Side-tracked

Maggie had been sounding Wilma out over some Innes Crombie invoicing, when she said, ‘I’ve been worrying about Kirsty.’ She pushed the paperwork aside.

‘What about her? She’s not cutting again?’

‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘At least I don’t think so.’

‘It’s that boyfriend, isn’t it? I can see it in your face.’

‘Yes. No.’ Nervously, Maggie wrung her hands. ‘I’m not sure. She’s had a pregnancy scare, that’s all she told me.’

‘And you think it might be him, this Shaz?’

‘I’ve no idea, to be honest. All I know is, her period’s well overdue.’

‘Christ!’ Wilma exclaimed. ‘That’s all you need!’

‘It’s all Kirsty needs. I wasn’t going to tell you, Wilma, but I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Why not? We’re partners, aren’t we?’

‘You’ve had your own troubles this past while. Ian…’ she began.

‘Ach,’ Wilma interrupted. ‘I’ve told you before, Ian’s a pussycat.’

‘Not lately. Look at the way he…’

‘He is. It’s just…men, they never grow up, Maggie. You should know that. They’re big kids. You need to feed their vanity now and again, give them their place.’

‘Right enough,’ she concurred. Though it had been so long since she’d had to humour a man she could scarcely remember.

‘When did all this hit you?’

‘Last week. Kirsty called me on FaceTime.’

‘Last week?’ Wilma shrieked. ‘And she was already late? Why in hell didn’t you go straight down there?’

‘Until I solved the Struthers case, I didn’t want to get side-tracked.’

‘Side-tracked, is that what you call it? Your own daughter?’

Maggie hung her head in shame. For weeks on end her focus had been channelled on Sheena Struthers, to the detriment of everything else. It was only over the past few nights she’d barely slept, torn in a tug-of-war between her only daughter and the woman who’d caused her so much grief.

‘Well, you’d better do something now, or it will be too bloody late.’

‘Too late for what?’ Maggie demanded. Her business partner surely wasn’t thinking abortion.

‘The morning after pill,’ Wilma clarified.

‘That’s no longer an option,’ Maggie said stiffly.

Wilma shrugged. ‘I know. But there’s got to be something you can do. First off, if I was you,’ she wagged a finger, ‘I’d have her home.’

‘She won’t come.’

Wilma’s brows met. ‘She’ll come if she’s told to.’

‘You don’t know my Kirsty.’

Wilma glowered. ‘Aye. Well.’

‘I feel so helpless,’ Maggie moaned.

‘No bloody point in that. If that daughter of yours won’t come to you.’ She bustled to her feet. ‘You’d better get yourself down to Dundee.’

‘Sit down,’ Maggie cajoled. ‘I’ve already decided to do just that. God knows I’ve a full enough diary. But, if I juggle things around, I can be there and back in an afternoon.’

‘Good. That’s sorted.’ She smiled encouragement. ‘Thank Christ for sons! Your Colin okay? Haven’t seen him in a while.’

‘He’s fine.’ She broke off, uncertain whether to admit the truth. Then: ‘That’s another thing I meant to tell you. Colin got nicked for vandalising a car.’

‘Christ Almighty!’ Wilma leapt out of her seat. ‘When was this?’

‘A while back.’

‘And you didn’t tell me?’ Incredulous voice. ‘Is there anything else you want to share?’

‘Yes,’ Maggie whispered. ‘There is, actually.’

‘There is, actually,’ Wilma put on a posh accent. ‘And what might that be?’

Maggie took a deep breath. ‘The car belonged to James Gilruth.’

‘Fucking hell!’ Wilma mouthed. ‘I thought I’d heard it all from you, Maggie Laird, but you still manage to surprise me.’ She paused. ‘You said this happened a while back?’

‘That’s right. I contacted Brian the minute I got the call Colin was at the station. Brian and I met up that same day. He said he’d see what he could do.’

‘So, what was the outcome?’

‘There wasn’t one.’ Small shrug. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘Nothing at all? That’s not like Gilruth. From what I’ve heard, he wouldn’t pass up a chance to rub Police Scotland’s nose in it.’

‘Came as a surprise to me, I must say.’

‘Surprise? It’s a bleeding miracle! Maybe he took a fancy to you, Maggie,’ she nudged her in the ribs. ‘Thon time you called on him at Rubislaw.’

Her face froze. ‘Doubt it.’ She could still taste the fear.

‘Maybe Gilruth just couldn’t be arsed with the paperwork, got more important things on his mind. There again, maybe someone had a word.’

‘Brian?’ Scathing look. ‘Don’t be daft. He doesn’t carry that sort of clout.’

‘Your pal Chisholm, then?’

‘Doubt it, even if…’ Reddening, she broke off.

Wilma wondered – and not for the first time – if Maggie Laird was carrying a torch for the senior policeman.

‘Whatever,’ she retorted. ‘If Gilruth’s done a favour, you can be sure as shit he’ll be looking for payola down the line.’