Best Guess

‘You’d news, you said,’ Maggie blurted as she caught sight of Jimmy Craigmyle. They’d settled on Duthie Park for that morning’s rendezvous. The show of spring bulbs was stunning, but it was nippy, still. The David Welch Winter Gardens afforded a secluded base away from the prying eyes of the public in general and Jimmy Craigmyle’s wife, Vera, in particular.

‘Yes,’ he emerged from the shelter of a giant tree fern. ‘I’ve decided to take up Gilruth’s job offer.’

‘Oh.’ Maggie felt nauseous, suddenly, whether from the let-down or the humidity.

‘In the short term, at least. Good news is I’ve landed another job altogether.’

Maggie’s heart raced. ‘Where?’

‘Bridge of Don. Warehouse manager,’ he elaborated. ‘Pay’s not that great, but all the security jobs I’ve gone after have been unsocial hours. At least this is eight to four.’

‘But that’s wonderful,’ Maggie said without conviction, unsure whether this news was good or bad. ‘When do you start?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s the downside. Current guy is working his notice. They don’t need me for another month.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t you see? That gives me a window of opportunity. I can start at the new venue. Play along. Stick my nose in. Now I’m off, it’s not as if I have much to lose.’

‘No, I suppose.’ she conceded.

‘And Vera’s happy. Well,’ he qualified, ‘as happy as she’s likely to be till the kids settle down and…’ Stage wink. ‘Her and me get lovey-dovey again.’

Lovey-dovey! Maggie’s imagination ran ahead of her.

‘Downside is,’ Craigmyle’s voice broke her train of thought, ‘it’ll take time. I mean, we’ve been separated for over a year now, Vera and me. You can’t just walk back in and…’

‘No, I can see that.’

‘And I wouldn’t want to rock the boat by dredging up that whole drugs business. I mean, no offence, Maggie, but it’s ancient history, and Vera’s touchy enough about the ignominious end to my police career…’ His voice tailed off.

Maggie steadied herself against a banana tree. She closed her eyes. Seemed it was peppered with potholes, this unrelenting road to justice. Just when she thought she was making progress, something set her back. Take Bobby Brannigan. She’d had to muster all her courage to track him down, and Wilma had shown initiative and tenacity in obtaining his taped statement, only for it to be deemed inadmissible. Plus, the guy was slippery as an eel. Who knows what tactics he’ll employ to wriggle out of ratifying his confession. She’d been banking on expediting Craigmyle’s testimony. Mentally, Maggie calculated when she could reasonably ask Jimmy to proceed. Clearly, not whilst he was still in Gilruth’s employ. In her mind, she substituted ‘months’ for the ‘weeks’ she’d estimated earlier.

‘Then there’s the money side of things,’ he ran on. ‘I’ve a six-month lease on my place. And there’s the deposit to consider. I can’t afford to lose that.’

‘No.’ Maggie went weak at the knees. She could see Jimmy Craigmyle’s statement – admitting that it was he, not George, who’d turned off Brannigan’s interview tape – vanishing into the ether. ‘Is it hot in here or is it me?’ She brushed a film of moisture from her forehead.

‘Not hot, no. Temperature’s fine for me.’ He grinned. ‘And them, obviously,’ he gestured to the lush foliage that filled the space from ground level to the arched roof of the glasshouse.

Oh Lord! Maggie said a quiet prayer she hadn’t been hit with her first hot flush. ‘So, your statement, how long do you think until…?’

Craigmyle cut her short. ‘Best guess? Tail-end of the year.’