DI Moore woke abruptly, her heart racing. She had been plagued all night by dreams of DC Thomson meeting a gruesome end, while she stood by, rooted to the spot, like a formless ghost, powerless to intervene. She glanced across at the leonine face next to her on the pillow. She hadn’t planned to have him stay over after their supper last night. It had been less than a week since their first dinner date. However, he had been very diverting, and she had needed the distraction. He had sensed something was worrying her and tried to get her to open up, but she had managed to convince him her stress was all down to impending job losses in preparation for the formation of Police Scotland. She hadn’t realized she had it in her to be such a good actress.
It wasn’t like her to throw caution to the wind like this, but she felt it was good for her, as though she was slowly learning to trust again. She left a note for Lionel, asking him to put the snib on when he let himself out and thanking him for a lovely evening. She could feel the heat in her cheeks as she recalled exactly how lovely.
She slipped out of the house like a wraith into the early morning mist. In her sports gear and carrying her work clothes in a suit bag, she was first in line at the gym when it opened at 6 a.m. She never saw her vigorous workouts as an indulgence, but as a way of hanging on to her equilibrium.
An hour later, her muscles trembling but her mind steady, she slipped behind her desk, determined to grab the day by the throat and not relinquish her grip until DC Thomson was safely back at the farm in one piece.
Unaware of DI Moore’s silent vigil in Dumfries, DS Stirling and DC Thomson were sitting around the kitchen table at the farm, warming their hands with steaming mugs of tea. Farm tractors were generally out early and so, to attract as little attention as possible, DC Thomson was to set off just before seven heading for Dundrennan Abbey. The last thing he wanted was to get caught up in rush hour traffic heading for the larger towns in the area. He had picked up the package last night from behind the grave in St Cuthbert’s Kirkyard under cover of darkness, but it was in oilskin sealed with red wax. The seal had Latin inscribed on it and was very distinctive. It would be impossible to replicate at short notice. It looked like something a notary public might have used in years gone by. They had sent digital images across to Dumfries, and they’d be trying to source a facsimile now. He also had the previously recovered Hornel with him which, fortunately, hadn’t had a seal.
‘Drive carefully,’ said DS Stirling. ‘The last thing you want is for the tractor to be involved in an accident like before.’
DC Thomson nodded. Despite his brave words to the Super and DI Moore, Stirling could tell that the lad was nervous. And no bloody wonder. Out there without backup, arse to the wind. Too exposed by far.
‘Relax, Sarge,’ he said, standing up. ‘It’s most likely just a dummy run to check that Shaun Finch hasn’t been turned by the coppers. I’ll be back inside the hour, and you can fry us up a storm.’
‘On that old thing?’ said Stirling, casting a glance at the ancient range that had defied all his attempts to light it. ‘Dream on, laddie.’
DC Thomson walked out to the yard and hauled himself up into the tractor. It was freezing cold in these bloody things, so he was well padded. It felt good to take action. All the sitting around had been doing his head in and, much as he liked Stirling, he wasn’t the most interesting conversationalist in the world.
He started the engine and put it into gear. His heart was racing with adrenalin. He was going undercover. How cool was that? Okay, admittedly a Maserati would be better than a tractor but, hey, this was Dumfries and Galloway.
He gave a jaunty wave to DS Stirling, framed in the doorway. Turning the wheel, he put his foot on the accelerator and drove out of the yard.
The quiet country roads were virtually deserted. Occasionally he passed a tractor driven by a pimply youth or a hunched old man and tapped his cap in greeting. He narrowly avoided hitting a young deer that slipped across the road in front of him. Deep breaths, Davie boy, he told himself. Deep breaths. As far as he was aware he wasn’t being followed. His senses felt heightened. The smell of the moist earth and hedges was overpowering. Almost as if he had turned into a vampire. Everything somehow more vivid, like the colour palette had been intensified.
After a few miles he reached the village of Dundrennan. Some people were out walking their dogs or buying milk from the corner shop. Not far now. Easy does it. His heart was hammering so loudly he fancied he could almost hear it over the roar of the tractor. He carried on through the village then reached the car park adjacent to Dundrennan Abbey. There was nobody about as the abbey didn’t open for admissions until 10 a.m. He jumped down and stretched, as though he was just away for a wee stroll to ease his cramped muscles. He pulled up the hood of his fleece. If Shaun were to be believed, he’d never met directly with any of the forgery gang, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t followed him and had an idea of what he looked like.
The graveyard beside the abbey was still cloaked in tendrils of morning mist, which made it harder to see into the distance. He opened the gate and strolled casually up and down the rows of headstones, until he saw the one he was looking for. It had a rectangular stone trough with small holes along the length of the stone lid where flower stems could be placed. With a quick glance to left and right to check that he was unobserved he slid aside the heavy lid, observing that the holes had been sealed from the inside with clear plastic. He pulled out both packages from inside his fleece and placed them in the deep trough before sliding the lid back into its normal position and standing up quickly. Forcing himself to walk normally he returned to the tractor and started up the engine. As he turned it along the road he had come, he was startled to see someone in his mirror. A shadowy hooded figure came out the graveyard and watched him for a moment or two, before melting into the darkness. They had been in there with him the whole time. His skin prickled with sweat.
***
When he turned into the farmyard that was providing their temporary home, Stirling pinged out the door like a jack-in-the-box, clearly relieved to see him.
They said nothing until they were both in the kitchen. Stirling handed him a mug of sweet steaming tea and he gulped it gratefully, the reaction starting to set in now.
‘Weren’t you just itching to open the bloody thing?’ asked Stirling.
‘Too right. It could be anything from a forged painting to a Star Wars poster for all we know.’
‘DI Moore is trying to source an identical wax and seal for any future deliveries. I told her you made it back in one piece. She snatched up the phone on the first ring,’ he chuckled.
‘There was someone there,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t aware of him until I was driving away and caught him in my mirror, but I think he wanted me to see him. To know I’d been watched.’
‘Description?’ asked Stirling, flipping open his notebook.
‘He was dressed in black with a hood up. White face. Tall, medium build. Sorry, not much to go on.’
‘Are you sure it was a male?’
‘I assumed it was a man but, looking back, there’s no way I can be sure, now you mention it.’
‘Any sign of a vehicle?’
‘No, he left on foot. Must have parked it elsewhere. I couldn’t see if he had the packages, but they were probably stuffed up his jacket.’
‘Well, that’s the first one under your belt. Hopefully, we can manage some surveillance for the next time, assuming the collection and drop-off points remain the same.’
‘Now then, Sarge, what about that fry-up? I’m starving.’
‘Sausage, egg, and tattie scone coming up, lad. But you’re going to have to work your magic with the range first.’