‘Yes, Karen, what do you have for me?’ She could hear the playful smile in Blair Williams’s voice. He was a very attractive man – married, but then so was she. They’d been having an affair for months. She knew him well enough to reckon that she would be called upon to fend off this call.
‘It’s some bloody weirdo who calls himself Jeremiah. Won’t tell me if that’s his surname, or what. One of Hardacre’s old clients – do you want me to give him the polite brush-off, Blair?’ She spoke his name slowly, as though savouring the syllable.
Williams hesitated. ‘Jeremiah?’
‘Yes, just that.’
‘Put him through, Karen – always put him through. Don’t ask him any questions – or me, come to that. Got it?’
‘As you wish, Mr Williams.’ As she pressed the button on the console to put the call through she wondered what on earth had caused the change in her lover’s attitude. He usually swaggered – everywhere, whether in court or at a party. Karen could have sworn she had heard fear in his voice, something that had never happened before.
The young lawyer answered the call. ‘Hello, Jeremiah. Blair Williams; how can I be of service?’ He was trying hard to keep his voice steady.
‘You’ve been briefed – by Mr Hardacre, I mean?’
‘Yes – yes, absolutely. Something he made very sure of – he was very emphatic on the subject, in fact.’ Despite himself, Williams gulped.
‘I’d have thought a client such as myself would merit one of the more senior partners.’
‘Oh, I am a partner. My father has retired, and Mr Strong is taking a back seat these days. He’s still senior partner, but he picks his own fights, as it were.’
‘I should have been informed.’
‘I think we did try, but the only number we had just rang out. Perhaps you could give us your address, Mr – sorry, Jeremiah.’
‘No. But I’d like you to listen carefully. You have long-standing instructions from me. This and other services have been paid for in advance, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Yes, yes, absolutely.’
‘It may well be time to put in motion what is described within those instructions, Mr Williams. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I do – of course.’
‘Good.’
‘One question, if I may, Jeremiah?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘How . . . when will we put the wheels in motion? Your instructions, I mean.’
‘Every week I want you to buy a copy of the Kinloch Herald. It’s available online, so just subscribe to the bloody thing.’
‘Yes, certainly. But what am I to look for?’
‘Go to the obituary section. If you see the death notice of a Mr Nathaniel Doig, be sure to put everything in place as has been arranged.’
‘Yes, certainly. Shall we just go through that – now that Mr Hardacre is no longer here – just to make sure?’ Blair Williams listened. ‘Hello – Jeremiah?’
No reply was forthcoming. Jeremiah had ended the call without ceremony.
Blair Williams replaced the receiver and thought for a moment. He lifted the handset again. ‘Karen, get me Mike Strong, now!’
Brian Scott was quietly impressed by the efficient roster Sergeant Shaw had produced. Everything fitted in nicely: overtime, leave, court dates, contingency plans for emergencies. The screen flickering on the desk made him feel inadequate. ‘A fine job, eh? I’m buggered how you could make head or tail o’ it.’
‘Just a case of keeping on top of things, Brian. I used to do this before you lot arrived.’
‘Under MacLeod, you mean?’
‘Aye. And the boss before that.’
‘How did you no’ say? I’ve been struggling with the bloody thing since oor Jimmy took a heider in his lounge!’
‘I didn’t want to stand on your toes – you with the new pips and all.’
‘Bugger that! I’m no’ proud, in case you havenae noticed.’
‘The worst thing in the world is inertia, that’s what an old gaffer of mine used to say.’
‘Aye, you’re no’ kidding: Kilbirnie, Cumnock, Dalry an’ all these shitholes. Tell me aboot it.’
‘No, inertia! As in standing still – letting things mount up. Not in Ayrshire!’
‘Aye, okay. I was only pulling your leg,’ said Scott unconvincingly. ‘I’m a polis, no’ some clerk. That’s the problem wae this job, if you ask me. There’s oor Jimmy, fair embattled wae forms and rosters – all kinds o’ useless paperwork – when he should be oot doing what he’s best at.’
