‘Maybe someone’s smiling on us at last,’ said Wright.
Dewar called Sci-Med in London to ask why there had been no answer as yet to his enquiry over the location of Michael Kelly’s last job.
The duty officer answered. ‘Mr Macmillan thought you’d be calling,’ he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. ‘Apparently the building company are having a little trouble with their records …’
‘You mean Kelly’s employment didn’t go through their books,’ said Dewar with world-weary cynicism. ‘He was taken on as casual labour, a day at a time, cash in hand and they’ve no idea where.’
‘Something like that. They say they’re going to make their own enquiries. Ask their squad leaders if they remember him. That sort of thing.’
‘Jesus,’ murmured Dewar. ‘I hope somebody told them they’re about to have the Inland Revenue Service going through their financial trousers like a ferret with attitude if they don’t get their finger out?’
‘I believe Mr Macmillan did mention something along those lines,’ said the duty officer.
‘Get back to me as soon as you hear.’
Dewar went downstairs to the operations room. Hector Wright was there. ‘Everything’s okay at the moment,’ he said.
Dewar looked at his watch. It was eight thirty. He called Grant. ‘Seems quiet enough. What d’you think?’
‘If this was a western I’d say it was too quiet, I don’t like it,’ replied Grant. The bastards could be up to something.’
‘Maybe it’s just the good news about the vaccine taking the edge off things,’ said Dewar.
‘You wish. Let’s give it another half hour then we’ll chance it if it’s still quiet. I’ve got the ambulance outside.’
Dewar stayed down in the operations room, familiarising himself with the surroundings of Aberdour Court on Wright’s map while he listened in for any change in the situation. At eight fifty reports of a stone throwing confrontation started to come in from police patrolling the northern edge of the no-go area.
‘Just kids,’ was the phrase Dewar latched on to. The estimated age of the stone throwers was fourteen. There was no response from the police. Grant called just after nine. ‘I’m game if you are?’
Dewar drove over to Police Headquarters and changed into the green overalls of an ambulance crew man. Grant had already changed. He was carrying a clip board and looked the part. The vehicle was parked in shadow round the back.
‘Harry Field, my mate at ambulance HQ says if we break it, we pay for it,’ said Grant. ‘Who’s going to drive?’
‘You’d better. You know the streets. I’ll do the talking.’
They climbed into the ambulance and put on their forage caps. Grant familiarised himself with the controls before starting the engine. Before taking away, he turned to Dewar and said, ‘I hope you feel better about this than I do.’
‘The words scared and shitless spring to mind,’ replied Dewar.
‘Let’s do it.’
‘Son et lumiere?’ asked Grant as they pulled out on to Crew Road.
‘Why not.’
With lights flashing and siren wailing, they accelerated down Crew Road until they could see the barrier at the Crew Toll roundabout. ‘Are they going to stop us?’ Grant wondered out loud.
‘No reason to,’ said Dewar. ‘Might be different coming out.’
They were within two hundred metres of the striped bar across the road when it rose and they were waved on through. Dewar lifted his arm casually in thanks as they sped past into the estate. ‘So far so good,’ he said. As he himself had said there was no reason for the soldiers to stop them but it was still nice to have it confirmed that they weren’t carrying a huge sign on the front saying, ‘This ambulance is not for real.’
They turned off the siren and slowed down as they navigated the narrower streets of the estate, passing occasional police cars touring the area with their loud-speaker messages about the vaccine’s imminent arrival. Dewar looked to see if he could see Karen when they passed a church hall with a Health Board mini-bus parked outside and people carrying equipment inside. She wasn’t among them.
‘Here we go,’ said Grant as they came to an open space and saw the police cars up ahead. They were blocking the road about two hundred metres from the start of the no-go area. ‘I just hope Cammy Tulloch isn’t slumming it with them or I’ll have some explaining to do.’
Grant slowed the vehicle right down, leaving twenty-five metres between them and the patrol cars in the road, hoping to avoid interview. He stopped at fifteen metres, letting the engine idle and their blue lights continue to flash silently in the dark. The gambit worked. The police, watched by the posse of journalists and cameramen who had moved into residence beside the barrier, moved their vehicles aside and waved the ambulance through. One officer steeped up to Dewar’s side as the eased their way past. Dewar opened the window.
‘You’ll be stopped up ahead. If they say you can’t go in, don’t argue and don’t try to. Just turn around and leave. It isn’t worth it.’
‘Understood,’ said Dewar.
They moved on slowly across no man’s land until a group of five men materialised out of the blackness. Two, wearing leather jackets and jeans, held up their hands.
‘Just like wood lice creeping out of a tree,’ murmured Grant.
‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ asked a thin youth with spiky black hair. He was carrying a baseball bat. He smacked the end of it in his palm as he spoke and smiled at the look on Grant’s face. Most of his front teeth were missing, leaving a dark gap when he parted his thin lips;
‘We’ve had an emergency call from Aberdour Court,’ said Grant. ‘A sick kid, sounds like appendicitis. Stand back please.’ He made to wind up the window.
‘Just a minute pal,’ threatened gap teeth. ‘You don’t go anywhere withoot oor say so.’
Dewar could sense Grant’s anger straining at the leash. He recognised Grant’s diplomacy threshold wasn’t ideal for the job in hand. He leaned across to intervene and said, ‘So what’s the problem?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘Open up the back.’
‘Look a kid’s life is in danger,’ said Grant.
‘Open the fuckin’ back or your fuckin’ life’s in danger,’ said the gap-toothed yob, his features exploding into snarling anger.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Dewar, putting a restraining arm on Grant. He got out, feeling suddenly very vulnerable as the night engulfed him and the men moved in closer. Three of them had baseball bats resting on their shoulders. All chewed gum. He had the ridiculous thought that they looked like dairy cows chewing the cud. He walked round the back of the vehicle and opened up the doors. Gap tooth climbed inside to inspect the interior. Dewar could see he was enjoying his moment. He didn’t look the part but he was behaving like a German officer looking for a suspected escape tunnel in an old war film. He tapped the walls and floor of the vehicle while Dewar stood by, outwardly respectful but inside thinking if the yob had a second brain it would rattle.
Having established that the ambulance was not a Trojan horse full of policemen, hiding in the wheel arches, the yob stepped out on to the road and asked. ‘What gear are you carryin’?
‘Gear?’
‘Drugs, ya bampot.’
‘Not much,’ shrugged Dewar.
‘See’s a look.’
Dewar opened up the scene of incident case and the yob had a rummage. He stuffed what he fancied into his pockets.
‘We might need that,’ said Dewar.
‘C’mon Durie, the guy’s right, the kid might need it,’ said one of the watching band.’
‘Shut yer hole!’ snapped gap tooth.
The speaker lapsed into sheepish silence while gap tooth finished taking what he wanted then got out. ‘Right, you,’ he said to Dewar. On you go. And don’t talk to any strangers’
He seemed to think this was enormously witty. He burst into laughter and turned, encouraging the others to join him. They all obliged.