Red Alert (17 page)

Stevenson wrote of Edinburgh, ‘The delicate did die early, and I, as a survivor, among bleak winds and plumping rain, have been sometimes tempted to envy them their fate.’

Across the road in Riddle’s Court was where the eighteenth-century philosopher David Hume once lived. Then there was Brodie’s Close, the house of William Brodie, the real-life basis for Robert Louis Stevenson’s story of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

Hamish decided it was time to go for something to eat.

‘Come on, I know a wee French restaurant down by the Grassmarket that’s not too expensive, but really good.’

The restaurant was really small, with natural stone walls and old, distressed wooden flooring. All the furniture was stained a faded pale blue. Tea lights and candles were scattered randomly around the two small rooms. Betty was entranced at the decor and the ambience.

Hamish suggested the set two-course meal, and it looked lovely. Betty realised of course that part of the attraction for Hamish would be the discounted cost, so she quickly agreed that it did seem to be the tastiest option. They were both delighted with the duck and cranberry pâté served with thick flaky home-made oatcakes and a side salad. For the main course, they had medallions of venison with a rich, fruity sauce, and fennel and garlic potatoes, all washed down with a glass of house red.

‘Are you enjoying it all?’ Hamish asked when they eventually left the restaurant.

Betty linked her arm through his and hugged it tight. ‘Oh yes, thank you for bringing me, Hamish.’

He had never felt so happy before in his life. He patted the hand that was clinging to his arm. ‘I’m so glad.’

Betty’s heart was full of gladness too.

Her eyes stretched wide with anxiety, Kirsty listened to Greg purposefully striding in and out of all the bedrooms. She reached the top of the stairs in a matter of seconds, but so out of breath that she found herself unable to utter a word.

He didn’t see her at first, standing speechless and white-faced on the landing. He had come to a halt in the doorway of Johnny’s room, his whole attention riveted on the scene inside.

Kirsty’s heart thumped loudly and painfully. What was Greg staring at? Surely Johnny wouldn’t have been so foolish as to come down to his room for anything? She’d warned him not to and he’d promised. But no, it couldn’t be Johnny. He’d be sound asleep. Hadn’t she given him one of her mother’s sedatives for this very reason?

‘Greg,’ she managed at last, ‘for pity’s sake, don’t just stand there. Tell me what’s wrong.’

Thoughtfully, he looked around at her. ‘That’s odd.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look in here.’

Kirsty approached the bedroom door. Just like the sitting room downstairs, Johnny’s room had been completely turned upside down and ransacked.

‘Why should a burglar …’ Greg murmured to himself, ‘… walk past these two rooms on the landing, then that first one along the corridor and choose instead the one at the end?’

Kirsty cleared her throat. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think it was a matter of choice, Greg. He just happened to go into that room, that’s all.’

‘What?’ Greg scoffed. ‘He “just happened” to go into the furthest away and most inaccessible room in the house? No, it looks to me as if this crook was searching for something … Something he imagined he would most likely find in one of two rooms – the sitting room or Johnny’s room.’ He hesitated. ‘But what? What could it be? That’s the odd thing. Have you any idea?’

Kirsty shook her head, anger for the moment snatching away fear. The identity of the burglar had suddenly occurred to her. Who else would it be but Paul Henley searching for the money? Her nails dug into her palms. Of course, Paul would know that she couldn’t do anything about this despicable afternoon’s work.

He’d wasted his time, though. For he hadn’t found the money.

As she followed Greg back downstairs, her mind groped towards the whole truth. It was as she’d suspected from the start. Paul didn’t care about Johnny. He had no intention of getting him out of the country. All Paul wanted was the money.

Her brow puckered. And yet, as Johnny said, Paul couldn’t just leave him here. The safety and success of the whole plan depended on everyone believing Johnny was dead and that the manager was the one who’d run off with the contents of the safe.

Then gradually everything fitted into place and made sense. Paul had boasted from the start that he’d thought of the perfect plan to get away with the robbery and murder. All Paul needed to do was to murder Johnny. Only one thing was keeping Johnny alive – knowledge of where the money was hidden. If Paul found it, Johnny wouldn’t stand a chance. Here indeed was the perfect crime. Johnny Price was already dead and buried.