‘Knocking the shit out of some dentist on a yacht?’
‘Aye, well, that wisnae his finest hour. Cannae blame him, mark you.’
‘We all feel the same – in the office, I mean.’
‘No’ the first time he’s near buggered up his career, neither. Or the last, likely.’ Scott thought for a moment. ‘Here, dae you know these Doigs at this Rowan Tree Cottage on the back road tae Blaan?’
‘Only from hearsay. Their daughter went missing. Long time before I arrived.’
‘Aye, well it sounds as though she might be back – according tae Erchie Meikle. He used tae be a cop here back then. Reckons he clocked her at the airport.’
‘Good man, Erchie. I have a pint with him now and again. If he thinks that, I’d take it seriously. He’s not prone to flights o’ fancy. He was a good cop, so they say.’
‘What happened tae them?’
‘You’re still here, Brian.’
‘Aye, cheers! For that lovely compliment you now have the honour of producing the weekly roster.’
‘But DCI Daley’s coming back, no?’
‘Aye, but best he takes the next few months easy. As little pressure as possible.’
‘Your wish is my command, inspector.’
Scott flicked Shaw a playful V sign as the desk sergeant left the office. The sudden reappearance of people rarely boded well, in his experience. He’d already discovered that the mystery visitor had been taken by taxi to the Machrie House Hotel, and was now going by the name of Alice Wenger. Alice – Alison. Too close to be a coincidence, thought Scott. He decided to pay Ms Wenger a visit.
He poked his head round the door of the glass box. ‘Right, Potts, me and you are off tae solve a mystery, son.’
Acting DS Potts rolled his eyes. ‘If you say so, sir.’
‘I dae say so. And if you’re lucky, you can buy me a ginger beer an’ lime.’
‘My lucky day.’
‘Shit rolls doonhill in this job, son. You must have picked that up by noo. I’ve been swimming in it for thirty-odd years.’
‘I’ll get my goggles, sir.’
‘Ain’t you the bright boy? Just goes tae show the benefit o’ a university education. Come on then, let’s go.’
10
Mike Strong sat in a leather recliner chair in his wood-panelled study. He was wearing a sports jacket, the open-necked shirt beneath revealing crinkled jowls. This sign of age was balanced by a thick head of wavy white hair, brushed back from his square, tanned face. Books – mainly leather-bound legal tomes – sat on shelves on every wall bar one. His desk was old walnut with embossed green leather on which a writing pad sat in front of a row of ornamental fountain pens placed evenly in their inkwells. Behind him the light of a bright Edinburgh day poured through the sash window.
Strong eyed his junior partner critically. The subject Blair Williams had brought before him was a vexing one; something he’d tried not to give much thought to before Charles Hardacre had come to him, his face gaunt with the cancer that would very soon take his life. His old colleague’s tale had been amazing – not only for its content, but for the way he’d managed to keep it a secret in their exclusive but tight-knit law firm for all these years. Now, here was this fresh-faced thirty-six-year-old, who bore no resemblance to his father, but had his mother’s deep brown eyes.
But that was a story that would eventually be lost in the annals of Williams, Strong and Hardacre.
/> The younger man spoke. ‘I must admit to being rather out of my depth here, Mike. I mean, is what we’re about to do strictly legal . . . has it ever been?’
Strong thought for a moment, taking the time to light a large cigar and send clouds of pungent smoke into the study. ‘If we could go back in time, I dare say Jeremiah is not someone we would have considered as a likely client, regardless of the financial reward. However, Charles didn’t afford me – or anyone else, come to that – the courtesy of being able to say no.’
‘It is a lot of money.’
‘And it came at a time when our firm was struggling. I know Charles did what he thought best, but . . .’
