Who is She?

by V Clifford

  ‘Okay. So that’s two strange visitors or the same strange visitor to both? And what’s strange about them?’

  She hesitated. ‘Different visitors to each. Strange, though. Both my mum and I have had visits but not in any traditional way. My guy came to visit when I was out.’

  ‘He didn’t get in surely?’

  ‘No, he didn’t get in, but Ronnie thought he heard him put something through my letterbox. He hadn’t, so he must have been peering into the flat. So that’s the first oddity. The second is that I think the guy is a famous composer pianist who is staying with a client of mine. He asked if I’d do his hair.’

  Mac raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Yeah right. It didn’t happen, but I did meet him. I bumped into him when I was on my way out after doing this woman’s hair.’ She sniffed. ‘I’m lucky my clients are pretty protective. She said he’d been asking too many questions about me, so she told him I was too busy to cut his hair. I’ve never met him before, but I wondered if I’d somehow rattled his cage inadvertently.’

  ‘Interesting. And your mum?’

  ‘My mum has her windows cleaned by the same man twice a year and a guy turned up unannounced, not claiming to be the window cleaner, just demonstrating it. He faffed about at her windows as if he was doing a recce, then took off. The usual guy has to do all of the windows in the Pound. This guy wasn’t interested in anyone else.’

  Mac laughed. ‘You know you shouldn’t call it that. One day . . .’

  She held her hand up, ‘I know, I know. Odd, though, to have two peeping toms in one week.’

  They continued to munch through their food. ‘Oh wow, this is so good.’

  ‘So how’re you doing now that Sal’s gone?’

  ‘Oh God, poor Sal. I realised at the airport what a complete arse I’d been. It’s such a fantastic opportunity for her . . .’

  ‘But you’ll miss her.’

  She nodded and avoided eye contact, ‘Course I will. Just have to keep busy. And I’ll go out to visit.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, “really”! Why do you say it like that?’

  He shook his head. ‘No reason. But ok, what about this stranger, did you get a photograph of him?’

  She raised her eyes. ‘You think I’m a total amateur. Of course I got a photograph.’ She dug into her pocket and handed over the flyer. ‘He obviously doesn’t look quite as good as that in real life. They’ve given him a good air brushing, but he is handsome in a Germanic kind of way.’ She laughed. Ronnie was absolutely right in his description.

  Mac stared at the flyer, ‘Are you sensing a puzzle? Too many wee bits and pieces going on in a short time?’

  ‘Oh, it gets better. Mand turned up at my flat.’ She grinned as she watched it sink in. ‘Yes, that’s right, Mand, my sister, at my flat. I never thought I’d see the day. Anyway she pitched up concerned about our mum.’

  ‘The window cleaner again?’

  ‘No, well I’m not sure about that, but she’d seen my mum hiding something and couldn’t work out why she would. Upshot is that we went to my mum’s and found the paper she was hiding and it . . .’ She took out her phone and scrolled until she found the image of the document and handed it to Mac. She loved the way that Mac’s face told so many stories – surprise, amazement, intrigue, then a call to action sort of look. No poker wins for him.

  ‘So this is fascinating. What do you know about your mum’s past that might include her having dealings with the secret services?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it. I can’t believe it. There was nothing about our childhood that would make me think she was involved with anything other than secretarial work. But when I think about it now I suppose that’s exactly how she’d want it to look. If she was she must have been fantastic at her job. Should I just ask her outright?’

  ‘You could, but she’ll be old school. They took their Official Secrets Act way more seriously than today’s spies.’

  Viv snorted, ‘Spy! She wasn’t a spy.’

  Mac raised his eyebrows, ‘Naive or what? You think that that kind of letter was sent out to anyone?’

  Viv shook her head, ‘How weird is this? But there’s more . . . hidden in the same compartment, she had this.’ She scrolled through her phone again and handed it back to Mac with the photograph on the screen. ‘No idea who she is, and check out the amount on that receipt. There’s no way my mum or dad ever had money like that and yet there it is in black and white. Too weird.’

