Now there was a romance killer.
Not that she was after any romance. But it might put Argyll off cooperating if the Dunk was there. So really she was helping the investigation by leaving him behind.
Lucy thumped a hand down on the Dunk’s shoulder. ‘I think you’re right about Dr Christianson’s house. But first, let’s get some background done: bit of context so we know what we’re looking at. Head back to the ranch and pull everything you can on him. Not just PNC stuff, either: the full Facebook, Google, Twitter, LinkedIn, and anything else you can find.’
‘No point, Sarge’ He sparked up another cigarette, cupping the lighter’s flame against the wind. ‘Tudor’s already got Emma’s team on research. They’ll be doing all that.’
‘Her IT guy’s DC Steve Johnson, isn’t he?’
The Dunk stiffened. ‘That prick?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘But he’ll probably do a decent job of digging up anything important about Dr Christianson, won’t he? You know, what with him being so good with computers. No way you’d be better at it, on account of him being such a genius and everything.’
‘Yeah, but...’ A long drag on the cigarette. A shuffle of the feet. ‘You see, Sarge, Christianson: he’s been targeting you, right? At your house, slashing your tyres, following you around all day? He’s doing that for a reason.’
‘If he really wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of opportunity to try. Instead he’s stuck with being a pain in the arse. Probably because he knows I’d kick his for him.’
‘Is it worth the risk, though?’
‘Don’t be daft, I’m fine.’ She pulled back her shoulders. ‘Now, can I count on you to dig up something useful, or can’t I?’
‘Course you can.’ Chin up, like a good little soldier.
And yes, strictly speaking, she was just getting shot of him for a couple of hours, but he liked all that computer nonsense, so what was the harm?
‘Meantime, give me the keys to the pool car. I want to go check something out.’
‘You’re like a bloody limpet!’ Lucy clenched her jaw as the pool car weaved its way through Auchterowan, following the diversion signs — which seemed to bypass the main square via the most meandering route known to man. As if they’d done it on purpose, so everyone would have to experience as much of the town’s neatly-laid-out-two-storey-sandstone-Scottish-vernacular bollocks as possible. Every now and then, glimpses of the farmers’ market responsible appeared down a side street, all gay and multicoloured and twee.
Bastards.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Charlie stretched out in the passenger seat, hands behind his head, irritating bland smile on his face as usual. ‘Limpets are an important part of the coastal ecosystem; they—’
‘I take it back, you’re not a limpet, you’re a barnacle.’ AKA: a huge drag on her arse.
That’s what she got for not locking the car soon as she got into it.
One more hard left and they were back on the road leading north out of town, following the signs for St Nicholas College.
She glowered at him. ‘I’m trying to get information out of this guy, and I don’t want you hanging around, spooking him. You stay in the car and you don’t interfere.’
The sandstone houses gave way to fields and drystane dykes. Happy clean sheep in the fields, unlike the soggy miserable things that had milled about outside Dr Christianson’s house.
Lucy put her foot down as they left the town limits. ‘I mean it, Charlie.’
‘I’ll be a ghost. They won’t even know I’m there, promise.’
Why did that sound sodding unlikely?
Argyll must’ve left word that she’d be coming, because the broken-nosed porter took one look at Lucy and waved the car through.
‘It’s huge.’ Charlie sat forward, gawping at the school’s façade — towers and turrets glowing in the sunlight, as if they’d been burnished. ‘How much do you think this place costs to run? Must be a fortune; no wonder the fees are crippling.’
She parked in the same spot as last time, but instead of under-prefect Skye McCaskill, it was Allegra Dean-Edwards waiting for her. She’d brought a great big lump of a boy with her — unruly blond hair, puppy-fat cheeks, and the kind of easy smile that implies not all the lightbulbs are working to full brightness. They were both wearing their school uniform, complete with academic gown and two white epaulettes. No brolly this time, though.
Lucy unfastened her seatbelt. ‘Stay — in — the — car!’
A nod from Charlie. ‘Like a ghost.’
She climbed out into the sunshine. ‘Allegra.’
‘Detective Sergeant McVeigh, how nice to see you again. When the assistant headmaster said you might be visiting us, I insisted on being allowed to escort you.’
Lucy thumped the car door shut, sealing Charlie inside. ‘That’s very kind.’ Which was a massive lie, but Allegra didn’t need to know that.
The three of them headed off through the archway, into the quad.
‘Who’s your friend?’
‘Ah, yes, indeed.’ The big lump stuck out a huge hand for her to shake as they marched along the path. ‘Hugo. Lovely to meet you, et cetera, pleasure’s all mine.’
Allegra shot her companion an indulgent smile. ‘Hugo’s my “academic brother”; the school pairs us up to—’
‘I know what an academic brother is.’ Lucy pointed at the ancient oak tree, now sporting a handful of small orange flags among the black and red ribbons. ‘They’ve started Trencher Day early this year.’
See? I know how the school works just as well as you do, you precocious little shite.
‘Yes. It’s getting so commercialized these days, isn’t it?’ Precocious and sarcastic.
They turned onto the path to the Moonfall Gate.
‘So what do you want to be when you grow up, Hugo?’
‘Aha, “To be or not to be, that is the question!” as mine dear papa would say.’
‘Hugo’s going to follow in the family footsteps and run for Parliament, aren’t you, Hugo?’ It didn’t sound as if Hugo had much of a say in it. ‘He’s going to lead the country, one day.’
‘Indubitably!’
The Moonfall Gate loomed over them, its ancient stones carved with the faces of mythical beasts.
‘Which country?’
Allegra frowned as they stepped out the other side, sounding genuinely surprised at the question. ‘You know, I haven’t decided, yet.’
They walked onto the playing fields in silence.
Given there were only thirteen kids accepted every year, nearly all of them must’ve been out here this morning. That would be, what, seventy-eight children in total? Half a dozen of them did laps of a professional-looking track, while a small troupe of five children, all dressed up in white karate outfits, went through a synchronized repertoire of moves and a very large man shouted things at them in Mandarin. Off in the middle distance, a trio of horses and riders headed out towards Holburn Forest for a hack. Leaving just enough kids for one game of cricket, one of rugby, and a five-a-side football match — the only spectators being a handful of teachers in their school uniforms.
Bit different from the rectangle of half-dead grass round the back of Moncuir Academy...
Here’s what you could’ve won.
Allegra broke the silence, leading the way towards the nearest rugby pitch. ‘I see you’ve managed to identify the Bloodsmith, Detective Sergeant McVeigh?’
‘I...’ That was a bit creepy, especially when the investigation hadn’t released who’d been responsible for IDing Dr Christianson. Perhaps she just meant ‘you’ as in ‘Police Scotland’? ‘We did.’