Daddy was… or rather, is.’

‘Or daddies,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re making an assumption.’

‘There’s a good reason for it,’ I assured him

He made a few notes on a small pad he was carrying. ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’

Rather than wait idly, we went for a stroll down into Princes Street. The two DCs spotted a sandwich stall and headed off in search of coffee; I went in the other direction, to a nearby book store. I was short on reading matter, so I picked up a couple of paperbacks; one of them was called Let It Bleed, a yarn featuring the latest adventure of a fictional Edinburgh cop who was beginning to gather attention. I didn’t know if he was based on a real-life character, but if he was, I’d worked with a few candidates.

I was a minute or two late returning; Jim and the boys were all waiting for me when I stepped into the foyer. ‘Results,’ my friend announced. He handed me two photocopied extracts. ‘Both children were born in Rottenrow, that’s the main maternity hospital in Glasgow. You were right, same father, but he and Miss McGrew never went through a marriage ceremony. Indeed, as you’ll see, they don’t appear to have lived at the same address.’

I turned my back on the trio and walked across to a corner. I closed my eyes for a second or two as I laid a private bet with myself, then opened them and stared at the top sheet, ignoring everything else and focusing only on the section headed ‘Father’s name and address.’ And there it was: I’d won my bet. Peter Hastings McGrew and Alafair McGrew were the children of one Peregrine Holmes, better known as Perry.

I was smiling as I faced my officers once more. I handed one of the extracts to each of them. ‘There you go, lads,’ I exclaimed. ‘The whole bloody world, me included, thought that Holmes disposed of all his dodgy businesses after he was shot, all the stuff that was linked to the drugs trade, the prostitution, the protection, the money laundering. But he didn’t; he simply transferred them to his kids, and nobody noticed. We thought he’d gone away, but he hasn’t.’

‘So where’s Peter?’ Martin asked.

‘That’s one question, but we’re cooking by gas here, lads, so let’s see if we can answer another first.’ I glanced at Jim, and took out my mobile. ‘Mind if I make a call?’

‘Not at all.’

I found McFaul’s number and called it, then jumped on him when he picked up. ‘Ciaran, Bob Skinner. I need to know something. The Seagull Hotel: I know there’s no CCTV coverage inside, but what about the car park?’

‘That’s the second thing we checked,’ he replied. ‘Yes, there’s a camera outside, but it’s no great help. People come and go all night, it’s poorly lit and the coverage isn’t complete.’

‘Be that as it may, can you access the tapes?’

‘There aren’t any. It records on to a computer hard disk, stores automatically for two weeks then deletes, a day at a time.’

‘In that case we’re within the window. Don’t get your hopes up, but I’d like you to look at the night we’re interested in for the following vehicle: a black VW Golf GTI, registration number L712FTG. See what you get.’

‘I’ll put people on it. Is this just a kite you’re flying, Bob?’

‘Some might call it that; I’d call it a fucking jumbo jet. Make sure they’re your best people.’

When I finished, Jim Glossop was beaming. ‘This sounds like proper police work,’ he said.

‘And we’re not done yet.’

‘In that case, I did this as well.’ He handed me a third photocopy. ‘It’s an extract of the father’s birth certificate. His parents were Peter Holmes, and Alafair Hastings. That shows you where the children’s names came from. Will that be useful too?’

‘It might be,’ I told him, ‘where we’re going with this. It could give me an edge. Thanks, mate; till the next time.’ I walked back out into the sunlight, my faithful followers close behind.

‘Where is next, boss?’ McGuire asked.

‘For you, lad, back to the office. I need you to try to pin down Peter Hastings McGrew, in case I can’t find him by other means. He’s ex-army, but they don’t know where he is. You’ve got his date of birth, so start with the DSS; they’ll have his national insurance number and a contributions record. It might take you straight to him, but if not, go to British Telecom, and look for subscribers with that name. His car’s taxed, so it should be insured. By which company? Find out. Then there’s the electoral registers…’ I stopped; he nodded. ‘I’ll drop you at the office,’ I told him, ‘then Andy and I will go to the Murrayfield. I need to pay another visit to young Mr Drysalter. There’s something I have to ask him, and he might even know where Peter is, save us some time. He should be back in the land of the half awake by now.’

