For The Death Of Me

38

I went back to Edinburgh with Ellie next morning, but not before I’d gone down to the Old Course with Jonny, to meet his employer for the day, and to walk the first few holes with them. He was a nice lad, and he welcomed the attention; he even welcomed the early-duty photographers who spotted me and focused on us. I apologised, but he told me not to be worried. ‘My sponsors will love it,’ he said.

Being a youngster, playing with two other young Americans, he had an early time, but that suited me, since I’d been up with the lark; in fact, slightly before the chirpy wee bastard.

I hadn’t been alone. ‘Who were you calling in the middle of the night?’ Jonny asked me, as we strode down the first, after the boss’s opening six-iron. He’d asked my nephew what he should hit; like an old pro caddy, the lad just took the club from the bag and handed it to him. ‘Leave yourself a full wedge,’ he’d said.

‘America,’ I told him. ‘Business.’

‘At five in the morning? I’ll need to talk to Aunt Susie about you. She needs to get you under control.’

He was dead right. I left them on the fifth tee, at which point Jonny’s boss was two under par, and headed back for breakfast.

When we reached the Western General two and a half hours later, Harvey was sitting up in bed. His eyes were blackening up nicely and his cracked ribs meant that he couldn’t get comfortable, whatever way he tried, but otherwise he was fine, back to his normal self.

‘Well,’ he said, greeting us. ‘Bloody Trevor, eh? Stupid lad. I just had the Lord President on the phone: he’s absolutely livid and is insisting that he be charged with gross contempt. I tried to intercede, but he’s adamant’ He looked at me. ‘Why did he do it, Oz? All to do with Maddy, I expect.’

‘Yes, as far as I can see, she’s blaming us for disturbing her happy life.’

‘Silly bitch. Is there anything more we can do to help her?’

‘I’ve got someone working on it. You forget about it, though, you’ve got an installation to prepare for, and a practice to wind up.’

‘Yes, indeed. The LP told me that the announcement’s been accelerated, in view of what happened. It’s being made this morning. God knows what Madeleine will do when she reads about it’

I grinned at him; couldn’t help it. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be the top item on the news in Ho Chi Minh City, Harvey.’

I left the two of them there, eventually, and went out to Crewe Road to look for a taxi. I had no clear idea where I wanted to go, but finally when one stopped I was forced to it. I decided on Ricky Ross’s office and gave the driver his address. Ricky was with a client, but his secretary was happy to lend me a desk and a phone. I began by calling a travel agent to book a scheduled one-way flight to Nice. Eventually he found me one that left at six thirty and got me there at midnight; it meant going to Frankfurt again, but I booked it anyway.

Next I called Alison Goodchild at her office and told her that the threat to Harvey was probably still active, but that if it happened the family reaction was going to be ‘So fucking what?’ as politely and eloquently as she cared to put it.

Finally I dug out the list of numbers I had acquired over the previous few days and called Janine Raymond, Madeleine’s mum. She really did sound like a vicar’s daughter, very soft-spoken, very polite and very sorry for Harvey when I explained to her what had happened to him.

She sounded sad, but not surprised. ‘My younger children have been a great disappointment to me as adults, Mr Blackstone,’ she admitted. ‘I rarely see or hear from either of them.’

I didn’t tell her how much trouble Maddy was in, but asked when she had last been in touch.

‘I had a postcard from Singapore three months ago,’ she said. ‘Thankfully, Theresa is everything a daughter should be. She calls me every weekend without fail, and we see each other twice every year. It’s a pity she’s so far away.’

‘Where is she, Mrs Raymond?’ I asked.

‘New Jersey,’ she replied. ‘She has a chair in philosophy at Princeton University. I go there every Thanksgiving; it’s a lovely place, not like you expect America to be.’

I left it at that: if I’d pressed her for a phone number she’d have twigged that I hadn’t just called her to tell her the bad news about Trevor.

I was at a loose end, for the first time in a couple of weeks, but fortunately, before I could get up to any mischief, Ross came back from his meeting and announced that he was taking me for an early lunch. I was expecting the Doric Tavern, or the New York Steam Packet, but I must be a good client for he forked out for Oloroso, on the roof of the building at the corner of Castle Street and George Street.

We were able to eat outside: good, in that the weather was kind enough to allow it, but bad, in that it means the mobile-phone reception is full strength. It was like a pop concert up there; however good the food was, it was beginning to get on my tits, till Ricky’s cell played a tune that sounded suspiciously like the chorus of ‘The Ball o’ Kirriemuir’. He laid down a forkful of distressed spinach or some such, and answered its summons.

‘Indeed,’ he said, then nodded and muttered for about half a minute, until he looked at me. ‘Yes, he’s here.’ He passed the phone across. ‘Ollie Coffey.’

‘Oz,’ said my former colleague. ‘I’ve got some more on the fugitive lady.’

That got my attention. I hadn’t really expected him to come up with anything, for he’s pretty low down in the food chain of the intelligence community. ‘Do tell,’ I invited.

‘She caught a plane from Ho Chi Minh to Tokyo, about two hours after she called her brother on Wednesday. There, she boarded another flight to Los Angeles, which got her in yesterday morning local time, yesterday evening BST. The only problem is she doesn’t appear to have got off. Madeleine January boarded the flight at Narita Airport, but she didn’t fill in a US landing card or Customs declaration.’

‘So she’s got two passports.’

‘She must have. Given time, the US immigration service will be able to come up with the name under which she was admitted, but LAX is a hell of a big airport and they don’t have a lot of time on their hands.’

‘She’s gone anyway. That’s eighteen hours ago.’

‘Yes, but,’ DCI Coffey had the air of a man who was desperately pleased with himself, ‘about half an hour ago, her brother’s cell-phone rang. The detective constable on whose desk it was sat at the time showed remarkable initiative. He answered it, told the female caller that Trevor was in the bog and that he’d left his phone. He told her to call back in ten minutes, then hung up before she had a chance to ask who the hell he was. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Right, so we then take the phone to Trevor’s cell. By this time, he’s worked out that his brief had better have something to offer the judge in mitigation, and also, I think, that we’re the good guys. So he plays along. He tells her that everything’s kosher and he’s still in England, and he keeps her on the line so that we can pinpoint the origin of the call. . the fatal weakness of cell-phones, as you probably know. It was made from the Shoreham Hotel, number thirty-three West Fifty-fifth Street, New York City.’

‘Yes!’ I hissed. ‘Ollie, that selection panel was right: they did pick the right guy for the accelerated promotion course. Thanks, mate, the fucking Milky Bars are on me. Plus, you are now owed a big-time favour by a High Court judge, which you can put in the bank for future use. Cheers, mate.’

I closed the phone and tossed it back across the table to Ricky, then fished my own from my pocket. Ten minutes later my Nice flight was cancelled and I was on the two-ten British Airways shuttle to Heathrow, connecting to JFK. I’d brought enough bloody luggage for two nights, maximum, and I was going to New York: happily I also had all my credit cards and fifty thousand in readies, which for some blessed reason I’d brought with me, possibly because Susie’s parting words, not entirely in jest, had been ‘Don’t come back until you’ve found this woman and got her out of our bloody lives!’