by V Clifford
She stopped and leaned against the railings above Archie’s flat. A thin shaft of light peeked out between the shutters. She wiped her face on her tee shirt. Should she or shouldn’t she? Stupid to even ask the question. She descended the steps and knocked on the door. Footsteps padded up the hall and the door swung back. Roderick stood wide-eyed and tried to slam the door. She was quick and jammed her foot in the threshold.
He said, ‘I’m not letting you in.’
‘Of course not,’ she said as she forced the door open and pushed past him into the hall.
‘You can’t do this,’ he said, as he staggered back against the wall.
Since she knew the layout of the flat she went directly to the sitting room. ‘Offer me a seat.’
He snorted. ‘Who the hell are you? And what are you doing pushing your way in?’
Before she could answer there was noise down the hall.
‘What’s g . . .?’ Archie entered, wearing the same hoodie as Roderick.
She smirked. ‘Hello. I thought I’d drop by.’
Archie shook his head. ‘But how did you get in?’
‘Easy.’ She glanced towards the door.
Archie turned to see Roderick standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, who said sulkily, ‘She was persuasive.’
Archie looked at Viv. ‘So what do you want?’
‘I’ve no idea, but first I’d like to hear your side of things.’
He stared at her. ‘What things, what do you mean?’
‘I mean what part have you played in the whole charade?’
Archie clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘I don’t have anything to tell.’ He stepped into her space. ‘What charade?’
She wasn’t in the slightest intimidated but said, ‘Don’t come any closer. You already know that I’m fitter than you. And I don’t think Roderick here is keen to get anymore GBH on his record than he already has. Let’s start with whose idea it was to attack the Queen.’
Roderick and Archie looked from one to the other, the shock on their faces like a comedy duo.
Archie stuttered, ‘No way. No way did we attack the Queen. We attacked my dad . . . shit. Shit!’ He ran his hands roughly through his hair, leaving it standing at odd angles to his head. ‘Oh, my God. It wasn’t like that.’ Beads of sweat stood proud on his forehead. He swiped them with the back of his hand. ‘My father is an Archer. We, I just wanted to humiliate him. He’s done it to me often enough. I thought it would pay him back.’
‘So Roderick pushed him over?
‘No. It went wrong. I told Rod that my dad would be in the right hand flank third from the front as they were coming out of the High Kirk. They all have their positions, but for some reason on that day Major General Cornwallis had swapped positions with my dad. Roderick wasn’t to know – he’d only ever seen a photograph and it wasn’t a recent one.’
‘I don’t need to point out how this looks, given the other stuff.’
‘What other stuff?’
Viv shook her head. Was he really this naive or was he taking the piss?
‘The stuff I found on your computer, not to mention that you’re harbouring a criminal.’
He looked genuinely confused. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’ Ignoring the bit about the criminal. ‘There’s nothing on my computer that shouldn’t be there.’
She raised her eyebrows then glanced at Roderick, who looked away.
Archie noticed the exchange. ‘Rod, what’s on my computer that shouldn’t be there?’
Both Viv and Archie stared at him in expectation. He didn’t speak. He stared at his foot as he scuffed it over the carpet. ‘Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?’
Archie replied, ‘If you didn’t know then you didn’t know. But someone does. So if not you . . .? It would have to be someone with access to the cyber hub.’
He turned to Viv who said, ‘I agree. Who among your work buddies would want to set you up?’
Archie rubbed his hands over his face. ‘None of them. I mean why would they? I haven’t hurt any of them . . .’ A questioning look flitted across his face.
‘What? What did you just think of then?’
Archie shook his head. ‘Nothing. It was nothing.’
‘No, it wasn’t nothing, otherwise you wouldn’t have looked the way you did. Now what crossed your mind?’
‘I’m embarrassed to say.’
Viv let go of a sigh. ‘Come on, Archie. Don’t be shy.’
‘Well, Frances asked me to go out with her.’ He laughed. ‘There’s no way that she’d do anything nasty just because I wouldn’t go on a date with her. Anyway it was ages ago.’