‘And now it’s my problem.’ Williams’s expression was taut. ‘I had wondered – and please forgive me for this notion – if Jeremiah is this Doig chap, who will know about the arrangements when he dies, except for us?’
‘You and Charles got on well. He was always uptight about some damned thing.’ Strong smiled.
‘Yes. I liked the old boy.’
‘Birds of a feather.’
‘Steady on, Mike! I’m just trying to work out what’s best for us – the company. This could backfire on you and me.’
‘Oh, it very well could. That’s why while you deal with Jeremiah, I shall talk to the third party.’
‘Who – I mean, what?’
‘Unfortunately you’re not in full possession of the facts. This isn’t just a case of disposing of a large amount of money to various places. Jeremiah has something more specific in mind. Though what that is I cannot tell you.’
‘Fuck. It’s not legal, I bet.’ Blair Williams’s face was ashen.
‘I don’t know – I suspect, but I don’t know. And the less you know the more you are insulated from any potential action.’
‘But what about the money? We haven’t followed any of the protocols, I know that!’
‘Now, calling it money isn’t quite right – if one decides to be a pedant, that is.’
‘Oh, fuck – it’s not drugs, is it?’
‘No. Try to stick this up your nose and you’ll find you require more than Vicks to set things right.’
‘Well, what on earth . . . ?’
‘Gold, Blair, pure gold – well, as near to pure as it gets.’ Strong quite enjoyed the look of horror that passed over the face of his arrogant junior partner. He quietly disliked the confidence of this young man: his sports car, his state-of-the-art home in a trendy part of Edinburgh, and his beautiful wife. He was also envious of his relationship with their secretary, who was just as alluring, if not quite as conceited, as the man now standing before him.
In reality, his envy was born from the fact that Blair Williams was the new model of Mike Strong. Mike had always wanted children, but his wife had proved to be infertile. This was a young man he would be proud to call a son, despite the jealousy he felt. There was no doubt the absence of a family had left a hole in his life. And while age found him richer than he’d ever imagined, he’d happily have given it all away to scroll back the years and live this young man’s life on the hoof from one bed to the next, one party to another; thrill upon thrill. Old age had its merits, but they were poor fare when compared to the overflowing banquets of gilded youth.
‘I have to scan this damned newspaper every week now. It’s like waiting for the bloody hammer to fall.’
‘You take care of the newspaper, and when the time comes, tell me.’
‘And?’
‘And it’s best you don’t know. I owe it to your father – and your mother, come to that.’ He searched Williams’s face. ‘How are they, by the way?’
‘Fine – the last time I saw them.’
‘Go more often. They won’t always be here, you know. And please, give them my regards.’ Strong took another puff on his cigar, sucking hard to re-ignite it.
‘I will – most definitely. I know you and my parents have always been close.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘And thank you for – well, helping out, Mike. I was pretty worried for a while there – after Charles’s revelations, and now what you’ve told me. Why didn’t he just leave this with you? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘You know Charles. Belts and braces chap – always was.’ Though he said the words, Mike Strong knew the real answer. Charles Hardacre didn’t trust him – never had. How ironic life is, he thought. The younger, teetotal, fitness fanatic had lost his life to cancer, while here he was, with his dodgy ticker, an habitual consumer of old malt whisky, Cuban cigars and fine champagne, still alive. There was still time for one last hurrah, he was sure, and Jeremiah may well be its genesis.
As a rule Alice Wenger hated dining alone. But she had so much going on in her head, much of it unexpected activity, that she welcomed the peace and the chance to enjoy decent enough food and an exceptionally good champagne. The bubbles that filled her mouth helped to clear the froth from her head, and by the time she was halfway through a main course of pheasant in a port jus and further through the bottle, she had relaxed sufficiently to think properly. Alice liked alcohol, but she had always been careful with its use, especially if its consumption revolved around a relief of stress rather than her social life. She knew all too well how easily it could change minds – alter personalities – and she was comfortable with the ones she had, though that had by no means always been the case.
