15

When Karen returned to the dining room, Daisy was deep in the Lara Hardie case notes again. She looked up, distracted, and said, ‘Any joy, boss?’

Karen nodded. ‘I found out who he played chess with. Like you thought it might be. Ross McEwen.’

‘I read his first novel,’ Daisy said. ‘He won a couple of awards for it. It was pretty good. A twist every fifty pages, you know the kind of thing. But he did it better than most. At least we’ve got an idea who “Rob Thomas” is meant to be, if this is properly based on a true story.’

‘If it does map on to reality that closely, why haven’t Stein’s widow and McEwen gone public with their relationship? With Stein dead, there can’t be any issue around it now. The podcast guy I’ve just spoken to, he said Ross McEwen keeps his private life under wraps. He didn’t even know whether he likes guys or girls. It’s all very odd. I want to speak to the widow before I front him up. Did you manage to track down her address?’ Karen pulled out a chair and opened the case file. The answer was right in front of her. ‘Oh, asked and answered. Nice job.’ Karen recognised the address as one of the modern blocks built at Quartermile, on the edge of the wide green space of the Meadows. ‘So she’s up in the goldfish bowl, eh?’

‘I imagine when she bought it she thought she’d have a relatively peaceful view,’ Daisy said. ‘Now I bet it’s crammed from dawn till dusk with everybody taking their daily exercise with their kids and their dogs. By the way, she’s reverted to her maiden name – Harris. She never stopped using it professionally, but now she’s totally ditched the hyphenated “Stein”.’

‘Can’t say I blame her. Let’s see if we can set up a meeting for tomorrow.’ She picked up the manuscript again and flicked through the pages. ‘You know, another odd thing strikes me about this. Everything we’ve got – a few chapters, a bit of an outline, some notes? It’s all computer printout. I can’t believe he didn’t make notes while he was still at the early stages. And if he did, there might be more connective tissue that positively links this to Lara Hardie’s disappearance.’

Daisy frowned. ‘That’s a good point. I remember hearing a radio programme about Agatha Christie’s notebooks. Apparently they found a box of them in the attic of her old house and a lot of what was in them was totally random. Like, she’d have a shopping list on one page, an idea for a plot on the next page. Then a list of spring bulbs, a recipe for a cake and finally some notes about what she was working on. And because she’d just scribble in whatever notebook she had handy, sometimes there would be references to the same novel in three or four notebooks.’

‘Makes sense to me,’ Karen said. ‘The notes on my phone would be incoherent to anybody but me. So you think there might be notebooks in the archive?’

Daisy shrugged. ‘Or Post-It notes. Or file cards.’ She groaned. ‘I know what comes next.’

Karen grinned. ‘I’ll get on to Bethan and make arrangements.’

‘Me and my big mouth. Oh well, at least it’ll get me out of the house.’

‘I’ll see whether she’ll let both of us in. We are one household so it shouldn’t breach the regs. With two of us working it, there’s less chance of missing anything crucial.’

‘That’s if there’s anything crucial to find,’ Daisy grumbled. Clearly, she was a long way from being convinced that this was any more than a wild goose chase to keep them occupied. Karen couldn’t blame her. But she’d followed slender leads to rewarding conclusions before. She still had hope for this one.

Jason didn’t know what to do with himself. Eilidh wanted him to snuggle up on the sofa, but that felt wrong. How could he do that when his mother was lying in a hospital bed, struggling to breathe? He felt suffocated himself inside the four walls of the flat. ‘I need to go for a walk.’ As soon as he said it, he knew it was the right thing to do.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Eilidh said immediately.

‘No, I need to be by myself.’

She looked at him as if he’d turned into a stranger. ‘How? Tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid like sneak off and drive to Kirkcaldy?’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll leave the car keys here, if you don’t trust me. I just need air. It’s not about you, it’s about me.’ He turned away and grabbed his coat. Pausing only to toss his car keys on the hall table, he marched out of the flat and took the stairs two at a time. He emerged into late afternoon sunshine that did nothing to take the chill off the air. The only others in sight were on the other side of the street; an elderly couple tottering towards Leith Walk, holding hands like teenagers.

