by Lesley Kelly
‘Absolutely not.’ Greg’s already colourful cheeks were turning purple. ‘We agreed that Liz would give him a quick once-over and then he’d be out of here.’ He turned to her. ‘I should never have involved you.’
Liz looked considerably calmer. ‘It’s OK, Greg. He can stay.’
‘That’s very kind of—’
‘Shut up, Dad!’ Greg looked apoplectic. Mona was again struck by the family resemblance. They seemed to look most alike when they were furious, right down to the same throbbing vein in each of their temples. ‘Liz, this is not your problem. You don’t have to let some random stranger stay here just because you want to be helpful.’
‘Except he’s not a random stranger, is he? He’s Professor Alexander Bircham-Fowler.’
‘You know him?’ asked Mona, surprised. She knew the professor was never off the news in Scotland, but was unaware that he was particularly well known in England.
‘Oh, yeah. He’s a world authority on the Virus. My friends and I have a lot of time for his views.’
‘Friends?’ Greg spat the word out. ‘Those bloody communists from work, you mean? The lefties with the banners, and the websites full of nonsense?’
‘The words you are looking for are “trade unionists”.’
‘Same difference.’
The two of them glared at each other. Greg looked away first.
‘Fine. Do what you like. But I want it on record that I think this is a bad idea.’
Liz turned to them. ‘Do you want to make him comfortable on my bed?’
Paterson walked over to the professor’s chair. Greg didn’t move, and the other three stared at him. Eventually he snapped. ‘Oh for God’s sake. Come on then, Dad.’
The professor moved, Paterson reappeared and closed the door firmly behind him.
‘Bit of a discussion going on in the hall.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Stroke of luck her being a fan of the professor.’
‘I think she’s quite politically engaged. See this.’ Mona handed him one of the leaflets. ‘Shame it provoked a lover’s tiff, though.’
Paterson ignored the leaflet. ‘Lover’s tiff? You think they’re an item?’ A grin spread across his face.
‘I just assumed so. Don’t you know?’
Paterson shrugged.
‘Before we came down here, when did you last speak to Greg?’
He mumbled something that could have been ‘Christmas’.
‘What was that?’
‘December.’
‘Oh. As in last Christmas?’
‘As in Christmas two years ago. Anyway, if she is his girlfriend, he’s done well. The face he’s got on him it’s a wonder any woman would look twice.’
‘And there was me noticing a strong family resemblance.’
The front door slammed so hard that the whole flat rattled.
‘Anyway, Guv, back to the matter of the prof. We’re running out of time. We need him at that Health Check by noon tomorrow. We can’t get an unconscious man onto a plane, even if we had his ID and Green Card. Without the Green Card we can’t even get him on a train.’
‘I made all these points on the phone to Stuttle.’
‘And even aside from his immediate health issues, I’m not sure we can keep him safe. We don’t know who these people are who are looking for him, or what they want with him, or with us. Shouldn’t we be involving the Met?’
‘Again, I made that point to Stuttle, and he was adamant that we were not to involve the police. So, not a whisper of Greg’s involvement once we get back.’
‘Guv, I really don’t like this.’
‘I said as much to Stuttle . . .’ There was a sound of ringing from the hall. ‘And I bet that’s him. We must have mentioned his name once too often. Beelzebub, Beelzebub, Beelzebub, and here he is in a puff of sulphur.’
‘I think a puff of Hugo Boss aftershave is more Mr Stuttle’s style.’
Liz appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. ‘It’s for you.’
‘Sorry. Thanks.’ Paterson took the phone, and disappeared back into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.
‘I’ll stick the kettle on,’ said Liz.
Mona followed her into the kitchen. ‘Where’s your accent from?’
‘Same place as the rest of me: Auckland, New Zealand. Are you from the same part of Scotland as Greg?’
She nodded. ‘Edinburgh.’
Paterson appeared. ‘That was Stuttle.’
‘He pulled in those favours in extra quick time.’