  Mac said, ‘You mentioned you’d done a bit of digging?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. So far all I’ve got is the guy who’s not a window cleaner but a petty thief. It seems odd that he’s targeting my mum. Out of all the people living in the Pound she is the least likely to have dosh stashed away. So, I’m seeing a connection between the thief and these documents. Also, she had locked herself in. Why would she do that?’ Viv stretched, then wiped her mouth with her napkin. ‘There will be a connection, but I’m not sure what kind of a hornet’s nest I’ll be poking . . . Shit, imagine if she was, as you say, a spy.’

  ‘I bet the more you mull over your childhood the more possible my hypothesis becomes. She’ll have been on courses and you’ll have stayed with your Grannie, or someone will have stayed with you, sleepovers with pals, anything to keep family life normal.’

  ‘We did do sleepovers with pals, but it was rare for her to be away. I’m not saying it didn’t happen; just can’t remember it being a thing. My dad was always working, always working. I’ll ask Mand. She has completely different memories to me. Between us we’ll patch a picture together and if that fails I’ll ask my mum.’

  Mac said, ‘The fact that you do what you do must have come from somewhere.’ He stared at the photograph on her phone. He magnified it. ‘Look.’

  She leaned over. ‘What?’

  ‘See that curve? That’s a Nissen hut. I don’t think the photograph is as old as WW2. I could be wrong but most MOD facilities were supposed to be decommissioned soon after the war. Those that were left were used up until . . . wait, actually there are still a couple in existence now but they’re not in military use.’

  She screwed up her eyes, ‘I wonder who took the photograph?’

  He sighed, ‘There’s a question for your mum.’

  She raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Where are these camps? In fact let’s see that photograph.’ She enlarged it and saw what he meant. I remember seeing huts like that when we were children on our caravan holidays at Findhorn.’

  He nodded. ‘They’re still there. I think only used as storage by the local farmer.’

  ‘Coincidence?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we had holidays in a place with Nissen huts?’

  ‘That might be pushing it but it’s worth being curious about. Vis a vis your mum as a spy you’ve got to wonder where your own nosiness comes from surely? I mean I’ve never met anyone more inquisitive than you and that’s saying something.’

  Bella arrived to clear their plates and offered coffee. It was getting late but Viv ordered a double espresso knowing that she had a lot to do when she got home.

  Mac said, ‘Expecting a long night?’

  ‘You know me too well.’

  ‘I might be able to help.’

  She tried not to look too interested. ‘By doing what?’

  ‘By renewing your access to the NTF data base.’

  She fingered a stray crumb on the table.

  He snorted, ‘Oh, I see, you’ve already found a way round that.’ He sighed, ‘What am I to do to keep my system safe?’

  ‘Employ me to build your walls. The thing is that by the time you guys have your super safe systems in place we on the dark side have already poked holes in them. You’ve got your finger in a very large dyke.’ She sniggered, ‘We’ll always be ahead of the game. Oh, and if you think I’m one of a rare breed think again.’

  ‘I know you’re not but it seems stupid to be running round in circles trying t
o keep people like you out. Futile use of people power and . . .’ He shook his head. ‘What would your solution be?’

  ‘Now why would I tell you that without a contract?’

  ‘And I thought we were mates.’

  ‘We are but you ask too much . . . If you ever need a hair cut let me know.’

  Bella arrived with the coffees, ‘You working an all-nighter?’

  Mac laughed, ‘See, it’s not exactly rocket science. Even Bella’s got your measure.’

  Viv shook her head, ‘Look you two, I’m on my way to a rave and ’til I get my recreationals . . .’

  Mac scraped his chair back and made for the gents. ‘Not hearing this, no way.’

  Bella and Viv laughed, ‘I knew that would get him. He’s a by-the-book kind of bloke.’

  Bella said, ‘And you know how to wind him up big time.’

  ‘Goes with the territory.’ She sipped her espresso then stirred some sugar into it. ‘This’ll blow my head off.’

