Gallery Whispers

39

a 'I should have asked you before. How was the hot date, then?' Leaning against the wall of the small office, Karen Neville looked at McGuire.

He wore a mischievous grin.

'Cool, actually. He was nearly half-an-hour late, then when we started to get to know each other, he turned out to be gay.'

The inspector gasped in surprise. 'What? Him and the bloke in the wheelchair, you mean?'

'I asked him that. No, they're just friends, apparently, from their younger days. I don't think Dennis is up to any sort of nookie these days, straight or bent, from what Wayne told me. He has to lift him in and out of bed, and on and off the toilet — unless it's disabled-friendly, that is. Plus he has to help him dress, bath and everything.'

'Where are they living? In one of the big hotels?'

'No. The University found them a serviced flat that's been specially fitted out for handicapped people.'

'Whereabouts?'

'Down in Canonmills, Wayne said. I think I know where it is. At least I hope I do. I'm picking him up from there tomorrow night.'

'What? But you just said he was…'

She smiled. 'In which case you don't have to worry about me giving away secrets in the heat of passion, will you, Mario. Anyway, he's a nice guy, good company and if he's only in the market for friendship… well, that makes a nice change from the usual.' She paused, and blushed slightly. 'Plus, I told him I was gay first. I thought if I did it might avoid complications.'

McGuire laughed out loud, drawing a stem look from the customs officer across the room. 'Jesus.' He shook his head.

'Inspector,' the customs man called out. 'The people from the Amsterdam flight should begin coming through in a minute. We'll check the non-EU passport holders at that desk there.' He pointed through a one-way window which looked out on to a narrow corridor.

'Apart from the four cards that were drawn to your attention by the Dutch people, there have been six more completed during this flight, five of them by males.'

McGuire and Neville crossed the room to stand beside him. 'We've seen a lot of your unit out here in the last few days,' the officer said, casually. 'Is there a major alert?'

'Just business as usual,' McGuire murmured, as the first passenger, a tiny Arab, wearing a headdress, made his way to the passport control point. He was swaying slightly, as if he had spent too long in the bar at Schiphol.

'Hmm,' the man grunted moodily. 'Meaning "mind your own business", I suppose.'

McGuire treated him to his most dazzling smile. 'Absolutely,' he said.

'That's nice. We are on the same team, after all.'

'No we're not,' the policeman murmured. 'You'd nick me in a minute if I was out there with a extra bottle of duty free…' He pointed through the glass at the Arab, who was almost weighed down to the ground by the polythene bag which he was carrying. '… just like that bloke there.'

'What?' exclaimed the customs officer. 'Excuse me for a moment, please.' He hurried from the room.

Left alone, McGuire and Neville looked on in silence as one by one, the passengers who had completed landing cards were checked through. Three were Asians, one had an arm missing: none bore the remotest resemblance to any of the Hawkins photofit treatments.

'You know, Karen,' said the inspector, as they made their way out of the Edinburgh Airport terminal building and headed for the car park, "I am beginning to get just a wee bit bored by this surveillance.

Just ever so slightly.'

'I know how you feel.'

'Huh,' he chuckled. 'At least you've got something out of it — even if he is bent.'