‘He’s got a vault’s worth of favours to draw on, as we know to our cost. Anyway, he’s sending a guy with a car.’
A thought occurred to Mona. ‘What do we do about Theresa, Guv? We can’t just leave her down here.’
Paterson snorted. ‘A delicate flower like Mrs Kilsyth? How on earth would she cope? It would be good to check she’s OK, but I really don’t want to use our mobile or hers.’
‘She might still be at Maria’s, if we could find a landline?’
‘Can I borrow your phone one last time?’
‘Of course. You know where it is.’
Mona sipped her tea. ‘I still can’t get over you knowing the professor.’
‘Is he in danger?’
‘We hope not,’ said Mona, slightly evasively. Much as she liked Liz, she wasn’t clear enough where her loyalties lay to confide any of their concerns in her. ‘We’re trying to keep his visit to London quiet . . .’
‘And you’d like me not to mention he was here?’
She nodded. ‘Is that OK?’
‘Sure, if it helps Professor Bircham-Fowler.’
‘Success!’ Paterson came in smiling. ‘Directory enquiries came up trumps. She’s still at Bircham-Fowler’s daughter’s place. I think she’s been telling Maria everything that’s happened over the past twenty years; she sounded high as a kite. Anyway Maria is going to drive her to the airport and try to get her on the next flight back to Edinburgh.’
‘Do you think she’ll be OK, Guv?’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Did you tell her about the professor?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Paterson grinned. ‘I’ll tell her all about our adventures once his nibs is safely delivered to his Health Check and standing up to give his speech in Parliament.’
Mona couldn’t help but think they were some way off that.
10
‘Just here is fine.’
Bernard pointed at the end of Milton Street, a narrow street with tenements on either side, appalling parking, and a fine view of Arthur’s Seat if your window was facing the right way. If he remembered correctly, this was where Maitland had his bachelor pad.
PC McGovern double parked the car, and put the hazard lights on. Grateful as he was for the lift, Bernard was very glad to be saying goodbye. The car journey had been fifteen minutes of interrogation about how they were responding to the memo (which he hadn’t read), what their future plans would be for responding to these attacks on HET officers (which he didn’t know), and what a fine cop like John Paterson was doing wasting his time with the HET nonsense (upon which he really couldn’t speculate).
‘Before you go.’ PC McGovern reached past him into the glove compartment, and pulled out a folder. He leafed through it, then picked out three sheets of pink A4 paper. ‘John, or whoever is currently in charge, needs to complete these and fire them over to Ian Jacobsen, our HET liaison person. He’ll want to give you some guidance on this situation.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And can I give you some unsolicited advice?’
Bernard assumed this was a rhetorical flourish rather than an actual question. He nodded.
‘Ease off on the search until you’ve spoken to Ian Jacobsen, or at least until John is back at work. No offence, but you lot are amateurs when it comes to dealing with some of the nasty bastards out there.’
He nodded, but the advice was moot. He had no intention of doing any furth
er chasing after his Defaulter until someone could guarantee his safety. Someone who had a degree of concern for his well-being. Someone who would take his concerns seriously. Someone who wasn’t Maitland.
‘Thanks for the lift.’ He opened the rear door, and picked up his worldly goods from the back seat.
‘Take care.’ PC McGovern drove off with a cheery wave over his shoulder.
Bernard set off down Milton Street, trying to remember exactly which of the grey stone tenements was home to Maitland’s flat. He’d only been there once before, when an early start had involved him picking up Maitland directly from home. He did not remember his colleague being overly grateful for his lift.
The obvious thing to do would be to phone ahead, but he suspected that any pre-announcement of his arrival would result in him being redirected to a hotel, hostel, YMCA, park bench or any other venue that didn’t interfere with Maitland’s date night. Better to arrive and be shouted at than risk the door not being answered.
