Maitland had been sitting in Paterson’s office with the door shut for over half an hour. There were a number of things that he could be doing in there: licking his wounds, e-mailing Stuttle to apologise, crying down the phone to Kate. Bernard’s favourite fantasy was that Maitland was busy writing a long and detailed e-mail explaining the reasons for his resignation, starting immediately. Although given the difficulties that the HET had in recruiting staff, it would take more than gross incompetence to get a resignation letter accepted. No, Bernard had to accept that neither he nor Maitland was going anywhere. They were stuck with each other, and had to work together. So if Maitland wasn’t going to come out and let Bernard gloat over him, he was going to have to go in.
He knocked and without waiting for an invitation walked in. Maitland was sitting with his head in his hands.
‘What?’
‘I wondered what you wanted me to do, what with you being in charge.’ He included an air quotes gesture in case Maitland hadn’t grasped his tone of voice.
‘How about you finding your Defaulter, what with you being a HET officer?’ Maitland returned the air quotes. ‘Then at least there’s one thing Carlotta bloody Carmichael can’t get annoyed about.’
‘I’d be delighted to, but Carole’s off sick, and we’re not supposed to wander round solo, which is probably a good precaution given the fact that the fake Defaulter was violent . . .’
Maitland sighed. ‘I get it, Bernard. You’re scared of what might happen. After all, Carole was the muscle in your partnership and if she got beaten up, God alone knows what might happen to you.’
Bernard opened his mouth to say something witty, but, annoyingly, nothing came out.
‘So,’ Maitland folded his arms across his chest, ‘what do you know about this fake Defaulter?’
‘We’re not looking for the fake Defaulter – that’s Police Scotland’s job now.’
‘I get that, loser, but if someone was so keen for us not to pursue Alessandra Barr that they sent a ringer to take her Health Check, then there’s some kind of cover-up going on. And our fake Defaulter must know why. So, to repeat my question, what do we know about her?’
Bernard grudgingly admitted to himself that Maitland had a point. ‘We know her blood type.’
‘Not hugely helpful in narrowing our search.’
‘And we found her at Stephen McNiven’s house.’
‘And you met Stephen McNiven at the house where Alessandra Barr was registered. I wonder who owns those houses?’
‘Land Registry search?’
‘At last you’re making a sensible suggestion. Close the door on your way out.’
Bernard fumed back to his own computer, and logged on to the Registers of Scotland website. He was disappointed when the first house turned out to be owned by a company. He was less disappointed to find the second house also owned by the same company. He picked up the phone to IT and gave some instructions to Marcus.
‘Both owned by the same company, Maitland. I’ve got Marcus looking into it.’
‘Great.’
Bernard waited for Maitland to issue some further instructions, but he just sat smiling smugly at him. Eventually Bernard gave in and asked, ‘OK. So what do we do?’
‘Well, you could go back to the two addresses that you’ve been to, but I’m guessing that they’ll be quiet as the grave just now . . .’
Bernard’s phone beeped. ‘It’s Marcus.’ He read the screen. ‘The company only owns four houses.’
‘Any information on who owns the company?’
‘The company secretary is Scott Kerr, lives at Falcon Drive, which is also in the very nice bit of town called Morningside, and which just happens to be one of the company’s houses.’
‘Well, start there.’
‘On my own?’ His stomach was a lift shaft, hurtling toward his feet. ‘Why can’t you come?’
‘Because Stuttle is coming over to yell at me some more.’ Maitland looked distinctly glum at the prospect, which failed to trigger any sympathetic response from Bernard. ‘Any minute now he’ll be here, breathing fire.’
‘Well Stuttle’s not going to be best pleased if he knows you are flouting HET regulations and sending officers to follow up Defaulters on their own . . .’
‘Oh, for . . .’ He drummed his fingers on the desk, then sat bolt upright. ‘I know. Take Marcus. He’s always keen to get out of the office.’
‘Marcus?’ Bernard shifted from foot to foot. ‘But he’s . . .’
‘Even more of a nancy boy than you are?’ Maitland grinned. ‘Man up, Bernard, and do your job.’
‘But the regulations say . . .’
Maitland made a clucking sound.
‘I’m not chicken! Fine. I’ll go, and if I die in the line of duty we can add that to the list of things you’ve messed up since Paterson left.’ He flounced out.
‘What, like taking the wrong person to a Health Check? Believe that was your cock-up, Bernie.’
Bernard grabbed his coat. He wondered if he was ever going to win an argument with Maitland.