A Misdemeanour

Maggie was working her way through a mound of ironing when her mobile rang. She scrabbled in a tangle of washing for her phone. ‘Maggie Laird.’

‘Bill Cowie here. I’m duty desk sergeant at Police Scotland Headquarters here in Aberdeen.’

‘Oh.’ She racked her brains, but couldn’t conceive what could have prompted the call.

‘Can you confirm Colin George Laird, a student at Robert Gordons, is your son?’

Maggie’s knees buckled. Letting go of the iron, she sank to the floor.

‘He is.’ Disembodied voice.

‘Then you’d better come down to the station. He’s got himself in a bit of bother.’

She fought for breath. ‘What sort of bother?’

‘When my officer searched him, he was found to be in possession of a quantity of cannabis.’

‘A quantity, you say?’

‘Don’t worry, it was a very small amount.’

‘Then, surely…’ Maggie began.

On the other end of the line she swore she could hear a chuckle. ‘If you’re going to tell me they’ve all tried a spliff at his age I’d have to agree with you.’

‘In that case,’ Maggie recovered herself, ‘I take it you won’t be charging him.’ Livid as she was with Colin, she wouldn’t give a single one of those bastards at Queen Street – with the possible exception of Brian – the satisfaction of further sullying the Laird name.

There was a long pause, then: ‘It’s not as straightforward as that.’

Her pulse raced. ‘You’ve just said it was a small amount. And you’ve accepted it was for his own use. So what’s the problem?’

‘The problem…’ Another silence ensued. ‘Is that your son was apprehended in the perpetration of a theft.’

‘A theft?’ Maggie repeated, dumbfounded. Colin might try her patience, but he knew right from wrong. ‘What of?’

‘Centre caps from a car.’ The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘A very expensive car.’

‘Where did this happen?’

‘The West End.’

Little sod! Maggie made a point of giving Colin money for a hot meal at lunchtime, more so since she was often late home. The idea that he was roaming the city squandering her hard-earned cash on who-knows-what made her see red.

She tried to think straight. ‘Was he alone when he committed this…’

Cowie came to her rescue. ‘We’ll call it a misdemeanour.’ He added ominously, ‘For now. And, no, your son wasn’t alone. We’ve one of his pals here and all.’

Maggie closed her eyes.

If only George were alive, he’d know what to do.

There was a smell of burning.

She blinked her eyes open and dropped the phone, lunged for the iron and slid it safely into its holder. On the ironing board, a new Next blouse bore a large triangular singe mark.

Dammit to hell! She’d only bought the blouse a couple of weeks before, a treat to herself to glam up an old trouser suit.

‘Sergeant Cowie?’ She picked up her phone. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Aye.’ Patient voice.

‘What happens now?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘I doubt we’ll take any action on the possession,’ another chuckle, ‘other than tear your lad off a strip. The vandalism, however…’ He was serious, all of a sudden. ‘That’s another matter. Once we’ve spoken to the vehicle’s owner…’

‘How long will that take?’

‘I can’t say. They can sometimes be difficult to get hold of. But, after that, we’ll establish if he wants to press charges.’

Maggie tried to make sense of it. ‘Am I right in saying you’ve recovered these…caps?’

‘Correct.’

‘Then…’

‘That makes no difference. At the end of the day, the charging decision’s up to the owner. So, as I’ve said, best you get yourself down here, Mrs Laird. As you can imagine, your lad’s in a bit of a state.’

He’s in a state? Maggie raged. She was a quivering wreck.

Slipping into PI mode, she gave it one last go. ‘The car owner, you said “he”, so I take it we’re talking about a gentleman?’

‘We are.’

‘Is he local, may I ask?’ Long shot, but it might be somebody she knew. Knew of. Anything to get Colin out of this mess.

‘He is.’ The silence that followed was so prolonged Maggie thought she’d been disconnected. Finally, the sergeant’s weary voice: ‘Our records have identified him as Mr James Gilruth.’