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  A switchboard answered. ‘Mansion Park Hotel, how may I direct your call?’

  Don thought about that question for a second. Then he decided. ‘I just need your address,’ he said, slapping his hand against the horn, letting Sam and Eddie know playtime was over. But Sam was holding up one finger. He had a call of his own and needed to answer it. He spoke a couple of words, then did a lot of listening. Not that Don Empson noticed, he was too busy jotting down the details of the hotel.

  When Sam got back into the driving seat, first thing he said was, ‘We’ve got to head back to base.’

  ‘No way,’ Don argued. ‘I’ve just got Celine Watts’ address.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. And it means we’re going to Edinburgh.’

  Sam seemed to hesitate. ‘Boss wants us back home.’

  Don was shaking his head. He took out his own phone and punched in Gorgeous George’s number, started talking as soon as the call was answered.

  ‘George, I know where Celine Watts is, and I think she’s got the bag.’

  There was silence for a moment. ‘Is that a fact, Don?’

  George didn’t sound right somehow. Don found himself frowning. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re coming back here, Don. Few questions that need answering.’

  Don’s heart sank. ‘Look, George, I can fix this. Really I can.’

  ‘So where’s the money?’

  ‘Mansion Park Hotel in Edinburgh. Celine Watts has it.’

  ‘Have you been drinking, Don?’

  ‘Her name and address were in my car. Guy called Gravy ended up with it and thought Watts had to be a friend of . . .’ Don choked back the final word.

  ‘Friend of Benjy’s?’ George said.

  ‘Yes,’ Don muttered. The truth was finally out.

  ‘You saying this was his idea and not yours?’ George was asking.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me!’

  ‘The boys will bring you back here, Don, and we can sort it all out.’

  Don didn’t know what to say to that. George was asking him to pass the phone to Sam. He did as he was told. He could hear what George was saying. They were to take Don to a pub George owned. Put him in the cellar. Keep an eye on him. George would be along later. ‘Just as soon as I’ve checked out his story.’

  Sam started the car. ‘Something you want to tell us?’ he asked Don, passing his phone back to him. Don pocketed it.

  ‘Not your business, lads. But Celine Watts most definitely is. I thought you’d want her stopped. She’s on the run, with a wedge of cash. If we don’t set off after her right now . . .’

  ‘That’s not what the boss wants, Don.’

  ‘He isn’t always right, you know.’

  Sam nodded slowly. ‘All the same . . .’

  All the same, Don knew which way the car would go. They were heading back towards Glasgow and a showdown.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jane and Bob Share Information

  Patrol cars were on the hunt for George Renshaw. His usual lawyer had been told that the police wanted a word. But Jane knew that if Renshaw wanted to disappear, he would find it easy, in the short term at least.

  She was back at the station. Andrew Hanley was in an interview room. He’d been reluctant to say anything, until told about the blood-stained shoes and the damage to his car. It would be a simple enough matter to match any flecks of paint to the car he’d reversed into on the garage forecourt. Then there was the newspaper with the meeting jotted down on it.

  ‘I want to talk to my solicitor,’ Hanley had stated, head in hands, a cold cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

  ‘Your wife’s in the next room, Mr Hanley. Do you want a word with her too?’

  Bob and Jane met in the corridor. They had big smiles for one another.

  ‘I’m going to be Willy Wonka by the end of this,’ Bob said. Jane patted his arm.

  ‘We’re not out of the woods yet.’

  ‘No, but we’re getting there.’ He held up a slip of paper. The list of tasks she had given him. ‘Initial forensic report, same fingerprints on the Bentley and the car in the graveyard. Probably Don Empson’s, but that’ll take a bit longer to confirm. Blood and brain matter on one wing of the Bentley, Raymond’s, I’m pretty sure. And by the way, the Bentley’s owner’s not too happy with the valet job.’

  Jane smiled and folded her arms, knowing there was more to come. Bob checked his list again.