Jason had no idea where he wanted to go. On automatic pilot, he turned up Leith Walk, his steps following his regular route to the police station at the top of the hill in Gayfield Square. He walked in a dwam, his thoughts and emotions churning chaotically. He’d never thought about the possibility of life without his mother. She was never ill. She kept the house like a palace, she worked three days a week in a care home, and on top of that she was always doing favours for her neighbours – minding their kids, shopping for pensioners, walking people’s dogs when they had to take on extra overtime.

He came to himself as he arrived at the tiny park in front of the cop shop. He sat down on one of the benches, hands clasped between his knees, frowning. Scarcely a minute had passed when his phone burst into life: Ronan.

‘What’s happening?’ Jason demanded.

‘OK, so they’ve took her to the Vic, like we thought,’ he said. ‘The paramedics gave her oxygen in the ambulance and they said she seemed to pick up a wee bit. The doc was right, they totally wouldn’t let me go in the ambulance with her. So I got in the motor and drove up there. Bastards wouldn’t let me in. Bitch of a paramedic said they’d got more important things to do than argue with me.’

Jason could imagine. She had a point, though. ‘Do you know anything?’

‘She’s on a COVID ward. I managed to speak to one of the nurses on the phone. They’ve got her on an oxygen mask. He told me she’s holding her own. Like our mum would be doing anything else. He’s going to phone me if anything changes.’

‘We’ll just have to wait, then,’ Jason said, his voice hollow.

‘Fuck all else I can do. But can you not get in? You’re a polis, I’ve seen polis going in and out the hospital.’

‘They’ve got regulations in place for a reason. It’s to keep folk safe. Plus the cops going in and out’ll be locals. They’ll know I’m not one of them. And like the paramedic said to you, they’ve all got more important things to be dealing with than that.’

Ronan made a scornful noise. ‘You’ve got no bottle, bruv. You’ve always been the same, ever since you were wee. “Don’t tell on me, Ronan,” ’ he mimicked.

Jason swallowed hard. ‘I’m not going to fall out with you, Ronan. Not at a time like this. We need to be strong for each other and for Mum.’ The line went dead.

Fuck this. He wasn’t going to rely on someone who only wanted to take their pain out on him. Jason found the number for the Victoria Hospital and dialled. When it was answered, he explained the situation. The woman on the phone was so gentle he almost wept. ‘Give me a minute, son,’ she said, putting him on hold. When she came back, she repeated what Ronan had said. ‘Leave your number with me, son. If there’s any change, we’ll give you a call. I know it’s hard, but try not to call us more often than once a day. We’re all doing our best here.’

‘I know,’ he said, feeling bleak. ‘Thank you.’

He leaned back and stared at the sky. This was unbearable. He needed something to fill his head. Something that wasn’t Eilidh filling his ears with what she wanted him to believe. Jason jumped up and practically ran across the grass to the police station. All the information he’d managed to extract from Ruaridh Brown-Grant was accessible via his office computer. Rummaging in his pocket as he hurried, he came out with a mask Eilidh had made from an old blouse and fixed it in place over his nose and mouth.

Ignoring the unstaffed counter, he made straight for the side corridor that led to the HCU office at the back of the station. He keyed in his access code and hustled down the hall, stripping off his jacket as he went. He saw nobody, which was a relief. Closing the door quietly behind him, he booted up his computer and printed out the lists that Brown-Grant had sent him. Considering all they were supposed to do was sit at a desk and write books, Jason was amazed at the amount of time a writer spent running about the place doing all kinds of weird things.

It was late in the day to be questioning librarians and arts administrators, but they wouldn’t be in their offices anyway. They’d be stuck at home, probably bored out of their trees. Jason would be a welcome distraction, he reckoned. An escape from quarrelling kids and fractious partners. He went down the list, circling all the contacts who had provided mobile numbers rather than office landlines.

Then he started.

His colleagues a few streets away were having a better afternoon. Rosalind Harris had apparently been intrigued by Karen’s call. She’d offered to set up a Zoom meeting for the morning, but Karen had said she’d rather talk in person, albeit at a safe distance. ‘This is all very mysterious, Chief Inspector,’ Rosalind had said.