Viv thought she wouldn’t be too sure about that and instinctively rubbed her neck where the spike of the toothpick had pricked her carotid artery. ‘How long ago?’
‘A couple of months back.’
Viv’s mind slipped into overdrive. If Frances had had a thing for Archie, it hadn’t surfaced on the weekend away. She’d ignored him, even been rude to him. Was there malice in their lack of communication? Frances had been off her game after Viv rescued her from the sea. Why hadn’t Archie gone in to help her? Or Gordon for that matter?
‘D’you think she’s ever asked Gordon out?’
‘How would I know? She’s desperate but not that desperate.’ He snorted. ‘I really don’t believe she’d put my career at risk.’
Viv raised her eyebrows. ‘No, you’ve done that all by yourself. Have you any idea how much . . . oh never mind. If you don’t know then you shouldn’t be in the job. You’re supposed to be hyper aware of “National Security”. She made the sign of parenthesis. ‘Why would you do such a stupid thing?’
He looked sheepish. ‘It was a bet.’
Suddenly the grubby carpet was the most interesting thing in the room to both Archie and Roderick.
Archie continued. ‘It was only a way for me to get back at him, my dad. I’m so sick of being maligned. Everything, and I mean everything, I do is wrong. I just thought it wouldn’t do him any harm to be humiliated for a change. He thinks he’s so perfect. Every one around him has to live up to his expectations. I’m sick of it. I know it sounds juvenile but . . .’
He sounded convincing. Viv had known families who had driven their children to suicide because of their draconian attitudes to sexuality, using humiliation as a way of trying to control them. But Archie had more that he wanted to hide than his sexuality: his gambling wasn’t anything to be proud of.
Archie stood up to his full height and ostentatiously cracked his knuckles. ‘I’m sure you don’t have to tell Marconi any of this.’
‘I’m not working for Marconi.’
At first he seemed to relax, but realising that if she wasn’t working for Marconi it must be someone higher up the ladder, he tensed.
She inclined her head in confirmation.
‘I’m sure you could find a way . . . It was all a big ruse to get back at my family . . . nothing to do with the Queen.’
‘Even if I believed that, I’ve got to report . . .’
Archie and Roderick flashed a look between them.
‘Don’t even think about making this any worse for yourselves that you already have. I mean at the moment you’re probably looking at getting your knuckles rapped.’ She looked from one to the other again, sensing that they were weighing up their next move. She took a step towards the door. Roderick moved forward.
She smiled, ‘You already know that I’m capable of taking you down.’ She was bluffing because although she could manage them one at a time, two at once would be a test. Archie sighed. But she saw Roderick tense and his weight shift onto the balls of his feet. He sprang at her but she raised her knee and caught him full in the groin. He crumpled as he hit the carpet. Archie got down to his knees and glared up at Viv as if it was her fault.
She shook her head. ‘What? You think I’d let him take me down without protecting myself? Spare me. He’ll not die.’
Roderic
k rolled over onto his side, gasping for air.
Archie said, ‘You didn’t need to hurt him so badly.’
She shook her head again. ‘You’re mad. You think I’m doing this for kicks? The pair of you should think seriously about handing yourself in. Explain exactly what you’ve told me and I genuinely think you’ll get off with a warning.’
‘Hah! You think?’
She paused. ‘I suppose springing a prisoner from the cells will have to come with more than a slap on the wrists. You’ll probably lose your job . . . and who knows what.’
Archie lifted Roderick’s head and cradled it in his arms. It was so touching that Viv had to turn her back. The picture she had built up of Archie now seemed way off the mark. His reaction to Roderick writhing in pain was the reaction of a man in love. No wonder he was making such stupid decisions. Love was as close to madness as most people got, but could Archie be so naive?
***
She jogged from London Road to Fettes, then sprinted the last couple of hundred metres to the front steps where she caught her breath, bowed over with her hands on her knees. The car park was pretty quiet but she spotted Mac’s immaculate Audi and smiled at how much care he took over his cars. Her Rav went through a carwash once a month if it was lucky, but the interior was like an office without the benefit of domestic staff. She headed straight to reception. The person behind the desk wasn’t familiar so she gave her name and asked for DCI Marconi. She’d barely sidled over to the window to shake out her limbs a bit more when Mac tapped her arm and gestured with his head to follow him.
