As he rounded the last corner, seeing the light streaming from the window he needed, Andy dropped to his knees sliding along the wet grass and coming to a halt dramatically under the window.
Slowly raising his head he took in the scene that emerged.
The lights in the room were in fact low but the room was dominated by a huge screen, must have been 50 inches at least. The sporting event on display was accompanied by occasional giant stats and graphics.
The room was unoccupied apart from a lone figure, whose head Andy could clearly pick out in silhouette above an ancient wingback chair as the light from the screen and a roaring log fire danced around distorting its shape more than normal. Now was the time. He selected the necessary electrical equipment from his pack ensuring to take the right preparatory precautions and took aim.
He held his breath and fired. Nothing. He reloaded taking aim again after the correct amount of shoogle, fired and watched with gritted teeth.
He felt a grin spread across his face as the screen went black, watched as the rotund figure on the chair scrambled around looking for his own remote control before switching the golf back on. As the figure sank back onto the chair, Andy took aim again. This time selecting the TV mode, scrolling down the menu and selecting Al Jazeera.
He watched as Davie jumped up from his seat again scratching his head like the overgrown primate he was and frantically pressing buttons on the remote. Andy decided he would go for the caravan channel next possibly followed by Nikelodeon or one of the African Christian channels. He could keep doing this for a while.
13
Burke made his way to the West End. He buzzed the archaic door at the Phoenix Consultancy and entered. He was greeted by and aging receptionist who offered a cup of tea which he gratefully accepted with the proviso that she put three sugars in.
Fraser Douglas’s consultation room was more or less what he imagined a plastic surgeon’s office would look like. Two black leather couches flanked a marble fireplace with a heavy expensive looking vase as its centrepiece. Magazines related to the business of nipping and tucking adorned a coffee table and a series of splatted minimalist canvases their owner had no doubt paid through the nose for adorned the walls along with the standard centrepieces denoting qualifications awards and memberships.
The man himself was probably around forty five. It was hard to tell as he had clearly foregone the type of hair replacement he recommended and performed.
He bounded into the room like a cocker spaniel and they shook hands as Burke’s tea was delivered. Douglas sat on the arm of one of the couches and slurped on an espresso. He’d clearly had his teeth done as there wasn’t a coffee stain or natural shade of enamel on display in his mouth.
“So you spoke to one of my officers this morning?” Burke began.
“I did,” Douglas replied.
“And at the time you didn’t remember seeing anything?”
“No, well that’s not perhaps strictly true,” Douglas replied frowning.
Burke realised he’d had his eyebrows done.
“I hope we can keep this on the down low if you know what I mean.” Douglas gave Burke a look an actual spaniel might give someone with food; a kind of practised begging look, or at least he was sure that’s what he thought it would look like. The outside world rarely accurately reflected the inside of anyone’s brain and in reality it merely served to make him look like a cross between the ET and someone who was in the midst of a fright when the Botox properly kicked in. Forty five year old men really shouldn’t try to look cute in a begging way or in fact anyway Burke noted.
“I have been engaging in what you might call a bit of an assignation,” Douglas carried on. “Can I ask that we keep this between ourselves?”
“You can ask,” Burke replied “but I can’t really guarantee anything. That’s not strictly true. I can guarantee that you won’t be obstructing a police investigation should you see fit to fill us in on what you saw or didn’t see. I can also tell you that I will do my best to conceal your infidelity. But that’s as far as I can go.”
Douglas had obviously been trying to put a positive face on it. His shoulders slumped forward and his features collapsed. He raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his brow in recognition. “I value my marriage inspector. Are you married?”
“I am.”
“Well then presumably you know how much that means and that you just want to live up to your better half’s expectations but that also, sometimes that’s just not possible.”
“Sometimes, perhaps.”
“I’ve tried to fight it off,” he said staring intently at a spot somewhere on the wall. “But I’m a remarkably weak man when it comes down to it.”
Burke said nothing. He let Douglas continue knowing that this was a man looking to unburden himself.
“It started last summer. I’d been going round the doors on the street, looking for sponsorship for a cycle ride I’m doing to John O’Groats and back. It was through the local Rotary club, a few of us were doing it as much for an excuse to put in some extra training before the summer, if only to look good on the beach. Vanity’s a powerful motivator. I should know.” He paused clearly expecting this to elicit a small laugh at the very least. “So I get to Oleg’s house around nine only to find him in a bit of a drunken state.” He looked at Burke who nodded, “well he was having a bit of a get together and he invited me in. It was only at that point that I realised there were no other men there.”
“Really?” Burke replied. “In which case, who was there?”
Douglas’s shoulders slumped forward again and he let out a long lingering sigh.
“Professionals you might say.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ladies of the night, escorts, call girls, hookers, call them what you will.”
“And presumably having being invited in, you were then invited to indulge?” Burke enquired, already knowing the answer. Why else would he look so decidedly pale right now?
“In my line of work there are of course ample opportunities for dalliances shall we say?”
“No doubt.”
“There is a bit of pressure involved. You take your chances to blow off steam while you can. I’ve already had more than one affair inspector, and my wife isn’t stupid. She caught me out twice and gave me an ultimatum as no doubt you’d expect. I suppose that’s what the cycling was about as much as anything. Escapism.”
“Hardly the same is it?” Burke heard himself say.
Douglas laughed a hysterical cackle, holding his head with both hands as though he might otherwise fall from his perch.
“No inspector, it isn’t. What is it they call us? Mamils? Middle aged men in lycra, an entire generation of men trying to recapture their youth by regressing to the age of twelve. At least some people have the balls to become born again bikers but no, that’s too dangerous. I learned that from my days in A&E. No, nowadays we all dress up like Lance Armstrong, and get our kicks peddling down hills like we did when we were pre-teens.” He laughed again. The hollow laugh of the slightly desperate man.
“I suppose if nothing else it’s healthy.”
“Didn’t work out so healthy for me though did it?” he almost shouted, before remembering himself, “caused me to spend the next few months in a blizzard of cocaine and whores.”
“So this became a regular thing?”
“It did, every Wednesday and Friday night. I told my wife these were training nights,” he scoffed to himself. “Gave me an excuse to come in wrecked and immediately take a shower. I kept it up, the training on Monday nights, just to keep my hand in, kept my story consistent if you see what I mean.”
“Must have been hard work.”