‘It’s really very straightforward, Ms Harris. Your late ex-husband’s name has come up in the course of an investigation, and I’m hoping you might be able to cast some light on the circumstances.’

‘I doubt it. There were many areas of Jake’s life that were a closed book to me. Even more than I realised when he was still alive. But frankly, anything that breaks the monotony of lockdown is a plus in my book. How do we do this within the rules? Shall we find a quiet bench in the Meadows?’

They settled on meeting at 10 a.m. on Middle Meadow Walk near the Swedish coffee shop. Karen noted the meeting in her diary, saying, ‘That’s the easy one dealt with. Now for Bethan Carmichael.’

Predictably, the librarian was not thrilled to hear from Karen again. ‘I’ve already stretched the rules to accommodate your demands,’ she objected.

If she believed that earlier request had been a demand, she was in for an education, Karen thought. ‘I appreciate your desire to abide by the Scottish Government’s rules and advice. But I must remind you that I’m also obliged to carry out my duties as a member of Police Scotland. Criminals are not too bothered about obeying the rules at the best of times, and we have to deal with that in the most practical ways we can. I’m no keener than you on being exposed to COVID.’

Bethan harrumphed. ‘And yet you’re asking me to ride roughshod over the systems we’ve set up to protect our staff.’

Karen closed her eyes and counted to five. Ten was out of the question most days. ‘I’ve thought about this,’ she said. ‘If you can have the materials laid out in a single ventilated space, my colleague and I will work there alone. We’re sharing a flat at present, so we actually count as one household. If you provide us with a diagram of how to get to the room, your security guard can let us in and we’ll make our own way there. No need for anybody to come near us.’

A long moment while she digested Karen’s suggestion. ‘Normally, we’d insist you were accompanied by a member of the library staff.’

‘These aren’t normal times,’ Karen said flatly. ‘We will handle everything with the utmost care. We’re not silly wee lassies. We understand the importance of handling evidence and we’ll bring that expertise to your archive.’

‘And what happens if you find material you consider to be evidence?’

Karen was tempted to say, ‘Then we’ll stuff it down our pants and run. They don’t call me KP Nuts for nothing.’ Instead, she spoke calmly. ‘We will photograph it in situ, replace it where we found it and rely on you and your staff not to interfere with it.’

There was a long frosty silence. ‘I resent the suggestion that anyone employed by the National Library of Scotland would interfere with archive material.’

‘I thought I was suggesting the very opposite, Bethan. My team, we love the National Library and its librarians. You’re a phenomenal resource. Please trust us to respect that.’ She rolled her eyes at Daisy, who was obviously suppressing a fit of the giggles.

Karen could hear Bethan exhale heavily. ‘Let me talk to my people and see what can be done.’

‘Thank you. I was thinking we might get started tomorrow afternoon.’ There were few things Karen enjoyed more than pushing her luck with a sweet smile on her face.

‘Not very likely. But I will see what might be possible. Perhaps next week.’

‘I’m expecting to see you tomorrow. I know you won’t want to be accused of obstructing a homicide investigation.’

‘Wait!’ Bethan exclaimed. ‘Are you telling me this is definitely a murder inquiry now? I thought you were just on a fishing expedition.’

‘It’s looking increasingly likely.’ It was still less than the truth, but closer than it had been when they’d last spoken. ‘So can we maybe expedite our access to the rest of Jake Stein’s papers?’

Sounding chastened, Bethan said, ‘I will call you tomorrow morning.’

Daisy gave her boss a round of applause as she closed her phone down. ‘Every time I see you in action, I feel like I used to when a tutor said something illuminating about an obscure bit of poetry. I’d lay money on us being in the archives before close of play tomorrow.’

Embarrassed at the praise, Karen shrugged. ‘We’ve still got a long way to go. Which reminds me, Jason’s not been in touch. The last time he went dark, he was lying at the bottom of a flight of steps with a broken leg.’

‘Lightning doesn’t strike twice, boss.’

Karen quirked a smile. ‘You’ve not known Jason very long, have you? I’ll give him a quick call. Let’s make it three in a row for good results.’