11

Susie glanced up at the clock on the wall as the buzzer echoed through the flat, startling her out of the Zen-like state she’d lulled herself into whilst tidying up. 7.55pm. Doug was early. Definitely not himself – for a man who spent his life chasing deadlines and hitting them, Doug’s personal timekeeping was as haphazard as his hair.

She cast a quick glance around the living room, one final check to make sure there was nothing left out that Doug shouldn’t see. It was one of the least pleasant parts of spending time with Doug – she liked his company, found him easy to talk to, but the copper/reporter issue was always just there, like a fresh bruise still sore to the touch. And with Doug being as observant and quick as he was, she didn’t want him knowing more about what she was working on than she wanted him to know. So the case reports she was drafting were packed away in the bedroom, along with the brochures for cheap holidays she’d picked up on a whim and the latest self-improvement book she’d bought a couple of days earlier. Another little reminder of the Buchan case, she thought. She’d been forced to sit through a series of counselling sessions after the case – for some reason, her bosses were funny about letting her back on the job after she’d had a gun shoved in her face and been taken hostage by a maniac – and while most of it was tedious nonsense, some of what she had learned about using traumatic memories and taking the pain from them had stuck with her, led her to read more on the subject.

She walked into the hall, lifted the handset and pressed the buzzer. The small screen flared into life, slowly resolving into a grainy, black and grey image of Broughton Road with Doug standing just off centre.

She hit the buzzer again, heard the door unlock. “Come on up, Doug,” she said into the handset. He smiled into the camera a little too widely, nodded and pulled open the door. Susie took a breath then opened her front door, listened as Doug climbed the four flights of stairs to her flat.

He arrived on the landing a moment later, the colour in his cheeks only partly due to the exertion of climbing the stairs. He lifted a plastic bag to eye level. “Hey, Susie. Wine as promised, and takeaway menus. Anything in mind?”

She shrugged. “Chinese, maybe?”

“You surprise me,” he said, flashing another one of those false smiles she had seen at the hospital.

They went into the flat, Susie taking his coat at the door, catching a subtle whiff of whisky below the peppermint tang of mouthwash as she did. When he walked into the living room, he followed the same ritual as always – head for the bay window which overlooked the industrial estate behind the flats, glance out then do a slow turn back into the room, eyes darting everywhere at once.

“Take a seat,” she said, “I’ll get a corkscrew for the wine.”

He nodded and flopped down into one of the two sofas that were crammed into the room, both at right angles to the TV that dominated the space. It was Susie’s one vice, and one of the first things she discovered she had in common with Doug – a passion for movies. But while Doug was content to watch them on whatever he could find, Susie demanded the best. Blu-ray DVD player, surround sound speakers – which Doug had helped her fit – and, of course, the monster TV.

She came back into the room with a corkscrew and two glasses, found Doug had placed the wine, and a bottle of Jameson’s, on the table in front of him like a mission statement. His gaze was fixed on them, but Susie knew they weren’t what he was seeing. She had picked up a copy of the Tribune on the way home and read his article on Greig’s murder. It was typical Doug – well written, thorough, concise. No time wasted on cheap plays for sympathy, no attempts to shock or titillate the reader with overly graphic detail, which made it all the more harrowing. Reading it, Susie could almost feel Doug radiating off the page – his frustration, his revulsion, his impotence as a man he knew was slaughtered in front of him for no clear reason.

She placed the glasses on the table, took the wine and poured. Decided against diving straight in.

“So, you finally call your folks back?” she asked as she sat on the other couch, her legs already starting to complain about the workout earlier.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, yeah,” he said, reaching for the glass in a reflex motion. “Promised I was fine, said I’d go see them tomorrow maybe. Also fended off the offer of a drink and a chat from Rab MacFarlane.”

Susie grimaced slightly. Rab MacFarlane was a big name in the security and events industry in Edinburgh. He had doormen at just about every pub and club in town, all watched over and deployed with military precision by his wife, Janet. Susie knew that Rab had helped Doug out with contacts from time to time. She also knew about his less-than-savoury reputation in some areas of Police Scotland, and a small group of detectives taking a very close interest in his business affairs.

But that was a topic for another night.

“So, what you going to do with all this time off you’ve got?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation light, at least until she’d had a couple more glasses of wine.

Doug shook his head. “Later,” he said, fishing in the discarded bag and producing a pile of menus. “First, we eat.” An image of Greig flashed into his mind. Blood, almost black, like oil. That look in his eyes.

“If we can,” he muttered.