Six a.m. Hanlon, dressed in running clothes and a cagoule, walked out of the house accompanied by Wemyss. At the end of Julia’s path she closed the gate behind her, clipped the dog onto his lead and started off at a slow jog. She’d do this until her muscles were warm, a few hundred metres, then later she’d open up. It usually took her about ten minutes to properly warm up, to find that effortless stride that would eat the miles.
Fifty metres down the road, Wemyss started pulling on the lead, swerving in front of her. ‘Is it something you want on the other side of the road?’
God, I must stop talking to the animal like he’s human, she thought. Wemyss gave her an excited look and she let him pull her towards a dark blue Audi estate. It had an SB number plate. That was Argyll. Immediately she thought of Gillies; this was the kind of car she imagined he would drive. Now Wemyss had led her up to the driver’s door. She could see a man inside; she rapped on the window. It wound down.
‘Hello, Hanlon.’ She did a double take and looked at him in astonishment. She really had not expected this. At the same time she felt a surge of pride and affection for Wemyss. What a clever dog, she thought, what a nose.
‘Murdo, what are you doing here?’
‘Keeping an eye on you,’ he said. He looked tired; he was unshaven and hollow-eyed. He was never what you might call a naturally happy man, but he always looked cool and collected. This morning he didn’t look his usual confident self.
‘How long have you been here?’ she asked, half suspiciously, half wonderingly.
‘Since last night.’
She nodded. ‘Oh, really.’ She frowned. Who the hell did he think he was, deciding that she needed a nanny, then keeping watch over her?
‘There was no need to have bothered,’ she said stiffly.
He said wearily, ‘There was a black BMW 4 x 4 here last night. It’s registered to a property agency Millar owns in Glasgow.’ He paused, letting the implications of what he had just told her sink in. Millar could have killed her last night as she was walking back to the house lost in thought. Who had tipped him off as to where she was staying?
‘I’d find somewhere else to stay, Hanlon, if not for your safety, then for whoever owns that house. If you’re here, they won’t be safe.’
‘Millar!’ She was incredulous. She asked him the question that was tormenting her suddenly. ‘But how?’
‘The how isn’t important. Go back to Argyll. Edinburgh is not the place for you at the moment.’
He wound the window up, started the car. She watched him drive down the street. Reluctantly she walked back to the house.
When Julia and Luke got up at seven, Hanlon was waiting for them with the news that Millar knew she was here and that she and Luke were leaving.
‘But where will you go?’ Julia asked, her face a mask of worry.
‘I don’t know,’ Hanlon said, ‘some hotel or other. I’m going to leave my car at the Dunedin since it’s paid for until I’ve resolved this. Luke, I’d like you to leave Edinburgh – go and stay with friends in London.’
‘What about me?’ asked Julia.
‘I’m afraid it would be better if you stayed elsewhere,’ Hanlon said. ‘Maybe with one of your sons, or a friend.’
Julia nodded. ‘I suppose so, but surely, if you’re not here…’
‘Yeah, theoretically,’ Hanlon said, ‘but Millar is a violent nutcase – he might just torch your house for the hell of it, or hurt you out of frustration. I’d go if I were you.’
Julia looked at her as if she were crazy. Hanlon could see that her naturally sunny disposition and lack of experience in the criminal side of life made her totally ill equipped to appreciate how dangerous Millar was.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Julia said. ‘He won’t bother me if you’re not here. Why would he bother? It’d be too risky, surely. Besides, he’s got better things to do.’
‘Well, I’d much rather you went,’ Hanlon said. She wasn’t going to waste breath arguing.
‘And what will you be doing?’ Luke asked her.
‘I’m going to try and take Millar down, if I can,’ Hanlon said.
‘What about Aurora?’ asked Julia.
‘I’m not sure,’ Hanlon said. ‘Priorities have changed, but I’ll get there in the end.’
Later in the day, Hanlon was back at the university talking to Julia in her office. At least she didn’t need to worry about her when she was at work. Julia didn’t seem to have any conception of the kind of monster that Millar was. Hanlon supposed she had never had the misfortune to meet anyone remotely like him – most people, in fairness, hadn’t. If she’d sat down with her and described the kind of things she’d heard about him, Julia probably wouldn’t have believed them, or found them so outlandish as to be incomprehensible.
Through the window she could see the reception area for the English department. They both saw Griffiths arrive; he waved at Julia but didn’t see Hanlon, who was standing out of sight.
She wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t told Julia and Luke the night before that she had found Aurora. She had told them that it had been a wild goose chase. Partly she guessed Luke might try to get in touch with Aurora and right now she didn’t think that would be a good idea. She wanted Luke out of harm’s way. And Julia, fond of her as she was, did like to talk. She didn’t want Julia inadvertently shooting her mouth off to someone, particularly Griffiths, whom she felt Julia was still too fond of. I suppose I’ve got trust issues, Hanlon thought. Then again, who can blame me?
‘So, you’ll let me know when Jenny Evans arrives,’ she said, checking again that Julia was on point.
‘I will.’
‘And have you found somewhere to stay, Julia?’
‘I’m working on it,’ she said and grinned.
Hanlon gave an exasperated sigh; Julia’s tone of voice had suggested she was humouring her. She tried again. ‘For God’s sake, this is serious, Julia. Millar is not a nice man. He kills people!’
‘Oh, I’ll sort something out,’ she said, giving Hanlon a sunny smile. It didn’t reassure Hanlon at all, but what more could she do?
A few minutes passed then, ‘Look,’ Julia hissed, ‘there she is… that’s Jenny Evans!’
A short girl with bobbed red hair and slightly protuberant blue eyes walked past. She was wearing a short dark coat and jeans. Her skin was very pale. She had a tote bag with a laptop and a pink file poking out. So this was the girl who had tipped her off that Griffiths and Aurora were having an affair. Hanlon thought of Aurora’s fierce face, her determined character. She thought of Griffiths’ slightly hangdog air. It seemed an unlikely match.
‘What time does the tutorial finish?’ Hanlon asked.
‘Four p.m.,’ said Julia.
‘Is it the same tutorial group that Aurora’s in?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s different.’
Thanks,’ Hanlon said. She was relieved. That meant that Jenny probably didn’t know what she looked like.
She turned to go.
‘Can we have lunch tomorrow?’ Julia asked. ‘I’d like to know what you’re up to, and that you’re safe.’
Hanlon smiled. It was the least she could do, after all that Julia had done for her. Besides, she was probably more concerned for Julia than Julia was for her.
‘Sure, I’ll text.’
Hanlon went down to the ground floor of the building that they were in, the David Hume Tower. There was a seating area near the door; she sat down to wait, got her phone out and stared some more at Morag’s website. She really wanted to read Morag’s novel. She felt there had to be a clue there, admittedly, a potentially misleading one maybe, but the sooner she found Millar’s man at the university, the better. Aurora was convinced her uncle meant her no harm. If that were true then whoever had organised the attempt on Aurora’s life was going behind Millar’s back. Millar would be furious. That would surely give some leverage when she found him. Do you want me to tell Millar you tried to have Aurora killed? Something like that.
Millar, I’m coming for you, she thought. She wanted him so much it hurt.
She looked again at Morag’s message to her.
If I fall under a bus, you can find where I’ve put my manuscript in Poem for Aurora on my website. Speak soon.
She had studied these lines over and over again like a cryptic crossword clue that she simply couldn’t understand. She felt a sudden stab of sorrow for the dead girl, the jokey reference to death, ‘if I fall under a bus’, never expecting that shortly after this she would die. All those plans and dreams, all that plotting and networking and boasting, all for nothing. I’ll find out who did it, Morag, she promised. She looked again at the poem with its peculiar layout and its cryptic dedication.
‘Poem for Aurora – Grace a Jean Lescure’
Who were these women, Grace A and Jean Lescure?
The poem itself was of no earthly use to her – there was obviously a clue there, but God knew what it was.
Incoming text.
Are you free tonight for a quick drink? x Mhairi.
Hanlon texted back.
Seven p.m. Grassmarket pub.
Mhairi texted back, a gif of a woman smiling and licking her lips. Hanlon rolled her eyes. She wasn’t subtle but she was persistent.
At ten past four the lift opened, and half a dozen students got out, Jenny amongst them. Hanlon followed.
Jenny walked out of the building and into the cafeteria that was next door in the basement of another building. It was a large, soulless, refectory-style place, long rectangular wipe-clean tables and plastic chairs. Hanlon sat in a corner. Jenny was joined by several friends; they were too far away for her to overhear. Hanlon bought herself an unpleasant cup of coffee.
After about half an hour Jenny stood up, said goodbye to her friends and left. Hanlon followed. It was dark and drizzling. Hanlon tailed Jenny through the campus and then across the park known as the Meadows to the houses opposite the university in Marchmont.
The student walked along a couple of streets and then stopped and went down the stairs to a basement flat. Hanlon peered over the railings. The door opened and a man appeared. She watched the bald head of Paul Wyre glinting in the street light as his mouth locked onto the mouth of Jenny Evans below. Wyre said something and she disappeared inside.
Hanlon turned and walked back towards the university lost in thought.
