‘Where was that?’
The man slurped his coffee. ‘Thanks for the coffee. I’d better be going now.’
On a hunch, Charlie said suddenly, ‘Did you see the armed robbery that took place on Christmas Eve? Round the corner, at the jeweller’s shop near the supermarket?’
‘You can’t pin that on me,’ said the man. Oddly, he seemed over-confident, as if he knew something Charlie and the police didn’t know.
‘Would you like to help us with our enquiries?’ Charlie had a brainwave. ‘Until the roads re-open, that is?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking three meals a day and a roof over your head. You won’t get a better offer.’
‘What about the dog? I’m not going anywhere without him.’
‘OK, and the dog.’
Charlie had plenty of time to wonder if he was doing the right thing as they trekked back up through the town. It had seemed sensible enough in the Queen of Scots - as did many far-fetched ideas - but in the cold bright light of day he started to get an uneasy feeling about it. Still, the snow might be gone any day now. Then he could turn out the man and his dog on to the streets again with a clear conscience.
He popped into the pet shop on the way, and bought a misshapen dog chew that they were selling at a reduced price.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, presenting it to the dog.
Chapter 20 Invasion of Alcatraz
Christopher was surprised to see Chief Inspector Smith walking up the road with the homeless man and the dog. Amaryllis had told him about giving away her big parka - he chose to interpret this gesture as a sign that she was becoming more human, something she hotly denied - so he wasn’t too taken aback by seeing the man wearing it. He found the scene outside the pet shop rather puzzling, however. Surely the Christmas spirit hadn’t entered into Charlie Smith too?
Because he had nothing much to do with the Cultural Centre closed for the holidays, he followed Mr Smith and the homeless man up to the police station and observed that they all went in together, including the dog. He knew this was the kind of thing Amaryllis would have done, which made him worry they were spending too much time together because of the wintry weather. Oh, well, when the thaw came they could get out from under each other’s feet.
He imagined she would have followed up by mounting an attack on the police station to break the man out, since she was so friendly with him, but Christopher couldn’t bring himself even to attempt this.
He told himself not to tell her about this latest development, but as usual this resolve didn’t last long. They met Jemima and Dave in the Golden Peach for dinner that evening, and because nothing much seemed to have happened, what with Christmas and the snow, which they were fed up talking about, the topic of homelessness came up. Amaryllis confessed to having given the man her parka, and was duly scoffed at by Dave, although everyone present knew he was such a big softie that if he had encountered the man he would have incurred Jemima’s wrath by inviting him home for tea.
‘It’s the animals I feel sorry for,’ said Jemima cryptically.
‘The animals?’ said Amaryllis.
‘He’s got a dog, hasn’t he? I saw them snuggled up together in the doorway of the wool shop - the day before the snow came.’
All life in Pitkirtly, Christopher reflected, was now divided into the era before the snow and the time of the snow: he supposed this must be what it would be like if there were a major catastrophe that affected everyone on earth. An Ice Age - not that this was in the same category, of course. It just felt like it some nights, when you couldn’t get warm in bed or when the lights went out.
‘Why do you feel sorry for them?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Dogs were made to follow people around doing what they do. The homeless man’s dog is just doing the same.’
‘But what if something happens to the man?’ said Jemima. ‘Aren’t homeless people more likely to die than normal people are?’
‘‘Everybody’s likely to die,’ said Dave blithely, crunching prawn crackers.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Jemima. ‘He could even die of hypothermia - here in our town. Under our noses. And we haven’t done anything to stop that happening.’
‘Charlie Smith has,’ said Christopher without thinking.
They all stared at him.
‘What’s Charlie done?’ said Amaryllis. ‘He hasn’t deported him to Rosyth, has he?’
Christopher laughed. ‘He’s taken them to the police station. The man and the dog.’
Amaryllis frowned. ‘He’s arrested them?’
‘Not that I know of,’ said Christopher. ‘But I saw them all going in there together earlier - about lunch-time.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Amaryllis. ‘We’d better find out what’s going on.’
‘When you say we’d better find out, do you mean -?’ asked Christopher, hoping she didn’t.
‘We can pop round to the police station when we’ve finished in here,’ said Amaryllis.
Christopher immediately made up his mind to order dessert followed by coffee followed by liqueurs. The fact that he had once tried a Golden Peach dessert and felt as if he had eaten a foam-filled pillow was neither here nor there. He just wanted to put off the moment when Amaryllis made an idiot of both of them at the police station, not for the first time either.
‘Are you sure you should interfere, dear?’ said Jemima.
‘I don’t want them harassing him,’ said Amaryllis.
‘Have you ever known Charlie Smith harass anybody?’ said Christopher. He knew anything he said was only going to be a token protest. He knew, and he knew Amaryllis knew, that he would feel bound to accompany her and share in the embarrassment.
‘There’s always a first time,’ said Amaryllis darkly.
‘You’re right there,’ said Dave, digging into the egg fried rice again. ‘My motto is, never entirely trust the police.’
Jemima glared at him. ‘You might have told me that before we got married! I’ve always tried to live within the law.’
