His nice, comfortable, boring, safe old life was slowly unravelling, and he was powerless to do anything about it

The folder for the car was in the filing cabinet exactly where it should have been. McLean was surprised to see that the vehicle had been taxed and insured at the time of his grandmother’s stroke. He wondered if the solicitors had kept up the payments; they’d probably sent him a note about it at some point and he’d filed it in the things-to-do pile.

There was a lot of stuff in that pile and sooner or later he was going to have to wade through it.

It was bad enough trying to sort out all the paperwork at the office.

Did he really have to deal with all that at home too? Of course he did.

That was life, and there was no getting around it. The phone ringing sent a shock through him as if he’d been wired up to the mains.

It had been so quiet when he had been in the garage, and now in the house.

And who would be phoning him here anyway? Not many people even had the number.

He picked the phone up quickly, barked into it louder than he’d intended.

“McLean.”

Friendly

“That’s not a very friendly telephone manner, inspector.”

He recognised the voice.

“Sorry, Emma. It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it. Some of us have been trying to match cocaine samples with known supplies all day.

“Have you any idea how many different chemicals get mixed in with the average line of blow?”

There had been a briefing some time last year. Drug Squad trying to show the little detectives how much more important and difficult their job was.

It was a war, after all. McLean vaguely recalled some technical stuff about how cocaine was made, and all the stuff it got mixed with between the Colombian forests and the end user with his rolled-up ten pound note.

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. You get anywhere?”

“Nope. Well, that’s not exactly true. It doesn’t match any known profile in the UK, but then that’s hardly surprising, since it’s pure.”

“Uncut?”

“Totally. I’ve never seen anything like it. You can double whatever you thought it was worth.

“Just as well you’re not a coke-head too. A couple of lines would have killed you.

“What about the prints? You get anything off them?”

“Sorry, no. Too degraded. I checked them against McReadie first, but there’s just not enough detail to make a watertight case.

“If I had to guess I’d say they were his, but it’d never stand up in court.”

McLean flicked through the folder on the desk in front of him before realising it was the paperwork for the car.

“Oh well. You tried. Thanks for that. I owe you.” “You do indeed, inspector. Dinner if I recall. And as I understand it, you’re at a loose end right now.”

Forward. That’s what Grumpy Bob had said. Well, he couldn’t fault the sergeant’s character analysis any more than he could fault Emma’s logic.

McLean glanced at his watch – seven o’clock – and wondered what had happened to most of the day. “Where are you now? HQ?”

“No, I’m at the station. Just been delivering some stuff to the evidence store.

“Dropped by your office, but they told me you were... well.”

Policemen were nothing if not gossips. No doubt his temporary suspension was all over Lothian and Borders by now. Marvellous.

“OK. I’ll meet you in an hour shall I?”

Take control

He suggested a convenient restaurant, then hung up. Stared at the wall for a while.

Outside, across the city, people were gearing themselves up for another night of Festival and Fringe, bustle and having fun.

He wasn’t sure his mood could take much exposure to that. His nice, comfortable, boring, safe old life was slowly unravelling, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

His instinct was to hide away. He fought against it. Take control of the situation, that was the answer.

The folder lay open still on the desk in front of him. Well, there was always tomorrow to deal with that.

He shuffled the papers together to put them away, and that was when he noticed the photograph tucked into the back.

It must have been taken when the car was brand new, the colours slightly unreal, vivid, as if the intervening years had faded the world to what he saw now.

His mother and father stood in front of the Alfa, parked in front of an old-fashioned garage forecourt.

He was there too, short trousers and tidy jacket, one hand clutching a teddy bear, the other enveloped in his mother’s grip.

He flipped the photo over, but there was nothing except the watermark of the paper manufacturer.

Back to the image again and as he stared at it the vaguest stirrings of memory. Could he really remember that day, that hour, that second?

Or was he just constructing a possible scenario around the fact of the photograph?

He laid it back down on top of the rest of the paperwork, closed the folder.

He didn’t know these people, no longer felt any emotion when he saw them.

But as he stood, put the folder back in the filing cabinet and pushed the drawer closed, he couldn’t shake the image from his mind, couldn’t help but see the smile in his father’s dark eyes.

Challenge

They went to a Thai restaurant close to the station. McLean had eaten there often before, mostly with large groups of hungry policemen.

“What’s good? I don’t think I’ve ever eaten Thai.” Emma took a sip from her beer; she’d ordered a pint, he noticed.

“That depends. Do you like spicy, or would you prefer something a bit easier?”

“Spicy, always. The hotter the better.” McLean smiled; he enjoyed a challenge.

“OK, then. I’d suggest you start with gung dong and follow up with a panang.

“See if you’ve got room for one of their coconut cream puddings after that.”

“Are you this knowledgeable about everything, inspector?”

Emma raised an inquisitive eyebrow and shook her short black hair out of her face. McLean knew she was teasing him, but couldn’t help taking the bait.

“I’m told even inspectors get to clock off now and then. Besides, I’m on leave until Monday. And you can call me Tony, you know.”

More tomorrow.