  Bella grinned, ‘I thought that was the point.’

  Mac returned, glanced from one woman to the other and shook his head. ‘It’s a conspiracy.’ He sipped his flat white and did the same as Viv, stirring in a spoonful of sugar. ‘So what is your next move?’

  ‘I’ll find out a bit more about the petty thief, Jimmy Taylor. He might be working for someone else.’

  Mac nodded. ‘If you do need anything give me a shout.’

  She smiled and leaned across to rub his hand. ‘You are very patient and gracious with me. Thank you, it’s much appreciated.’

  He laughed, ‘Patronising sod!’

  She swigged the remains of her coffee. ‘You done? I’d better get back to research.’

  He wiped his mouth and gestured to Bella for the bill. ‘Been an interesting week.’

  She leaned forward onto the table, ‘Anything more that would interest me?’

  He matched her move. ‘You’re already interested.’

  ‘Spill then.’

  ‘Well, it’ll hit the headlines tomorrow that someone on high is for the chop.’

  She smirked, ‘What will the headline say?’

  ‘“Police Commissioner retires after health scare”, or some other platitude.’

  ‘Was the stick helpful? He surely knows that the additional info would be inadmissible.’

  He glanced around, ‘Sure he knows. But imagine the slur. You’ll work out from the article. Read between those lines.’

  ‘Be like that then. Let’s get going.’

  Mac wandered over to his car and Viv started back the way she’d come. ‘I’ve eaten too much.’

  He laughed, ‘You’ll work it off with all that brain power. By the way if you’re worried about your fitness, you could come with me on Sunday. I’m doing a 5K for charity.’

  She stopped, ‘You are kidding?’

  ‘No. You’d love it. A good run in the countryside. Think of all that fresh air.’

  ‘It would kill me. Not the run, the fresh air. What charity?’

  ‘You can choose. I’m raising for a local food bank.’

  ‘I’ll think about it and let you know.’

  ‘So is that a “no” then?’

  ‘Piss off. I said I’d think about it.’ She grinned, waved and walked on.

  Chapter Six

  She brushed her teeth, changed into pjs, then settled into her cubbyhole and booted up her secondary screens. Jimmy Taylor and Kurt Hahn weren’t the only people she wanted to know about. Although patience wasn’t her greatest virtue she did have it if she was hooked by something. In the interest of deferred gratification she made a start on stuff she knew she couldn’t access easily.

  First up, the petty criminal turned window cleaner. From what she could see he really was petty. He’d never ventured beyond theft from supermarkets and a few break-ins where he definitely knew the people were away. Why would he stick his neck out for someone else? Money. Always follow the money. She found his Facebook profile and tracked a few leads but nothing interesting came up. He was a Hibernian supporter, and a good many of his posts were to do with footie. She checked his photographs. Sad. Not much in the way of family. Then she spotted an image of Jimmy in a box at Easter Road with a few Edinburgh worthies. She enlarged the shot. Jimmy was standing off to the side with his hands behind his back. Looking as if he was on duty of some kind. He wasn’t big enough to be in the muscle department but he was definitely not just one of the group. She recognised another of the men as a serious patron of the club and of the Catholic Church. What the hell was Jimmy doing there? Usually he’d be on the terraces like most punters.

  She wrote a few notes and copied the photograph to her laptop. She glanced up from the screen, pleased with her new room. The ceiling was so close to her head that she’d have to consider another name for it. It was smaller than a broom cupboard and had no natural light. Sulkery. It could be her sulkery. If Dickens could have a growlery she could have a sulkery. She shook her head. Sulkery or not she’d better keep her head down.

  Kurt Hahn was much more interesting. No sign of a partner. Making a name for himself in the USA. Done a few tours in the UK but the press hadn’t been very complimentary: ‘We hate a plink plonker masquerading as a proper pianist.’ She whispered, ‘Serves him right for not researching his audiences.’ Choosing a whole programme of uber modern pieces wasn’t ever going to go down well, unless people were buying into the emperor’s new clothes. She jotted down things that were slightly odd.