‘Are you sure you need to do this?’
‘No. I’ve just got something tickling at the back of my mind. You know a bit like an earworm only without the benefit of music.’
Mac shook his head. ‘I guess. Right over here.’ He pulled another chair over to his side of the desk and pointed to his own oversized leather seat. ‘You take that since you seem to know where you want to navigate. Talk me through it as you go.’
She glared at him. ‘You sure? I thought the whole point in having me snoop around was because you guys want to keep your noses squeaky clean.’
‘How much stuff have you found that we would have to have a warrant for?’
She smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, just get on with it.’
She tapped on the keys, scrolling through CCTV footage that was definitely clearer than any she’d managed to retrieve. ‘Wow. What a relief to see images that I can actually make out.’
He raised his hand. ‘You can definitely keep that stuff to yourself.’
Mac’s hands looked as if they belonged to a concert pianist and not the large super-fit cop sitting beside her. When she reached the section of film with Martin Martin standing behind her on the Royal Mile she was convinced she could see something inside his jacket which, if Mac would have the film enhanced, could turn out to be a weapon.
‘Look here.’ She pointed to Martin. There’s no way he isn’t carrying. And he’s as nervous as . . .’
Mac leaned over and she caught a hint of his lemony smell. She sat back so that he could get closer to the screen. ‘I can see that he has something. But it’s a leap from . . . he might have sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil.’
She shook her head. ‘Aye! Sure thing, Detective. You going to get that checked?’
He nodded. ‘Sure thing, sarky.’ He nudged her elbow. ‘Right. What else do you need to see?’ He wandered across his office to a coffee machine and gestured with a cup.
‘No, thanks. I could kill a glass of water, though.’
Viv knew there was a water cooler at the end of his corridor, but more importantly, how long it would take him to get there and back. He glanced round the room as if checking that whatever was lying about was okay to leave where it was. He stepped out of the door and as soon as he did she took out her phone and photographed the first page of a file lying on his desk. She took a shot of the second page, and decided she was pushing her luck so tucked her phone back into her sock. She was scrolling through more footage when Mac returned with two plastic cups brimming with chilled water. She gulped the first one down then took her time with the next.
‘I wonder . . . are you tracking Roderick’s phone?’
He hesitated.
‘Well, if you’re not may I suggest . . .’
‘Different laws apply. He’s not . . .’ Mac stopped and tapped his fingers on his lips. ‘Hang on. I think I can make that happen.’
Viv shook her head. ‘For fuck sake. Shouldn’t that have been the first thing to do?’
‘Watch it. We’re not as incompetent as you think. We do, however, have to work within the law. Until we have a clear, unequivocal version of what happened outside St Giles’ we couldn’t make a charge of terrorism stick. But now and since his escape I think . . . well never mind what I think.’
She had no such concerns and could find her own way to track him now that she had photographs of his file, containing his phone number and address. She pushed the seat back from the desk and stretched her arms above her head. ‘That yoga just about killed me.’
‘And that would be exactly why you need it. I take it lover boy . . .’
‘Don’t even go there. He’s not my lover boy and . . . never mind. I’m going home to a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.’
He yawned. ‘Me too. Want a lift?’
‘Oh, that would be so good. I’m totally bushed.’
Chapter Twenty Six
Before hitting the hay for the night she slumped at her desk and groaned as she read an automated email reminder that she was meeting Josie, a friend from Paris, at the Book Festival the next morning. That had completely dropped off her radar. Should she reply? She didn’t and went to bed.
By morning she was rested and emailed Josie back. ‘See you at the signing tent at 11 am.’