  ‘Blood in the graveyard is the same group as one of the pools in the garage. Again, we’re waiting for a DNA match.’

  ‘But no blood in the graveyard car?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And none inside either the Bentley or Benjamin Flowers’ abandoned sportster?’

  Bob shook his head. ‘But Benjy’s employer says he’s gone AWOL.’

  ‘Our wounded gunman? Missing, along with some cash and Empson’s BMW.’

  ‘Find one and we probably find all three.’

  ‘What about this guy who works at the graveyard, how does he fit in?’

  Bob shrugged. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. But a pound to a penny says it comes down to Stewart Renshaw.’

  Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘How so?’

  ‘Word is, he’s got a new casino looking for planning permission.’

  ‘Has he now?’ Jane thought for a moment. ‘But he’s on the straight and narrow, isn’t he?’

  ‘We’ve never had proof to the contrary, if that’s what you mean.’ Bob pursed his lips.

  ‘Well, well.’ Jane folded her arms, deep in thought. ‘Hanley goes to the garage to pick up a bribe. It goes wrong somehow.’

  ‘Somebody got greedy.’

  ‘Benjamin Flowers?’ She nodded slowly. ‘I’d still like to get my hands on Don Empson,’ she said.

  ‘You need to be patient.’

  She stared at him. ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning putting the team to work. Stake out anywhere George Renshaw or Don Empson might turn up. At least one of them’s got to be on the hunt for Benjy, and my guess would be Empson.’

  ‘Hunting his own nephew?’

  It was Bob’s turn to nod.

  ‘So all we can do is wait?’ she asked.

  ‘All we can do is wait,’ Bob confirmed.

  Gorgeous George needs a taxi

  It was a short walk from the café to the taxi office. George didn’t go there much, even though he owned the place. Owned all the taxis, too. He had someone else fronting the operation for him, but it was his money behind it, and him raking in the profits. Taxis, his dad had told him, were useful. You could use them for ferrying merchandise and people around the city and further afield. Nobody looked twice at a taxi. George was there because he needed a bit of ferrying himself. His car was at the scrapyard. There was no way he could go back for it. He had two more cars in the garage at his house, but he reckoned police would be waiting for him there too. So instead, he would use a taxi. As he walked into the office, the three drivers stood up. So did the woman who was working the telephone. Magazines and newspapers hit the floor. Mugs of tea trembled in their hands.

  One thing they all knew. Somebody was in trouble.

  ‘Easy,’ George reassured them, holding his palms up. ‘Nothing to worry about, I just need a lift somewhere.’

  All three were willing, pretended to be eager even. George pointed to the nearest one. ‘You’ll do,’ he said.

  Out at the taxi, the driver unlocked the doors and asked where they were going.

  ‘Edinburgh,’ he was told.

  He nodded, trying to hide his surprise. That was the rest of his shift taken care of. Having climbed into the back, George was already busy with his phone. He wanted to talk to Sam and Eddie, wanted to make sure they were getting things right for once. He saw the driver fiddling with something and leaned forward in his seat.

  ‘Am I seeing things,’ he growled, ‘or did you just put the meter on?’

  ‘Force of hab
it,’ the driver said, switching it off again.

  So busy were driver and passenger that, as the taxi roared out of the parking lot, neither noticed the unmarked police car as it reversed into a tight parking space. The two detectives in the car looked at one another.

  ‘Was that him?’ one asked.

  His partner replied with a nod. Their car did a U-turn and got ready to follow the black cab at a distance.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gravy’s Story (4)

  I was going to miss Celine.

  ‘I’ve only just learned to say your name the right way,’ I told her.

  She was emptying the red bag into a suitcase. It was one of those posh ones with wheels and a handle. When she came back from the shops with it, she brought me a present: one of Celine Dion’s CDs.

  ‘That who you’re named after?’ I asked.