She was dragged from her thoughts and the lull of the soothing background muzak by what sounded like something of a commotion at the door to the hotel restaurant. When she looked up, a range of emotions welled up inside her, a mixture of mercies, unsettling but in a way joyful.
‘Alison! It is you, isn’t it?’ The middle-aged woman was chubby, but reasonably well dressed, and her face was instantly recognisable. ‘It’s me – Sheena – do you remember?’ She rushed forward to embrace the other woman.
Alice’s first instincts were to shake her head, deny it all: a case of mistaken identity. But she’d been prepared for something like this – she knew how Kinloch worked, and in a way she’d drawn attention to herself by her conversation with the young taxi driver. At the time she had wondered why she’d given herself away so readily, but the need to be known for who she really was had been strong for so long.
‘Sheena Cunningham! I can’t believe it!’ Wenger got up from her chair and embraced her long-lost friend.
‘Sheena McKay now. I married Bertie – you know, the fisherman we all fancied?’
‘Fuck, yes I do. He was a catch, eh?’ Alice could hear her voice slipping back easily into the accent of home. ‘Streaked blond hair – a mullet!’
‘Huh! Grey, what’s left of it now – but he’s still a lovely guy. We’ve had a good marriage – ups and downs, you know how it is, but we’ve been blessed with lovely children, and a grandson now!’
Momentarily, Alice felt a flash of jealousy, but it passed as quickly as it arrived. Talk of children always made her feel the same way. But, as usual, she forced it to the back of her mind. ‘Take a seat, Sheena. Can I get you something to eat – a drink?’
‘Can I have a gin and tonic – a large one, please. I think I need it. This is so – so unexpected!’ She took the seat across the table from Alice in a flurry of too much sweet perfume, an off the peg dress and badly cut hair. Alice had to remember this wasn’t Beverly Hills.
‘Sure, my pleasure. How did you know I was here, honey?’
‘Oh, you know – the local gossip machine. I didn’t believe it.’ Sheena cast her eyes to the floor. ‘I’m ashamed to say it, but most of us thought . . .’
‘Thought what?’
Sheena sighed. ‘We thought you were dead.’
‘I can understand that – my folks, right?’
‘We all knew how they were to you and your brothers. When you just disappeared like that – well, you know how folk talk, Alison.’
‘It’s Alice now.’
‘Oh, right – Alice, sorry.’
‘Nothing to be sorry abo
ut. Alison had bad memories, but I wanted to keep a bit of it, you understand?’
Sheena paused again, looking around the plush room. ‘I pleaded with my dad – to tell the police to keep looking for you. He had influence, if you remember?’
‘He was the big cheese back then. The petrol station, the bookmaker, that building company; I remember. How is he?’
‘We lost him two years ago. He had Parkinson’s. It was terrible.’
‘Shit, I’m sorry, Sheena. You know, when you come back to a place – especially a place like Kinloch – you expect nothing to have changed, everything to be frozen in time. But I walked down Main Street yesterday and I didn’t recognise anyone. It was as if the buildings were still the same, but everything else had gone. Still got Michael Kerr the baker, I suppose.’ Alice laughed and took a gulp of champagne.
‘I think everything’s much the same at Rowan Tree Cottage, Alison – Alice, sorry.’
‘Yeah. I went for a walk up the hill yesterday – looked down on the old place. Everything looked, as you say, just the same – a little worse, maybe.’
‘They’re still alive – your folks, I mean; and your brothers. Nobody sees much of them, but I know that for a fact.’
‘Did anybody ever see much of us? If my folks hadn’t been forced to send us to school we’d have been totally invisible.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. They always kept themselves to themselves.’ Sheena sighed.
‘Hey girl, this isn’t a wake! I’m so pleased to see you again. Let’s get drunk – talk about back in the day, yeah? I could use a friendly ear right now.’
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