This left her plenty of time for research. First up she posted a message on one of her hacking groups – she’d read a stream not so long ago discussing the ins and outs of tracking. While waiting for replies she made toast and coffee and listened to the news on the radio. The sun was streaming in through her sitting-room window. She licked the hot butter running down her chin and her fingers and mused at how tourists might be lulled into a false sense that Edinburgh was a sunshine capital. And, if the headlines were to be believed, the city was crimeless so long as the Festival was on. With her laptop and a cup of coffee she settled on the couch and revisited the Facebook pages she’d been to before. The police had not been diligent enough in removing all the information about the illicit party at Bute House. What she was accessing on social media sites was evidence that they hadn’t followed the video trail to its conclusion and consequently she found a ton of stuff on Roderick and those he hung out with in cyberspace, including more video footage of the actual party.
She didn’t recognise many of the faces but it wouldn’t take long to pair them up with Face Book accounts if they’d been tagged. There was a theme emerging in the some of the posts that got her attention. One in particular, a group calling themselves ‘The Neo-Jacobites’, appeared to be extreme right-wing nationalists.
Their beliefs were further to the right of Genghis Khan’s. Then she spotted it. The motif of a triangle with a thistle inside it and two swords crossed – she’d seen this before and didn’t like the implication. The severed limbs in the photographs that Ruddy had given her both had this motif tattooed on them. And had Martin Martin’s jacket not also had it on? She couldn’t be absolutely sure. She shuddered. This was ugly. She checked the clock. Now this stuff would have to wait until later in the day.
By the time she’d dodged her way through the Grassmarket and along King’s Stables Road she only had a couple of minutes to spare when she reached the pedestrian crossing that fed into Charlotte Square gardens. It was like walking through the door of the wardrobe into book Narnia. Viv felt immediately at home, knowing that everyone inside the perimeter fence was ther
e for the same reason – to celebrate books and reading. Josie wasn’t difficult to spot. Tall, broad, with her hair cut to a centimetre from her scalp and tinted cyclamen, she was a beacon. Viv tiptoed up behind her and tapped her shoulder. They hugged and hugged with Josie lifting Viv off the ground. Then, as if just remembering her, Josie introduced Viv to Suzanna, her new friend, who apart from the cyclamen tint, was a dead ringer for Josie.
Suzanna stuck out her hand. ‘Good to meet you, Viv. I hear lots about you.’
‘Oh dear. Never a good thing. Good to meet you as well. We should get going? Have you spotted which queue is ours?’
Josie pointed to a small group milling around outside a tent at the back. ‘We’re going in there. It’s a workshop.’
‘Okay. What does that mean?’
‘It means that you’re going to be confined with us for an hour and a half, Viv. There’ll be a max of thirty people and we’ll be discussing Samuel Beckett.’ She grinned. ‘You’ll love it.’
Viv didn’t know squat about Beckett and imagined that Josie was keen to go because since she’d moved to Paris all things from her home in Ireland had become exotic. It turned out to be a fabulous session, with one inevitable Edinburgh worthy who believed she knew more about the subject than the guy tutoring. Josie was less keen on hearing her views and Viv could see her becoming wound up by it. It was all part of the deal in Viv’s view, although she did wonder what possessed someone to buy a ticket and come along with no intention of learning. After the session the three had lunch at Jamie’s on George Street, where Josie spent the whole time shredding the poor interloper from the Book Fest. They parted trying to fit in another gig before Josie returned to Paris, but it wasn’t likely given Viv’s commitments.
On her way back to the West Bow Viv wandered through the National Gallery. Not in search of a Velasquez or Ramsay, but the first free loo. There were so many people with their necks cricked staring up at the walls she imagined everyone with a migraine by the end of the day. Eventually she found what she was looking for but had to join a snake of women with the same purpose. As with counting sheep on a sleepless night she’d learned a couple of visualisations to take her mind off peeing. But it was the same business as how not to think of an elephant. You had to think of one before you could discard the image. That’s why when parents say things like, ‘Don’t put your finger in that socket’, their toddler’s finger reaches for the socket before the parent screams the next order. The image of lying on a beach in the Seychelles helped for a short time until a light wave broke on the shore, then she was in real trouble.
