Deception is the Old Black

by V Clifford

  ‘Once an altar boy, always an altar boy.’

  Religion played such a small part in her adult life that she’d forgotten that as children they’d both been indoctrinated in different ways: Mac to mass three or four times a week, and she to the Band of Hope once a week. At least all she’d had to do was sing. Mac and his sisters would have had to kneel a lot. The music made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There was something hypnotic about pure voices repeating phrases in a dead language. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Taizé. It calms me down.’

  It was calming her down, but he stretched over and turned it off, leaving the crackling ghosts of the police radio emerging from a mist of insufficient band waves.

  They followed Parker back to Fettes, with Samantha Jones behind in her shiny BMW. Mediators like Jones were self-employed and often did their job in conjunction with another one. It was pretty rare to be called in by the courts, police or prisons to negotiate a situation, which if it escalated could begin a media frenzy. So far this was a good result, but it wouldn’t give anyone full-time employment. What else did Jones do?

  Viv and Mac sipped their coffees, with the police radio hissing in the background. Eventually Viv said, ‘There wasn’t much inside – a green blow-up mattress, a couple of glasses, a packet of condoms, no electricity.’

  ‘So what do you make of that?’

  ‘Well, the mattress is interesting because Gordon bought that very same one from Amazon in the last couple of months. And Archie had no Amazon history. Who do you know that doesn’t have an Amazon history?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Exactly. Everyone we know has one. So if they don’t, why don’t they?’

  ‘First guess would be that he’s making a political statement, or maybe his credit rating is poor.’

  ‘I think it’s the latter. I’m guessing Archie has a wee problem with addiction. I found receipts from Coral in his rucksack, and a stack of Irish lotto tickets. At the time it didn’t strike me as a big deal, but now, from the way he’s living, it looks as if he’s got himself into a bit of bother.’ She raised her voice, ‘Moneylenders, maybe? Loan sharks aren’t exactly gentlemanly if you’re not paying up. Might lead a man to go into hiding, or do something stupid to save his skin. As for the Queen, I can’t imagine him being involved. What would be his motivation?’ Before he could answer she switched the radio off. ‘Phew. That crackling drives me nuts.’

  Mac reached over and switched it back on. ‘It might well drive you nuts but it has to stay on. Now what about his motivation? What questions do we need to ask? What would make you take to gambling? And if he has got it that badly, how much debt is he in?’

  A voice said from the radio, ‘DCI Marconi, we haven’t managed to contain news of the attack. Someone has leaked that there’s been a citizen’s arrest.’

  Mac shook his head. ‘You’re going to be famous. If it has come across our wires then it will be all over the media.’

  ‘Shit! But they don’t know my name.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Where were we with Archie?’

  She nibbled the inside of her cheek. ‘That flat was so sad. I don’t get it. According to him he’s a family guy. Goes every weekend to Sunday lunch with the whole team.’

  Mac’s eyebrows knitted. ‘Well, that’s odd but not . . .’

  ‘You’d think the family would help him out.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t know. Or maybe they’ve helped him out too many times before. These are things we need to find out.’

  ‘I wonder if I should take a look at the other members of his family? He has a brother who sounds like the golden boy. You know, the one who has followed the book of family expectations – gone into the family firm, wife, kids, that sort of thing. Archie on the other hand hasn’t exactly toed the line. Do I do this with your permission or what?’

  She waited as he thought this through. ‘Any time you like, Mac.’

  Her phone beeped and a text on the screen said that she had a meeting in forty minutes. ‘You’ll have to get moving. Something’s come up.’

  He glanced at her. ‘Something that you’re not going to tell me about?’

  She didn’t answer him, but picked at a nail. ‘My car is on the back road. Could you drop me there?’

  He pulled up next to the Rav and said, ‘Be discreet.’

  She shook her head. ‘Have you ever known me to be otherwise?’ She got out of Mac’s car.

  ‘Oh and by the way, you don’t fancy joining me for a yoga class tonight?’

  This was totally out of left field. ‘Why on earth . . .’

