You never knew where you were with women. Brian had learned that the hard way

Brian sat in his bedsit. He was dogtired. Operation Cross Purpose was stretching to infinity, and there was no end in sight. Chisolm had been tetchier than ever that evening. If we don’t get our finger out soon, the press are going to have our guts for garters. And then God help the lot of you. Brian saw his chances of making an impression on the new DI vanish faster than water down a plug-hole. He’d been so hacked he was tempted to join the rest of the team for a quick snifter in the Athenaeum. But since he’d split with Bev, he tended to shun company. And besides, that way ruin lay.

He stood up. Wandered through to the cubby hole that was optimistically called a kitchen. He opened the fridge and sighed – there was a single egg, an end of mouldy cheese and a few limp vegetables in the salad compartment.

He unscrewed the cap off the milk and took a cautious sniff. On the turn. Brian closed the fridge with a thump.

He looked around. There were dirty dishes in the sink, an untidy stack of carry-out containers on the draining board, an airing rack in one corner draped with damp shirts and socks and underpants. What a way to live.

It was all down to Bev. Brian hadn’t seen it coming. And him a copper too. He’d been oblivious to the warning signs: the tarted-up appearance, the nights out with “the girls”.

He’d put the lengthy phone calls down to loneliness, the way she kept finding fault with him down to Bev’s time of the month. Brian kicked himself. Wasn’t the husband always the last to know? Oh, well… He made a beeline for the door. Looked like it was going to be another takeaway.

Guarded

“Brian?” He checked his caller display. “Hi, Maggie.” “Yes. Look, I’m sorry to be calling you in the evening like this.”

“That’s OK. Wasn’t doing anything critical.” Christ, Brian thought, as he stood waiting for his Indian meal, if she only knew.

“It’s just…I need to ask for your help.”

“Oh?” Guarded voice. On the last couple of occasions he’d offered Maggie Laird his opinion, he’d been sent off with a flea in his ear. You never knew where you were with women. Brian had learned that the hard way. Still… His heart warmed. It was good to hear Maggie’s voice.

“D’you remember last time we met, I told you about the young lad, Meston?” “Ye-es.” He watched as his tinfoil trays were stacked in a carrier bag. “And you weren’t convinced?”

“Look, Maggie,” he slid a note across the counter, “I’m sorry if I came over the wrong way. Only…”

“I know,” Maggie’s voice softened. “It’s your training, that’s all. Anyhow, I need to see you.”

His heart missed a beat. Then he steadied himself. She was only coming round to talk about the Meston kid. Still, that was better than nothing. “When?” he asked.

“Now.”

“Oh,” Brian was torn between euphoria and desperation. On the one hand, he’d never willingly pass up the opportunity to see Maggie Laird. On the other… His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since mid-morning.

“Where?”

“Would it be OK if I came to your flat?” “We-ell…” There she goes again, he thought, putting me between a rock and a hard place. He didn’t respond.

“Brian, are you still there?”

“Yes.” Weary voice.

“So…can I?”

Pub gossip

The handles of the flimsy carrier bag were cutting into his fingers. Brian put a hand under the bag, burning his palm in the process. “I’m not sure.” “It’s just…”

Maggie didn’t seem to have heard. Brian wondered if he’d manage to clear the worst of the mess before she turned up. Otherwise… He was weighing his options, when:

“You see, I’ve uncovered something else.” Brian couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He decided to make light of it. “Not more pub gossip?” “Not this time.”

“Well, then?”

“You know how I wanted to help Willie Meston?” “Yes.”

“Well, it’s not just Willie.”

“You mean there are more kids involved in this drugs business?”

“Yes, it turns out there were five children…” “From your school?”

“Four of them, yes. Willie Meston and Ryan Brebner you already know about. Lewis McHardy. He’s a bit lacking…upstairs. Kieran Chalmers. Nice lad. Never been in any sort of trouble.”

“Didn’t you say five?”

“Oh, yes. There’s a little kid. Kyle, his name is. Ryan’s wee brother. They take him along for the ride.” Brian could just imagine. “So, these kids…”

On the line there was silence, then: “They moved the body of your murdered girl.”

“Christ almighty!” Brian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You sure?”

“Sure as I can be.”

“What makes you…?”

“They hang out on a piece of waste ground that happens to be adjacent to St Machar kirkyard.” His mind raced. “Where are they now, these kids?” “With me. I wanted your advice on how I should handle it.”

“Handle it?” Brian could contain himself no longer. “It’s a murder inquiry we’re talking about here, Maggie, not some Sunday school picnic.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Stony voice.

“Do you know where my place is?”

“I’m standing in the street outside right now. Kids are in my car. Didn’t want to speak in front of them.”

Christ, Brian thought, so much for cleaning up. “Well, then,” he admonished, “you’ll do nothing, Maggie Laird, except stay there. With the doors locked. I’m not at home right now, but I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

Confidence

“What are you thinking?” Maggie asked in a whisper. They were standing face-to-face in Brian’s cupboard of a kitchen, the kids sitting squashed up on the sofa bed next door.

“I’m thinking we don’t do another thing until I’ve run this past the DI.”

“Chisolm? No way. I’ll remind you, Brian Burnett, that those boys have shared this information with me in the strictest confidence.”

“Confidence? Christ, Maggie, we’re talking about kids here.”

“And I don’t suppose kids have rights?”

His voice rose. “Give me a break. We’ve been through all that.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

“OK. OK. But to get back to what I was saying, I’ll need to call this in to my superior officer.”

“We’re back to the oh-so-charming Inspector Chisolm then, are we?”

Brian furrowed his brow. “Quite.”

God, they can be so pompous, these policemen. “But, couldn’t you just…”

“Maggie, let me stop you right now. We’re talking about a whole catalogue of crimes here.”

More tomorrow.

Cross Purpose (£8.99) is the first in Claire MacLeary’s Harcus & Laird crime trilogy, featuring an unlikely pair of middle aged female private investigators. The second, Burn Out, and the third, Runaway, are available now. All published by Saraband Publishing https:// saraband.net