‘I can’t, Vicky.’
‘Why, because you and Ennis go back years?’
‘Loyalty is earned.’
‘He’s—’
‘Vicky, you think a guy like me, from my day and age, gets where he is by colouring inside the lines all the time? I made some compromises, and Ennis knows most of them. He goes down, I go down. Is that what you want?’
Vicky knew she wasn’t going to persuade him by fighting him. ‘So what’s the plan, then?’
‘We’ll get him home tonight. Let him sleep a night in his bed. I’ll call Soutar, like you say.’
‘On Christmas Day?’
‘No. Christ, no. I’ll wait until Monday. Meantime, Ryan can get into the doctor’s, get a sick note, get him to sign him off long term. Mental stress, something like that, no longer fit for duty due the rigours he’s endured.’
‘You’re a coward.’ As much as Vicky wanted to say that, she kept her own peace. Just let him spill out his plan.
‘I’m a survivor, Doddsy. Before I speak to Soutar, I’ll put in a word with some contacts. Won’t be Grampian or Highlands who investigate, but I’ve got some mates in the old Lothian & Borders and the old Strathclyde, they’re the ones likeliest to investigate him.’ He sat forward, running his hands through his hair. ‘Was thinking that maybe we can give Considine credit for McLean’s arrest. Give him credit for catching him for Catriona Gordon’s rape.’
‘So you can throw the press a bone?’
‘Aye. Keep them off the scent.’
‘Surprised you’re not going to frame McLean for the murders.’
‘Full confession, Doddsy. I’ll take that. And Ennis was nowhere near the case.’
‘Right.’
‘Tell me I’m doing the wrong thing here.’
Vicky held his gaze. ‘You know you are.’
‘Look, it’s a man thing. Okay?’
‘A man thing?’
‘Aye. Ry wants to protect his kid. Maybe you wouldn’t do the same—’
‘Don’t.’
‘See? You don’t understand.’
Vicky felt that twanging pain in the back of her neck. Like she was going to snap. She got up to standing again. ‘See you on Monday, sir. Have a good Christmas.’ She walked over to the door.
‘Seriously, not a word of this to anyone.’
Vicky stood there, head bowed. ‘I’ll see.’
20
Vicky put her key in the lock and eased the door open. She stopped on the threshold and listened as she removed her key. Letting heat out, but trying to listen for who was still up.
A strange clacking sound.
What the hell?
She stepped inside and nudged the door behind her, then raised the handle to lock it. It didn’t click too loudly. She stepped around the side of the creaky floorboard and traced the clacking to the living room.
Mum was sitting on the sofa, mouthing some secret incantation as she knitted away.
That explained it, then.
Vicky felt her tension release. All through her shoulders and neck. She stepped over to the door, opened it and pushed it shut.
‘Is that you, Victoria?’
Tinkle was lying on her lap, the cat all curled up. And Mum looked terrified of her.
Vicky eased off her jacket and hung it up. ‘Aye, it’s me.’
Dad lay supine on the armchair, legs fully extended. His headphones lay on his belly. He opened his mouth and let out the rawest snore.
Vicky dumped her coat on the side table and leaned in to kiss her mother. ‘You okay?’
‘I was shattered, but I had a good sleep while we were waiting.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Vicky carefully extricated Tinkle from her lap and set her down on the actual cat bed. ‘Has his snoring done any structural damage, do you know?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Mum started putting her knitting away. ‘We’ll get out of your hair, then.’
‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘Not with the wee one upstairs.’
Vicky blushed. ‘Right, no.’
‘And the walk will do us good.’ Mum pushed herself up to standing. Looked painful. ‘George!’
‘What’s that?’ He licked his lips a few times.
‘Wake up!’
‘Just resting my eyes.’
‘George, we’re going home.’
He shifted round. ‘I’ll stay here.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Mum walked over and prodded a knitting needle into his side.
He yelped and jerked up. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Get up. Victoria needs to get on.’
‘Right.’ He rubbed at his eyes, then looked at his daughter. ‘Hey.’
‘I’ll just get his beer out of the fridge, then we’ll be gone.’ Mum scuttled off out of the room.
He looked over at Vicky. Didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up. ‘You catch him?’
‘Them.’
‘One of those?’
‘Complex, aye.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
Vicky glanced over at the door. Sounded like Mum was clearing out half of the fridge. Or loading it with stuff she shouldn’t. Chocolates, cakes, chocolate cake. ‘You ever work with Ryan Ennis?’
‘Oh aye. What did we call him?’ Dad clicked his fingers. ‘That’s it. The Rube.’
‘What’s a rube?’
‘It’s an American thing. A country bumpkin. Easily fooled and parted from their money by big city types. Kid was daft as a brush. One time, Davie Forrester got him to guard a coat hanger and a jacket. For twelve hours! Didn’t even look to see if it was a bloke sitting there. Thought he was just the silent type.’
Vicky flashed up her eyebrows. ‘So he goes back a ways with Forrester?’
‘Long time. Davie was one of my DCs, then we got The Rube in as a Training DC. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘You want to tell me now?’
‘Dad, someone kidnapped Ryan’s daughter. He beat the living shit out of the guy. And I mean, absolutely battered him. He’s in hospital.’
‘I see. You remember that wee shite, Craig Norrie? What he did to you?’
‘Aye, I remember. And I remember what you did to him.’
‘I didn’t really do anything.’
‘But he didn’t do it again.’
‘Exactly.’
‘This is different, Dad.’
‘Is it? The things I did to protect you. It’s not any different.’
Vicky wanted to argue, but she was so bloody tired. She collapsed onto the sofa, roasting from where Mum had been sitting, and stroked Tinkle’s soft fur. ‘So I shouldn’t report him?’
‘Depends what Forrester’s asking you to do.’
‘Sounds like he’ll fudge any investigation into Ryan. Get someone connected to him to park the inquiry. Or maybe not even start one.’
‘I see.’
Mum battered into
