Silence as he listened to his colleague down the line. Ally watched him stifle an eyeroll at something he’d heard, but he pressed on. ‘A woman, white, mid-forties maybe, long coat with fur collar and trim…’
‘My mum called it an Afghan coat,’ Ally told him, wanting to be helpful.
‘An Afghan coat. One black eye. Out alone and passing between blocks one and two, possibly going inside one of the buildings. That’s where I lost her. Positively ID’d as the suspect handling stolen jewellery in the repair shop case.’
More silence. Jamie shifted his weight from foot to foot, holding a hand to his brow, growing agitated.
‘The ID was from Allyson McIntyre,’ he said, having been prompted. ‘We were outside the Ptarmigan…’ He was interrupted. ‘About five minutes ago.’
Something that sounded like tinny, crow-like laughter came over the speaker. Even Ally heard it from a few feet away. Jamie brought the phone back to his ear. ‘Are you sending a team…’ Again, he was interrupted. He listened, his face falling. ‘Right. I won’t. Yes. I said I won’t.’ He let his hand fall to his side as whoever it was hung up the call. ‘Shit.’
‘What is it?’ Ally staggered to her feet, not sure if she should put a hand to his arm to calm him. They’d kissed, but what were they now?
‘That was Robert Mason. He called me “Taggart” and told me to leave the stakeouts to the big boys.’
‘Uh? So, they’re not coming to search for her?’
Jamie’s face told her everything she needed to know.
‘Come on. Walk you home?’ he said, turning, hands stuffed back in his pockets.
Ally could do nothing but follow him.
Pink bands of morning light, blushing at the memory of the night before, streaked the navy blue horizon as the pair made their way silently through the slowly waking town.
‘Who’s Taggart?’ Ally asked.
It was enough to make Jamie, who’d been lost in his ruminations, break into a wry smile. ‘No idea,’ he said, jutting out his elbow, hand still in his pocket, and she gripped on to him as he saw her to her door in the cool of the Sunday sunrise.
13
Ally slept for a long time and woke up desperate to tell someone what had happened the night before.
Murray was in Mali, possibly. Would he even be reachable? No one in the family had heard a peep from him since he notified Ally about her interview appointment. Worth trying a text at least, she thought.
Murray. I don’t know if you’re overseas and not getting messages. I haven’t had any from you either, by the way, in case you’ve been trying to reach me. I just wanted to tell you about things here. Nothing big, just stuff. So don’t worry or anything. Travel safe, A x
Still under her covers, she read her message over, thinking how juvenile it sounded. Her brother was off working on some huge charity project and she wanted to squeal at him about a kiss?
She deleted it. Not something she’d have done even a couple of years ago when she’d have sent it and waited for him to ring and demand every last torrid detail before imparting some of his dating wisdom upon her.
She didn’t like to think what not telling him about Jamie meant for her and her twin these days, but the sneaking worry they too had grown apart while she’d stayed still in Cairn Dhu played at the back of her mind as she typed a new message.
I know you won’t get this for a while, but I’m thinking about you. We’re all fine. Have fun in Mali! Miss you. A x
She let the message fly from her phone, and turned to wondering what Jamie was doing. They should have made plans for dinner or something when they were at her door this morning as he’d seen her safely inside the sleeping mill house. They hadn’t kissed again on the step, which she wasn’t going to read anything into. He’d been upset about things at work. It was understandable. So she’d wait, and listen for the doorbell. There was no way he’d stay away now. Not now it was clear they had this special connection.
The weather changes quickly in the Cairngorms. One minute you can be buying an ice lolly in your shorts and sandals, the next you can be ankle deep in a flash deluge with rainwater running in a river down the main road. Some days, you can start a hike sweating in seventy degree heat and come back down the mountain to frost on the foothills. Locals are used to these drastic shifts, having lived with them all their lives, but outsiders can be caught unawares in these extremes. Last night had been mild and balmy; today a storm was brewing. Jamie Beaton, however, was about to be taken by surprise by more than fluctuations in the temperature this morning.
Chief Inspector Edwyn’s office at the back of the station was austere and unpleasantly lit with garish strip lights. His certificates and awards hung framed on the white emulsioned walls alongside a picture of him surrounded by his wife and kids from long ago. He was the very image of the upstanding copper Jamie wanted to become.
Edwyn was on his feet, pacing, while Jamie sat in front of the desk. Not a good start, whatever way you look at it.
‘You pursued a suspect alone, having spent the evening drinking in the Ptarmigan?’ he asked in a serious tone.
This was a side of Edwyn Jamie hadn’t had directed towards him before. The angry side.
‘Well, yes, sir, but I’d sobered up by then.’