He walked up to the first of the tenements and ran an eye over the names on the entryphone. The shifting population of renters meant that most of the names were written on bits of paper, full of scoring-out and Tippexing. Even allowing for the quality of the copperplate, there wasn’t anything resembling a Stevenson. The second tenement had a sun-faded entry that looked like it started with an S and ended -son. He filed it away as a possible, and moved on to a third door. There he found a doorbell with Stevenson typed onto a bit of paper and sellotaped over the previous nameplate. In a stroke of luck, the stair door was propped open. The first Maitland would know of his arrival would be the joyous moment when he opened the door and they were stood face to face. He ran happily up the stairs until he found another sellotaped ‘Stevenson’ and hammered loudly.
After a minute’s delay, Maitland opened up holding a £20 note in his hand. ‘You’re not the Chinese takeaway.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Then why are you here, at my home, outside of working hours?’ He pointed the banknote at him, in what Bernard felt was a rather aggressive manner.
‘You know how my flatmate, Megan, phoned up earlier, in distress?’
‘Yes, sorry to hear that, but—’
‘She was attacked at her flat. A guy broke in and threatened her, had her by the throat and everything.’
‘Sounds awful, but really a police matter . . .’
‘The guy who assaulted her was looking for me.’
‘You?’ He looked sceptical. ‘Why would anyone be looking for you?’
Bernard felt his good humour slipping away, being replaced by the usual Maitland-induced irritation. ‘I think it’s to do with our search for Alessandra Barr.’
Maitland’s face clouded over. ‘I just cannot get a break on this case, can I?’
Bernard stared at him. ‘You? You can’t get a break? My flatmate is hurt, I get threatened and you . . .’ Rage overcame any articulacy he may previously have possessed. ‘Fuck you!’
‘Bernard, language.’ Maitland grinned. ‘Have you spoken to the police?’
‘Yes, and they’ve given me these forms for you to fill in.’ He handed over the pink sheets.
‘Do I have to do it now? Kate’s here. This can wait until morning, surely?’ He looked down and caught sight of Bernard’s bag. ‘Oh no, no way.’
‘But Megan’s kicked me out!’
‘Go to a hotel!’
‘I don’t want to stay in a hotel on my own. What if someone is looking for me?’
Maitland looked less than concerned about this prospect.
‘Anyway, it’s not like you and Kate are going to be, you know, what with her Christian beliefs.’
Maitland stepped out into the hall, and pulled the door shut behind him. ‘I know! But I was looking forward to seeing exactly how far the boundaries laid out in the Good Book could be stretched, which I can’t do with you here.’
Bernard folded his arms. ‘You owe me a favour.’
Maitland grunted.
‘Shall I explain the nature of the favour to Kate?’
‘Don’t you dare!’ For the first time in the entire conversation, Maitland looked animated. ‘She doesn’t know anything about Emma’s bunny-boiling tendencies. Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. You can stay for one night, and one night only.’
There were footsteps on the stairs, and a Chinese man appeared carrying an insulated bag.
‘Do I get a share of the prawn crackers?’
11
Mona sat back on the sofa, her eyes closing again. Liz had left them in the house while she’d gone out to do some shopping. It was quiet, and she’d have been asleep by now if it wasn’t for Paterson flicking through channels on the TV. He seemed unable to settle on watching anything. They’d had thirty seconds of the BBC, thirty seconds of Channel 4, a loud and derisive snort at some American cop show full of beautiful people, then flick, flick, flick up into the high numbers, then back down. She was relieved when he eventually settled on the BBC News Channel.
‘Are you looking for something in particular, Guv?’ she asked, yawning.
‘Nope, just channel-hopping. I suppose I vaguely thought there might be some mention of the professor, but until he misses that Health Check he’s not actually newsworthy.’
‘He’s not going to miss his Health Check, Guv. We’ll get him there.’
‘Of course, now that we’ve got the magnificent Cameron Stuttle pulling out all the stops to help us . . .’
There was a loud knock at the door.
‘And that’ll be the guy.’
‘I’ll get it,’ said Mona.
She caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. The reflection showed someone who had undeniably slept in her clothes, woken up, then slept in them some more. There wasn’t much she could do about that, but she wished she’d taken the time to brush her hair, and show some semblance of professionalism to whichever colleague Stuttle had dispatched to get them. Oh well, too late now. She took off the chain, and cautiously opened up.
Greg was standing there, and judging by the look on his face he was not any better disposed toward them than he had been when he left. In fact, had it not seemed impossible, he looked even more annoyed.
‘Where is he?’ He pushed past her.
‘Guv, Greg is here,’ she shouted, by way of warning.
He flung open the door to the living room. ‘I said, no more favours.’
Paterson looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance. ‘And I heard you loud and clear. Exactly what additional burden have I placed on you since you left here less than one hour ago?’
Greg’s fury appeared to be reaching eruption point. She tactfully inserted herself into the flight path between Greg’s fist and Paterson’s face. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I get into work only to get immediately summoned into the boss’s office. He tells me I’m driving my dad and an unnamed VIP all the way to Scotland, which he is not happy about, by the way, but he’s had orders from above.’
‘That sounds like Stuttle, right enough.’ Paterson sighed. ‘This wasn’t my idea, Greg. Honest. But it’s obviously occurred to my boss that he could make use of the son he knows I have in the MET. Would have been nice of him to mention that on the phone.’
Greg stared at him. ‘And he’s got the clout to do that?’
‘Clout implies that he commands respect and obedience. I’m sure there’s a better word to describe a self-serving toe-rag whose main skill is an ability to accumulate favours. But either way, he gets things done.’ He tapped the remote control distractedly on the side of the table while he thought things over. ‘Did you say that you had already been working with me?’
‘No. I thought it best not to.’
Paterson looked relieved. ‘Good man. One thing for Stuttle to involve you in this, quite another for me to do it off my own back.’
Greg shook his head. ‘Jesus. I have a life here, you know, Dad? One that was going just fine without a
ny input from you. Now Liz isn’t speaking to me, my boss has got the hump, and best of all, I’ve got to drive all the way to Edinburgh.’
‘I can see why you are annoyed, son . . .’
‘Greg!’
‘Greg. I am sorry about getting you and your,’ he paused, ‘friend involved in all this.’
Greg dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘Well, I’m here now. We may as well get him moved. And if he takes ill en route it’s your responsibility, not mine.’ With a final glare in the direction of his father, Greg headed toward the bedroom.
Paterson swept an arm in the direction of the door. ‘After you. Our carriage awaits.’
Mona smiled, and followed Greg.
12
‘Bernard, take a proper helping, there’s plenty for all of us!’
He smiled at Kate, and tipped a sizeable portion of beef in black bean sauce onto his plate, then ladled a couple of spoonfuls of rice and a handful of prawn crackers on top for good measure.
‘Maitland always orders a mountain of food.’
‘Which he generally enjoys eating,’ muttered Maitland.
Bernard watched the happy couple on the sofa from his vantage point cross-legged on the floor. Not for the first time, he marvelled at Maitland’s ability to secure himself extremely attractive girlfriends. He’d moved seamlessly from the blonde and willowy Emma to Kate, who was curly-haired, curvy and possessed of a smile so warm it was a miracle that any man could restrain himself from hugging her.
Maitland, on the other hand, had features that stopped several feet short of handsome. Perhaps his countenance was attractive when the muscles were pulled into something other than a sneer, but Bernard saw other facial expressions so rarely he’d be hard pressed to comment. Maitland’s love life confirmed Bernard’s long-held view that there was no woman who could not be successfully wooed if you had enough height and enough confidence.
Kate picked up the bottle of red and tipped the remaining contents into Bernard’s glass. He murmured his thanks, and took a large mouthful. It tasted both smooth and expensive. Good food, great wine, and best of all a look of glowering hatred on Maitland’s face as he watched Bernard tuck in to the dinner he had paid for. It was almost pleasurable enough to make him forget that someone out there was looking for him, for reasons that he didn’t understand.