So, Jenny Evans was Wyre’s girlfriend. It didn’t make her claim that Griffiths was sleeping with Aurora credible – if anything it looked like an attempt by Wyre to get his girlfriend to shift Hanlon’s focus away from him and onto his colleague. It also made his assertion that he was the victim of student seduction look a little unbelievable – far more likely that, as Morag had said, he was using his power as a lecturer to seduce his students. He’d done it before; he was doing it now.
Right again, Morag, she thought.
Well, whatever else, it had been a productive afternoon. Hopefully the evening would be equally rewarding.
It was a hot, sticky, tropical afternoon. The skies above him were an ominous grey and the palms swayed in a sudden gust of wind. A typhoon was on the way. He’d just experienced an exhausting walk in the torrid, humid hell of the jungle. Through the rubble of a demolished brick arch Dougie could see a shape moving. He lifted the heavy semi-automatic to his shoulder, loosed off around twenty rounds. There was a huge explosion and his vision was obscured by a cloud of dust and smoke; shrapnel fell around him like rain. The guy he shot reappeared; he was staggering, injured but still armed; he turned towards Dougie, who shot him in the face. Dougie broke into a run down the street, dropping a couple of mines as he ran. He rounded a corner and ran into three of the enemy – shit… he was so low on ammo. They lifted their weapons, their leader shouted something, he was frantically reloading…
Dougie felt the bed give under Ray’s weight and his lips nuzzle his neck.
‘Will you get off me? This is important…’ He turned his attention back to the game.
Ray watched uncomprehending as Dougie slammed the new magazine into his gun and lifted it to his shoulder. He shook his head and left him to it.
The younger generation, the things they did for fun. If only it were that simple to get rid of Millar, he thought, as Dougie blew the heads off another couple of Viet Cong. What would Millar be up to? he wondered. He wouldn’t be playing computer games, that was for sure.
‘Shit,’ he heard Dougie say, ‘I’m dead.’
Ray thought to himself, We’ll both be dead for real, soon. Millar wouldn’t be looking for gooks in a virtual ’Nam. He’d be looking for Hanlon, looking for Aurora, looking for them. And it wouldn’t be virtual bullets that would be coming their way.
He considered Hanlon some more, turning the memories of their last encounter this way and that in his mind. I must be getting old, he thought ruefully. Well, he was, fifty-five, too old to do strong-arm stuff. He felt the plaster under his chin. Beaten up by a lassie, then stabbed, well, that was a first. That would look good on his CV. I’m too old for this.
When he thought back to the knife pushing up into his flesh, he reflected, I’ve seen the future. This is what working for Millar will bring. If I keep this up, one day soon, maybe tomorrow, I’ll be staggering down an alley gouting blood and I’ll die bleeding out behind some bins. Or there’ll be a knock on the door, I’ll open it, and I’ll get a bullet between the eyes.
I’ve got no more illusions any more and coke and booze can’t drown it out. I’m tired and getting old and I’m afraid.
And I don’t want to kill anyone.
He was secretly glad, he had decided, that McDonald’s intervention had stopped him killing Hanlon and the boy artist. It was like fate, or God, had decided that he shouldn’t take their lives. It was time to get out.
What could he do instead? He wasn’t qualified for anything except criminality. There weren’t too many viable options for an elderly ex-con. Run a bar? No, the hours were too extreme. A B&B? That was actually possible. He owned three houses; he could sell them and consolidate, buy something spectacular. Ray was canny with money; he’d stashed a lot away over the years.
Christ, Hanlon had hit him hard. Respect. He was slow now – a couple of years ago she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
He thought some more about Millar. What would he do when he realised what was going on, that they had done a runner? He would bring in Robbo and Wee Dougie from Hamilton, probably. He wouldn’t use Calum; he was useless in a fight. Old as Ray was, he could take Calum with one hand tied behind his back. Ray was good at his job, he was a tough old bastard and he knew it.
Millar would know he was hiding; he’d concentrate on the two women, Hanlon first. Millar thought she was getting too close to his university contact, the one who was running five of his main dealers. And making a good job of it – he’d seen the figures, and so far the uni connection had successfully kept a low profile. But Hanlon was getting close.
And Aurora.
Why did he want her dead? Who the hell could fathom what was going on in that psycho’s head?
There really was only one way out, and that was to get rid of Millar. He thought of his crazy eyes, his violent paranoia, his uncontrollable violence. They had reached the end of the line together. Time to think the unthinkable: Millar had to die.
That was going to be hard – he laughed softly, without any humour. Hard, that was an understatement, but there was no choice. He couldn’t rely on anyone else; they’d have to do it themselves.
No choice any more.
He’d run out of road long ago. The difference being now, he finally knew it.