Already she was losing all sensation of him, the husband who’d been her support all those years

Maggie sped up the hill and took a right into Dunbar Street. Nerve ends tingling, she nosed the car round the bend. On her left, one of Old Aberdeen’s many historic houses proclaimed Bishop’s Gate. Opposite, a pair of semi-detached bungalows presented a prim view. Of the boys there was no sign.

The car crawled forward, passing a small road on the right. At the top of a slight hill, she spied a jumble of bikes on their sides, wheels slowly spinning.

Swiftly, she put the car into reverse. She was about to turn the wheel when she noticed the “No Entry” signs. She pulled into the kerb and leapt out of the car, not even bothering to activate the central locking.

Maggie crept stealthily up the Chanonry. Part-way, she stopped. She looked around. To her right, an ancient house sat blank-faced on the road. To her left, a high stone wall traced the contours of the incline.

Her eyes darted from the bikes to the wall, to the house and back to the bikes. And then she saw it. The waste ground sloped from Seaton Park to the backs of the houses on Don Street.

It was bounded by a pair of tall iron gates secured by a stout padlock and chain. They and the railings alongside must have been three metres high. Quite a challenge for those kids, for that piece of scrubland was the only place they could be.

They’d have had to hoist the wee lad over, she reckoned. Maggie never ceased to wonder at the ingenuity of small boys.

So that’s all they were up to? She smiled quietly to herself. Her eyes took in the knee-high rough grass, the dense canopy of trees.

What could be more fun, she mused, than to seek adventure in such a place? More stimulating, surely, than the drab streets of Seaton or the wind-whipped forecourts of the high rises.

Maggie was retreating down the hill when a voice cried out. It sounded like Lewis, though she couldn’t be sure. Anxious, she turned.

There was silence then. For long moments she stood, ears pricked. Then, satisfied, she turned back and headed for her car.

Keep digging

“Have you got anything for me?” Brian had barely sat down when Maggie came out with it.

“Jimmy Craigmyle? Not a lot,” he shrugged an apology. “But first, let me get you some tea.”

She made to rise. “My turn.”

“Don’t be daft.” He got to his feet, placed a hand on her shoulder. Maggie felt a frisson of excitement. She turned her head, regarded the strong fingers as they pressed her back into her seat.

Ever the gentleman. She watched as he made his way to the counter. That was something she’d always admired about Brian.

Not that George didn’t have good manners. It was just that he had a quieter way of showing his feelings.

Her pelvic muscles clenched. She let out a deep exhalation. Already she was losing all sensation of him, the husband who’d been her support and her consolation for all those years: the solid curve of his back, the way his fingers felt on her skin, that feeling when he…

“How have you been?” Brian set down a tray. “Oh,” startled, she looked up. She was ashamed by her physical reaction. Wondered whether her body was telling her she reciprocated Brian’s feelings, or if her response was simply some primal need for human contact.

Shuddered

Like when she’d clambered onto that gurney. Maggie shuddered as she recalled once more the sensation of George’s ice-cold body beneath her own.

She’d wished herself dead that day. Like an Indian widow performing suttee, the thought occurred to her now. But she had to survive – for her children’s sake, if not her own.

And not just survive, but be resolute and fearless if she were to bring her plan to fruition and achieve justice for George.

Briskly, she brought her mind back to the present. “I’m back at work, running around like a mad thing.” “You’re looking good on it.”

“Must be the kids. They always perk me up. But I didn’t ask you here to talk about me, Brian. It’s Jimmy Craigmyle who’s my number-one priority. Once I’ve spoken to him, I can…”

“Let me stop you there.”

“You mean you haven’t managed to run him down?”

“No. I asked around the force. Folk confirmed what I’d heard – Jimmy’s marriage broke up, right enough.”

“Oh.” Maggie couldn’t mask her disappointment. Running down Craigmyle was crucial to her action plan. “Has he moved away, then?”

“No, he’s still in Aberdeen, from what I can gather.” “Whereabouts?”

“Bedsit down Crown Street, I believe.” “Great,” she sat up. “Have you got an address?” “‘Fraid not.” “Oh, well, I’ll probably manage to find him.” “Somebody said they’d seen him down Windmill Brae. He’s maybe working at that club. Used to be called Venue. Don’t know what they’re calling it this week – changes its name that often.”

She brightened. “I’ll check it out.”

“No you will not.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because for one, it belongs to our friend James Gilruth, and…”

“I went to see him.” It was out before she could stop herself. “About that rent bill.”

“Gilruth? I thought I told you…”

“I don’t dance to your tune, Brian Burnett.” “No.” So much for thinking he might have a future with Maggie Laird. “How did you get on?”

She looked away. “Didn’t.”

Brian stifled the urge to say I told you so. “So the rent, have you paid it?” he asked instead.

“No, but Wilma…”

“Ah, yes,” he chuckled. “Wilma. The answer to a woman’s prayers.”

Rueful

“It’s not a laughing matter,” Maggie glowered. “I’ll have you know she cleared the rent arrears. And she sorted out the notice period.”

“They let you off?”

“Not exactly. Wilma told them we’d be out of there by noon the next day. I’d already had the phone transferred, you see, and there was nothing of value in the place.”

“But waiving a month’s notice? Doesn’t sound like Gilruth.”

“No,” Maggie gave a rueful smile. “Fact of the matter is, Wilma told them they could sing for it.”

“Well,” Brian brought his hands together, “that settles whatever lingering doubts you might have had in connection with George’s death.”

“Does it?”

“Well, I mean, you haven’t been able to turn up anything on Gilruth.” He grimaced. “Not that you’re alone there. Aberdeen’s finest have been trying to nail the guy for I don’t know how long.”

“What for?”

“Drugs. Who knows what else? Gilruth’s into big property deals these days. From what we can gather, the other businesses are just a front now for laundering the money. But for all the time we’ve been on his tail, we’ve never pinned a thing on him.”

More tomorrow.