Allan Guthrie - Bye Bye Baby

The words struck my kneecaps like hammers. I lowered my head, placed my hands on the desk.

"Holly found it and called me." Erica leaned over and I felt her breath on my ear. "You make me puke," she said.

I stared at the bag of cash. "I have no idea how the money ended up in Holly's car." My mouth was dry. I licked my lips but it didn't help. "Dutton must have put it there."

"Here's the thing," my uncle said. "DS Dutton was in court yesterday, giving evidence. He didn't leave until three o'clock. The money was gone by then. He couldn't have lifted it. Would have been fucking impossible."

"It wasn't me." I wanted to stand up but I didn't think I'd be able to. "If I'd stolen the money, I'd have put it somewhere safe."

"Where?" my uncle asked. "We're still missing half of it. Tell us where it is. If we don't recover all the money, you're well fucked, sunshine."

I waited a while.

"Well?"

"Better get me that Police Federation representative," I said.

Back in the holding cell, just me and the mustard-coloured walls.

I was a detective. I could work this out.

I'd been set up, I just needed to prove that I was innocent.

Easiest way to do that was with an alibi.

The finger. Where was I when the finger was posted through Mrs Wilson's letterbox? Holly had gone to bed and the kids were out…

I'd gone for a drive.

Okay, that was no help.

The ransom money. I couldn't have picked up the money because… shit, I was asleep in my car.

God's sake. I couldn't prove a thing. I had to admit, if I was investigating this case, I'd look pretty guilty.

I needed to find out who had set me up. Whoever it was had access to the CID office. Which meant that one of those bastards I worked with had framed me.

All I knew for certain was that it wasn't Dutton.

There wasn't much to go on, but I did have a number of suspects.

I put a list together in my head. Everyone I could think of. And I started going through them, one by one.

After all, I had nothing else to do for a while.

Detective Inspector James Fleck didn't often take his wife out for dinner. And even though it was the old bag's birthday, the look she gave him, when he told her she'd have to dress up tonight because they were going out somewhere posh, was one of complete surprise.

He had to admit, he liked that look.

He picked up the remains of his fourth or fifth pint and downed it. Gave the waiter a nod and held up the empty glass. Good. Another one on the way.

Sarah looked at him, eyes narrowed. Her 'you've-had-too-many' look.

"Last one," he said. "Then an early night?"

Once upon a time, he'd fancied the arse off her. Still did, after a few pints. And his back was fine today, the new treatment making a difference already. You got what you paid for.

Before he'd left for work that morning, he'd given her a card and a clothes voucher for ten quid. For a laugh.

She'd opened it and tried to look happy. She pecked Fleck on the check and said, "Wish you could do something for Frank. That'd be a great present."

And Fleck had said he was doing all he could, but told her it looked bad. Their poor nephew had been caught red-handed and should just admit it.

What he didn't tell her was that Frank seemed to be cracking up, which was a nice wee bonus. Jumped-up little toss-pot couldn't stop his own wife from shagging another bird, so he'd taken it out on Dutton. Made Dutton's wife leave him.

There was no call for that.

The lad had no moral core. Deserved what was coming to him. Every sweaty inch of it.

Anyway, that morning as Fleck's wife was starting to close the front door behind him, he'd turned back and said, "Oh, almost forgot." And told her they'd be eating out for dinner.

But that wasn't the end of the surprises. He had one more to give her now. Maybe it would help him get his leg over later.

He tucked his hand inside his jacket pocket. Pulled out an envelope.

Sarah dabbed her mouth with her napkin, watching him.

He handed the envelope to her. "Happy birthday."

"But you've already given — "

"Shut up and open it."

She didn't need any more encouragement. She tore open the envelope and took out the tickets. "Oh, my good God, James!" She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, good God."

Something she'd always wanted. Fuck, it might even be fun. He'd always liked the sea. Missed having a boat. Saddest day of his life having to sell her. Worse than having to sell one of your own kids.

"But can we afford this?" she asked. "Where did the money come from?"

He turned his empty pint glass around, then said, "You won't like it if I tell you."

"You've been gambling!"

"How many times…?" He gazed across at her. "I don't gamble." He paused. "But maybe I did have a wee bet."

"One of those value bets?"

"Exactly. Saw odds I liked. Took the risk." He shrugged. "And it paid off."

"You always said it would. Over time."

"And you always thought I was wrong," he said.

"That's because you're always losing."

"Well, not this time."

"You smug bastard, James." She smiled. "How much did you win?"

"Enough to pay for this cruise." And then some. The cruise cost six thousand. Which left him with precisely one hundred and nineteen grand.

"How much?" she asked again.

"Just what you've got there," he lied. "Plus a couple of grand spending money."

"You've spent it all on me?"

"On us," he said.

She leaned forward and kissed him. "Sometimes," she said, "you can be a very nice man."