They had an address. The boat house. On the banks of a pretty loch called An Eilein, deep in the Cairngorms. McGuigan and Dawson left immediately. McGuigan guessed there was little prospect of finding anything useful in Bronson’s office, unless he had transferred the picture to the hard drive of his computer, which was unlikely, but not impossible. The prospect of Bronson having left his mobile phone in his office, or indeed his flat, was remote.
But they had an address.
“He’s probably not there,” said Dawson, as they were driving north. As ever, the voice of scepticism, thought McGuigan, which was why he was such an excellent sounding board. McGuigan offered no immediate response.
“Why should he be?” continued Dawson. “He’s been accused of blackmailing a client, withholding material evidence, misleading us. If it’s true, he’s looking at jail time. So he’s done a runner. Who can blame him? Why would he go somewhere obvious? If I were him, a fugitive from the law, I would not be hightailing it to my holiday home in the Highlands. That wouldn’t be a clever move.”
McGuigan watched the world outside pass by. “Where would you go, Kenny? If you were in Bronson’s shoes?”
Dawson considered. “Abroad? Lose myself in Spain or France or somewhere far away with a bit of sun.”
“That takes money. And planning. And confidence. And more money.”
Dawson, both hands on the steering wheel, shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a partner in a fancy law firm. These guys charge serious money. He’ll have the dosh, no doubt about it.”
“Maybe. I’m not so sure.” McGuigan shifted to one side, pulled out a packet of bubblegum from his trouser pocket. He carefully unwrapped it, placed the paper in the little storage compartment in the centre console, popped a piece of marble-sized pink gum in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully.
“If Mrs Shawbridge is to be believed, Bronson tried to extort a lot of money from her. Therefore, the notion he has enough funds to live in another country is flawed. In fact, it would appear Bronson may be in substantial debt. The way I see it, I don’t actually think Bronson wants to run away. Not in the fugitive sense. I think Bronson knows he’s done wrong. He’s overstepped the boundaries. But not to any huge extent. I genuinely believe he thinks we wouldn’t be interested enough to be looking for him. But he still needs time to think things through. Clear his head. Sort his story out. He’s a lawyer. He’ll rationalise the situation. And at the end of the day, all he needs to do is to deny. It’s one word against the other. And as for the supposed photograph, all he has to do is delete it. And even if he gave us the wrong description of The Surgeon, so what? He got mixed up. Shock. No, Dawson. Bronson hasn’t flown off to sunnier climes. He isn’t far away. The boat house has potential.”
Dawson sighed. “If you say so, boss. Still, it’s a long way to go on a hunch.”
“I’m enjoying the scenery. And the air is far fresher. Don’t you think?”
“I’m thinking the local constabulary could check if he’s at the address. It would make life much simpler. And save a lot of time. If he’s there, he’s there. If he’s not, he’s not. A phone call is all it takes.”
McGuigan blew a small bubble, which burst almost immediately. “I need to practise that,” he muttered. He started chewing again. “Enjoy the moment, Kenny. The Cairngorm mountains are a wonder to behold. I used to climb them during my days of youthful exuberance. Not now sadly.”
“We’re going up for the views?”
“Not quite. If Bronson is at his ‘boat house’, then I want to speak to him first. He’s not a suspect. Not yet. I need to hear his version, and, hopefully, entice him to give over the photo on his phone, if indeed he still has it. If uniform pay him a visit, he’ll clam up, and then have time to make up a story. I need him fresh, Kenny. I need him… surprised.”
Dawson nodded, acknowledging the wisdom of his boss’s thought process.
“I didn’t know you climbed.”
McGuigan relaxed back on the passenger seat. “It’s said, if you reach the top of a Scottish Munro, and the sky is clear and the sun is out, then you get a glimpse of heaven.”
“Did you glimpse heaven, sir?”
“I never seemed to find it.”