‘Don’t tell me,’ Mike said, affecting a laugh. ‘Shaving foam on my ear lobe?’ He made a show of checking, but wasn’t about to be rewarded with anything like a smile.
‘One of the paintings was the portait by Monboddo of his wife, Beatrice.’ She pronounced the name in the Italian style. ‘I remember it from the exhibition and how you couldn’t take your eyes off it…’ She waited for him to speak.
‘Nice to know I was under surveillance,’ was all he could think to respond.
‘Allan teased me,’ she went on, ‘said the reason you were so keen was because she looked like me.’
‘Well… I suppose there’s a certain truth in that.’
‘You remember that night of the exhibition? Some of us went to a restaurant after…?’
Mike winced. ‘Don’t,’ he said. Too much wine at the preview, and Mike giddy at this new world he had entered, a world where people knew about art, and spoke from the heart. One too many brandies at the restaurant. He’d caught Laura’s eye several times. She’d always smiled back. Then she’d gone to the ladies’ and he’d followed her, barging in and trying to kiss her…
‘Do you know anyone called Ransome?’ she asked suddenly, bringing Mike back to the present.
‘Should I?’
‘I knew him at college – he tried much the same thing with me once at a party. Followed me to the loo…’ Noting the pained look on Mike’s face, she broke off the reminiscence. ‘I hadn’t laid eyes on him in a while,’ she said instead, ‘but then the day of the auction, he came to see me afterwards. He said he was interested in a local villain called Chib Calloway who’d been sitting in the front row with two of his henchmen close by.’
‘I was at the back, cosying up to the dealers.’
‘You didn’t see this man Calloway?’ She watched as he shook his head. ‘But you know who he is?’
‘I know the name,’ Mike conceded, straining his neck to see if the waiter was on his way. ‘What’s any of this got to do with me?’
‘I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Ransome thought maybe you’d brought Calloway to the auction.’
‘Me?’ Mike raised both eyebrows. ‘Why would he think that?’
‘He didn’t say, but he managed to describe you.’ She paused, her stare intensifying. ‘And Allan and the professor, too. He wanted your names, and I didn’t see how I could refuse…’
‘Where’s my water got to?’ Mike muttered, craning his neck again. His mind was racing. Ransome must have been watching Chib that day. He’d seen Mike leaving the auction house with Gissing and Allan… probably followed Chib and his men there and was watching outside… He’d have seen Mike, Allan and Gissing heading for the Shining Star – with Chib and his men following close after… Had Ransome actually been in the bar and seen Mike talking with Chib? No, the place had been dead – Chib, sensitive to surveillance, would have noticed him, surely. So what had led him to connect Mike and the others to Chib? The answer seemed simple enough – he’d been at the National Gallery, and had spotted Mike and Chib in the café. More crucially, however, Ransome now had all their names…
‘And then,’ Laura continued, ‘after the robbery, Ransome called me. Twice, actually. It was Saturday night, so it had to be important to him, even though he made the questions sound casual…’
‘Was he after another snog?’
Laura gave a sad little smile and dropped her gaze to the contents of her cup. ‘That’s the wrong question, Mike. You should be asking me, who’s this Ransome chap? What’s he got to do with anything? But you already know, don’t you?’
‘I really haven’t a clue what you’re getting at…’
‘He works for Lothian and Borders Police, Mike, and he was asking about the professor.’ She sat back, as if finished talking but ready and willing to hear anything Mike might have to say.
‘No clue at all,’ he stressed.
Laura sighed and folded her arms, concentrating so hard on the cappuccino now that she might have been inviting it to levitate.
‘I mean…’ he blustered on. ‘Well, I’m not sure what I mean.’ The water was arriving on a silver salver, ice and lime in the tall, slender glass. The waiter began to pour, then asked if they needed anything else.
Yes, Mike felt like telling him, an escape hatch. But he just shook his head in time with Laura. They watched the young man leave. Laura unfolded her arms and rested her fingertips against the rim of the table. Such long fingers, the nails immaculate.
‘I knew Ransome pretty well, back in college days,’ she stated quietly. ‘He was a determined sod, even then. That night at the party, I had to knee him between the legs. I’m not sure that’ll work, as far as you’re concerned…’ She screwed shut her eyes and Mike feared she was about to start crying. He reached across the table and covered her hands with his own.
‘It’s really all right, Laura. He’s probably after some dirt on this guy Calloway. He sees us at the same auction and starts imagining all sorts of conspiracies. Nothing to worry about – Ransome’s not even part of the team looking at the heist…’ Realising that he was thinking aloud, he broke off, but not quickly enough. Laura’s eyes had reopened.
‘The botched heist, you mean.’
‘Sure… yes, of course.’
‘How could you possibly know?’
He knew what she was about to say and bit down on his bottom lip.
‘How could you know Ransome’s not part of the team?’ she duly obliged.
Mike fixed her with a look. He knew there were things he should be saying, reassurances he should be giving. Her eyes gleamed and intelligence shone from her face. So much more alive than Lady Monboddo. Mike knew that whatever he said, she’d see through it. There would be more questions on her part, more lies on his, all of it spiralling downwards. Things he couldn’t tell her, explanations and excuses he couldn’t give. Instead of which he slid out of the bench, reaching into his pocket for money to place beside his tumbler. Her head was bent over the table, staring hard at its surface. He leaned over to kiss her hair, pausing with his face there, breathing in her subtle perfume. Then he straightened up and walked towards the door.
‘Mike?’ she called to him. ‘Whatever it is, maybe I can help.’
He nodded slowly, hoping she would catch the gesture, even though he had his back to her now. The waiter was standing by the door. He held it open for Mike and said he hoped he’d have a nice day.
‘Thank you,’ Mike replied, heading out on to George Street. ‘I’m not at all sure that I will…’
Glenn Burns had been working for Chib Calloway these past four and a half years, and was certain of only two things: his boss was in trouble, and overall, in the scheme of things as it were, and with everything taken into account, he could do a far better job. Chib, no offence, had terrible people skills, lacked vision, and seemed to bounce from crisis to crisis. Glenn knew this because he’d been studying business textbooks in his spare time. One lesson he’d taken to heart was Always Sleep With The Enemy. Not that he’d actually climbed into bed with DI Ransome, but he’d whispered sweet nothings into the copper’s ear, hoping Chib’s decline and fall would prove both swift and bloodless. So far it hadn’t panned out, yet here he was, meeting Ransome again, and this time the man had photos to show him.
‘Yeah, I know them,’ Glenn admitted. ‘I mean, I don’t really know them, but Chib put the frighteners on them one time in a bar.’
‘The Shining Star?’
‘That’s the one. Then he insisted on going to that boring sodding auction and they were there, too. We went back to the Shining Star again and there they all were, seated in the selfsame booth as before. This one…’ Glenn tapped one of the photos. It was a cutting from a magazine. ‘He’s the one who went to school with Chib – or so Chib says.’