He was, but not much more than that; his eyes were still heavy from sedation. The doctor on duty had been hesitant about letting us see him, indeed he’d refused at first, then relented when I’d threatened to call Mr Jacobs. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said. ‘The man’s having a hard time. We have to move his knees every so often, and you can imagine, with the fractures, that’s a painful process.’

‘I hope the physios aren’t Hearts supporters,’ I muttered.

‘Oh no,’ Derek Drysalter sighed when we walked into his room. ‘Not again. Look, whatever you say, I’m not changing my statement.’ The nursing staff had him out of bed, but on a chair with his legs in huge hinged splints, propped on stools and supported by pillows. It was the best they could do, but it didn’t look close to comfortable.

I sat on the edge of his bed and looked down at him. ‘I don’t care about your fucking statement, Derek,’ I told him. ‘Anyway, you’d be wasting your time if you did change it, and ours, for we’d never get a conviction against the guy who worked you over. All I want is the answer to one simple question. When you found out that Alafair was planning an away trip while you were off on international duty, did you go crying to anyone? Specifically, did you go crying to your father-in-law?’ I leaned forward. ‘Don’t lie to me on this, Derek. Don’t even let that idea cross your befuddled mind. You’re not important. This is. What future you have left could ride on you telling me the truth right now.’

He turned his head away, looked out of the window and muttered something.

‘I didn’t hear that.’

‘Yes!’ he cried out. ‘Yes I did. I phoned Perry.’

I moved round to face him ‘What did you say to him?’

‘I told him Alafair was doin’ my head in, and I asked him, please, if he’d fucking talk to her.’

‘How did he react?’

‘He told me to leave it with him, that was all.’

‘How long have you and Alafair been married?’ I asked.

‘Just over a year.’

‘How long had you known her before that?’

‘Seven or eight months.’

‘Did she tell you right away who her father was?’

‘No. I didn’t even know she had a father. She told me she’d been brought up by her mother, and that she was dead. She never told me about him till after the wedding. He’d just moved into his new house.’ He snorted. ‘House? Private nursing home, more like. She took me up there one day, in the close season, and introduced me to him. Poor bastard; spoon-fed by the one guy, lifted and turned and all his tubes changed by the other. He’s game, though, Perry. He’s still got a smile about him.’

‘Do you see him often?’

He nodded. ‘I go there about once a month, just to say hello. I feel sorry for him. I take him videos of the Hibs games; the club films them all, for training. At first both of us went, but lately it’s just been me. I think he and Alafair fell out about something.’

‘Has he ever told you how he wound up in his wheelchair?’

‘No, but Alafair did. She said that a business rival tried to kill him.’

‘Mmm,’ I murmured. ‘And did she tell you what happened to that so-called rival?’

‘Yes, your lot shot him, didn’t they?’

‘Well now, that’s not exactly true, but never mind. Tell me, Derek,’ I continued, ‘when did things start to go wrong between you and her?’

‘Oh,’ he drawled, lazily, ‘it must have taken all of a couple of months. She started to complain about being left on her own when I had to train, then when I was away on Scotland trips. After that it was my gambling, although she never minded when I took her to the casino. I know why that was now. Her and Tony bloody Manson.’ He frowned. ‘When I get back on my feet…’

‘You’ll what? Derek, these people are in a different world from you. What you should do when you get back on your feet is go and take a coaching qualification, or get a nice job as a TV pundit. You got off with your life. Leave it at that.’

He made a derisive noise. ‘Hmmph! That’s easy for you to say.’

‘You’re right,’ I agreed. ‘It’s easy because I don’t want to be there when they fish you out of the sea. I don’t want to be walking past those new offices at the west end wondering which one you’re underneath.’ I felt a burst of real sympathy for the poor naive lad. ‘You’re in an alien world, mate. You’re mixed up with some very bad people. You’ve already seen what Manson can do to people who upset him. Well, let me explain this to you in football terms. Tony’s a first division player, sure, but Perry, your wife’s old man, he is premier league.’

He stared at me, wide-eyed, and then laughed in my face. ‘Perry? You’re kidding. He’s a property developer.’

‘Yes, and Mussolini was an MI5 agent: so what? Derek, you must have friends in newspapers.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, you get one of them… the Saltire would probably be the best source… to let you see its file on Perry, the stuff they’ve printed and the stuff they can’t.’ I stopped. ‘Do it if you can be bothered, but Perry isn’t the reason I’m here. You’ve answerd one of my questions. This is the other. Where can I find your brother-in-law?’

