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‘Isla was fifteen and an addict. I believe the Sons of Scotia take a dim view of drugs.’ Shona held up a campaign leaflet lifted from the hall table. On the front, a group of men marched behind the Scottish flag, a white diagonal cross on a blue background. Inside the leaflet was a declaration that they were taking back their country from a list of undesirables that included drug addicts, thieves and immigrants. Prospective supporters were urged to help at animal sanctuaries and hand out food and leaflets to white homeless people.
Saltire got up and walked slowly towards Shona. His posture became stiff as he sought to increase his meagre height. He leaned his face in close to hers and pulled up his unbuttoned shirt cuffs, showing her the inside of smooth pale arms, lightly covered in red-blond hairs.
‘See any tracks? Think I don’t believe what I say?’
‘Do you believe it enough to kill for?’ Shona challenged, her face impassive.
Saltire stared at her. ‘To die for your beliefs is to become a martyr for your cause.’
‘That’s not what I asked you.’ Shona kept eye contact. ‘We have a witness who says you were harassing Isla.’
Saltire looked away first. ‘I didn’t kill Isla. I wanted her to join us.’
‘But she refused? You wanted her back?’
‘I was not having a relationship with Miss Corr.’ Saltire returned to the sofa and sat down.
‘But you argued the last time you saw her?’ Shona took a seat next to Murdo.
‘We had a lively discussion,’ he continued. ‘She needed something to believe in. She’d been clean before but lacked faith and direction. Our organisation would have looked after her, kept her off drugs, given her purpose in her life. A pure and united country is something to work for.’ He was warming to his subject – Saltire as saviour.
‘Did she ask you for money?’ Shona said.
‘I offered her a Tesco voucher for food but that was all.’ He shook his head. ‘You know we set up a food bank in Glasgow for white people, local people, and they shut us down. What sort of government wants its people to starve?’
What sort of human being denies another food based on the colour of their skin, Shona wanted to ask. Instead she said, ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Saltire. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. We’ll see ourselves out.’
Saltire got up and held out the leaflet. ‘Take this with you. Things are changing in Scotland. When the time comes, it might help you decide to do the right thing.’
* * *
They arrived back at the station and Murdo went upstairs to do further digging on Duncan Saltire, promising to call Shona at home if he found anything.
‘Ma’am, your daughter is here,’ the desk officer told her.
Shona checked her phone. No missed calls. Becca was studying at her friend Ellie’s place for the day. What was she doing here at lunchtime? Perhaps she’d finished early, come into town and Rob wasn’t answering his mobile for the obligatory lift home. Shona turned to go out into the public reception, but the desk officer stopped her. ‘No ma’am, she’s in here.’ He indicated the cells and lowered his voice. ‘The registration number you gave us. Uniform stopped the car for speeding, the lads were in it. Your daughter was with them. There was cannabis in the vehicle. I think you’d better have a word with the custody sergeant.’ He pursed his lips, unhappy to be the bearer of bad news.
Two years before, at her previous school in London, Becca had been caught with a small amount of cannabis. At the time Shona had failed to identify any furtive behaviour linked to drug use, but no one can fool a mother like her own child. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Her knuckles showed white as she gripped the handle of the custody suite door. It buzzed open.
‘Rebecca,’ Shona barked, her face incandescent with anger. Becca, wearing ripped black jeans and a black hoodie, was perched on a metal bench opposite the custody counter. Her knees were drawn up to her chin, an attempt to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible. Her dark eyes widened with apprehension when she saw her mother. The duty officer nodded to a room opposite and Shona hauled her daughter inside, slamming the door.
‘I didn’t know they had the stuff.’ Becca was indignant. ‘Why don’t you trust me?’ Her lip trembled and Shona could see she’d been crying.
‘You know why,’ Shona replied. ‘You swore to me you’d never do this again.’
‘I didn’t!’ Becca yelled. ‘It was them. It was just a tiny wrap of resin.’ She calmed herself down a moment, shrugging. ‘The whatsit fiscal won’t do anything cos they’re seventeen and first timers. Don’t sweat it, Mum.’
‘Don’t what?’ Shona shouted, infuriated by her daughter’s knowing air. ‘I’m a police officer, Becca. Have you stopped to think how this affects me? My own daughter, dragged into the station.’
From Becca’s expression, Shona could tell the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she mumbled.
Shona took a deep breath. She was livid, but a slanging match with her daughter wouldn’t help. ‘Do you want to get expelled, again? What will the school say? Why were you even in the car? These lads are two years older than you.’
‘We were just in town and they pulled up. They said me and Ellie could go with them to McDonald’s, get a burger. They’re all right really. I was just trying to make friends. It was only a bit of weed. I wouldn’t touch it. I’ve got more sense.’ Becca folded her arms and slumped against the wall.
‘You’ve let me down, Becca. I thought when we left London, we’d put this behind us. You know I lost my mother to drugs. I see every day what it does to people. Do you honestly think I’ll let you throw your life away on the stuff?’
‘I know, I know. You can trust me, Mum. But that’s just it, kids everywhere do it. It’s not just about partying. Sometimes
