over by the window. He veered off through to the other bar. The stables area was only used for functions and still held a musty, stale smoke smell, regardless that the smoking ban had been in place for a good while. So Bob hadn't got Spiv yet, or at least hadn't let on.
Aid glanced through and saw Marge still sitting calculating losses he assumed, for this quiet country bar. The phone illuminated and lit up his eyes as he typed in S..P..I..V. It started to ring, but no answer. Spiv wasn't taking calls by the looks of things. One last try before getting the bottles through and not have to face the bar manager’s wrath. P...A...M.
'Hello'
“Hi Pam. It's Aid'
'Why are you whispering? I can't hear you very well'
'I'm at work. Listen, I need to speak to Spiv. Is he there?'
There was a pause. A definite and noticeable pause.
'No, sorry Aid. He's not with me.'
'Do you know where I can get him?'
'Sorry Aid. I don't think I can help you.'
'OK, you have no idea where he is?'
'I think he is going to be away for a while.'
'What do you mean a while?'
'Just that’s what he said. He needed a break from everything. Needed to get away. '
'Can you get him to call if you speak to him. It's pretty important. We need to speak to him.'
'Yeah, Bob said'
'Did you speak to Bob? Oh. Ok. Listen just, please, get him to call'
'OK. I said I would’
'It's really important Pam.'
‘Only if you don’t believe him. But I do. I thought you were his friends’.
‘Pam. I… I want to. I just want to speak to him. Ok’
The call was brief and unhelpful. Why would he run off now? Unless...
Another quick text to Bob to update him. A loud cough from through in the bar clocked his senses again and he chinked a few bottles together on the bunker before he gathered a few more, tucking the phone back into his breast pocket.
'Is there anything else I can do right now Marge?’
Marge said nothing, in mid calculation, while Aid realised his error.
'5, 500 and 12, 50', Marge counted aloud to make sure Aid could hear. He acknowledged it with a palm mouthing sorry at her. Then he picked up some glasses from the drainer, looked for a dishtowel to dry them with and started thinking about the Spiv situation.
What could he do to help out here? Was there anything that they still just didn't understand? They couldn’t just jump on a letter and blame Spiv. The scarf story was pretty scary, but maybe it was just a story. Whatever it was Ian Ingram had made the whole situation change. Aid’s opinion had changed. Suddenly things just didn’t fit as neatly as they had last year. He put down the pint glass and accidentally nudged a wine glass onto the floor. It shattered immediately.
'Sorry, that was me. Is there a brush.'
'Second door from the end of the back corridor'. Marge didn't look up. She was probably deducting the 30 or 40 pence damages from Aids pay cheque.
Aid wandered off through the back corridor which led into the workers’ quarters, mainly offices and stores. The kitchen was off to the left and the larder within it. Then there was the main office and across from that was the wee office, where he imagined Ian Ingram spent most of the day when he had staff on. TV, PC, DVDs....
Second from the end there were 2 doors opposite each other. One looked like it needed a Yale lock. That would be the one, so he flicked through the keys until he found the right one – a particularly stained affair – and unlocked the door. The room was dark, so Aid flashed his hand up and down the inside wall to find the light switch. It flickered on, and immediately he discovered that this was not the broom cupboard but a single bedroom. An employee’s pad – unoccupied, with nothing much in it. He switched off the light and the door began to swing closed when Aid stopped it – just open. Was this Pam's room? Was that why it remained bare? After she left no-one else had stayed here. The relatives all stayed in the Ingram's main house across the back from the bar.
Aid switched the light back on and searched with his eyes for any details the police may have missed. What would they miss though? They would have had a damn good idea about what they needed to look for – much more than Aid did. He moved the bed and opened the drawers in an old desk that sat there. Nothing - but what did he expect? Something Pam had which indicted or freed Spiv? Maybe his head was running away with him. Maybe he shouldn't have taken this job, but with all the letters coming from Ingram maybe there was truth in some of it or all of it. He sat back on the bed trying to clear his thoughts. He would get out of here, out of this job and get back down to Rosyth to help Bob find Spiv. His phone jingled. A text – from Bob.
‘On the road. Goin 2 C Spiv. He's in Dumfries. I'll text you the postcode for your satnav.’
A further jingle confirmed the satnav detail.
‘I'll b there soon. Take care.’ Aid replied
Aid decided he would give back the bar keys and get out of there. He got up from the bed and stumbled over a waste basket, spilling the contents onto the floor. Clumsy day. Receipts from various shops in town, female purchases, and a note block. Nothing obvious on it but, using amateur detective skills acquired at an early age to read his sisters secret notes, he took the bar pencil which was tucked behind his ear and scribbled across the page to reveal the last message written on the pad.
It was late when Tom arrived back at the house. He took off his jacket revealing a striped jumper that Emma had bought him for his last birthday.