He blinked and shook his head, as if he was trying to clear it. ‘He’s in fucking Swindon, and so’s my sister, and so are their kids. But what’s Jamie got to do with any of this?’

‘I wasn’t talking about him, Derek. I meant your wife’s brother.’

‘What the hell are you talking about, man? Alafair doesn’t have a brother.’

‘Oh, but she does.’

‘Then I have never met him, and she’s never mentioned him. Neither has Perry. And that’s the God’s honest truth.’ It was, too. He was beginning to realise how far out of his depth he was, and he was scared. ‘Look, go away, please,’ he begged.

‘We will,’ I said. ‘But you don’t want to be on your own. Do you have parents?’

He nodded. ‘My mum and dad. They live in Falkirk; that’s where I started out. They’re just ordinary people, though.’

‘So are you, Derek.’ He really was a sad figure. ‘Shame, but that’s how it is now. You want my advice? Stick close to your folks, and to your football club; they’re the only ones who’ll look after you. Forget you ever knew the crew you’ve been mixing with.’

Martin and I left him to it. The DC said nothing until we were out in the car park. There he ventured, ‘Sorry, sir, but where are we on this?’

‘Wait till we make our next call,’ I told him. ‘If I’m right, it’ll become clear then. Fettes first, though.’

We headed back to the office. When we got there, McGuire was looking more downhearted than I’d seen him. ‘I’m getting nowhere, boss.’ I hadn’t expected that we would need his research, but now that we did, I wasn’t too surprised by what he told me. ‘Peter McGrew’s not on the phone, his NI contributions are in arrears, and he’s not registered to vote anywhere that I’ve found. He’s vanished.’

There was no good news from Newcastle either, but there was a note on my desk from Fred Leggat passing on a message from, of all people, Tony Manson, letting me know that Marlon Watson’s funeral had been set for the following afternoon, a burial in Seafield Cemetery.

It was almost lunchtime, but I wasn’t hungry. I sent the boys off to eat, then called Alison. ‘Fate is on my side,’ I told her. ‘It doesn’t want me to get on that helicopter.’ When I told her what had come in the way, she understood; she knew it was my practice to attend the funerals of murder victims in cases I was working.

As it happened, it didn’t matter. ‘Fate’s working for you on two fronts,’ she said. ‘The Met Office have given the North Sea operators a bad weather warning for Wednesday, and possibly Thursday as well. All routine flights to platforms have been cancelled.’

‘I can smell another weekend on the water looming up for us.’

She laughed. ‘I thought that was on the cards anyway. I’ve been expecting you to take me looking at boats.’

‘We’ve got four years to wait, remember, but I suppose we could start with something small.’ What a difference a day made. Less than twenty-four hours before I hadn’t been joking.

She went all Robert Burns on me. ‘ Nae man can tether time or tide ,’ she quoted. ‘When I see you try, I’ll stop believing that, but not before.’

I couldn’t come up with a poetic counter. ‘Until then you could take up golf,’ I suggested.

‘You’ll roast me on a spit first,’ she replied, cheerfully. ‘How did Lowell’s tip play out?’ she asked.

‘Pure gold, my love, pure gold.’

‘Stop calling me that, it’s unsettling. I’m glad you’re still moving forward, for I’m bloody stuck. If you were being objective, you’d have removed me from the investigation by now.’

‘Alastair Grant would love me to do that,’ I chuckled. ‘He can wait, though. You just need a bit of good fortune. Tell you what, you can swap Hugh Grant’s kid brother for McGuire if you like. He’s my lucky charm just now. Cherchez la femme indeed.’

As I hung up, I felt the first pangs of hunger. There was still time to go up to the big boys’ dining room. That seemed like a good idea, but just as I rose from my chair, my mobile sounded.

No preliminaries. ‘I’ve got your car, sir,’ Ciaran McFaul announced. ‘It’s a shit camera, but there’s a clear shot of it arriving at eleven twenty-three, and leaving eleven minutes later. The driver’s a lean guy, and judging by his height against the vehicle, he’s around six feet. There is no chance of an identification, though. He’s wearing a black garment with a hood, SAS-style.’

