I held my breath and waited for Prim to drive the woman’s nose up into her brain. But Linda Kane saved the situation, and herself. ‘Look, I’m sorry to be so blunt, talking about her like that, but woman to woman, you must know how I feel. And I know you can’t pick your relatives.’

  Somehow, Prim managed to look at the floor and say nothing. Then she turned away, and walked a few paces across the room, to the tasteless high-board. There were several silver-framed photographs on a shelf in the middle. She picked one up, and looked at it, then held it up so that Linda Kane and I could both see it. It showed a girl, a mature schoolgirl, in a blazer shirt and tie. ‘Is this your daughter?’

  Linda smiled. ‘Do I look old enough? Yes, well I suppose I am. No, dear, that’s me, when I was head girl at Mary Erskine. Let’s see. That’ll have been taken in 1975.’

  I whistled. ‘You’ve worn well then.’

  She looked at me with the nearest thing I’ve seen to a leer on a woman. ‘Flattery, son, will get you most places. But not here; not here. I like my men a bit older than you, and a bit bulkier too.’

  She took the photo from Prim. ‘Now, if that’s all you’ve got to tell me, thank you for coming, but I’m due for a cut at Charlie Kivlin’s in an hour.’ She ushered us smoothly back to the door.

  ‘Must look my best for the funeral, after all. It’s at Mortonhall, on Friday. I’ve got a fair idea what I’m going to do with the ashes afterwards.’ She made an unmistakable flushing movement with her right hand.

  ‘Cheerio, then. If you want to come to the funeral you’ll be welcome. The senior partner’s talking about having a reception afterwards in the office. That’s a bloody sight more than I’d do for him.’

  She closed the door on us with something grotesque, that we took for a smile.

  We hustled down the path to the garden gate as fast as we could and dived into the Nissan, which sat self-consciously under the trees. As soon as we were inside, I looked across at Prim, straight-faced. ‘Widow of the Year, eh?’ That was enough; we erupted in hoots of laughter.

  ‘God,’ she gasped at last, still convulsing, ‘I actually feel happy for Willie Kane. Imagine, if Dawn had chucked him out before she left and he’d been forced to go back to that! Whoever killed him did him a favour.’

  ‘Aye, but he did one for her too. With him dead, she’ll have the house, free and clear.’

  ‘And what more could she be after?’ muttered Prim, ominously.

  ‘Ah, hold on though,’ I said, trying to keep her enthusiasm in check. ‘She said nothing at all to show that she knows about the theft, or the fiver. She connected you to me, remember, and that’s the story the police will have told her, about you and I finding him when we got back from the airport.’

  ‘So what? No, Oz. I’d put nothing past that woman. If Mrs Archer told her about the theft, the bank account and everything, she could have been signing Kane’s death warrant. Wish we knew a bit more about the boyfriend though. That’s another thing we didn’t find out.’

  I looked at her, happy in the knowledge that I was about to score a point. ‘Remember what Dawn said about him, though. Head boy and head girl at the same time.’

  ‘Yes, I remember; but you remember, Mr Clever Dick. Mary Erskine’s an all-girl school. My dumb sister must have got it wrong.’

  ‘Ah Miss Clever … eh, Clever whatever. Mary Erskine’s run by the Merchant Company, and there’s a partner boys’ school less than a mile away. Stewart’s-Melville; it’s right at the end of this road, in fact. So …’

  She was like a kid on a treasure hunt. ‘So why don’t we just head along there now and see what we can find out?’

  In which the Old School Archives gives us an answer we don’t fancy … not one bit

  Daniel Stewart’s and Melville College, to give it its full, lengthy title, was formed by the amalgamation of two smaller Merchant Company schools, when economies of scale began to mean something even in the select world of Edinburgh private education.

  It’s housed in a fine old building on the Queensferry Road, a rectangle with copper-domed towers on each comer. As we reached it, the mothers of its primary school children were just beginning to gather in their second-hand Volvo estates. For some of them, picking up Junior and chewing the fat with the other Mums was probably the highlight of the day. There were so many of them gathered there that we had to park illicitly in the Tourist Board Headquarters and walk back.

  The School Office was a slightly chaotic room. That meant that it was like all the school offices I’ve ever seen, only the accents were more refined, and the weans were better dressed … more uniformly, you might say.

