'Hey, dinna mess the car, man,' Vikram whined, stepping in front of Raj, who still clutched the bloodstained knife in his left hand.
'Aye, nae sweat,' Raj replied, bending down to push the blade into the tussocky ground beside the black BMW before wiping it on the grass. 'Now, c'mon. let's split before onybody clocks us.'
The big car accelerated from the patch of rough ground and sped off around a bend past a copse of mottled sycamores.
Somewhere, unseen, a blackbird began to call; an insistent warning cry, signalling danger. But all that could be seen on that September afternoon was a swirl of dust settling back onto the dried-up earth. The bird flew out of the thorn bush, its dark shape a swift arrow against the fading blue sky.
And no sound issued from behind the wooden doors, where a man lay bleeding quietly to death.
"Ves not come home,' the woman said, her voice breaking .
Hinto the threat of a sob. 'What should I do?'
Young Jaffrey looked around him as a crowd of tourists passed by the pavement cafe. The sun that shone down on the busy Mallorcan street made the boy resentful as he listened to his mother and that plea in her tone that suggested he should pack up now and return home. His mouth drooped into a sulk as he thought how to reply.
'Well, don't do anything foolish, will you?' he said at last.
'That's not what Dad would want, now, is it?'
'Oh, I was hoping…' the woman's sentence tailed off but there was no need for her to finish it. Young Jaffrey knew fine what she was wanting him to say: that he'd come home, sort things out.
'Don't worry. He'll probably have a good reason for staying out.'
He bit his lip, wondering as he spoke just what such a reason might be. 'Ring me when Dad comes back. All right? Have to go now. Bye.'
The boy clicked his mobile off, looking thoughtful. Was this something to do with that murder case back home? He'd let Dad know about Brogan, after all. And his own snooping had produced results. That gossipy girl behind the hotel desk had let slip that the Spanish police were trying to find Brogan. But the trail here had gone cold, neither the police nor his own furtive enquiries were producing any sign of the Glasgow dealer.
It was all wrong, the boy told himself. Their kind should stick together, not mix with guys like Brogan. The dealer had many friends within the Asian community, though, didn't he? And rumour had it that he was well in with the Hundi, a personage who commanded huge respect from everyone young Jaffrey knew. He frowned. Would Dad have done anything stupid to upset the fragile balance that existed between families like their own and the powerful men who controlled the ebb and flow of drugs in the city? The thought made him blanch under his tanned skin. Whatever was going on back home, he was better off right here away from it all.
'The PD-100 Black Hornet has the advantage of almost total silence,' the man said, turning his head to make eye contact with his audience.
Lorimer tried hard not to fidget. The man's presentation at the Pitt Street assembly hall was going quite well so far and he had that knack of every good speaker for engaging his audience with humorous anecdotes. Most of these had been relevant to his subject which was what their attention was focussed upon: a tiny helicopter smaller than a cricket ball. So far the man had shown the senior officers some video footage of the device at work. Powered by an electric motor, the helicopter had rotor blades that measured a mere ten centimetres in diameter. Lorimer had been a little sceptical at first, especially when his neighbour had nudged him, remarking that they were being shown a clip from a Harry Potter film and that the PD whatshisname was really the Snitch in disguise.
Now Lorimer was paying a bit more attention as the speaker began to demonstrate the little machine's other facilities.
"The microphone has now been fully tested and it can "eavesdrop" on conversations at a range determined by its controllers.
This adds to the benefits of it being used in situations that call for extra care like the hostage situation I mentioned earlier.'
The DCI was sitting up straighter now taking notice of all the pictures being shown on the screen. A close-up of the device made it look far too simple but in the videos he had seen how it could whirr silently, unnoticed by the men inside the building who had been part of the mock-up incident. It looked good, he had to admit. One more tool for the box, he could almost hear his old super saying. And it was right that the force should be looking to technological developments to help in fighting crime. If a wee helicopter like that could film a crime scene that was under surveillance then perhaps it should be given a place in their budget.
'More toys for the boys,' Helen James remarked wearily as they filed out of the hall afterwards. Lorimer smiled at her politely, not wanting to get into an argument about it. He recognised the woman as a DCI from another division who had been up to her ears with the press lately on a series of missing girls who were known prostitutes.
Helen's dough-coloured pallor on a skin that was stretched tight over sharp cheekbones was something that every one of her fellow officers could recognise – too much work and too little sleep.
That she had taken time to attend this presentation surprised Lorimer. Perhaps she was simply escaping for an hour? He knew how that could work. A brief respite that was still within the description of work could always help to focus back on a difficult case like the one she was on. Nodding to her as they walked out into the daylight again, Lorimer hoped that it might do the same for himself.
Solly turned the key of his office, smiling in appreciation as he entered the room. It was a different office from the one he had occupied for much of his tenure at the university and reflected his status as professor designate. He nodded approvingly at the light that flooded in from the two tall windows, art deco ovals etched onto the upper parts of their frames. It was, Solly told himself, a handsome room. Yes, handsome was certainly the correct word to choose.
Putting down his briefcase, Solly wandered around the room, touching the edge of a huge rectangular table that sat in the centre of the room. It was easily big enough for any of his seminars and as Solly stood there he imagined a group of young faces laughing and chatting as he encouraged their developing thoughts. The bookcases that lined almost every wall had begun to fill up with his books; the summer had seen him make lots of trips between his old, modern office and this large airy room.
He strolled across to the window, looking down the length of University Avenue, past the line of parked cars next to black painted railings. A small smile of satisfaction hovered on the psychologist's lips. Down there on the left was the department of forensic medicine, its sand-blasted walls a honey tone just visible behind the trees. In winter he would be able to look out and imagine Rosie when she was in her office; her time being divided between the campus and the city mortuary. His eyes drifted across to the buildings opposite, the crow-stepped gables jutting out from moss-covered roofs. Funny how this place felt so much like home to him. London was part of his past now, though he would surely continue to make family visits. Solly moved away from the window, checking the small desk where his new computer lay ready to be switched on. The departmental website would soon have his title changed from doctor to professor. How would he feel seeing that every time he logged on? Or came around the turn of the stair to see it emblazoned upon his door?
Professor Brightman sounded quite right to his ears and probably preferable to Doctor once his child had grown up and talked about him to his friends. (His again, SoIly grinned above his dark beard. Surely a subliminal wish?) Being mistaken for a doctor of medicine was simply not on, especially when Rosie already had that distinction. Anyway, his new title would be conferred during this coming session. The Senate would be sitting soon and Solly was not sure that he would actually enjoy the little ceremony that was to confirm his new status. It would not alter very much except a title and the welcome increase in salary that went with it; his research and teaching would remain pretty much as normal since this professorship was an internal, personal chair. And it would not affect the two weeks' paternity leave that he had ahead of him.