Tam . . .' Fleming's voice dropped a bunch of decibels.

'Let's not do this, huh? Just take my advice and leave this thing alone.' 101. Buchanan couldn't believe he was hearing this. He said, 'You know that's not going to happen. Not unless you give me some very cogent reasons.'

Tam, please . . .' Fleming started to say, and then seemed to realise he was wasting his breath. His voice sank to a murmur. 'Not on the phone, then. Meet me for a beer somewhere.'

The Pear Tree. Now?'

'Give me half an hour.'

There was an immediate click, as if Fleming couldn't wait to hang up, and Buchanan was left staring at his receiver in amazement. All this cloak and dagger stuff was about as unlike the prosaic Fleming as he could imagine, and he was at a complete loss to antic.i.p.ate what might be the reason for it.

Selina watched him changing into his sweater and jeans with a jaundiced eye and then left via the two inch gap below the window that was left open for her convenience.

Her manner was clearly intended to let him see that, if he was going out, he needn't think she would be sitting at home waiting for him.

The Pear Tree was half empty, which was normal for a Thursday night, so Fleming was visible straightaway, even though he was sitting at a corner table with his back to the door. Buchanan paused at the bar to buy a couple of pints and carried them over.

'You're a good lad, Tam.' Fleming finished his first pint and drew the fresh one towards him affectionately. The fact that his decrepit Polo was parked outside was obviously not one that weighed heavily with him.

'Okay. Hit me with it,' Buchanan said impatiently. That message you left for me wouldn't have fooled a half-wit.'

Fleming's bonhomie vanished like the top half of his pint. 'Listen, Buchanan,' he said tersely, 'I was doing you a favour. You'd be well advised to keep your nose out of police business.'

'So there is something interesting going on.' 102. 'There could be. I'm not sure yet but, if there is, it's something that's best dealt with inside the force.' Fleming flipped a quick glance at a noisy group around the bar counter and then frowned back at Buchanan. 'I shouldn't even be talking to you about it, and if I didn't trust you not to drop me in the s.h.i.t wouldn't even be sitting here now.'

'It's Virgo, isn't it?' Buchanan insisted. 'He's on the take.'

Fleming rolled his eyes. 'Chrissake, Tam! You don't expect me to answer that, do you?'

'So, he is. I thought as much. The question is, why?

What's he covering up?'

'Just hold on a minute,' Fleming growled, gripping his gla.s.s with both hands. 'I didn't say he was on the take. I don't have a single iota of evidence against the man, all I have is a gut feeling and that's nowhere near enough ammunition to start a war with, and -listen to me, Tam a war is what I'd be starting if it gets out that I'm making unfounded accusations against Virgo.'

'Okay. I hear what you're saying,' Buchanan said. 'You know I'm not going to blab around and you know that, whatever else you say about her, Fizz knows when to keep her mouth shut. I trust her with a secret like I trust myself and I can promise you that n.o.body's going to know about your involvement but us. But you've got to give me a break. Something gave you that gut feeling, Ian, and I have to know what it was.'

Fleming couldn't think without doing something with his hands. He picked up his beer mat and started tapping it on the table, each corner in succession. 'It's not something you can describe,' he said, watching his fingers spinning the card. 'You develop a sort of sixth sense in this job -call it a bulls.h.i.t detector. Well, the needle on mine was way over into the red when I was reading that report of Virgo's. On the surface it was perfectly straightforward but if you read between the lines ... if you read it a.n.a.lytically ... it started to look as though, maybe, he 103. was a little too willing to take things at face value.'

'Meaning?' Buchanan prompted, wondering if he'd ever get down to the nitty gritty.

'Well . . .' Fleming took a long drink of beer and wiped his lips on the back of his hand, stretching Buchanan's patience to the limit. 'The heater you told me about. . .

You are sure about that, are you, Tam? Because there's no mention of any heater -or anything that could be mistaken for a heater -in the report.'

"Nothing? But Pringle, the neighbour, claimed he had seen several parts of an old heater scattered about the site.

He had even picked up the maker's plate. I've seen it. All the other pieces were taken away by the police.' Buchanan shook his head in confusion. 'But surely that's all you need to prove that Virgo's on the take. That heater was -well,

maybe not proof, but at least a strong indication that the explosion was not an accident. Someone who knew that Vanessa Gra.s.sick was on her way to meet her lover could have turned on the gas cylinders and arranged the heater to detonate the gas as soon as she switched on the electricity.

