‘A word in private, she said to Clarke, ‘if you please.’ She quickly ruled out both the waiting area and the outside world and headed to the women’s toilet instead. Clarke gave Creasey a shrug before following.
Behind the door stood two narrow cubicles and a single hand basin. Meiklejohn seemed satisfied that neither cubicle was being used. She rested her considerable frame against the door, barring entry to anyone else.
‘Can I trust you?’ she demanded.
‘That depends.’
‘Neither of these cases concerns my father. So if I were to reveal something to you, there’d be no need for you to share it with anyone else.’
‘The reason he’s been lying low?’
‘He’s frantic, you know. He feels that any association with a criminal case will not only tarnish his good name, but might also jeopardise his future business dealings. He wasn’t in hiding, not from your enquiries and not from anyone he feared.’
‘I’m listening … ’
Meiklejohn looked to the heavens – or at least the stained ceiling – for guidance. ‘This goes no further?’
‘Unless I judge it to be pertinent.’
‘All I want is for you to stop harassing my father.’
‘With respect, I don’t think that’s—’
‘He’s having an affair, all right?’ Meiklejohn blurted out. ‘A woman in London. She’s married. Her husband doesn’t know anything about it. All very clandestine.’
‘Yet he confided in you?’
‘He always has.’ She made it sound like a burden. ‘Anyway, past few days the woman’s husband was overseas. It was their first chance to spend some serious time together, so that’s what they did. Rented apartment, food delivered, drinks cabinet well stocked. It was only towards the end that he bothered checking the news and saw himself featured. Came to me straight away.’
‘Because you’re good at fixing things.’ It was statement rather than question. ‘The woman involved will back this up?’
‘I’m not giving you her name.’ Meiklejohn folded her arms.
‘Tough to let this go without corroboration, Issy.’
‘What if I ask her to contact you? Give me your number.’
Clarke recited it while Meiklejohn tapped it into her phone.
‘I’m trusting you, Inspector. Please don’t let me down.’ She turned to pull open the door.
‘While I’ve got you here … ’ Clarke said.
‘Yes?’
‘Keith Grant.’
‘What about him?’
‘The day he gatecrashed your father’s party … ’
‘Hugely embarrassing.’
‘It was a pitch to potential investors?’ Meiklejohn nodded. ‘Was that the only time you met him?’
‘I didn’t meet him per se. He just came stomping across the lawn towards us shouting about that bloody camp.’
‘Until ejected by Colin Belkin?’
Meiklejohn peered at her. ‘You’re awfully well informed.’
‘I like to be.’
‘My father told me afterwards who he was – I knew about the camp, of course, and the mad plans some people had for it.’ She offered a shrug.
‘Jess Hawkins was a bigger thorn in your father’s side?’
‘It’s a waiting game. Next year there’s a revaluation – hike the rent and the raggle-taggle gypsies will have to move on.’
‘Including your ex-stepmother.’
‘No great loss to either my father or me.’
‘Well, it’s not as if he lacks for female company.’
‘That remark is beneath you, Ms Clarke.’
‘Detective Inspector Clarke, actually.’
‘Can I go?’
‘Answer me one thing first – Lord Strathy tells us he visited Mr bin Mahmoud in London only a few weeks prior to his death.’
‘Yes?’
‘So why did you lie?’
‘I didn’t,’ Meiklejohn bristled.
‘Neither he nor Salman mentioned it to you?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘Cooking something up between them without your knowledge?’
For a moment it looked as though Meiklejohn would give an answer, but with a cold smile she pulled open the door and made her exit. Clarke stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection without really seeing it. Then her phone buzzed with an incoming call: John Rebus.
‘Nothing much to report,’ she told him, pressing the phone to her ear. ‘Strathy was lawyered up, didn’t say much, then collapsed and is currently in A&E.’
‘Just another day at the office, eh? Did Creasey make it down in time?’
‘No. He’s here with me at the Infirmary.’
‘Strathy didn’t give you any plausible explanation for his vanishing act?’
‘He may have had his reasons – nothing to do with either case. I’m having his story checked.’
‘The story being … ?’
‘Need-to-know basis, John.’
‘Precisely why I’m asking.’
‘Maybe later, eh?’ She paused. ‘Creasey seems pretty good at what he does.’
‘She said, attempting to redirect the conversation.’
‘I can’t discuss it, not at the moment.’
‘Will Creasey get the chance to speak with Strathy?’
‘Probably not tonight. He’s undergoing tests with his daughter standing guard.’ Clarke had a sudden thought and yanked open the toilet door. No sign of Creasey in the reception area. Given his chance, he had taken it. ‘Got to go,’ she told Rebus, ending the call. Raised voices came from behind the partition to the rear of the reception desk. Clarke had just reached it when Creasey was escorted out by two orderlies, Issy Meiklejohn bringing up the loudly angry rear.
‘That’s one more complaint!’ she bellowed in Clarke’s direction before disappearing behind the partition again. Creasey was holding up both hands in a show of surrender, so after a final glower, the orderlies followed Meiklejohn. Creasey made show of readjusting his jacket and tie.
‘That wasn’t exactly clever,’ Clarke told him.
‘Bet you’d have done the same, though.’
She couldn’t disagree. ‘And?’
‘He was wearing an oxygen mask. Doubt I could have made anything out even if he’d been willing.’
‘She will make that complaint, you know.’
‘Maybe you could intercede, now she’s your bestie.’ Creasey indicated the toilet. His own phone was ringing. ‘Better answer this,’ he said, walking towards the exit.
‘Never a dull moment, eh?’ a voice piped up.
Clarke looked down at the seated figure who had spoken. A young man cradling his injured shoulder.
‘Know what an ex-colleague of mine would say to that?’
‘What?’ he asked.
‘One of Rod Stewart’s finest … ’
She was about to join Creasey outside – nothing to be gained from hanging around A&E any longer – when he burst in through the doors.
‘I have to head north.’ He looked distracted, eyes everywhere
