Bitter End Part 26

'One of the other neighbours could accidentally leave the staircase door open--'

'It swings shut and locks by itself, Buchanan. You know that perfectly well.'

No matter how a.s.siduously he ground his teeth Buchanan could find no argument that would weigh with her. He had to conduct her down the dark entry that led to her flat and up the hundred stairs to her door, stand on the landing till he heard her bolt click and her safety chain rattle, and then sit for twenty minutes in his car with his eyes peeled to make sure no-one was hanging around outside. He would, he knew, suffer the lash of anxiety until he picked her up the following morning but there was nothing he could do about that. A stake-out was out of the question in the centre of town. He wouldn't be allowed to park his car in the Royal Mile all night and he could scarcely pace up and down for long without risking hypothermia.

He was almost back home when it suddenly occurred to him that there was, however, good old Ian Fleming. The local bobbies would be unwilling to give Fizz police protection but Ian could -and probably would -arrange to have someone keep an eye on her, if only for the opportunity to have her 'centurion' picked up and questioned.

Accordingly, he got on the blower before he even took his coat off.

'Ian? Tam Buchanan here. Listen, I need you to do something for me.' 163. 'Uh-huh? So what else is new?'

'Listen, Ian, Fizz is being followed. I need--'

'Who by?' Fleming interrupted in a changed tone.

'We don't know who the guy is -a private detective, most likely, and if so I reckon he must be working for Lawrence Gra.s.sick.' Buchanan took the time to draw a breath and remove Selina from his collar. 'Fizz spotted him a couple of times around Chirnside but she didn't suspect anything till she caught sight of him close to her flat yesterday.'

'She's sure it's not a coincidence?'

Buchanan hesitated. 'It could be, Ian, but you know Fizz. She's not the imaginative type. I don't think she's exaggerating.'

'It's not all that unusual for people who've been beaten up like Fizz was to start suspecting that everyone who looks at them--'

'No. It's not like that,' Buchanan said impatiently. 'Fizz is not in the least worried by this guy, it's me who's worried. After what happened to her--' Realising what he was saying, he broke off and forced a laugh. 'And don't start insinuating that it's me who's becoming neurotic!'

'Tam, you've never been anything else. What do you want me to do with the stalker? Run him in or have him followed to see if he leads us to Gra.s.sick?'

'Run him in,' Buchanan said, removing Selina from his collar again, and then thought about it. 'No, hang on a minute. It would be better to see who he reports to if we can. The chances are he'll report to Gra.s.sick, and it won't do us any good to learn that because Gra.s.sick might have a good excuse for wanting to know what we're up to. But, on the other hand, he may report to someone else, and that would be interesting.'

'Exactly my thinking. Okay. So what does he look like?'

Buchanan dredged his memory for details of the man he'd seen only once, and from the rear, and added them to Fizz's description to give a fairly comprehensive profile. 164. 'Okay. Leave it with me. I'll give you a ring when 1 have anything to report. How's the inquiry going? Are you getting anywhere?'

Buchanan found he was unable to answer either yes or no with complete confidence. Sometimes he felt he was on the point of a breakthrough and at other times he felt totally disillusioned with the whole business. To be honest with you, Ian, my brain's like tapioca tonight. I need to sit down with a pencil and paper and try to make some sense out of a welter of unconnected facts.'

Tell me about it,' Fleming said with a smile in his voice.

'I've got a raft of cases like that on my desk right now and not one of them moving forward. No wonder I'm losing my hair.'

Buchanan disengaged Selina from his collar and held her in one hand while he kicked off his shoes. 'Just one thing before you go, Ian. Have you any idea where Lawrence Gra.s.sick was on the night of the explosion?'

'I seem to remember he was at home in Edinburgh. Is there a problem?'

'Not really, but I believe it was his intention to go down to the cottage that weekend. At least, that's what his wife believed. He does have an alibi, I suppose?'

There was a silence at the other end of the line during which Buchanan could hear his clock ticking. He held Selina on his knee and scratched her cheek to keep her there.

'Now, that's something I didn't check,' Fleming said slowly. 'I'd imagine he must have had an alibi of some sort but I'll look into it and get back to you. Probably tomorrow.'

'Cheers, Ian.'