If you want proof that Virgo suppressed valuable evidence, you've already got it.'

Fleming tapped his beer mat and smiled sadly. 'Proof?

Virgo could have accounted for the presence of the heater and felt it unnecessary to mention it in the report. That's what he'll claim. Either that or he'll say there never was a heater and what proof do I have to the contrary? You've seen the maker's plate but that doesn't mean it was found at the site.'

'Pringle--' Buchanan started to say and then remembered that the Pringles were not available for comment.

'You've tried to contact the Pringles?'

'Uh-huh. And that's another thing that made me wonder. Their spur of the moment decision to go awol happened at a lucky time for Virgo, didn't it?'

'But you still don't feel you have enough to confront him with?' 104. 'Not by a long chalk,' Fleming said, scowling at his piece of card. 'If I had any worries about the safety of Mr and Mrs Pringle I'd have to try and find them, but I can't do that without declaring my interest, and I doubt if there's any need to panic just yet.'

'You're not worried about them?' Buchanan asked, wondering how far Fleming's inquiries had gone in that direction.

'No. The neighbour didn't know where they'd gone, and I couldn't be too upfront in my questioning without admitting I was a copper, but I got her to admit that they were really looking forward to their trip.'

So presumably, after Giles's visit, somebody had warned Mrs Armstrong not to be so helpful to callers. Possibly Virgo. Possibly the Pringles themselves. Possibly Lawrence Gra.s.sick. Possibly Niall Menzies. But, just as possibly, somebody else.

Buchanan divulged Giles's 'daughter-in-Glasgow' version of the story, just to clarify the matter, and then said, 'What about Jamie Ford's wife? Did you find out where she went after leaving hospital?'

'Poppy Ford?' Fleming grinned with perverse satisfaction.

'Virtually no mention of Mrs Ford in the report, other than that she had suffered from shock and superficial cuts from flying gla.s.s. No mention of hospital. And no note anywhere of her forwarding address.'

As far as Buchanan was concerned, that settled the matter. Anyone who could have had inside information about the situation at Brora Lodge had been spirited away and whoever had been the instrument of their departure, it was a fair bet that Lawrence Gra.s.sick had funded it. That conclusion wasn't one that Buchanan faced up to gladly.

There was little to relish in playing David to Lawrence Gra.s.sick's Goliath. He had admired the man for too long to feel anything but distaste for the impending necessity to expose him. However, it was comforting -if totally ign.o.ble -to reflect that, if Gra.s.sick were found to be guilty of 105. subverting the course of justice, he would hardly be in a position to condemn Buchanan's meddling.

Fleming finished his pint and pushed his chair back from the table. 'I don't give a toss what you find out from other sources, Tam, but as far as the Lothian and Borders police is concerned, I want you to leave it to me. You've got to see that the two of us, not to mention the insurance investigator, asking questions -no matter how discreetly is just not on.'

'How much information are you prepared to share with me?' Buchanan returned. 'If you turn up anything positive I want to know about it. You have my word that it won't go any further, but if you keep me in the picture, I'm willing to do the same for you.'

Fleming nodded as though he hadn't expected a better deal, and stood up. 'Just as long as you don't take that little poison-ivy pal of yours into your confidence. I still get recurrent nightmares about her.'

'Fizz isn't nearly as bad as she used to be,' Buchanan said, and at that point in time he really believed she wasn't. 106.

Chapter Nine.

Giles picked up Fizz at the university after a late session

with her tutor and drove her down the coast road to

Berwick for dinner. The rain clouds that had been hanging

around for most of the week had at last rolled away and

the Kingdom of Fife, on the far side of the Forth, was

clear enough to pick out individual houses. 'It's taken me all day,' he reported, with visible irritation, 'to discover which hospital Poppy Ford was taken to. I tried her neighbour Mrs Armstrong first, but she was either not at home or just not at home to me. Then I went into the pub -the Waterloo, is it? -and chatted to a few of the locals. One or two of them knew Jamie Ford by sight but n.o.body had met Poppy and they didn't even seem to be aware that she had been hospitalised. In the end I had to lie in wait for the postman -a chap called Lenny who, I understand, precludes the necessity for a local newspaper.'

'Yeah, they told me about him. Where did you locate him?'

'I simply waited at the pillar box,' Giles grinned, evidently pleased with his lateral thinking. 'I reckoned somebody would have to turn up for the next collection at four o'clock and the chances were it would be Lenny.'

'And, of course, it was,' Fizz supplied, ma.s.saging his ego with an appreciative smile.