  ‘Suppose so,’ she said, busy with the suitcase again. She was going to go on a train. It was a special train that left Edinburgh last thing at night and arrived in London next morning. She’d explained that you got a bed and you could sleep all the way there.

  ‘Sounds nice, Celine. Why can’t I come?’

  But she shook her head. ‘Safer for you if you stay here.’

  ‘You said they’d be watching the stations.’

  ‘That’s a chance I’ve got to take.’

  ‘There’s always the car.’

  ‘It’s Don Empson’s car, Gravy. Do you think they won’t be looking for it?’

  Then she folded some of the money and stuck it in my trouser pocket. ‘You’ve been a good friend, Gravy,’ she said, and that made me blush. She’d paid for another night at the hotel, both rooms. It meant she wouldn’t be noticed as missing. She wanted me to stay the night, and in the morning I could do anything I wanted.

  ‘Breakfast’s included,’ she told me.

  ‘And after that I can go home?’ I watched her nod. ‘You think I should leave the car here?’

  ‘Up to you.’ She looked up at me. ‘Time you started taking some decisions, Gravy.’

  ‘I will,’ I said. The TV in her room had a clock on it. ‘Your train’s not for hours.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But you’re leaving just now?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m fed up hanging around.’

  ‘We could go to a film,’ I blurted out. She gave me a look and a smile.

  ‘I’ve got a taxi coming.’

  ‘I could run you to the station.’

  But she shook her head again. ‘Better this way,’ she said.

  ‘Why? Why is it better?’

  ‘It just is.’ She was beginning to sound irritated. I know that happens with people. It happens with the people in my house. I ask one question too many and they sound like that. How does the moon shine? What happens when we die?

  ‘Celine,’ I said, but she was zipping the case shut.

  ‘Got to go,’ she told me. She slipped into her jacket. It was brand new. Everything about her looked new. She tucked her hair into a beret. ‘I’m trying for the foreign tourist look,’ she explained.

  ‘I’ve never been to London.’

  ‘I’ll send you my address.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ And then she kissed me on the cheek, and I went redder than ever. I could see myself in the mirror. My face was on fire. Not exactly a cool head, Gravy. The door clicked after her. The room was silent, but I could still smell her perfume. It took me a minute to realise that she didn’t have my address! I opened the door, but she wasn’t in the corridor. Well, I’d told her about the graveyard, a letter would always find me there. I lay on her bed for a while, staring at myself in the TV screen. She had taken all the stuff from the minibar and her bathroom. Supplies for the journey, she’d said. There was a price list for the minibar. It was on the bedside table. Would I have to pay for it in the morning? Maybe that was why she’d given me the money.

  I took the notes out of my pocket and tried counting them. Fifteen, or nearly fifteen. Times twenty. That was a lot. The red bag was on the carpet, empty now. In my own room I had the blue carrier bag. It was on the top shelf in the wardrobe. I could put the Celine Dion CD in there. So that was what I did. Then I made myself a cup of tea, using the last of the tea bags and milk. I lay on my own bed, one foot crossed over the other, three big pillows behind my head. There wasn’t much on the TV. On one of the channels, they all spoke a language I didn’t know. But I recognised the show. I was sure I’d seen it in English.

  The minutes crept by. Maybe she would come back. Maybe she would miss me, or miss her train. Maybe she’d forgotten something. I looked again in her room, but didn’t find anything. I knew where her cousin lived, and that was a start. She would phone her cousin. Blood was blood, my mum used to say. She would phone her cousin and I’d be there visiting and the cousin would hand the phone over to me. And that would be us, friends again.

  The phone in her room rang and I ran through to pick it up. Who else could it be but her?

  ‘Hello?’

  But then the phone went dead. I listened for a while longer, but it stayed dead. Well, at least she’d tried calling. I stared out of the window at the evening. The castle was lit up. There were people on the street. They looked like they were having fun. Life was all about fun, wasn’t it? That was when I realised I was bored.

