Partners in Crime

A cloud of smoke broke against Allan’s cheek.

‘I’m only-’

‘I’m not taking money from that…’ She puckered her lips. ‘Just shut up and drive.’

The solicitor’s receptionist was making eyes at him. Or maybe she was making eyes at the pot plant in the corner? It was kind of hard to tell, the way that they both pointed off in different directions like that. Long curly blonde hair, little chin, heart-shaped face, scarlet lips. Cute, in a sort of Marty Feldman meets Christina Aguilera kind of way. She pulled off her glasses and polished them on the hem of her skirt, flashing an inch of milk-bottle- white thigh and the top of a hold-up stocking. A smile, squint like her eyes. ‘I’m sure they won’t be long. Would you like another cup of tea?’

It was an old-fashioned kind of room, with wooden panelling and dark red carpets, the walls covered in framed watercolours and certificates.

Allan shifted in his green leather armchair. ‘No, thanks. I’m good.’ Tea and coffee were just wheeching right through him today. Must be the cold. ‘So … have you worked for Emmerson and Macphail long?’ OK, not the smoothest of lines, but slightly better than, ‘Do you come here often.’

‘Two months. Mostly it’s just answering the phones and making tea.’ She bit her bottom lip, one eye lingering its way up his body — while the other went off for a wander on its own — coming to rest on the flashing Santa bobble hat at the very top. ‘We don’t usually get anyone as exciting as the police in here. Are you working on a case?’

‘Actually,’ he scooted forward, lowering his voice, ‘we’re-’

The office door banged open and the inspector stormed out, arms going in all directions. ‘Don’t you sodding tell me to calm down, you patronising, sanctimonious, hairy-eared, old-’

‘But Mrs Steel,’ a baldy-headed man shuffled out after her, the front of his white shirt soaked through with what looked like tea, ‘you have to understand, we’re talking about a considerable sum of money here. At least think about it.’

She marched straight through the reception area and out the main door, slamming it hard enough to make a wall full of pictures shudder.

‘Oh dear.’ He ran a hand across his forehead, then stood there, dripping on the carpet. ‘She really is quite excitable.’

Allan stood. Pointed at the door. ‘I’d better, probably-’

‘Constable, can you do your inspector a favour?’ The solicitor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his damp face. ‘Tell her the time limit contained in the behest is very precise. Mr MacDuff will be cremated at three o’clock on the twenty-seventh, whether she’s there to deliver the eulogy or not. And considering how much is at stake… Well, it would certainly be in her best interests.’

‘Er, exactly how much are we talking about?’

‘I really don’t think it would be appropriate for me to discuss that.’ He turned to the receptionist. ‘Daphne, can you be a dear and fetch me a towel? I appear to have had an accident.’

December 27th

Half past nine and Allan was in the canteen, piling foil-wrapped bacon butties onto a brown plastic tray. Good job he wasn’t one of those evangelical vegetarians, or he’d be spitting in every one. CID were just a bunch of lazy sods. Should be getting their own damn butties. Whatever happened to good will to all men?

He squeezed in half a dozen assorted coffees at the other end and carried the lot down to the CID wing. Really it was just of a handful of rooms lurking at the end of a smelly corridor they still hadn’t managed to scrub the brown streaks out of, but that didn’t sound quite as impressive.

DI Steel was lurking in her office, scowling at the phone and drumming her nails on the desktop. ‘Took your time.’

Allan dumped a buttie and a big wax-paper cup beside her in-tray. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Don’t start.’ She unwrapped the floury roll and sank her teeth into it. ‘Mmmph, mnnnnphmmm?’

‘Today’s the twenty-seventh.’

‘Stunning powers of observation there, Constable Guthrie. You’ll go far.’

‘What I mean is, it’s the funeral today. Of your mate, MacDuff.’

‘Desperate Doug MacDuff’s no sodding mate of mine.’ Another mouthful, washed down with a scoof of coffee. ‘Get a car.’

‘How much?’ Allan turned to stare at her.

‘Watch the road!’

He snapped back just in time to see the back end of a bus. Slammed on the brakes. The pedal juddered under his foot, the ABS twitching as the car slid into the kerb. So much for the weather getting better after Christmas. The roads were like glass, and everyone drove like an idiot. ‘Stupid bus driver…’ Allan wrangled the car back out onto the road. ‘Fifty-four thousand quid, and all you have to do is deliver the guy’s eulogy?’

‘It’s no’ as simple as that. I’d have to be nice about him. And if his greasy lawyer thought I’d no’ been enthusiastic enough, I’d get sod all. Enthusiastic, about Desperate Doug MacDuff?’ She stared out of the window, mouth a narrow, pinched line. ‘Man worked as an enforcer for the McLeods, Wee Hamish Mowat, and Malk the Knife. Killed at least six people we know of, probably a hell of a lot more. Then there’s the beatings, abductions. Rape…’

‘So lie. Fifty-four grand! Say he was a great guy, a credit to his family, loved by women, admired by men. Take the money and run; who cares if he was a complete scumbag?’

‘I care.’

‘No answer.’ Allan stuffed his hands back in his pockets.

‘Try it again.’

The Griffiths’ street was like Dr Zhivagoland — everything covered in rounded mounds of white. Cars, hedges, trees, the lot. Icicles made glass fangs from the guttering, twinkling in the morning light. Sky so blue it was almost painful to look at.

He leant on the doorbell again and a deep brrrrrrrrrrrrrring sounded somewhere inside. ‘Maybe she’s gone out?’

Steel shook her head. ‘Look at the drive.’

Someone had dug it clear, all the way to the slippery road; a snow-blanketed Range Rover was parked in front of the garage, one of those big ugly Porsche Cayennes blocking it in. The paintwork frost-free and glistening. ‘She’s got visitors.’

‘Once more with feeling.’

Allan ground his thumb into the brass bell, keeping the noise going. ‘You know, there’s still plenty time to head out to the Crem.’

‘I’m no’ telling you again.’

‘Just saying: fifty-four grand goes a long way when you’ve got a wee kid to bring up. Good nursery, maybe a private school, couple of nice holidays. Otherwise, what, the Taxman gets it?’

‘Where the hairy hell is…’ Steel screwed her eyes up, peering through the glass panel beside the door. ‘Here we go.’

A muffled voice. ‘Who is it?’

The inspector stepped forward and slammed her palm into the wood. ‘Police. Open up.’

‘Oh… But, I-’

‘Now.’

A clunk and rattle, then the door creaked open a crack and a big pink face stared out at them. ‘Have you found Charles? Is he all right?’ Her cheeks were all flushed, a pale fringe of hair sticking to her glistening forehead.

Steel smiled. ‘Can we come in?’

‘Ah… Well, I’m… It’s not really convenient, right-’

The inspector placed a hand against the door and pushed, forcing her back into the hall. ‘Won’t take long.’

Allan followed Steel inside, clunking the door closed behind him, shutting out the cold.