‘That figures. Thanks, Ciaran.’

‘I should be thanking you,’ he said. ‘This is our investigation you’re working on. I want to be involved from now on, sir.’ He sounded serious. I sensed that I might be on the way to being sandwiched between two warring chief constables, but there was still the major problem of the earlier leak.

I stalled him. ‘Let me think about it.’

‘What’s to think about? You know who the man is, don’t you?’

‘I know who owns the car,’ I admitted, ‘but… Look, the same man is most probably responsible for ordering a murder here. I’m still staking a prior claim to him.’

‘I should be there, nonetheless,’ he insisted.

When I thought about it he was right, but not on procedural grounds. He had information and if he took it into his own inquiry, might word not get back to the other side, as quickly as it had before? But what if McFaul was the leak himself? Shit!

I made a decision; I had to trust somebody. ‘Okay,’ I agreed, ‘but this is how it’s going to work. Who’s viewed this recording with you?’

‘Nobody,’ he replied. ‘I’m at the hotel now, on my own.’

‘Then get in your car and drive straight up here. Come to my office in police headquarters. Come on your own, and don’t tell anyone. When you get here you can phone your boss and tell him that you’ve had a tip about something, anything, I don’t give a fuck what but not this investigation, and that you need to go undercover.’

‘Are you kidding?’ He laughed, incredulously. ‘He’ll skin me. Why the hell should I do that?’

‘Because I haven’t located this guy yet, and I don’t want him to be tipped off before I do, as he has been once before.’

‘Hey,’ he snapped, ‘are you saying-’

‘Shut up. I’m telling you what happened, but I’m not blaming anyone, not yet. That’s the deal. That’s what I want you to do. I’m trying to reach out here and grab the untouchable, and nobody is going to get in the way, or I’ll be grabbing them. If you’re coming, drive; if you’re not, keep your fucking mouth closed in your office. Which is it to be?’

I listened to the silence as he made up his mind. ‘Have you got a job for me in your CID,’ he asked, ‘if I get busted back to uniform?’

I chuckled softly. He was what I liked, detective first, cop second. ‘Ciaran, I’ll find a slot here for you regardless, if you want it.’

‘In that case, I’ll see you in three hours, maybe less if the tunnel’s flowing smoothly.’

It was the best solution I could devise. Cross-border wrangles are always a pain, but I knew that I’d have to involve my English colleagues sooner or later, leak or no leak. Inviting McFaul to join me was a step towards that, and the way I’d done it took him out of play for up to three hours, time enough, possibly, to run Peter McGrew to ground.

Holmes’s son might have proved elusive, but he existed and I had something to pin on him. There was no way he could know it either at that stage, and that worked to my advantage. But to arrest him, I had to find him. How to do that? Yes, I could have driven up to Perry Holmes’s place and demanded that he hand over his secret son. Sure, and that would have got me precisely nowhere. But maybe I wouldn’t need to.

My next stop was Blackford Hill, back to see Alafair. I suspected that it might be more confrontation than conversation, so I decided to take a female officer along. But which one? The closest was DC Shannon, Alf Stein’s gopher. I called him and asked if he could spare her.

‘Christ,’ he grumbled. ‘What is it with Serious Crimes just now? I’ve had your secondee Higgins on looking for her, not just once but twice, mind you… and Grant’s giving me grief about his DI being away from his team. Now you’re wanting Dottie as well?’

He was in ‘awkward old bastard’ mode, but I levered him out of it by telling him what had happened in my investigation and why I wanted her.

‘Holmes has kids?’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s a fucking dy-nasty?’ (He’d been a fan of the TV series and mangled the word as it had.) ‘Sure, you can have her. It sounds like a good cause.’

I had planned to go up to Blackford in the Discovery as usual, but I changed my mind, and commandeered a marked police vehicle instead, complete with blue light. That’s never been my favourite mode of transport but I felt that it suited the circumstances. I didn’t want to turn up quietly at Alafair Drysalter’s door, not for a second time. I let Martin drive, with DC Shannon in the back. I knew her well enough since I was a regular in her boss’s office, but she and Martin had never met before. Each seemed fairly impressed by the other.

Alafair had remembered to lock the gates. I had to press the entryphone button. ‘Yes?’ She sounded annoyed, impatient.

