Quintin Jardine: Blackstone's pursuits

‘That’s all right,’ said Prim. ‘I never liked it anyway. I’ll use this to buy another, one that doesn’t break this time.’ Casually, she slipped the two halves of the note into the pocket of her jeans.

‘Why did you cut it?’ asked Dylan.

‘Added security,’ she replied, mysteriously.

‘What else can we do, Inspector,’ she asked, ingenuously.

Dylan shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’d like you both to call into the Police Station in Queen Charlotte Street to give us formal statements, but tomorrow’ll be fine for that. Make it around midday.’

We each nodded. ‘So when,’ asked Prim, ‘will you be finished here?’

The Inspector sucked his teeth. ‘Hard to say, Miss. Depends on the technicians. They’ll want to pick up every hair and every piece of fluff from that bedroom, so we can match it to a suspect, sooner or later. Don’t you worry about that, we’ll get him.

‘I shouldn’t reckon they’ll be any more than a couple of days.’

‘Two days!’ She puffed up like a pigeon in her indignation. ‘What the hell am I going to …’

I seized her hand, and my chance. ‘What the hell else are you going to do? Let’s take your kit round to my place and leave these guys to it.’

Out in the street, I was delighted to see that the Traffic Warden from the Other Side had been so disconcerted that he had neglected to paste me up for my out-of-date disc. The blue Nissan wore no adornment other than bird-shit, and a few specks that weren’t.

I opened the tailgate door and slung Prim’s kitbag first into the boot, and then the smaller one which she had packed with a few ‘sensible clothes’ from her wardrobe and cupboard, under the supervision of a young woman detective, who, she told me, had kept sneaking astounded glances at the tiny colossus on the bed.

Neither of us spoke as I coaxed the engine into life and reversed out of my parking space. I weaved my way through the police cars which were thronging the street like ants round a peach-stone. We were heading up Leith Walk, when Prim said: ‘So where is it then? This refuge I’m bound for, this pad of yours.’

I grinned, thinking it would put her at ease. From her expression, my grin must have been more of a leer. ‘Not that far. It’s in the Old Town, down one of the closes off the High Street.’

‘And will Mrs Blackstone be gone for long?’

‘My mother is dead,’ I said solemnly.

Prim frowned. ‘Don’t be cheap. You know what I mean, Mrs as in spouse, or even Ms Something Else as in live-in partner.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t have any of those. My last live-in girlfriend was two years ago. She died of “dish-pan hands, Mummy”, or so she said. Since then I’ve preferred my independence. There are some bloody good takeaways around the centre of town, you know.’ I let the silence fill the car as she weighed up Oz in a new environment, and pondered the prospect of Oz on Oz’s turf.

‘Mind you,’ I said, after a suitable interval, looking sheepishly at the dashboard as we turned into Leith Walk. ‘I don’t know how you’ll take to Wallace.’

She gasped. ‘Wallace! You’re not…’

I relished the sight of Prim on the back foot. ‘What about it if I am?’ She looked at me, uncertain for the first time in our short acquaintance.

‘Actually, if there was anything between Wallace and me they’d have to invent a new name for it. Wallace is an Iguana. He’s the last of the dinosaurs. I named him after a wizened old fisherman uncle of my Mum’s.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘Let me get this right. You’re taking me to a flat that you share with a lizard?’

‘Wallace would be hurt by the description, but yes, that just about sums it up.’

She threw back her head and laughed. ‘The first time I saw you, Oz Blackstone, I thought there might be some mileage in you. Could be I was right.’

‘I’m touched, my dear.’

‘Yes, that was what I thought.’

‘Thank you again, on behalf of loonies everywhere. But seriously for once, we’re clear of that lot back there. Is there anywhere else you want me to take you? How about your parents?’

‘God no, Oz. For a start they’re in Auchterarder; and for seconds, sooner or later Mum would ask me about Dawn, and I’ve never been able to lie to her.’

‘But Prim, you’re going to need to talk to her. The murder might be reported on telly tonight. She could see your flat on the news.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘No, I think not. My parents cling to this planet by their fingertips. Mother’s hobby is Romantic Novels and Dad devotes his life to making model soldiers. He sells them to collectors through magazines. Anything from one-off Kilties to whole battle scenes, to order. They’re just not interested in what’s on the telly, unless it’s by Barbara Taylor Bradford or Kate Adie.’

‘Is there anyone else, then?’ Suddenly I was seized by the thought that taking this woman under my roof would be the biggest step into the unknown that I’d ever made. ‘Do you have any friends in Edinburgh?’

She turned in her seat and looked at me. ‘Do I feel the chill of cold feet? Do you want to be shot of me?’

‘Absolutely not,’ I shot back at her, too fast in the circumstances. ‘I just don’t want you to feel that you’re being …’

‘Spirited away to your lair, were you going to say?’ Her smile was delicious. ‘Don’t worry, Oz, we fell into this thing together, and I reckon we should see it through together. More than that, you’re my best bet for a shower and a sleep. Shower first, though. Do I need one!’

I creased my nose and looked sideways at her. ‘Funny that. I was just thinking that it’s been a long time since I had a really ripe woman in this car!’ She slapped my arm, hard enough for me to feel her strength, not hard enough to hurt. I saw her tanned nurse’s bicep bunch.

We made our way up the Walk, pausing occasionally for red lights. It was a beautiful warm day in early May, and the trees in the central reservation were in blossom.

‘You know, Mr Oz Blackstone,’ said Prim, ‘this may sound like the wrong thing to say in the circumstances, but I’m glad to be home. Even Florence Nightingale must have become dehumanised after a while. If you need an example, just think back to how I reacted to finding a corpse in my bed!’

‘Hey,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘You are home. Just hang on to that. You’re in Edinburgh and it’s beautiful. Look around you.’ The car swept round the Elm Row island, and up towards Picardy Place. She laughed. ‘Come on Oz. That’s the St James Centre up ahead. Not even a homeboy could call that beautiful.’

‘Okay, well just hang on a minute. We’ll get to some nice bits!’

My house is in one of the nicer bits. Less than half a mile from the Palace of Holyroodhouse, so for a week every year I can say that I have the Queen for a neighbour.

‘What’s this?’ said Prim, as I slid the Nissan into my parking space.

‘My house. Where I live. It’s a conversion. It used to be a grain store or something, until a developer got hold of it. I live in that pointy bit up there. It’s more of a loft than a flat. See the bit right at the top? According to the estate agent who sold me the place, that’s called a belvedere. There’s a ladder up to it. Quite often Wallace climbs up it to sun himself. Yes, there he is, look.’ As if wakened by the sound of our arrival, the iguana peered down at us solemnly.

‘Jesus,’ said Prim, shaking her head. ‘I find a dead dwarf in my bed, and now I’m going home with a guy who has an iguana as a flatmate.’