Buchanan put the phone back on its rest and sat drumming his fingers on it and wondering where the h.e.l.l he was going, and what the h.e.l.l he would find when he got there. 165.

Chapter Fourteen.

Fizz had no objection to being picked up and driven to

work by Buchanan. The morning was sunny enough but

there was a bitterly cold east wind whipping in across the

North Sea and the walk across town would not have been

an undiluted pleasure. She waited at the window till she saw his Saab rounding the corner from North Bridge and then scooted downstairs before a traffic warden could get to him. As she emerged from the end of the close he was, for some strange reason, just getting back into the car. He could have been cleaning the windscreen or doing something esoteric with the engine for all Fizz knew or cared, but there was something about the speed of his movement and the way he seemed to be watching for her approach that was, ever so slightly, peculiar.

'What were you doing?' she asked as they pulled away.

'What? Last night?'

'No. Just now. What were you doing out of the car?'

She knew he'd give her an honest answer, and he knew it himself, but she could see him casting around desperately for a third option before conceding, 'I was having a word with that chap in the leather jacket who was standing in the gift shop doorway.'

'Uh-huh? What word were you having?'

She wouldn't have been a bit surprised to hear Buchanan admit that he had been accusing the chap of being her stalker but, close on the heels of that thought, she remembered that 167. he had seen her stalker and must have known that the chap in the doorway -who she herself had already examined from her window -was nothing like him. Then she knew.

'He was one of your friendly local heavies, wasn't he?

Dammit, Buchanan. You're having me b.l.o.o.d.y guarded!'

Buchanan drew a long breath, probably expecting it to be his last. 'He was a cop, Fizz, and he was only going to follow your stalker--'

'Oh great! Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y great!' Fizz yelled, waiting for a red light so she could kick him. 'Now I have a cop on my tail as well as a moronic thug and you don't even have the decency to tell me about it! You're not short of nerve, Buchanan, I'll tell you that! What makes you think you have the right to treat me like I'm sixpence short of a s.h.i.+lling--'

And so on until she had run out of invective and, about the same time, realised the impossibility of ever making him see what a p.r.i.c.k he was. He knew d.a.m.n well, in any case, that after all she had experienced in her eight years of travelling, after all the close shaves she had got herself out of, after all the physical attacks she had foiled, it got right up her nose to see how little he respected her capabilities.

She was so angry and frustrated she was in half a mind to get out of the sodding car and walk.

It didn't help that he wouldn't even condescend to respond to her remarks. He just sat there with his austere profile turned to her and his eyes on the traffic ahead and let her run on till she felt like a harpy. It was like punching a sponge cake. And all the time, beneath all the fury and frustration, there was the searing suspicion that maybe a calm, reasoned discussion might achieve more in the long run. It wouldn't, however, relieve one's feelings.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Fizz had wasted all the breath she intended to waste and Buchanan, probably very wisely, was keeping his head down. He had to park half a block away so Fizz left him to it, walked ahead into the office and avoided him for the next hour. 168. After whizzing through the most pressing of the a.s.signments awaiting her attention she applied herself to the list of Rudyard Gra.s.sick's Inverness customers, phoning each of them in turn and finding two firms who'd had a visit from Vanessa the day before her death. Buchanan had, long ago, imbued her with a reluctance to do any sort of questioning by phone but Inverness was at least a hundred- and-fifty miles away so, in this instance, she didn't have much of an option. However, a rather attractive scheme was beginning to take shape at the back of her mind so she was careful to lay the foundations for a further approach to the relevant informants.

When she had worked her way through the list she marked it with her findings and dumped it, without comment, in Buchanan's In tray. Then she went into Alan Stewart's empty office and dialled Giles's number.

'Giles, it's Fizz.'

'h.e.l.lo, suns.h.i.+ne. What's new?'

'Nothing terribly exciting, I fear, but I've located two firms in Inverness who had a visit from Vanessa Gra.s.sick the Friday before the explosion. She was supposed to be in Inverness all weekend but, for some unknown reason, she returned in time for the explosion. I've already made contact with the two businesses but you know how tough it is getting information out of people when you're not talking face to face.'

'You think it would be worthwhile for me to run up to Inverness?' Giles said, sounding quite willing.