‘Police,’ I announced. ‘Detective Superintendent Skinner and colleagues.’

‘Oh, go away, will you!’ she shouted.

‘We’re coming in, one way or another,’ I told her evenly. ‘So choose the easy option.’

After a few seconds, she did. There was a buzz, Martin pushed the gate and it opened. The Afghans were in the garden. They came bounding up to us, barking, their long, high-maintenance coats flying. They’d lost whatever hunter instincts the breed was supposed to have. They were friendly, designer pooches that would have been as much use as guard dogs as the hamster I’d bought Alex when she was six. Shannon made a fuss of them and they fell in with us as we walked up to the door.

Alafair was waiting for us, on the threshold. Any traces of her bruising was covered by make-up, her hair was salon set, and she wore a gold lounge suit that made me think of Hello! magazine. ‘What the hell’s this?’ she snapped. ‘Three this time? Look, I don’t give autographs, okay. Where’s the other young guy? He was nice.’

‘This is his day for helping old ladies across the street,’ I replied. ‘Or for taking young ones off it. Invite us in. You need to talk to us.’

‘Like hell I do,’ she retorted, ‘but if you insist, come on. Sasha, Pasha, you stay.’ The dogs fell back, obediently.

The house was the type that estate agents were once fond of describing as ‘architect designed’, all flashy features, but not, at first sight, comfortable. The room into which she led us was enormous: one wall was all glass, a picture window, with doors set in it, that looked up towards the Royal Observatory, and there was an upper level that the sales brochure might have called the ‘Minstrel Gallery’. The furniture was there to be admired rather than for comfort.

‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘Why are you hassling me? Have you found the driver yet?’

‘There was no driver, Alafair, as you know very well. Now it’s my turn to ask you a question. Has Tony told you about Marlon?’

‘Who the hell is Marlon?’

‘His driver. A lad about your own age. Solidly built kid, not too smooth, very Edinburgh. I’m guessing he might have picked you up sometimes when you were going to meet Manson. I don’t imagine the Ibiza trip was your only encounter.’

He tossed her head back. ‘Ah,’ she said, airily, hamming it up like the failed actress she was. ‘That boy. Was that his name? What about him?’

‘He’s rather dead, I’m afraid.’

That wasn’t in the script. ‘What do you mean?’ she exclaimed.

‘I mean he’s not breathing any more,’ I snapped. ‘I mean he’s starting to go off. I mean he’s in a box, paid for by Tony for sure, waiting to be put in a hole in the ground. Is there anything about being dead that you don’t understand?’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dorothy Shannon flinch, but I was off and running. ‘Your question should have been “How did he die?” Answer, somebody killed him. Next question, “But why, the poor boy?” Answer, because of you!’

‘Me?’ she squealed; ex tempore she was lousy.

‘Yes, Alafair, you.’ I took my voice back down to normal. ‘This is how it happened. You’d been playing about with Manson for a while, and maybe others but I’m only concerned with him. He asked you to go with him for a week to Ibiza, while your husband was away with his international mates. You agreed, but then you did something fairly stupid… the norm for you, I imagine… and Derek found out. He didn’t have the nuts to face you about it, so he called your dad, the father-in-law that he thinks is a nice guy, Perry, Mr Holmes.’ The make-up changed shade as the skin beneath it paled.

‘He asked him for help, and your dad in turn asked you what you were playing at. You told him it was none of his business. He asked you who you were playing with, you told him, and you probably said there was nothing he could do about it, the poor old quadriplegic cripple.’ I paused.

‘Good, you’re not contradicting me. I’ve got it right. Now,’ another pause, ‘here’s what happened next. Your dad can’t move much, but he’s still got a long arm. He reached out, to an old associate in Newcastle, and he hired two men, thugs, brutes, musclemen. They came up to Edinburgh, they got hold of Marlon, and they killed him. I spent some time thinking they were trying to get information from him, but I don’t believe that any more. I reckon they just killed him, pure and simple, to order. You see, Manson himself is too difficult a target, and he might also be too financially important to your dad to be killed. But the word was sent. “Play around with my nearest and dearest and this is what happens to yours.” So act your way out of that one, kid. You indulged yourself, and a boy died. How does it feel, Alafair?’

