The Courier & Advertiser (Fife Edition)
“Spenser smiled again, and something familiar ghosted across his disfigured face
Something like sadness passed over Spenser’s face, though it was difficult to tell through all the reconstructive surgery. “Your father. Yes. John was a bright lad. I remember him well. “I was very fond of him.” “It seems you know more of my family than I do, Mr Spenser.”
“Gavin, please. Only my employees call me Mr Spenser, and even then only when I’m in earshot.”
Gavin. It didn’t feel right. Like calling his gran Esther or his grandfather Bill.
McLean swilled the coffee dregs around the bottom of his cup, eyed the cafetière in hope of a refill, unsure whether it was because the coffee was so good or just that he needed a prop to overcome his discomfort. And that was the problem.
Why was he uncomfortable in this man’s presence? Apart from his disfigurement, and it couldn’t be that, Spenser was nothing if not the perfect gentleman.
An old family friend helping out at a time of grieving.
So why were McLean’s guts telling him something wasn’t right.
“Actually, that brings me to another thing,” Spenser said. “How would you like to come and work for me?”
Wasted
McLean almost dropped his coffee cup. “What?” “I’m serious. You’re wasted in the police, and if what I’ve heard is true, you’re not going to get much further up the greasy pole. Not a politician, am I right?”
McLean nodded his head, unsure quite what to say. It seemed he wasn’t the only one playing detective here.
“Whereas I don’t give a damn about that kind of thing. It’s a person’s capabilities that I’m interested in. Like Jethro there.
“Most people wouldn’t have given him a first chance, the way he’s built, the way he talks. Not good with words, is Jethro.
“But he’s brighter than he looks and he gets the job done. You get the job done, Tony. That’s what I’ve heard about you.
“I could use a man with your skills. And let’s face it, your training as well.”
“I don’t really know what to say.” Except that Grumpy Bob would kill him if he left the force.
And why was he even considering it?
He loved being a detective, always had. But it wasn’t as much fun being an inspector as he’d imagined it would be when he was still a sergeant.
And then there were times when the endless stream of rubbish started to wear you down, it was true.
It would be nice to do something where you could stop occasionally and view your achievements with a sense of pride.
Nowadays there was barely time to catch a breath before you had to plunge straight back into the mess.
“It’d be a troubleshooting role, mainly. We’ve got operations all over the world, and sometimes you need an outsider to go in and stir them up a little. Especially when the revenues start to flag?”
“It sounds . . . interesting?”
“Just think about it, aye?”
Spenser smiled again, and something familiar ghosted across his disfigured face. Something in those dark eyes, made deeper still by the livid pink and white of the scar tissue surrounding them.
What terrible accident had befallen this man to leave him so disfigured? What would it be like to work for a man who had carried that with him for so long?
And what harm was there in thinking about the offer? It wasn’t as if he was going to take it up, after all.
“OK, Gavin. I will.”
Converted
The car was still there, lurking at the back of the converted coach house that served as garages.
He’d walked straight here from Gavin Spenser’s house, mind working overtime at the strange offer the old man had made.
It was still just a philosophical question, of course. There was no way he’d leave the force. But it was interesting nonetheless to imagine travelling around the world, troubleshooting problems in the far-flung empire that was Spenser Industries.
Except that he had no real idea what it was that Spenser Industries did, beyond the vague memory of a company logo on some computer equipment and the occasional snippet of information read in a paper or seen on the news that for whatever reason had lodged in his mind.
Shaking his head, McLean turned his attention to the other mystery the conversation had brought him.
He had to move the old lawnmower and several boxes before he could get close enough to pull off the tailored cover, but when he did, the car beneath brought back so many memories. It was a darker red than he had remembered, the paintwork glossy like new.
The tiny mirrors, heart-shaped grille and hubcaps were shiny chrome, though winter road salt had pitted some of the metal.
He ran a hand over the roof, tried the door handle. The car was locked, but the keys were on their hook in the box screwed to the wall by the door into what had once been a tack room.
The stiff lock resisted at first, then gave with a creaking that spoke of expensive restoration bills to come.
That was when he realised he, like his grandmother before him, was going to keep this car alive, the last memento of his long-dead father.
What was it MacBride had said when they’d visited Penstemmin Alarms? “They say you don’t even own a car?” Well, he did now.
Inside, the black leather seats seemed impossibly small and thin compared to the bulky padded things he was used to finding in the faceless pool cars he drove most days.
Fantasy
The steering wheel was thin as he sank down behind it, metal spokes pointing to a tiny central boss designed in a time when airbags were a fantasy, and the waiting list for donated organs much shorter.
Even seat belts had been an optional extra. That much he remembered his father telling him; a memory he’d not thought about in decades.
Those childhood weekends when his parents had taken him out on long trips to the Borders.
He took a deep breath. It smelled exactly as he had remembered. He put the key in the ignition, turned it one click. Nothing.
Well, that was hardly surprising. The car had been stood unused for well over two years.
He’d have to dig out the number of that garage out in Loanhead where it used to go for its servicing. Get them to recommission it or whatever it was you did with old cars.
Check the brakes, put new tyres on, that sort of thing.
Reluctantly, McLean climbed out of the car, put everything back the way he’d found it and locked up the garage.
More tomorrow.