8

The three women sat in the Hoynes’ living room, nursing cups of tea. The fuller figures of Marjorie and Maggie bookended a birdlike woman, with a tiny face and hair scraped back in a scraggy bun.

‘He canna hauld his drink. The least wee tipple an’ he’s singing like a bird,’ griped Geordie McCallum’s wife Beth. ‘You jeest have tae be careful how you go aboot getting any sense oot o’ him.’

‘If they think they’re going to spirit my Duncan off they can think again. That’s not going to happen.’ Maggie lifted her chin and stared from one woman to the other. ‘He’s finishing early today, and we’re going to get him a suit for the honeymoon.’

‘You better hope he’s no’ finished already and doon the Douglas Arms wae that faither o’ yours.’ Beth shook her head to emphasise the seriousness of their predicament. ‘They’re taking someone tae oor wee bothy – who else could it be, Maggie? Aye, an’ whoot’s goin’ tae happen afterwards?’

‘And how can we stop them?’ pondered Marjorie. ‘I know my husband – he’s like a dog wae a bone. He never gies up. If he sets his mind on something, he’ll go hell for leather tae make it happen. As soon as I got him interested in fridges, there was no stoppin’ him.’

‘That was a good piece of logic, Marjorie. How on earth did you manage that?’ asked Beth.

‘Dead easy. I jeest telt him a’ the money we’d lose whoot wae food going off in the pantry. Did he no’ go oot and do something that very day. Ordered the contraption and everything.’

‘He doesn’t like it, though,’ said Maggie. ‘Swears blind it makes the cheese lose its flavour.’

‘It doesna improve it any, right enough,’ said Marjorie. ‘I always put a wee dollop o’ mustard in wae a cheese sauce. Try it, Beth, gies it a great flavour.’

‘Mother, we’re losing the thread here. Beth’s not interested in making a cheese sauce, when her man’s about to be caught up in the machinations of my father and his trusty assistant.’

‘Well, whootever it is, they canna dae it waeoot a Land Rover. That’s where oor Geordie comes in.’

‘Is that no’ it sittin’ at the front gate, Beth?’

‘No, that’s the auld yin. I cut aboot in it maist o’ the time. It’s a wee bit temperamental, but I nurse her through. The only way tae get oot the road. Geordie bought yin for himsel’. It was only second-hand, but he wishes he’d no’ bothered noo, whoot wae the fishing goin’ tae the dogs. Mark you, it’s always stinking o’ fish.’

‘So they think they’re going to imprison my Duncan then send him goodness knows where. It’s time to get down to the Douglas Arms and put a stop to it all.’

‘Aye, but we’ll have tae ca’ canny, Maggie,’ said her mother. ‘Think, once we’ve caught them, we’ll have them that guilty, they’ll no’ stray for weeks, right through the wedding and beyond. We can put all this nonsense o’ my Duncan’s stag night behind us. Jeest gie them enough rope.’

‘We need to keep a watching brief, Sergeant,’ said Marshall the Customs Officer. ‘I don’t want us going off half-cocked and them getting off on some technicality.’

‘I have Hoynes banged to rights with that octopus. But I agree, we need to bide our time. Just give them enough rope,’ whispered Watson.

Grant, Marshall and Watson were in the back of a police van, staring across the road at the Douglas Arms through a gap between the front seats. Though it was July, lowering cloud and a downpour of rain darkened the scene.

‘Could you not go and issue some parking tickets, Sergeant. I can see at least three candidates from here. It’ll distract attention from the van,’ muttered Marshall.

Grant ignored him. ‘So, the plan is, when they move – if they move – we decamp into the Customs vehicle and follow them at a discreet distance. Is that agreed?’

‘I’m up for it,’ replied Watson, a gleam back in his eye.

‘All we have to do is wait,’ said Marshall. ‘This will be a feather in all of our caps, gentlemen.’

Grant stared gloomily at the Douglas Arms. Arresting his father-in-law might improve his prospects for promotion, but it certainly wouldn’t make for a good start to married life.

Stay in there and get drunk and prove this pair wrong, the police sergeant prayed to himself, just as the pub’s front door swung open and the distinctive blue cloud of pipe tobacco wafted out onto the street and was carried away on the wind.

‘There! Father’s there!’ exclaimed Maggie. She was at the mouth of the close opposite the Douglas Arms. ‘Who’s that with him? That’s not Hamish.’ Sure enough, a tall man with a neat haircut was shrugging on a grey raincoat in the pub doorway. He and Hoynes were laughing at something, both looking somewhat unsteady on their feet.

‘Did you ever,’ said Beth, peering over Maggie’s shoulder. ‘The pair o’ them are three sheets tae the wind.’

As the three women, remaining hidden, looked on, more figures appeared in the doorway.

‘There’s Hamish. No show withoot Punch, right enough,’ said Marjorie. The first mate was with another man in a gabardine raincoat, slightly stockier, but just as smart as the other stranger. ‘Whoever their freens are, I don’t like the look o’ them. Is there no sign o’ Duncan, Maggie?’

‘No. I’ve not seen him yet.’

‘Och, he’s likely incapacitated in oor new Land Rover,’ said Beth. ‘Likely tied up, or drugged, so they can spirit him off, the poor soul.’

‘Steady on, Beth. My man’s no’ a monster. I can see him fillin’ big Duncan full o’ whisky, but I don’t think they’ll get tae the druggin’-and-tyin’-up stage jeest tae make him compliant.’

‘You’ve great faith, Mother,’ said Maggie, clearly not convinced that her father wouldn’t resort to such means.

A small man in a cap was last to leave the Douglas Arms. He was searching in the pockets of his shabby overcoat.

‘And there’s my Geordie. I don’t know how many times I’ve telt him tae bin that bloody coat. No’ fit tae grace a tattie-bogle.’ Beth looked on as her husband produced something from his pocket. ‘Aye, that’s him found the keys noo.’

‘I can’t see any sign of your Land Rover, Beth,’ said Maggie.

‘They’re fly buggers. They’ll have it parked in the backyard o’ the County, oot the way. My Geordie won’t take too much drink if he’s tae drive, but he widna pass wan o’ they new breathalyser tests the polis is using noo. They’ll have parked up oot o’ sight.’

‘In that case, we better get going. If they’re parked at the County, they’ll need to pass here. If we sit in the motor, up the Well Close, we can follow when we see them.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘If they’ve done anything to my Duncan . . .’

‘Received, Constable,’ said Grant into his radio. ‘They’re getting into a Land Rover in the car park of the County Hotel, five of them. We can identify Hoynes, Hamish and Geordie, but no idea who the other two are.’

‘That’ll be their contacts,’ said Watson. ‘Smooth-looking operators, if ever I saw them. Not from around here, at any rate. And certainly not fishermen.’

‘We have to be careful not to be spotted,’ said Marshall. ‘Will you take the wheel, Sergeant? You know the area better than me.’

As Grant started the engine, a battered old Land Rover puttered past, turned right and headed up the Glebe Brae. ‘That’s our men,’ said Grant. He waited for a few moments then followed.