  ‘Because it’s at Dance Base, a stone’s throw . . .’

  ‘I know where Dance Base is . . . I’ll come and watch.’

  ‘No spectators. Just bring baggy clothes, or tiny shorts and a crop top.’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Fuck off. Now I know you’re kidding. What time?’

  ‘Seven. That’s my girl.’

  ‘If I was still inside that car you’d be for it.’ She laughed, shook her head and pressed the fob to unlock her own car.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  She drove back through Stockbridge until she reached Dundas Street, from where it was a direct route south to the Mound then over and on to George IV Bridge. She parked the car in a resident’s space at the top of Victoria Street then jogged the remaining couple of hundred metres back along to the museum on Chambers Street. She missed the fish pools that used to be in the great entrance hall. Her dad used to bring her here when she was a kid to throw pennies into the water. She’d make a wish while the poor fish were being poisoned. She made her way through several cavernous halls to the bird section, a small round room with stuffed seabirds from around the world. Simon was hovering, reading or pretending to read the detail card on one of the exhibits, his hands clasped behind his back.

  She coughed. He didn’t lift his head to acknowledge her.

  ‘Did you know that the Egretta alba was hunted almost to extinction in the nineteenth century? Feathers for women’s hats.’

  This was an appalling fact and she was about to ask for details, but remembered her limited time. ‘Thanks for the natural history lesson, but if we could just cut to the chase?’

  He straightened and winced. She knew he would. Simon was as formal as anyone she’d ever met. The kind of dogmatic man who hated Americanisms, one of Ruddy’s recruits whom she’d worked with before. He constantly checked that his shirt cuffs had the correct amount of exposure from his jacket sleeves. His accent was too English, which had led her to believe it probably wasn’t his first language – and she’d been right. He wasn’t a bad soul, but had seriously outdated ideas about women in the hierarchy, viz, women should be excluded from it entirely. Ruddy had explained otherwise, but Simon was still reluctant to trust her.

  She caught a whiff of lavender aftershave. ‘You do realise that that stuff leaves an evidence trail.’ She flicked the end of her nose.

  He clearly had no idea what she was on about and said, ‘You’ll have to enlighten me.’

  ‘Aftershave. It’s a no no on duty.’

  He flushed and she suddenly realised that he must have worn it to impress someone.

  ‘I’ll remember that in future.’

  She said, ‘There are times when it’s useful as part of a disguise.’

  He flinched again. It wasn’t her intention to make him quite so uncomfortable, but he’d obviously not read the manual about leaving as little evidence behind as possible, including scent.

  He changed the subject. ‘I’ve been sent to remind you to tread lightly on the Queen’s attacker.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. I’ve no authority on that case . . . Oh, I see. Have I to find him?’

  Simon gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘Was that a yes?’

  He nodded properly this time.

  ‘D’you know why I’ve been asked to do this?’

  He looked at his feet
.

  ‘Okay . . . do I have to guess? Does he have diplomatic immunity? Is he a minor? Is he the son of someone important?’

  At this he gave another slight nod.

  ‘Well, this is fun, Si.’ He also hated having his name shortened, she noted. ‘I’m tasked with finding the young man and what then? Does . . . Control want to see him or do I hand him over?’

  ‘We’ll see him first.’ He pulled at his elegant double cuffs again.

  She smiled. At least her pathological showering habit was entirely private.

  ‘Oh, and . . . goes without saying that it’s to be asap.’

  She smiled. ‘When is it ever anything else?’

  ‘And if you need help you’ve to call me in.’

  ‘Why thank you, Sir Galahad. I’ll bear that in mind. Is there anything else that I should know?’

  ‘No. Only to tread lightly . . . Actually there is something. There’s talk of involvement in a cell.’

  This last, seemingly casual comment was the nub of their conversation. She raised her hand in a mock salute then retraced her steps through the atrium. Light flooded in from each of the numerous galleries above; she had to admire Victorian ingenuity.