She sat down, abruptly, on one of her designer chairs, then reached out for a box on a table, and found a cigarette and a lighter. I took them from her. ‘Not while I’m in the room, please. I detest the habit.’ I did and I always will, but that was a… a smokescreen, if you like; at that moment I didn’t want her finding any crumb of comfort.

‘What do you want me to say?’ she murmured. ‘Because I won’t. I know whose daughter I am, Mr Skinner.’

‘Yes, I thought you might. But know what? There’s another twist. I don’t believe that Derek slapping you around had anything to do with him being attacked. Way I see it, Perry sent Tony a message, and Tony sent him one back. Christ, he told me as much, before I really knew why. Now they’re quits and Manson won’t be lifting your skirts again, lady.’

‘Tough,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t be missing much.’

‘The story’s not done yet, though,’ I told her. ‘The Newcastle guys were sloppy. They used a traceable van and we got on to them. Your father found out about that. It was a problem for him; if we caught these men, and they talked… you can see, can’t you? So he took action, and now they’re dead too. You might not have had a memorable shag with old Tony, but it sure had consequences.’

She snatched the fag and the Zippo from my hand and lit up. I opened the glass doors.

‘Thanks,’ she said, tight-lipped, and it wasn’t for the fresh air. ‘I didn’t know any of that, apart from the first bit, about Derek crying to my dad, instead of setting his football team on Tony. But even if it’s true, I won’t help you.’

‘Have you always been so fucking self-centred?’ I asked her. ‘You’d be no use to us as a witness. I’m not interested in you, Alafair. It’s your brother I want. Your dad couldn’t have done all that stuff on his own. He can’t even make a phone call unaided any more. In the old days your Uncle Alasdair was his executive arm, so to speak. Now he’s dead. And so’s Johann Kraus, the guy who did the really messy stuff for your father and uncle. So your brother’s had to take everything on himself. I can place him at the murder scene on Tyneside: I know he killed those three guys. I need you to tell me where I can find him now.’

She shook her head. ‘No chance. Anyway, Hastie’s not like that. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.’

‘He couldn’t do what? He’s an ex-soldier; Christ, he’s trained to do that sort of work. Your big brother killed two men in cold blood, close up, and then he found the third and ripped…’ And then it hit me. ‘What did you call him?’

She saw my confusion and knew that she’d made a huge mistake. She realised how, too, and tried to back off from it. ‘Nothing. I said Peter, his name’s Peter.’

But it was out there. It was in the room. ‘Peter Hastings McGrew, Hastings after your granny. You called him Hastie, because that’s his family name. I’ve met him, I’ve even bloody met him!’ I shouted to the room. ‘He’s hiding in plain sight. He’s your dad’s nurse.’

She took a huge drag on her cigarette. ‘Okay!’ she screamed. ‘Now go! Fuck off!’

‘We’re going, don’t worry, but you’re coming with us. I’m detaining you for formal questioning about a conspiracy to murder. DC Shannon, take Mrs Drysalter out to the car. Cuff her if you have to.’

She kicked up hell about her dogs. She kicked up hell all the way to Fettes. I arranged for Sasha and Pasha to be taken to the boarding kennels where they’d been housed while she’d been in Ibiza with lover boy, and I gave her a kennel all to herself when we got back to headquarters. I’d had a legitimate excuse for taking her in, but I had no illusions about being able to hold her. I didn’t need to do that anyway; I wanted only to keep her quiet until I could arrange a visit to her father.

I gathered the team and briefed them. Alf Stein came down to join us after I’d told him what had happened. ‘Who’s normally in the house, other than Holmes and the man you believe is his son?’ the DCS asked.

‘Housekeeper, chef and a personal assistant,’ I replied, ‘but they’re background. Then there’s the masseur, Vanburn.’

‘Is he really a masseur?’

‘He’s big enough to be muscle,’ I conceded, ‘but I’d say he’s for real. Holmes genuinely does need specialised care.’ I pointed to Adam. ‘Jeff, your wife’s a nurse, isn’t she? What’s her governing body?’

‘The Royal College of Nursing.’

‘Then get in touch with them and run the name Vanburn past them. It could be surname or forename, I don’t know which. See if he’s registered with them.’

Alf frowned. ‘How do you want to play this, Bob?’