‘Ah, but the police and the law aren’t always on the same side,’ said Dave. ‘Does anybody want more Singapore noodles?’
Christopher dragged the meal out for as long as he could, which was until Dave said with a chortle, ‘Trying to put off your trip to the police station, then?’ and he realised he had made it much too obvious.
‘You didn’t really want that extra cup of coffee, did you?’ said Amaryllis to him as they left the restaurant.
‘Yes,’ he said stubbornly. ‘In this weather you need more hot drinks than usual - it’s a scientific fact.’
Jemima and Dave headed off home, while Amaryllis turned her steps in the direction of the police station, and Christopher followed her. Being there with her was preferable to the alternative, which was having to go round there later to bail her out after she had been arrested for causing a disturbance or worse.
The front door was closed, of course, but Amaryllis ignored the fact that it was well past the time when the police station could reasonably be expected to be open for customers, and leaned on the bell. After a while someone spoke on the intercom.
‘It’s Amaryllis Peebles,’ she announced. ‘I have to see my client.’
‘He’s not your client,’ murmured Christopher.
‘How do you know?’ she said, and added, into the intercom, ‘Chief Inspector Smith knows about it.’
One more strangled phrase came out of the speaker, and after a few minutes’ pause the door swung open. Sergeant McDonald appeared, a chunk of bread in one hand and a glass of what might have been Ribena but which looked suspiciously like red wine in the other.
‘We’re closed,’ he said. ‘We’ve been on shift continuously for four days, and we can’t be catering to people who choose to make demands in the middle of the night.’
Before Amaryllis could enter into a debate with him on the subject, he was pushed aside unceremoniously by Charlie Smith, who ha
d a tomato ketchup bottle in one hand.
‘We’re just about to have our meal,’ he said. ‘But you can come in for five minutes. Five,’ he repeated, holding up his free hand with all the fingers spread out, just to make sure they understood.
Christopher suspected he had only decided to let them in because his fish supper was getting cold and he knew how long Amaryllis could spin out an argument.
Mr Smith ushered them into what must be the staff kitchen. There were fish suppers all round, and a bottle of red wine in the middle.
‘We’ve been stuck in here for days,’ said Sergeant McDonald defensively, seeing where Christopher’s gaze lingered. ‘We’ve had to eat frozen sprouts. And microwaved Christmas pudding.’
‘Not in the same dish, I hope,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Can I see my client now?’
Mr Smith gave her a look. He and Sergeant McDonald sat down at the table with Karen Whitefield and a uniformed constable.
‘I seriously doubt that he’s your client,’ he observed, scooping fish and a share of the chips on to his plate and deluging the whole lot with tomato ketchup. ‘Unless it’s the dog that’s the client, and the man is just a kind of optional extra.’
‘Have you arrested him?’ said Amaryllis.
Chief Inspector Smith gave a hollow laugh. ‘Can you just imagine the fuss if I arrested a dog over Christmas? Quickest way to start a Twitter campaign, or what?’
‘Not the dog, the man,’ said Amaryllis.
‘OK, tell you what,’ said Mr Smith, in the interval between shoveling chips into his mouth and taking a large swig of red wine. ‘If you can tell me his name, I’ll accept he’s your client. Otherwise I’m going to have to send you on your way.’
‘Tell you his name? What is this, an audition for Rumpelstiltskin?’ said Amaryllis.
The police officers all laughed. Christopher wished he could teleport out of here. Surely something would happen that would stop this charade.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a blood-curdling sound. It was a kind of howling sound, and it came from further down the corridor, beyond the kitchen. As it rose and fell, he saw that the officers at the table had apparently gone into suspended animation: Mr Smith with his mouth open ready to receive a forkful of chips, Karen Whitefield with a glass halfway to her mouth, Sergeant McDonald in the middle of munching a large piece of bread and the young constable in the act of retrieving a bit more fish from the parcel in the middle of the table.
As often happened, Amaryllis was first off the mark, wrenching open the kitchen door and haring off down the corridor before any of the others had moved. Christopher followed at a pace he considered sensible. He felt only a small pang of guilt at letting her confront the situation first. He knew that she was the one best qualified to cope with anything from slipped stitches to mass murder.
Chapter 21 Breakout
The dog continued to howl as Amaryllis ran towards it.
She hadn’t been along this way before on any of her previous visits to the police station, but she thought it led to a small number of police cells where suspects could be kept for short spells before being transferred as required to the prison at Auchterderran. It wasn’t exactly standard procedure for a dog to be kept in one of the cells, but she assumed it had come in with the homeless man and Charlie Smith had allowed them to stay together. He wasn’t unsympathetic by the standards of his profession.
She knew which cell it was from the way the door swung open, partially blocking the corridor. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find in there, but seeing the dog on its own was one of the better options she had imagined. It stopped howling at once and came towards her, wagging its tail.
‘Good dog,’ she said.
Christopher appeared, a little short of breath. She would have to instigate a fitness programme for him, otherwise he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy the gold-plated pension he was no doubt entitled to as the employee of a public body.
‘What’s happened?’ he said. ‘Where’s the homeless man?’
‘Gone,’ she said.