  On the walk back she thought about why the boy, or young man, might receive special treatment. Even if he was the son of someone important no one was above the law. Viv had a contact, invaluable when she needed political info. That was as good a place to start as any. She scrolled through her phone, found his number and sent him a text.

  It should be easy to find info about the young attacker; everyone had a cyber footprint of sorts.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  By the end of the day Viv’s shoulders were up round her ears. She’d failed to actually find the attacker, but she had narrowed down the options. Mac sent her a text saying he was waiting for her outside Dance Base.

  She texted him back saying she had no intention of joining him. She rolled her shoulders back and forward. Then, realising that taking an hour out to do some serious stretching would do her good, she texted him again saying she was on her way.

  As she jogged round the corner from the West Bow into the Grassmarket she bumped straight into Angus.

  ‘Whoa! Viv! You in a hurry?’

  ‘Angus! Sorry. My head was elsewhere. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just on my way to a class.’

  She ran her hand through her hair. ‘Not at Dance Base?’

  He grinned. ‘Yes, the very place. Is that where you’re going?’

  ‘As it happens I am. I’m meeting a colleague.’

  Together they walked towards the studio.

  Angus said, ‘You’re not going to pilates, are you?’

  ‘No, yoga. Thought I’d give it a try.’

  Mac was waiting in the doorway. ‘Hi. Come on, we’re late.’

  Angus waved and said, ‘Enjoy your class.’ He hesitated. ‘Fancy a bite to eat after it?’

  She looked at Mac, then at Angus. ‘Sure. That’d be great. See you where?’

  They said in unison, ‘Bella’s.’ And both laughed.

  Mac looked from one to the other as if unsure of what he was witnessing. But as they walked into the gym he mimicked, ‘Bella’s, hee, hee, hee!’

  Viv slapped him on the back, but was distracted by the number of people already limbering up on mats. By the end of the hour’s session Viv thought she would die. She lay on the floor with no idea how she was still breathing. Sweat poured off her forehead and down the sides of her face. She thought she was fit, but being fit and being supple were different animals. Supple, she was not. Holding, then jumping between tricky postures was a combo that required both.

  Mac looked equally worked up, sweating as much as her, but not quite as exhausted. ‘You ready for your delicious dinner then?’ he asked with a grin.

  The thought of anything other than standing beneath a long shower was abhorrent to her. ‘No way could I eat.’ She managed this between gulps of air with her hands on her knees. They were both wiping themselves down with towels when Angus emerged from his class. No sweat.

  His eyes widened when he caught sight of Viv leaning against the wall, swigging from a bottle of water that Mac had given her.

  ‘No can do on dinner.’ She said. ‘I’m not up for anything unless it involves copious amounts of warm water.’

  Angus grinned. ‘I can sort that.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not a chance. I mean solo. I had no idea I was in for such torture.’

  Mac stepped forward and put his hand out. ‘Since the doc here isn’t about to introduce us anytime soon, I’m Mac.’

  Angus returned the handshake. ‘Angus. Most people call me Gus. So are you a hairdresser as well?’

  Viv sprayed out the mouthful of water that she was about to swallow.

  Mac replied, ‘Not exactly. But we do work together sometimes.’

  Viv said, ‘Look, maybe when I’ve cooled down we could grab a pizza. It’s not as if we’ve miles to go to get food.’

  Gus nodded enthusiastically. ‘Sure. I can live with that. How about I see you at Gennaro’s in about an hour?’

  She looked at her watch. ‘That sounds doable. You fancy pizza?’ She glanced at Mac.

  He automatically glanced at Gus. ‘Eh, no. I’ve got stuff to do.’

  Viv grabbed the towels that they’d been using and tossed them into a basket at the other end of the room. She moved as if she’d been in a rugby scrum – grumbling with every step.

  Mac said, ‘Come three times a week like me and you’ll be as bendy as . . .’

  ‘As what? Why do I need to be bendy at all?’

  A look passed between Mac and Gus, who both raised their eyebrows.

