‘Honestly? How do I describe him? It was like being in the same room as a volcano: the intensity of him. I’ve never met anyone like him.’
‘You’re not the first to say that. But honestly, he’s not usually like that. He really was wired directly into the mains then. I’ll tell you how bad he was. Last January he actually asked me to move back in with him for a while.’
‘You refused him?’
‘Obviously. I still live next door to you and your sister, do I not? I told him the truth: when daughters leave home they’re gone for good.’
‘After the day I’ve had,’ Griff said, ‘that’s maybe the wrong thing to say. I’ve spoken to the parents of one daughter who sure is gone and I’ve tracked down the father of another.’
‘The girl on the beach near Gullane? The photo on the front page of the
‘Yeah, we know who she is now: we . . .’
And then it came to her, as if an unseen hand had swept a curtain aside. In that instant she was somewhere else as a scene replayed itself in her mind. ‘And so do I,’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t remember her name, but I’ve met her. I’m sure of it now: she was a very striking girl, blonde and really beautiful; not just on the outside either. She had a really bubbly personality.’
‘When was this?’ Montell exclaimed.
‘About three months ago. I was with my dad and the kids one weekend; we went to a street market in Leith, fashion, CDs, arts and crafts, that sort of stuff. She had a stall, selling paintings, originals, all her own work. I stopped and looked at it, and I saw a couple that I was sure Pops would like. He was down at the time, still wounded by everything, so I bought him one, the biggest, as a cheer-up present.’
‘How did you pay her?’
‘It was a few hundred quid so I wrote her a cheque.’
‘Payable to Zrinka Boras?’
‘That’s it! Ms Z. Boras: I asked her where her name came from. She laughed and said that it came from her dad and that he was from Bosnia-Herzegovina.’
‘Jeez!’ Griff whistled. ‘Your old man must really have been off the ball back then. Stevie Steele showed him that photograph this morning and he didn’t recognise her. Maybe you should tell him, before your name shows up when we access her bank records.’
‘That’s a good point. I will, but don’t be too hard on him,’ Alex protested. ‘The way he was back then, he could have met Charlize Theron and forgotten about it.’
Twenty
‘You cut it fine,’ the woman exclaimed. ‘I was on my way to the door when the phone rang. If I had closed it behind me, I wouldn’t have come back in to answer, you know.’
‘I know, Sylvia, and I’m sorry,’ said Maggie Rose, making herself sound contrite. ‘I won’t keep you long, honest.’
‘Och, it’s all right. I’m in no rush. And . . .’ she drew a breath ‘. . . I like to keep in with the police.’
Rose had enjoyed a working relationship with Sylvia Thorpe for several years. She was an executive officer in the General Registers Office of Scotland, and she had been a useful contact on several occasions. ‘That’s what I like to hear. By the way, how’s Jim Glossop, your old boss? Enjoying retirement?’
‘You know Jim: he can’t sit still. He was choked when he had to pack it in, so now he works for half a dozen charities for nothing. Not me, when I get to that age: I’ll be off round the world. Now, what can I do for you, Maggie? Which villain’s antecedents are you trying to trace this time?’
‘Mine. This isn’t an official request; I’m asking for a favour.’
Thorpe chuckled. ‘A parking ticket’s worth?’
‘Ouch! I can’t even make my own tickets disappear, Sylvia. Let’s just say there’s a drink in it.’
‘And you know that on a big night out I might have one Bacardi Breezer.’
‘I’ll buy you a case.’
‘God forbid! What do you want?’
‘Stuff I can’t get in the Scotland’s People website, or I’d have logged on there. I’m looking for the death records of my grandmother and my aunt Fay.’
‘Where and when?’
‘I don’t have exact dates, but my granny died thirty years ago, and Aunt Fay died eight years later, both in Edinburgh.’
‘Ages?’
‘My aunt was forty-two and my granny was sixty-one.’
‘Full names?’
‘My granny was Mrs Martha Kellock, maiden surname McKinstry, and my aunt was Miss Euphemia Kellock. No middle names: we don’t go in for them in my family.’
‘Your grandfather’s full name?’
‘Herbert Kellock.’
‘Do you want his record as well?’
‘No, just those two.’
‘Okay,’ Thorpe declared. ‘I can find them from that information. How urgent is this?’
‘Whenever you can?’
‘Okay, I’ll try to get it done tomorrow morning. Do you want me to post the extracts to your home address, since it’s a personal enquiry?’
‘No. Send them to the office, please; first class, so they get there on Friday. It’s my last day before I go off. Give me a note of the cost of the extracts, and I’ll send you a cheque.’
‘Don’t be daft. What do you mean, you’re going off?’
‘Maternity leave. Stevie and I are having a baby in a couple of months. Eleven weeks on Saturday, according to the timetable.’
‘That’s wonderful! Congratulations. It couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Maggie,’ suddenly Sylvia Thorpe sounded serious, ‘why do you want this information? Are you growing a family tree?’
‘God forbid. There’d be too much bitter fruit on it if I did. No, let’s just say that I want my daughter to know what might be in store for her.’
‘Ah.’ Rose heard a sigh on the line. ‘Look, I know you well enough to be blunt. We get quite a few requests for this, the bulk of them from women; you were a detective, so you can work out why. Have you got something to worry about?’
‘Maybe, Sylvia, maybe. The women in my family have an unfortunate history: they tend to die young. At this moment I need to know a little more about it. But please, keep this between the two of us.’
‘That’s why you want the extracts sent to the office, isn’t it? Maggie, whatever this is, doesn’t Stevie have a right to know?’
‘It’s probably nothing, so he doesn’t need to at this stage. If it is a problem . . . we’ll deal with it together.’
Twenty-one
‘We take a right turn here, sir,’ said PC Reid, leading the way, trudging heavily through the sand. ‘Then we follow the path that skirts the golf course. Round the first bend there should be a fork, where we’ll go left.’
Mackie, perspiring in his uniform, Steele and Wilding, with their jackets slung over their shoulders, followed in his tracks as the rising trail crossed a small spring and became firmer underfoot. The warmth of the May evening