‘I don’t have time to be subtle, gaffer. I want to put men at the back of the property to block any exit that way and then I plan to drive straight up there, four of us, me, Jeff, Andy and Mario, at speed. But, I’ve been in there, and I can tell you the place has a shit-hot security system. The guys at the back can’t be too close or they’ll trigger movement sensors. So when we’re ready to go in, I want the power cut off.’

‘Are you going armed?’ the boss asked.

‘We’re after an ex-soldier who’s killed three people,’ I reminded him. ‘I’ll be carrying, and so will Jeff. I’ve seen him on the range.’

Alf frowned. ‘Do you really want two young unarmed officers with you in that situation?’

It was a good point; I recognised the hazard. ‘No, sir, you’re right. I don’t want to be looking anywhere but straight ahead.’

‘Sensible. In that case, they stay back and I’m coming.’

I stared at him. ‘With respect, sir,’ I began. ‘I know you’re trained to handle a gun, but can I suggest that you take a look at yourself in a full-length mirror, then turn sideways.’

DCS Stein peered back at me. ‘Are you saying I’m a fat bastard?’ he murmured.

‘Let’s just say you used to be faster on your feet than you are now.’

He sighed. ‘Aye, you might be right there. I don’t like leading from the back, Bob, that’s all.’ He grinned. ‘I could always go in front and you and DS Adam could hide behind me, then step out and shout “Surprise!” That would make Holmes jump right out of his fucking wheelchair.’

The laughter broke the tension, and an option occurred. ‘I can pull in Brian Mackie,’ I determined. ‘He’s our top marksman. Any more than three and we’d be in danger of shooting each other.’ I paused. ‘But back to this security camera problem.’

‘There’s a problem with cutting off the power,’ Fred Leggat said. ‘It would be tricky to do it selectively. You might wind up cutting off the whole of Lothianburn and Straiton. Even then you couldn’t be sure it would work. A good security system will have back-up power that takes over within a couple of seconds.’

He was right; even my home alarm had a back-up battery. ‘In that case we’ve got a real difficulty. It’s quite a long way up to Holmes’s house. On my previous visit, judging by the time it must have taken the guy Vanburn to get from what they call the receiving area to the door, and how long it took me to get there, the cameras must have picked me up almost as soon as I’d turned in off the road.’

‘So?’ a voice from the doorway broke in. ‘Why don’t you simply drop in on him? Don’t you have a traffic helicopter in this part of the world? Land it right on the guy’s lawn.’

Six pairs of eyes swung round to look at the intruder. I laughed; Martin smiled. ‘Our friend from the south. Guys, this is DI McFaul, from Newcastle, who thinks he has first claim on our target. Yes, Ciaran, we have a chopper. Are you qualified with a pistol?’ He nodded. ‘In that case your reward for being a clever bugger is that you’ll be on it.’ I looked at Alf. ‘Boss, that rules you out, I’m afraid. We don’t have time to fit extra fuel tanks.’

For all his bulk, the head of CID could make things happen quickly when all that was needed was a phone. The operation was set up and ready to go in an hour. We’d even sourced a drawing from the local authority planning department showing the layout of the place. There was no rear driveway. That made things simpler: no getaway option. There were woods behind the house, accessible from the adjoining estate, and uniformed officers were on the way there, to cut off any escape route. I still had one logistical problem to solve, though; a personal one. Daisy Mears had an exhibition opening that evening in a gallery in Dunbar, and dinner afterwards with the owner and his wife. I called my fallback, privately.

‘Of course,’ Alison said, when I asked her. I didn’t go into detail, or mention firearms; I told her that something had come up and I was committed, that was all. ‘It’s not a problem. I take it that Alex has keys.’

‘Yes, she has. And she knows the alarm combination.’ Something came into my head, and I released it. ‘You should have a set too. In fact, when you go out, why don’t you take a suitcase and leave some clothes in the wardrobe. It’ll make it easier.’

She laughed, softly. ‘And a toothbrush in your jar?’

‘That too. You can even use my toothpaste.’

‘As long as it has stripes. When can I expect you?’

‘Dunno. I’ll let you know when I’m on the way home.’

‘Do that. Good luck with whatever it is, and take some good news with you. Things have moved on in my, your other, investigation. You won’t have to go in that helicopter after all.’

That’s what you think, I whispered, just as I hung up.