  She shook her head. ‘WTF are you like? Come on, Gus, let’s get going.’ They waved to Mac as they turned back into the street.

  She was so knackered that when Gus offered her his arm she took it. ‘Yoga is really good for you, but if you’d like something a little gentler come to pilates. It’s still a good work out but not as mad as what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Oh, I enjoyed it. I’m just disappointed with my own fitness. I run and swim, so thought I had fitness covered. Clearly not. It’ll give me something to think about.’

  When they reached the bottom of his stair he said, ‘You could just come up. I’ve been to Valvona’s today.’ Valvona and Crolla’s was Edinburgh’s premier Italian deli. Cost an arm and a leg but nothing ever went to waste. She hesitated. She didn’t smell her best. Why did she think that she needed to smell nice? She flushed. ‘Actually I really couldn’t sit through food without a shower.’

  ‘What if I told you I had a surprise up stairs?’

  ‘I’d think you were a bit creepy . . .’

  He looked genuinely injured.

  ‘I mean if you have a surprise for me that would mean that you’d been meaning to bump into me and that this wasn’t fortuitous but designed.’

  ‘Oh God. I get it. No the surprise is . . .’

  She put her hand up to his mouth to stop him. ‘No, don’t tell me. I’d like it to be a surprise.’

  ‘Okay. Now I’m confused. Would you like to accompany me upstairs and I can show you what I mean?’

  She sighed. ‘I stink.’

  He laughed. ‘I love women who smell as they are supposed to.’

  ‘Yeah. That would be fine if we’d been running for our lives through the bush but . . .’

  It was his turn to put a hand up to her mouth. His rough fingertips unintentionally brushed her lips and she flinched.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .’

  Seeing how penitent he looked she said, ‘Okay. Let’s do this.’

  She took her time on the stairs behind him so that he was well inside the flat by the time she reached the top. She heard water running and felt panic rising at the thought of being naked with anyone. He came towards her and led her into a room that was bigger than the sitting room that she’d seen on her previous vi
sit. From floor to ceiling the room was covered in tiny mosaic tiles. Running water was coming from behind a curved tiled wall in the far corner of the room.

  She couldn’t believe that anyone would dedicate a room this size to washing. Her own bathroom was quarter of the size.

  She had to raise her voice above the power of the water. ‘D’you have a washing fetish?’

  ‘Not exactly. I spent a bit of time in Turkey and thought they had a good perspective on bathing rituals. Here it’s perfunctory.’

  In her own regime, as frequent as it was, she didn’t often languish. She could smell lavender and was reminded of her meeting with Simon at the museum. As the room filled with steam she felt her anxiety rising. She ought to be getting on with searching for the young man. Then Gus handed her a huge fluffy towel, the kind you only get in a hotel at someone else’s expense.

  Then to her surprise he backed out of the door and said, ‘Enjoy! I’ll get food together.’

  She liked his style even if it was hedonistic. She told herself off for allowing the Presbyterian demons to spoil the moment. Then she stripped off and stood beneath the most amazing rain shower with lights above that changed colour as the power came and went. And the water was definitely perfumed. There must be some sort of filter in the giant showerhead. When she was ready to get out she peered round the edge of the curved wall just in case he had thought of joining her. He hadn’t. Was she disappointed? No, but he was gaining Brownie points by the second. She lifted a towelling gown hanging on the back of the door, held it to her nose and caught notes of lemon – shaving soap or cologne. She rubbed her hair then slipped into the gown. He was nowhere to be found in the rooms on that floor. Treading carefully she made her way into the kitchen. There were letter magnets on the fridge arranged into a question. Odd. The words, “does she know?”. Her belly tightened. Who was “she”? A newspaper lying on the worktop was open at an article about the Queen’s visit. Why wouldn’t he be interested in the news? She closed her eyes, calmed her breath then took the narrow stairs to find him in the gazebo. Sunlight bounced off a crystal hanging on a thread in one of the windows, casting a rainbow over a tray with all sorts of delicious goodies on it. It made the small space enchanting.