  The junior secretary was a friendly girl. ‘How can I help you?’ she said, and we both knew that she meant it, relieved to be dealing with people from the outside world.

  Prim looked at me. I looked at Prim. In the same instant we realised we’d gone barrelling in there without a cover story. ‘No, you go on,’ said my partner, dropping me in it. Fortunately, my natural glibness, formed out of years spent trying to chat girls just like this one out of their knickers, came surging to the surface. I gave her my best pre-coital smile, the one that says, ‘Would you be interested in what I’ve got here!’

  ‘My friend and I are researching for a magazine article,’ I said, inspirationally. ‘We have a commission from the Sunday Times supplement for a piece which takes the attitudes of senior-school pupils from the mid-70s and compares them with today’s generation.

  ‘We’re asking a few schools if they can put us in touch with their head boys and head girls from those times, so that we can set up interviews. We’ve just seen the head girl of 1975 at Mary Erskine, and she suggested that we should look up her opposite number here.

  ‘Is there any possibility that you could give us his name?’

  The girl smiled at me. I could tell that I’d have been in with a chance there.

  She put a hand to her chin, as if she was thinking about it, but I knew the answer already. ‘I’m sure that I can lay hands on the School Yearbook for 1975,’ she said. ‘Wait a minute.’ She hurried off.

  ‘Smooth-talking bastard,’ Prim muttered under her breath as the girl disappeared.

  It was only a minute, too. She came rushing back, pink-cheeked and triumphant. ‘I knew we had one left. It is only one, though. I can’t let you take it away, but I can photocopy pages if you’d like.’

  She handed it across the wooden counter. I took it, and noticed that my hand was shaking, very slightly. I held it out so that Prim could see and flicked through the pages until I found the index. ‘Captains Courageous’ began on page twenty, after the Rector’s report on the year.

  Naturally, the Head Boy was the first entry. The outstanding chap of the year, beyond a doubt. Captain of Rugby, Captain of Cricket, Captain of Squash, School Athletics Champion, Leader of the Debating team, an all-rounder of the sort in which schools like Stewart’s-Melville rejoice. A veritable hero, in fact.

  There was a photograph too. He stood there in blazer, decorated with his many sporting colours, slim, squared-jawed, clear-eyed, a man-boy on the verge of a career of leadership in whatever profession he chose. And below the photograph, in rich italics, a caption.

  ‘Head of School, 1974-75. Richard Ross.’

  Prim gasped and looked up at me. ‘That’s Superintendent …’

  I closed the book. ‘Yes, partner. I was afraid it would be him. That’s who’s got Mike Dylan shitting himself trying to find that fiver. And that’s who’s been crumpling the sheets with Linda Kane, just like they did twenty years ago.’

  We had our backs to the girl, so she couldn’t hear us. ‘Our FP club keeps very good records,’ she said. ‘I’m sure they could help you find him.’ Helpful to the end.

  I handed her back the yearbook. ‘That’s all right, dear,’ I gave her a ‘goodnight’ smile. ‘Right now, I’m more worried about this chap finding us.’ I could feel her eyes in my back, wrinkling with bewilderment, as Prim and I hurried away.

  In which plans are made for flight

  ‘D’you think Linda’ll tell him we’ve been to see her?’

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely, my darling.’ I checked my watch. ‘About half an hour ago, I reckon.’

  She looked at me; not scared, but anxious. ‘We’re in trouble, Oz, aren’t we?’

  ‘Right up to our pretty little chins, Primavera. You get the picture, yes?’

  I didn’t need to spell out anything. ‘Oh yes, I get it. Mr Archer pours out all his troubles to Mrs Archer. Mrs Archer tells her outraged friend Linda, all about the theft, the account and the banknote. And she tells her that Oz Blackstone, PI, is hot on the trail. Linda tells her boyfriend, Superintendent Ross.

  ‘I imagine that gave them a wonderful idea: that they should beat you to it, get rid of the wee chap for good and pick up his money at the same time. Is that how you see it?’

  ‘Sure is. How do you think they went about it.’

