‘One last thing,’ Jessie said. ‘What about the guns? Purvis has access to them.’
‘What guns?’ Stan asked.
‘There’s a cache in the cottage,’ Gilchrist said. ‘A couple of shotguns and a rifle, all registered in the name of James Watson.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Good question.’
‘Just playing devil’s advocate,’ Jessie said, ‘but what do you want me to do if I see Purvis walking towards the barn with a loaded shotgun?’
What indeed, Gilchrist thought. Running into the night could be their best option. On the other hand, they could remind Purvis that shooting police officers was still a criminal offence, no matter whose land you were trespassing. Although the fact that there are no trespass laws in Scotland would likely mean nothing to a man like Purvis.
At length, Gilchrist said, ‘Warn us, then call for back-up.’
‘Want me to organise back-up before we go, boss?’
‘No. The fewer people who know about this, the better.’ Which all sounded good and well, except that they would be unarmed. Securing weapons needed the signature of the Control Room Inspector after approval from the Silver Tactical Commander. But if they kept away from the cottage, Purvis would be none the wiser. At least, that was the theory. ‘Once the dogs are taken out of it, we’ll be safe,’ Gilchrist pressed on. ‘So dress appropriately. Black everything. And wear body armour.’
Stan nodded. ‘Okay, boss. Let’s do it.’
Gilchrist raised an eyebrow at Jessie.
‘I like wearing black. It makes me look slimmer.’
‘Right,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We’re on.’
But as he watched Stan shut down the computer and remove his memory stick, he could not rid himself of the dark feeling that he had overlooked something.
CHAPTER 28
Back in Fisherman’s Cottage, Gilchrist was surprised to see his old answering machine blinking. No one other than cold-callers phoned his landline these days, so he switched on the kettle, popped two slices of bread into the toaster, and opened a tin of tuna.
He sat down with his sandwich and a cup of tea and played the messages back.
The automated voice announced the time and date of the first call, then he jumped at the sound of Cooper’s voice. ‘Andy, can you give me a call on my new mobile number?’ As she read it out, he thought her voice sounded strained, as if she’d been crying. ‘I can’t talk now,’ she said, rushing. ‘I’ve got to go.’
The call ended.
He stared at the machine as the next message kicked in – same number, same date, but two hours later. This time Cooper said, ‘Just calling to let you know that Max has decided to leave.’ Maxwell now shortened to Max. ‘I can’t really talk over the phone, but we’ve tried to work it out, and we both realise that what we used to share we now no longer have.’ The distant call of a seagull told him she was probably walking along the beach, which she liked to do to clear her mind. ‘Of course, if you’d rather not call, then I understand. Maybe this is a chance for all of us to make a clean break.’ A sniff, then, ‘But I think you have the right to know.’
The message ended.
Gilchrist jolted back to life and found a pen. He replayed the first message and wrote down Cooper’s new number. Her voice sounded stronger on the second message, as if she had already accepted a life of separation. But her parting comment brought a frown to his forehead.
I think you have the right to know.
Know what? That Mr Cooper was leaving? That her marriage was over?
He played the message one more time, but it still failed to make sense.
I think you have the right to know.
At the far end of the lounge Gilchrist peeled back the curtains. Light spilled over the bed of crocuses, now past their best, the hard green stems of daffodils competing for space. A glance at his watch confirmed the second message was already an hour old. But why had she phoned his landline, and not his mobile? Because she had not wanted to talk to him, came the answer, just to leave a message to see if he would call back. It was a test, of sorts, to measure the strength of his feelings for her, perhaps.
The sound of the doorbell brought him back to the present.
He opened the door to a skinny man with long hair and a pasty face. Black jeans, worn grey, hid pipe-cleaner legs. A loose combat jacket with holes in the sleeves covered a skeletal frame. Every time Gilchrist met Jakie he was left with the impression that the man did not have long to live. He stood aside to let him in, feeling the rush of cold air as he brushed past into the warmth of the hallway.
In the lounge, Jakie scanned the walls, the floor, even the ceiling, as if surprised to find himself still standing – or maybe alive. ‘Nice house,’ he said.
Silent, Gilchrist closed the door behind him.
Jakie sniffed and retrieved a brown-paper package from the innards of his combat jacket. ‘Twa steaks with enough thiopental to give you at least sixty minutes, Mr Gilchrist, sir.’
Thiopental was a fast-acting barbiturate. Gilchrist took the package. It felt supple, pliable, and probably weighed less than a couple of pounds. ‘Without killing them?’
Jakie sniffed, gave a nervous twitch. ‘Should be all right.’
‘I don’t want to kill them.’
Another sniff. ‘That’ll knock them out, no kill them. But you don’t want tae fuck around when it comes to they Rottweilers.’
‘How quickly will it kick in?’
‘It’ll shut them up within a few minutes, yeah? Then they’ll start going wobbly like, and keel over.’
Gilchrist raised his eyebrows. ‘How much?’
Another sniff. ‘Spot me forty,’ he said, and looked to the floor.
Gilchrist knew he was being ripped off, but Jakie looked as if he could use the money, maybe food, too. ‘You cold?’ he said, handing over two twenties.
Jakie snatched the money, stuffed both hands into his pockets. ‘S’fucking freezing.’
Gilchrist smiled. ‘I can give you a sandwich,’ he offered, ‘and a cup of tea to heat you up.’
‘Naw. Got tae go.’
Gilchrist opened the lounge door and led Jakie along the hallway.
Jakie pushed past him and skipped across the threshold, then slunk away without a word of thanks, or goodbye, or even a backward glance.
Back in the kitchen, Gilchrist peeled open the brown paper to reveal two steaks that glistened with blood. He laid the package on the draining board and separated them. Then he wrapped each individually in cling film, and placed them in the fridge.
Next, he called Stan. ‘Are we good to go?’
‘I’ve got the body armour and torches. And I’ve just had it confirmed that the Ford Focus you mentioned was captured on Tentsmuir Forest’s CCTV on Thursday night.’
‘When?’
‘Entered at nineteen-fifty,’ Stan said, ‘left at twenty-forty. It fits, boss.’
The times certainly did fit, which opened up another nest of possibilities. But he said, ‘I’ll pick up Jessie and we’ll meet in the Office in an hour,’ and killed the call. It would take about thirty minutes to collect Jessie then drive to the Office, which gave him time to make a phone call.
He dialled Cooper’s new number.
She answered on the fourth ring.
‘I got your messages,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Are you okay?’
A heavy sigh, then, ‘My marriage has been on the rocks for a long time, Andy. It’s been coming to a head, and we… I… need time apart, to think things through, work out what I want to do.’
Gilchrist let a healthy five seconds pass before saying, ‘And do you know what you want to do?’
‘You’re doing it again. Talking in questions.’
He tried to find some other way to keep the conversation going, but questions were just about all he had. How could he learn what she meant by I think you have the right to know if he was not allowed to ask?