Why would brand new boxes be hidden away back here?
‘Oh, some people say, “eatin’s cheatin’”, but they’re the ones who end up facedown in the corner covered in their own sick.’
They were sealed up with brown tape, just like the box the urns were in.
He nudged one with the toe of his boot. ‘Does that look suspicious to you? All clean and shiny when everything else is clarty with dust?’
‘Yoghurt’s good, of course, but me? Dim sum. Nice and sticky and starchy... Are you even listening to me?’
‘No.’ And let’s face it, Elinsworth Fredrick De Selincourt had form for resetting. Once a dodgy wee swine, always a dodgy wee swine. People didn’t just give up selling stolen goods. ‘Come on, it’s not just suspicious, it’s hella suspicious.’
‘So open them. Take a peek.’
‘I can’t. It’d be inadmissible in court.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ She shoved him out of the way. ‘Here, I’ll do it, you damp—’
‘Excuse me!’ Haddie’s voice boomed out from somewhere behind, getting closer with every word. ‘You have no business being back here. I give you an urn out of the goodness of my heart and this is how you repay me? By snooping?’
‘Mr De Selincourt.’ Tufty pointed. ‘Would you care to tell us what’s in these boxes?’
Haddie licked his lips. ‘Actually, I’m really busy this afternoon. Perhaps if you made an appointment for later in the week...?’
Steel sucked on her teeth, making them whistle. ‘Oh, Haddie, Haddie, Haddie. No’ again!’
‘I... I haven’t done anything wrong, and you don’t have a warrant. Those boxes are from an estate sale. There’s nothing illegal about them.’ A blush breathed a bit of colour into those pale cheeks of his. ‘You’re not allowed to search my premises. If you do, it’s inadmissible in court.’
‘My ugly wee colleague here was just saying the very same thing, Haddie. But you said we were free to browse, remember?’ She slapped a hand down on his shoulder, making him buckle slightly at the knees. ‘And you’re right: I can’t search your Aladdin’s Gloryhole. What I can do is tell Constable Quirrel here to stand guard over those boxes while I nip off and get a warrant organised. That’ll take about an hour and I’ve no’ had any lunch yet, so by the time I get back here I’m going to be very hungry and very, very grumpy.’
Tufty nodded. ‘And she’s in chafing underwear too, so— Ow!’ He rubbed at his arm, squeezing down the burning jagged ache where she’d belted him one.
‘Now, Haddie, my fish-fingered little fiend, you can cooperate right here, right now, and open these boxes of your own free will — or we can do it an hour later when I’m probably going to want to rip your arm off and eat it. Up to you.’
‘But I don’t... This isn’t...’ His eyebrows pinched up in the middle, shoulders drooping. ‘I gave you an urn for free.’
She reached out and plucked the urn from his hands. ‘Thanks for your kind donation, I’m sure Mrs Galloway will be touched.’ She tucked it under one arm. ‘So: friendly cooperative boxes now, or grumpy down-the-station boxes later?’
Haddie made a groany little wheezing noise then nodded. Got out his Stanley knife and slipped the blade through the pristine brown tape on both boxes. Sighed. ‘This is what I get for trying to be nice to people.’ He eased the flaps open on Box Number One, then did the same with Box Number Two.
Tufty peered inside and whistled. Reached in and pulled out a pair of brand-new-still-in-their-boxes iPhones. ‘This must’ve been a very strange estate sale, Mr De Selincourt. As far as I can see, the dearly departed left about three grand’s worth of state-of-the-art mobile technology.’
Steel helped herself to a boxed Samsung, turning it over in her hands. ‘Let me guess: you got them from a thieving wee scroat called Billy Moon? Am I warm?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Steel, I—’
‘It’s Detective Sergeant now. They demoted me for dangling a fat wee resetter off the roof of his warehouse by the ankles. And dropping him. You want to see if we can make it two in a row?’
‘But I’m cooperating!’ Starting to whine a little now.
‘So you are.’ She tossed the phone to Tufty. ‘Elinsworth Fredrick De Selincourt, I’m detaining you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Justice, Scotland, Act...’
The woman in the burgundy apron huffed a breath onto the rectangle of thumb-smeared brass and polished it on the hem of her apron. Peering out of the window, down Union Street. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, would you? Two wee tractors, making all that mess.’
Tufty joined her, looking out between a display rack of key fobs and an animatronic plastic man pretending to hammer a nail into a shoe.
Four fire engines blocked the road outside Marks & Spencer — two of them sending out jets of thick white foam, the other two hosing the buildings down with water. The gutters were thick with brown froth.
‘I’m just glad the shop’s upwind.’ She huffed another breath on the plaque. ‘There we go, nice and shiny again.’ She slipped it into a wee paper bag. ‘That’ll be six quid, please.’
IV
‘Come on, stick, you horrible little...’ Tufty shifted his fingers and pushed a bit harder. The brass plaque slithered side to side on the glue then finally got a grip. ‘Right.’
He clambered out of his rusty old Fiat Panda, locked the door, straightened his tie and hurried across the car park. It was crowded: people filing out of the crematorium and into their vehicles.
He nodded at a thin man with red eyes and a trembling bottom lip. Giving the guy a ‘Sorry for your loss’ and a pat on the arm on the way past.
Aberdeen Crematorium looked like a nuclear bunker crossed with an unsuccessful airport terminal building. Only not so charming. A black roof sulked above concrete walls that sloped inward a bit as they rose. Dark glass panels either side of a big dark wooden door.
The last of the mourners were gathering up floral tributes to a backtrack of sombre music. Someone was still sitting down at the front, not moving, just staring up at the red velvety curtains. PC Mackintosh.
Tufty sorry-for-your-loss-ed his way past the mourners and slipped into the seat next to her. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, it’s OK.’
‘Had to go home and change. Didn’t think it’d be right turning up in AFC joggies and a knock-off T-shirt.’
She looked him up and down. The shirt, the black tie, the black suit. ‘I think you look very nice.’
He smiled back. ‘You too. I mean, I know it’s just police uniform, but it suits you and...’ Why was everywhere so hot today? Oh, right, crematorium. Tufty cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, I brought you this.’ He held out the urn.
‘Oh, Constable Quirrel, it’s lovely.’
‘There’s a plaque.’
She ran a finger along the shiny brass rectangle. ‘“Pudding the Yorkshire terrier, a dearly loved friend and companion.” That’s very sweet.’
‘I was going to put something about “now chasing the squirrels in heaven”, but I didn’t know if he liked squirrels or not. And...’ He dug into his pocket. ‘Ta-da!’ He held up a Lion Bar and a bag of Skittles.
Mackenzie smiled, then reached out and took the Lion Bar. ‘You remembered.’