Trinity was an affluent enclave of north Edinburgh sandwiched between Pilton and Newhaven, the old harbour of Granton separating it from the sea. Primrose Bank Road was lined with large Victorian houses, oaks and horse-chestnut trees reaching over the high walls. There were plenty of cars parked in the street which made it easier for Ewan to stay unnoticed.
Yesterday he’d waited in his car outside St Leonard’s until Fellowes and his entourage of three goons left. He followed them to luxury flats in Cumberland Street, where they spent the night. He slept in his car outside, woke this morning as they left in comically sinister SUVs with blacked-out windows and drove to this house. They’d been inside for an hour.
He couldn’t get a handle on Fellowes. He wasn’t a regular cop, obviously, but he was able to boss Nina around. She wouldn’t take that shit unless her job depended on it. Which meant he was serious despite his supercilious manner and plummy accent. His armed muscle backed that up. Ewan had tried to call Nina a couple of times but she wasn’t answering.
His phone rang on the passenger seat and he jumped. Another call from Patterson at the Standard so he diverted to voicemail. That ship had sailed. He’d missed a couple of deadlines and you only diverted calls from Patterson for a very short time before he never called again. Ewan thought about what he was doing. His car smelled of piss from the bottles he’d been urinating in overnight. He stank of sweat and anxiety and he’d just lost his job, but none of it mattered.
In a weird way he felt young again, chasing a story like journalists were supposed to. Following leads until he worked out what the fuck was going on. But it was more than that. He felt connected on a personal level. He didn’t have the connection the other three had with Sandy but he was still invested. This was the biggest story in the country, maybe the world, he had to stick with it.
The front door of the house flung open and Fellowes and the other three strode to their SUVs. They put flashing lights on their roofs and sirens filled the air, then they screeched off with spinning tyres. He considered following but there was no way his rust-bucket Honda could keep up. They’d be going through red lights and into oncoming traffic, he couldn’t follow without being noticed or killed.
He sprayed his armpits with deodorant, got out the car and walked to the house, getting a pad and pen out of his pocket. He walked up the drive. Christine Gallacher had done all right. He wondered if that coloured her opinion of Ava running away from her rich husband.
He rang the bell and waited. He’d done his share of doorstepping, it wasn’t a part of the job anyone liked, bothering victims or the bereaved, but he’d swallowed it just like he swallowed a lot of shit. Now he was trying to do something for the right reasons and it felt good.
The door opened and a small, compact woman with dyed blonde hair looked surprised at him.
‘I thought you were…’
‘Oscar Fellowes?’ Ewan said. ‘My name is Ewan McKinnon, I’m a journalist writing a story about your daughter.’
Christine went to shut the door. ‘They told me not to speak to—’
‘The press, yes. But they don’t have Ava’s safety in mind, Christine.’
‘How do you know my name?’
He’d visited several neighbours under a chatty cover story of collecting for charity, got the gossip on the Gallacher house from an old woman neighbour. The dad had been a banker, died of a heart attack too young, apparently. He was strict with the girls, Christine too. She hadn’t blossomed since his death, kept his memory alive, had mostly lost contact with the girls. One of them, Freya, ‘played for the other team’, while Ava was married to a nice young man like her father. Didn’t take Siggy Freud to work out this psychology.
‘Ava told me,’ Ewan said.
‘You spoke to her?’
‘I was there when Michael was injured.’
That widened her eyes. ‘The boy assaulted him, it’s a disgrace.’
Michael was obviously the golden son-in-law. Some people don’t want to see the truth.
‘I didn’t see what happened exactly, but I know Ava is worried.’
‘Why did she run?’
‘She doesn’t feel safe, Christine.’
‘What do you mean? She’s not well, the stroke and everything.’
‘I’m saying she didn’t feel safe at home.’
‘What about the baby?’
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Ewan wanted to say more but didn’t want to destroy his chance of information.
‘She must be due any day and Michael is distraught.’
The way she looked behind her suggested he was inside the house. Ewan straightened his back. ‘He’s here?’
‘Resting upstairs,’ Christine said. ‘This has taken so much out of him.’
Maybe a different tack was needed. ‘Christine, your daughter is in trouble.’
‘She just needs to go home.’
‘Those men,’ Ewan said, waving behind him, ‘they don’t care about Ava.’
‘They said they were going to find her and bring her home.’
Ewan didn’t know how to explain, but the way Fellowes spoke and the presence of armed agents didn’t bode well for anyone’s safety.
‘With guns?’
‘She was taken against her will.’
Ewan saw curtains twitching next door. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I just know.’ She touched her hair, scratched her neck. She was sounding more unsure as the conversation went on. She glanced behind her again. Maybe Michael was pulling his old shit with the mum now, dominating her like her husband used to.
‘I’ve spoken to her,’ Ewan said. ‘I’m telling you, she’s acting under her own free will.’
He thought about Sandy, the strange connection they had with Ava and the rest.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Christine said.
Ewan paused, looked in the direction Fellowes had gone. ‘Why did they leave so quickly?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They had information, didn’t they? Did you speak to Ava?’
Christine looked around for help. She wasn’t used to making big decisions like this. ‘Michael said not to say anything.’
‘Michael is not your boss, Christine.’
She swallowed hard enough for Ewan to hear and picked at the beds of her nails. ‘I didn’t speak to Ava, exactly.’
‘Then what?’
She glanced round and Ewan thought he heard footsteps.
‘I spoke to her sister. I think Ava was there.’
Definite footsteps down the stairs. Ewan didn’t want to see Michael again.
‘Where?’ he said under his breath.
‘She lives in Ratagan.’