  ‘Never mind the breakfast,’ I said to myself. On the other hand, what if she did come back and I wasn’t there? See, I was thinking about heading home. But I’d promised I would stay, just one last night. Yes, but I was bored and I needed some fresh air. I could go for a drive and still come back. Or a walk. I could walk, same as the people outside were doing. Celine had teased me that there were bars on the street where naked girls danced, but I wouldn’t go there. I looked around her room and then mine, and decided to take my blue carrier bag. What else did I have?

  Oh, my room key. I couldn’t forget that.

  When I went into the corridor, there was a man standing there. He was standing outside Celine’s door. He looked at me.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. He just nodded. ‘Do you work here?’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘She’s not in.’

  He stared at me. ‘And how do you know that, sir?’

  ‘Connecting rooms,’ I explained.

  ‘And your name is?’

  ‘Everyone calls me Gravy. That’s because I work at the graveyard.’

  ‘And you’re here with . . . ?’

  ‘Celine. She’s named after Celine Dion.’

  The man nodded. He was coming towards me. He stopped just short. ‘Well, Don was telling the truth for once. Do you know when she’s coming back? I’ve got a message for her.’

  ‘I can take it, if you like,’ I offered.

  ‘It’s really for her, sir.’

  I looked him up and down. He didn’t look like he worked for the hotel. Everyone wore a kind of uniform and a name badge. And he’d used the name Don. I’d heard that name just recently.

  He had leaned forward, so his face was right next to mine. ‘Where’s my money?’ he hissed.

  I stared at him. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think you do, Gravy. The red bag.’

  ‘It’s empty.’

  ‘So she’s got the cash?’

  ‘The money belongs to Benjy, and Benjy wanted her to have it. She’s nice.’

  He glared at me. ‘I’m going to ask you one last time . . . Where’s Benjy? Where’s the car? And where’s that tart gone with my money?’

  I managed not to blink. Everything was blurry at the edges, but then it wasn’t. It was really sharp instead. ‘The car park,’ I said.

  ‘Take me.’ He gave me a little shove in the direction of the lifts. Well, what else could I do? He wanted me to, so I took him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jane is in Edinburgh

  ‘The Mansion Park Hotel,’ Jane said into her phone. She was parked outside. The
taxi was about twenty yards away, the driver chatting away on his own phone, paying no mind to anything else.

  ‘In Edinburgh?’ Bob’s voice asked.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘His idea of hiding out?’

  ‘Who knows.’ Jane shifted in the driver’s seat. As soon as she’d got word that George Renshaw was on the move, she’d set off after him. And as soon as she had caught up with the car tailing him, she’d radioed to tell the other car it could pull back. A two-car tail was perfect, meant you could keep swapping, meaning less chance of the car you were following spotting you. The two CID men were parked around the other side of the hotel, just in case.

  ‘Is Andrew Hanley talking?’

  ‘He is,’ Bob confirmed. ‘Remember what I said about Stewart Renshaw’s casino?’

  ‘You were right?’ she guessed.

  ‘Only one hundred per cent.’

  ‘Yet I’m the one who got the promotion.’ Jane was smiling.

  ‘Bit more good news, if you’re up for it.’

  ‘Days like this don’t happen nearly often enough, Bob.’

  ‘Two of Gorgeous George’s boys, the two we’ve been after for the Brigham Woods murder, turned up about forty minutes ago.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They marched Donald Empson into one of George’s pubs. When our stake-out team sauntered in, pretending to be customers, there was no sign of any of them. The cellar looks a good bet.’

  ‘Empson screwed up, and he’s about to pay the price?’

  ‘I don’t want to go charging in until we’re sure.’

  Jane nodded to herself. ‘I agree. Maybe it’s something I can talk to Renshaw about.’ She saw movement at the hotel doors. Two men making their exit. ‘Hold on,’ she said into the phone. ‘Something’s happening. I’ll have to call you back.’