  ‘I’d guess that she phoned Willie, and told him she wanted to see him, alone. Lucky Linda: Dawn was away, so Willie said, “Okay, come to the flat on Wednesday.” You said that when you phoned in the evening a woman answered the phone. That must have been her. Think back,’ she said. ‘Was it?’

  I thought back. ‘I couldn’t swear to it,’ I said, honestly. ‘It was a funny voice.’

  But Prim was in full flow. ‘I guess she must have turned on her fading charms for her husband. Something like, “Please come home, Willikins! Let me show you how sorry I am.” From the way it looked, Willie fell for it, and …’ She grimaced, and faltered. I picked up the story.

  ‘The wee man’s crowning glory is in the ascendant, when … Linda’s left the front door on the latch. Ricky Ross slips into the house, and into the bedroom. Poor wee Willie has the orgasm of his life … probably Linda does too, for that matter.’

  Prim looked up at me. The windows of the Nissan were misting up. I was glad that no-one could see in, otherwise they’d have thought we were having a serious argument. ‘There’s no other explanation is there?’

  ‘No. None at all. After they killed him, they’d have searched for the fiver. I bet they looked everywhere but in that muesli jar. I suppose Ross asked Dylan next day to report on every single thing his people had found, and Dylan must have mentioned the torn banknote. Hence his sudden interest in getting it back.

  ‘High-flying DIs can be brought down fast if they upset the wrong superintendent. I imagine they can be scared right out of their Loake moccasins too, if they upset Ricky Ross.’

  ‘Can we prove any of this?’

  ‘Not a cat’s chance in hell, my dear. We’re the ones holding the hot fiver, remember.’

  I must have sounded more than a bit frantic, because she took my hand, and wound her fingers through mine, rubbing, soothing. ‘So what do we do now, Maestro?’

  ‘We get the hell out of town, chum, that’s what we do. Just two calls, and then we’re away. Off to do the only thing we can; off to Switzerland to get that money. Agreed?’

  She seemed to think about it, for about two seconds. ‘Agreed. I guess it’s gone too far for us just to give Archer back the fiver.’

  ‘Yes. Ross would probably arrest all of us for being parties to a theft, just for spite. Alternatively he might just kill us. We’ve got to get the money out of his reach. That’s the only answer.’

  She nodded. ‘Okay. You said we’re going to make two calls before we go? Where?’

  ‘I’m going to phone Ali and get him to pick up our passports from the loft. Then we’re off to see a laundry lady I know. It’s one thing being fugitives, but it’s something else wearing last weekend’s clothes!’

  In which Jan’s open secret is revealed to Prim, and in which we find that the heavy has picked up our trail

  After the break-in there was no way we were going back to the loft. We reckoned that there was too big a risk of Ross having it watched.

  Rather than use my mobile — that’s how paranoid I was — I phoned Ali from a public call-box near Haymarket.

  ‘What’s going on, Oz?’ My pal was concerned. ‘What sort of bother are you and the bird in?’

  ‘Nae bother, Ali, nae bother at all. The flat’s such a mess just now that we couldn’t face it. We’re heading off for a holiday. You’ll keep on looking after the green one for us, will you?’

  ‘Aye, of course I will. Ah don’t believe a fuckin’ word you’re telling me, but then you always were a hare-brained bugger, Blackstone. Ah like this “us” stuff, though. It’s about time you had somebody holdin ‘your joystick, permanent-like. She’s the real thing, this lassie, is she?’

  ‘She sure is, pal. I’m glad you approve. It’s been worrying me all weekend.’

  ‘Sarky bastard! Here, she hasna’ got a sister has she?’ If only you knew, my dusky China.

  ‘Was he there?’ Prim asked as I got back into the Nissan.

  ‘Ali’s like the Windmill, love; never closed. He’s a good lad, for a grocer. I’d have asked him to bring us some fresh clothes, but if anyone is watching the loft it’d give the game away.’

  She nodded, surprised by my unaccustomed thoroughness. There’s nothing like a good dose of fear for sharpening the mind … and loosening the bowels. ‘Where does Jan live?’ she asked, as I pulled away from the kerb. ‘I take it Jan is your laundry lady.’

  ‘Who else? Her place is in Castle Terrace.’

  ‘It isn’t five o’clock yet. Will she be home?’