  Eventually, just when she was about to call it a day she found a gem; a newspaper article that had gone viral about Kurt having a punch-up with a man in the foyer of a concert hall in Berlin. The journalist speculated at the end of the piece that the other man may have been Kurt’s brother. Interesting. What causes two brothers to fight? Is a different question from, what causes two brothers to fight in such a public space, the prestigious environment of a concert hall? Was one brother trying to humiliate the other?

  She rubbed her eyes and checked the time: 1.30am. Better hit the hay. Her mobile pinged a message coming in. It was Sal’s number. She read the text. ‘Have had a message from Brian, Mollie not well. Worried sick.’ She replied, ‘I’ll find out in the morning and go up. Are you ok otherwise?’ The phone rang.

  Sal said, ‘Oh, thank God you’re still awake. It’s not like Brian to send me a message. He must be really worried. The vet has taken blood samples but we’ll not know the results until tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t fret. If Moll’s been to the vet that’s the best Brian can do. I’ll ring him in the morning and go up if necessary.’

  Sal sobbed, ‘I should be with her.’

  ‘She’s used to you being away. If Brian’s busy I can look after her.’ The words were out before she’d really thought it through. Moll would hate being in the city.

  ‘Oh, would you? I’ll be able to sleep if I know someone is with her round the clock.’

  Viv hadn’t said round the clock, but would do what she could. ‘How are you otherwise?’

  ‘It’s so different . . . And I’m shattered from the flight. I’ll settle in, I suppose.’

  Not sounding at all like the Sal that she knew and loved. ‘Look I’m just dabbling around in research. I can do that anywhere. Maybe I could stay at the cottage for a couple of nights?’

  Sal’s relief was audible, ‘Really? But you hate the country side.’

  ‘It’d be taking a hit for the team.’

  Sal laughed.

  Viv, relieved, said, ‘She’ll be fine. Brian and I will make sure of that. You try and concentrate on the job or they’ll think they’ve hired a dud.’

  Viv’s brain was working nineteen to the dozen sorting the logistics of a couple of nights in Doune, the back of beyond.

  Sal said, ‘I am not a dud.’

  ‘No one said you were. I said . . .’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m just touchy. I will have to concentrate on work. They’ve already assigned me to a project.’

&
nbsp; ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Yes, but not for now. I’ll speak to you tomorrow if I get the chance.’

  ‘I won’t get up there until lunch time, but I will catch Brian first thing.’

  They rang off and Viv rubbed her hands roughly over her face. If she went to the cottage she’d only have her laptop for work. She reminded herself that until a couple of weeks ago she’d worked perfectly well with ‘only’ a laptop. Defo time for some shut-eye. In bed she tossed and turned, kicked off the duvet, retrieved the duvet, got up to pee, had a glass of water. Eventually, slept like the dead.

  Chapter Seven

  Friday

  A dream just before she’d woken up remained with her as she chewed on a slice of toast. She’d texted Brian and was waiting for a reply, but images from the dream kept reappearing. She’d been with Dawn and Mollie on Lothian Road waiting for a bus or a taxi. She couldn’t remember which. It was a warm summer day and all was good with her and Dawn. Somehow, as is the case with dreams, Fortnum and Mason’s was at the bottom of the road and she decided to leave Dawn and go shopping. She was in such a good mood as she sauntered in through the front atrium of the shop and took the very narrow escalator to the first floor. She passed through a huge café where lots of people were having posh afternoon tea, their plate racks stacked with goodies. She exited through large glass doors onto a balcony where people were sunbathing. She became aware that she was naked, but wasn’t too worried other than about being too pale.

  After a few minutes meandering along the balcony, with other naked people lying sunbathing but not interested in her, she returned to the shop and took the escalator to the next floor. At the top a box of smart olive oils prevented her from getting off and an assistant had to come to her aid to remove the box. She then took the escalator back to the ground floor and out onto Lothian Road again, where the mood was decidedly different. With no sign of Dawn or the dog she felt her belly tighten.