Ken McClure - Fenton's winter

At a quarter to twelve Kelly phoned to point out that, as it was blowing a gale and the rain was almost horizontal the Honda might not be such a good idea. He would come round for Fenton in the car.

Kelly cursed as he tried to reverse the Capri into a small gap that they had found after crawling up and down side streets near the police station and found it particularly difficult because of the rain and condensation on the windows. "Hell, that'll do," he decided, abandoning the effort for neatness and leaving the car with its nose jutting out.

They ran up the hill, keeping close to the wall in an effort to avoid most of the weather but took it full in the face as they rounded the corner at the top with fifty metres or so still to cover before reaching the shelter of the police station.

"Do you think God has something personal against Scotland?" asked Fenton, shaking the water from his hair in the doorway.

"I think it's a character building agreement he has with John Knox," said Kelly. "Let's face it, if you were having a good time you'd only feel guilty."

Jamieson looked up from his desk as Fenton and Kelly were shown in by a constable who seemed strangely reluctant to let go of the door handle after opening the door for them. Both had to enter sideways.

Jamieson clasped his hands together under his chin and said, "Don't tell me. Let me guess. You have a suspicion that the Queen Mother did the Brighton Trunk Murders?"

Fenton grinned painfully and conceded Jamieson's right to some come back over his behaviour in the past. He told the policeman of their visit to the Murray house and what Sandra Murray's brother had told them about what a man pretending to be from the Blood Transfusion Service had asked at the house.

Jamieson knew the name Sandra Murray well enough. "Hit and run death, up the Braids way?"

Fenton nodded.

"And you are saying that she knew about the Saxon Plastic problem?"

"Maybe not the details, but she knew that Neil Munro thought that there was something wrong with it."

"And that's what this fair haired man wanted to find out?"

"It seems like it."

Jamieson sucked the end of his pen in silence for a moment then said, "Did Murray tell you any more about this man?"

Fenton told him about the ring and watched Jamieson's expression change. The policeman put down his pen and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before saying quietly, "That lot."

"You know them?" asked Fenton.

"Oh yes, I know them all right," sighed Jamieson. "We all know them. The force is now full of senior officers who have tangled with that bunch and ended up giving road safety lectures to five year olds."

"You are serious?" asked Fenton in disbelief.

"I'm serious," said Jamieson quietly.

Fenton looked at Kelly who shrugged as if to say, I told you so.

"But you are the police. I thought…"

"I know what you thought," interrupted Jamieson. "You thought I could nip up to Braidbank, pick up Sandra Murray's brother, and get him to identify the man?"

"Well, yes."

Jamieson shook his head and said, "Let me tell you what would really happen. Assuming Sandra Murray's brother was willing to co-operate, and if he knows anything at all about this mob he wouldn't be, we would start making enquiries. A few days later I would be directing traffic in Princes Street and Murray would be running for his life."

"You can't be serious," Fenton protested.

"I am," said Jamieson. "These buggers have so much power it scares me shitless."

Fenton was shaken by the admission. "So where does that leave us?" he asked.

Jamieson ran his finger round the inside of his collar and said, "Now that you have told me this I am obliged to go see Murray and ask him formally if he thinks he could identify the man. Frankly, I hope he says no or there could be another hit and run accident in Braidbank within the week."

Fenton was having difficulty in coming to terms with the frankness of Jamieson's admissions but he did have an idea and said so. Jamieson grimaced and Kelly smiled. Fenton said, "Murray told me that his sister was the scientist in the family and that he was an artist. If he really is an artist, a brush and paint artist that is, he might be able to sketch the man for you and no one would ever know how you got on to him?"

"Sounds a good idea to me," said Kelly.

Jamieson took his time but finally conceded that he too thought it was worth considering. He said, "If we could find out who the man was without his knowing it would give us time to build up a case against him. We could go in strong."

Kelly suggested that he and Fenton should approach Murray and keep the police out of it in Murray's own interest. Jamieson agreed but Fenton sensed that he was uncomfortable. He wanted to say something else but it was having a difficult birth. "Gentlemen," he began, tapping his finger tips together, "With your agreement…" The words struggled over invisible barriers. "I would like to keep this on…an unofficial basis for the time being.

Fenton and Kelly waited for an explanation and it was even more laboured when it came. "Frankly, once a report is written…I can't be sure who is going to see it."

"I see," said Fenton. He said it calmly but felt anything but. "Perhaps it would be better if we met on neutral ground next time?" Jamieson nodded, relieved to see that Fenton had taken the right implication from what had been said without any further explanation being necessary.

It was still raining heavily when they got outside so they made a dash for the car although it was all to no avail when Kelly dropped the keys into the overflowing gutter in his haste to unlock the door. His curse was lost on the wind as Fenton turned his back and held up his collar while he waited.

"Did I dream that?" asked Fenton when they were safely out of the rain.

"If you did I had the same one," said Kelly.

Jenny looked aghast. "But they are the police!" she protested. "They don't say things like that!"

"That's what I thought too," said Fenton. "But I'm telling you exactly what Jamieson said."

"Oh Tom," said Jenny in exasperation. Fenton put his arm round her and tried to assure her by saying, "It's still a police matter. It's just that Jamieson wants to conduct it a little unconventionally."

"When are you going to see Murray?"

"Tonight," said Fenton.

The object of the exercise, decided Fenton, was to get the sketch from Murray with as little explanation as possible. They should say nothing about any possible connection with the Saxon murder and should not mention the police at all. This was just a little afterthought from their previous visit. But was Murray the right kind of artist?

"Actually I am a sculptor," said Murray. "But I think I can manage a rough outline."

It had turned out to be easier than Fenton had thought it might be. He had the sketch in his hands and Murray had hardly asked a thing, in fact, the man seemed positively subdued. He wondered whether the whisky beside Murray's chair was to blame but abandoned that notion in favour of a box of pills that he saw lying open on the table. He sneaked a look at the label when Murray had his back turned for a moment and saw that they were tranquillisers. They were a relatively mild brand but the alcohol was enhancing their effect.

Fenton looked at the sketch and admired Murray's competence.

"Thank you for your help Mr Murray," said Fenton, getting up to go.

"A drink before you go?" said Murray.

Fenton looked at his watch as a prelude to an excuse but the pathetically baleful look in Murray's eyes made him change his mind. "Thank you," he said. "Whisky for me."

"Do you still think my sister was murdered?" Murray asked as he handed Fenton and Kelly their glasses.

"I think it's possible," replied Fenton.