  ‘With a bit of luck. Jan’s a jobbing accountant. She does my tax work as well as my books. Apart from me, she’s got a nice wee client list. She does quite a bit of her work at home, so she might well be there. If she isn’t we’ll go for a walk in Princes Street Gardens.’

  She laid a hand, gently on my thigh, as I drove. ‘Oz, how will Jan be about me? She was nice enough when we met, but turning up on her doorstep with one bag between us and our dirty laundry, that’s something different. I mean you and she have done some heavy breathing together in the past. Are you sure she doesn’t still hope you might wind up together. I know her Mum does … or did, anyway.’

  I smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry about it. Jan and I are a sister and brother act; okay, we’ve been incestuous now and again, but that’s in the past. Anyway, her heart belongs to another.’

  Her eyebrows arched, perfectly. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You’ll find out.’

  There was an empty bay across the street from Jan’s place. I put a parking ticket in my windscreen and kept my fingers crossed that my tax disc would attract no fresh attention. Just as I was about to lock up a heavy shower of rain came out of nowhere. I grabbed my anorak and Prim’s jacket from the back seat and hustled us both across the street.

  Jan’s flat is on the second floor. The label beside the entryphone button read ‘Turkel/More’. Prim looked at it in surprise as I pushed the plastic stud. ‘You mean she lives with someone?’

  ‘That’s right. She has done for the last four years. It’s a bit turbulent from time to time, but overall they’re pretty happy.’

  Jan’s voice sounded like everyone else’s on the wrong end of an entryphone: a bit like a polite Dalek. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hi Jan, it’s me and one other. Can we come up?’

  There was no answer, only the buzz of the release button being pressed, and a click as the door catch sprung. Jan’s stairway is a lot nicer than mine. It’s carpeted and there’s a chair and cut flowers on each landing. She was waiting for us in the doorway as we reached the second floor, dressed in a white blouse and tight fawn skirt, which showed off her long legs. Jan’s legs are her best point, and the rest of her is pretty near to competition class too. ‘Hi pal. Hi Prim.’ She nodded towards the bag. ‘Planning a long stay?’

  I was going to spin her a yarn about my Bendix being knackered, but the truth slipped out when I wasn’t looking. ‘We need some help. Can we run this lot through your washing machine?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, ushering us into the narrow hall. I led the way straight through to the kitchen. ‘What’s the problem? Mum said you two showed up out of the blue on Friday night.

  ‘Here, that reminds me. What’s the score with your Dad and my Mother? I’m beginning to wonder about them.’

  ‘Work it out, Janet. Pre-crumblies can get up to the naughtiness too. When’s she going to make an honest man of him? That’s what I want to know.’

  She threw her hands up to her face in a comic gesture and dropped into broad Fife. ‘My Goad! Can you imagine fit they’ll say in Enster, like!’

  ‘You know what they’re like. They have to have someone to talk about.’ I emptied the bag into the washing machine, loaded Ariel into the sachet thingy, and dialled up a quick wash-dry programme.

  Jan gave each of us a beer from the fridge, then pointed us towards the living room, while she went into the bathroom. ‘Lock the door this time!’ I called after her.

  I watched Prim as she looked around Jan’s sitting room. You couldn’t imagine a bigger contrast to Linda Kane’s severe salon. Everything about it fits everything else, and everything in it was chosen for pleasure not appearance. There’s a small sofa and two recliner armchairs, all in soft grey fabric, and set around a low coffee table. The floor’s varnished but mostly covered by a huge Indian carpet. Over the fireplace, there’s an original oil of a beach scene, and a few very tasty watercolours are hung around the walls. The inlaid sideboard was handmade by a guy in Musselburgh. I’ll never forget Jan telling me how much it had cost.

  ‘This is lovely,’ said Prim. ‘It’s saying something to me, but I’m not sure what it is.’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ I said. She took hold of my shirt front, and would have had more out of me, if Jan hadn’t come in just then.

  She looked at us thoughtfully, for a few seconds. ‘Yes, Mum was right. About you two, I mean. She phoned me to tell me that Oz had met his match at last. She approves. So, by the way, do I,’ she added, in a very matter-of-fact tone. ‘Not least because, hopefully, it’ll let Mother get me sorted out in her head.’ Before Prim could follow up the begged question she changed the subject.