‘Kirsty, you look as white as a sheet. Not that I’m surprised,’ Greg said grimly. ‘You’ve had more than enough to face recently without this.’

‘What are you doing?’ Dazedly she watched him snatch up the telephone and begin punching out numbers.

‘Phoning the police, of course.’

‘No, you can’t. You mustn’t.’ She rushed towards him. ‘Greg, please. Think of Mother. She can’t have crowds of policemen milling all over the house. She’s tired. You heard her say so yourself. Oh please, Greg.’

He cupped the receiver against his ear but clamped a broad palm over the mouthpiece. ‘Calm down.’ His voice was gentle, yet she detected a very firm undercurrent to it. ‘There isn’t going to be a crowd. A detective and perhaps a fingerprint man, two or three at the most. I’ll speak to Jack.’

‘But Mother will hear them,’ she cried desperately, ‘and she’ll find out about the burglary.’

‘Nonsense. She’s still taking a nightly sedative. I saw you give it to her with her hot drink. Anyway, we can all give you a hand to clear up the mess. You’d never manage to get the place back to normal on your own before morning.’

‘Yes, I will. I will. Quite easily. Greg, put down the phone. Please, just forget about all of this.’

‘You’re being ridiculous, Kirsty.’

Turning abruptly away from him, she made her way blindly to the kitchen. Her hands shakily sought one of the kitchen chairs and, sinking into it, she closed her eyes. She didn’t think she could stand the strain of several detectives in the house. They weren’t going to be just ‘in the house’, that was the trouble. They’d be searching, prodding, peering around. Three or more pairs of eyes would be ferreting about and finding everything.

‘Darling, try not to worry.’ Greg came into the kitchen and quietly closed the door. ‘I’ve told them to come round the back way so as not to ring the front doorbell. Everything’s going to be all right.’

She just stared at him, her brown eyes dark with tragedy.

‘Honey, don’t look at me like that.’ He came over beside her and cupped her face in his hands. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, I tell you. Just relax.’

Still she stared, tense and silent.

‘I’m going to make you a good strong cup of tea with plenty of sugar in it. You’ll feel better after that. And I’ll speak to the police and explain. They’ll be in and away in no time. You’ll see.’

It was a case of waiting, she thought, waiting in anguished suspense.

Eventually the police arrived. She heard sympathetic voices. She sat staring into the steaming cup of tea that Greg had given her, just waiting.

The words ‘poor kid’ and ‘her mother’s illness’ and ‘her brother’s death’ and ‘now the shock of this’ were whispered. She listened, longing to scream at them to hurry up and get on with what they’d come to do. How could they be so cruel? Why must they torment her by even a moment’s unnecessary suspense?

‘I think I should phone for the doctor,’ Greg said. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before.’

‘No, Greg.’ Summoning what energy she had left, she added, ‘The hot drink’s made me feel better. All I need now is to get to bed.’

‘Of course, darling. There’s just one thing we’ll need you to do first, providing you feel up to it.’

‘Yes, what’s that?’

‘Have a look around to see what’s missing.’

‘I’ve already looked. Nothing’s been taken.’

‘Are you sure, Kirsty? You haven’t had time to look very thoroughly.’

‘I’ll go round everything again. But there’s very little of any value in the house except a few little pieces of jewellery belonging to Mum and that’s all right. I checked it while I was in her room.’ Kirsty felt the slim gold watch on her wrist and stretched her hand, making the diamond engagement ring on her finger sparkle with reflected light. ‘And I’m wearing the only decent jewellery I possess. As for money, I had seven pounds in the desk drawer. The drawer’s been pulled out but the money’s still there. I saw it the first time I looked in the sitting room.’

‘How about letters, private papers? Make a more thorough examination of the desk, Kirsty. And look a lot closer at the room upstairs.’ Greg’s big hand firmed over her elbow as he helped her to her feet. ‘It really looks as if this has something to do with Johnny.’

‘Something … Something to do with Johnny?’ She faltered.

‘Yes. Did Johnny ever keep anything of value in his room?’

She shook her head.

‘Try to remember, Kirsty. Think about it and look at his room very carefully. Then afterwards, straight to bed. I’ll tidy both rooms. Then I’ll bunk down in Johnny’s bed for the night.’

‘But Greg …’ Her eyes widened with apprehension. ‘You can’t.’