Charlie Smith came along the corridor, followed by the young police constable.
‘He’s gone,’ she told them, to avoid the tedium of hearing them repeat Christopher’s question.
‘Search the building!’ snapped Mr Smith. ‘Keith, take this end and the back yard, I’ll do the other end and the car park. He won’t be far away.’
‘When did you last see him?’ said Amaryllis.
‘About fifteen minutes ago - I brought his fish and chips along. And something for the dog,’ added Charlie over his shoulder as he set off back down the corridor, opening doors and slamming them again as he went. ‘You two get back to the kitchen!’ he called.
The constable went the other way and they heard him slamming doors too.
‘I wonder if there’s another way,’ said Amaryllis thoughtfully. ‘Windows? A hatch in the ceiling? An air duct?’
‘This isn’t Mission Impossible,’ said Christopher. ‘That man wasn’t all that agile, not with his bad leg. He’s probably walked out through a door that’s been left open. You can see they’ve got slacker because of Christmas and the weather - someone’s forgotten to lock up properly.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she admitted, and then loped off after Charlie Smith, who had now disappeared round a corner. She paused halfway along the corridor and tested a window. It swung open at a light push.
‘This is it,’ she said. When Christopher caught up with her again she was staring over the windowsill. There was a straggly hedge just outside but its snow-encrusted branches were broken and bent in the middle. ‘Someone pushed through there.’
She was climbing over the sill when the constable came back. ‘Nothing that way,’ he started to say, and then, ‘Don’t do that, you’ll disturb the evidence. Come back here.’
Amaryllis submitted, not very gracefully, to being dragged back into the building. After everyone had studied the spot where apparently the man had escaped, they all went round to the outside of the building to look at it from the other side. Amaryllis fidgeted and fumed meanwhile. Her usual procedure wasn’t to examine evidence in meticulous detail while the people she was pursuing got further and further away. But then, she told herself, she didn’t usually have to make a case stand up in court. She tried to be patient but eventually she couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘We’ll get going, then,’ she announced to the assembled police officers as they retired indoors to look for a camera to take some emergency scene of crime photographs. ‘It’s past Christopher’s bed-time and I need to get him home, otherwise he’ll turn into a pumpkin.’
Christopher blushed. Charlie Smith glanced round and said, ‘I hope you’re not going to go on the rampage round town looking for this man.’
‘Yes, I know that would be a very silly thing to do and I’d be endangering the lives of myself and others,’ she said.
‘You’re right, it would be. But that doesn’t mean you need to do it… I don’t suppose you feel like taking the dog home with you,’ he added,
‘No, I don’t. I know what dogs are like - they wreck everything they go near. I’m more of a cat person.’
‘Mr Wilson?’
‘I’m allergic,’ said Christopher. Amaryllis stared at him in surprise. She had never heard this before, so either Christopher had thought very quickly for once or there were things she didn’t yet know about him. Both possibilities were equally unsettling.
Charlie sighed. He didn’t look as if he believed Christopher either. ‘Off you go, then,’ he said. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
As soon as they were outside the police station, gasping as the freezing night air hit them again, Christopher said, ‘We’re not going to go looking for him, are we?’
‘You heard what Chief Inspector Smith said, didn’t you?’ she countered.
Christopher sighed in his turn. ‘Where will we start?’
She wasn’t sure she liked the idea tha
t she had become predictable, but on the other hand, it would save a lot of time if Christopher didn’t bother to argue with her except when he felt really strongly about something. Evidently he wasn’t going to dig his heels in over this. Contrarily, she wondered what he would do if she just went on home to bed.
She discarded this idea before it was even fully-formed. Life was too short to follow up on every possibility as if you wanted to live in an infinite number of universes at once. But where had that mind-boggling thought come from? Had her brain been adversely affected by the extreme cold? Or had she been spending too much time with Christopher, something she knew from experience could be dangerous in all sorts of ways.
‘Would you like to live in infinite universes?’ she asked him as they turned along towards the High Street again.
‘He won’t have come back here, will he?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Infinity’s always frightened the wits out of me. I’d rather not think about it, if you don’t mind.’
‘We’ll try the shelter behind the war memorial first. Then the garden huts further down, then maybe that old workman’s place in the railway yard - you know.’
‘You don’t want to go there in the dark, do you?’ said Christopher incredulously.
‘Not really. I’m just thinking of places where he might be able to shelter for the night.’
‘I think they may have demolished it anyway,’ he said.
The homeless man, borrower of Amaryllis’s parka and former dog owner, wasn’t in any of the places they looked. Christopher was correct in his surmise about the workman’s hut in the railway yard, so they didn’t even have to go too near the place which had such bad memories for both of them. On the way back up the road they searched the yard behind the shop where the Happiness Club had once had its headquarters, the giant wheelie-bins behind the Golden Peach and the rather upmarket shed where they had once hidden with Jock McLean and Darren Laidlaw.
‘I give up,’ said Amaryllis. She felt dispirited, which wasn’t like her. She had somehow imagined she had a connection with the homeless man. Even if only via the loan of the parka.
5 Frozen in Crime Page 12