‘Of course I can. I’m not going to leave you and Mum alone in the house after all this. No, I’m staying right here for the rest of the weekend. Until your father gets back, if necessary.’

‘But your work …’

‘I can go on my shift if necessary, but I’m staying here overnight.’ He squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘So stop worrying. That’s an order.’

Kirsty tried to smile but her mind was still in turmoil. She hardly knew what she was doing or saying for the next twenty minutes or so. Even after she’d gone to bed, the problem of Greg being in the house for the next few days or nights swamped her brain and completely exhausted her. For hours she lay wide-eyed clutching the bedclothes up to her chin, thinking about the utter impossibility of the situation. A terrible suspicion was beginning to nag at her. Apart from anything else, the strain of trying to act her normal self to Greg might prove too much.

Once or twice recently, she’d noticed him staring thoughtfully at her and his unblinking scrutiny had proved most unnerving. There were times when she’d felt herself teetering nearer and nearer to hysteria and yet it was imperative that she mustn’t break down. Especially in front of Greg, she couldn’t afford to show unusual emotion.

If she could just keep calm and hang on for a few more days. She needed time to speak to Paul. He had to be forced to get a ship for Johnny quickly. She had to make Paul see he hadn’t a chance of getting a penny unless he kept his promise to Johnny first.

Would it be too dangerous to phone the club where he worked, she wondered? She had to get in touch with him tomorrow somehow. He had to be warned about Greg being in the house and told when it would be safe to come and discuss the final arrangements.

She dreaded the idea of meeting Paul again. She remembered how he’d looked at her and the way he’d held her. Sleep came eventually but it was only a restless, nightmarish interlude before morning, when she woke and immediately scrambled up in bed.

The detectives couldn’t have found Johnny or they would have told her hours ago. He must still be hiding. He still had a chance. But Greg would be in Johnny’s room now, lying in Johnny’s bed. Immediately above him in the loft, Johnny might be up and limping about. Greg would hear him. Somehow she must warn Johnny and explain to him what had happened. He’d be in an awful state already. The paraffin heater would be empty again and his food and drink would be finished.

She dressed hurriedly. The sooner she got breakfast under way and Greg out of Johnny’s room, the better. But how could she get food to Johnny? That was the problem.

She thought of nothing else all day, although at the same time talking and acting quite normally with Greg and her mother. At least, she tried very hard to behave coolly and calmly, until her mother suddenly announced, ‘Kirsty, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to accept Aunt Jess’s invitation to stay with her for a wee holiday. And you’re going to go over to Kirklee Terrace and stay with Greg. I phoned Simon and he’s all for it. Simon says the change will do me good and his sister is such a cheery soul. She’ll be good company for me. And he’s quite right.’

‘Great,’ Greg agreed.

Kirsty shook her head, at the same time frantically searching for a believable excuse to stay in the house.

‘I’d love to, of course, darling,’ she murmured, averting her face from his, ‘but not right now. I honestly don’t think I’d be able to muster enough energy.’

‘Greg could take you in the car, dear,’ Mrs Price insisted. ‘And after all, it’s only a few minutes away from here but so much cheerier, dear. This house is so sad just now. I can feel the sadness in the very air of the place. I’m definitely going to have my wee holiday.’

‘Fine, fine. But I’ll just stay here,’ Kirsty said with a voice that was quiet and restrained, yet vibrated with such strange intensity that Mrs Price and Greg exchanged puzzled looks. They didn’t say any more, but Kirsty knew that they were going to discuss it and her unexpected refusal as soon as her back was turned. It couldn’t be helped, though.

Her immediate and most pressing problem was how to organise help for Johnny. Late that night, after Greg was sleeping, would be the only possible time to get help to Johnny, she decided eventually. In the quiet of the night, she could surely get up to the loft without being seen.

Daytime ticked slowly past. She kept glancing again and again at the clock, willing it to go faster. In a fever of impatience, she kept thinking, ‘Johnny’s upstairs cold and hungry. For nearly two days and a night, he’s had little or no warmth and nothing to eat.’

Night came at last and she waited in her bedroom until her watch told her it was after midnight. Surely Greg would be sleeping and it would be perfectly safe now.

She turned the handle of her bedroom door very slowly.