ELEVEN

The strictly logical answer to Geddes's question was that no-one could be sure. Chipchase had told Dangerfield he was flying to Manchester. But he could have travelled south by train instead and boarded the London to Aberdeen train at Dundee — or Edinburgh, come to that. Almost anything was possible. But where was Geddes's speculation leading? He surely did not suspect Chipchase of murdering Askew. The very idea was absurd. Except that Geddes did not know Chipchase as well as Harry did, so perhaps the absurdity was not apparent to him. He reckoned he was onto something. Or someone. And the obvious candidate was the former proprietor of Chipchase Sheltered Holdings Ltd — long since in receivership.

The true explanation for his old friend's daylight flit from Aberdeen seemed clear to Harry. It was what Geddes had grudgingly suggested himself. Chipchase had persuaded Askew to invest in one of his dodgy enterprises, with predictable results he had no wish to discuss during the weekend at Kilveen Castle that had loomed ahead of him. Cue dead sister and grieving dash to Manchester. It was as simple as that.

Ironically, as things turned out, he would never have had to discuss the matter with Askew. But Askew, of course, might not have been the only veteran of Operation Clean Sheet duped into trusting Chipchase with his money, which Harry could have told them from personal experience was an act of folly. It would be interesting to find out how many had fallen for the silver-tongued old rogue's patter — assuming anyone was prepared to admit it.

—«»—«»—«»—

The clouds thinned as the afternoon turned towards evening. Mellow sunlight bathed the castle. A call from the reception desk alerted Harry to a change of venue for pre-dinner drinks. They were to be held on the roof. The upper reaches of the tower had been out of bounds to Professor Mac's students during Operation Clean Sheet and the door leading to the roof permanently locked. This was actually their first chance to sample its panoramic views. Dangerfield, it was revealed, had planned that they should do so all along, on a 'weather permitting' basis. And the weather had happily permitted.

—«»—«»—«»—

Harry phoned Donna before leaving his room and came clean about Askew's death. He presented it as a complete mystery, which it was, of course, while failing to mention the connection with Chipchase Sheltered Holdings Ltd. 'I didn't want to worry you,' he explained lamely, only for her to retort, as well she might, 'But now I'm worried about what else you mightn't be telling me.' He assured her there was nothing, by which he really meant nothing he judged she needed to know. A weekend of domestic normality was about to unfold in Vancouver. Daisy would be going back to school on Monday after the Easter break. Donna would be preparing to stretch her students' minds at UBC. Fretting over what might be happening to him in Scotland would not be good for them. Accordingly, Harry struck a jaunty tone throughout the conversation — and hoped it was more convincing over a long-distance telephone line than it would have been face to face.

—«»—«»—«»—

He spent longer talking to Donna and Daisy than he had anticipated and was consequently the last to make it to the roof party. It was strange to have spent three months at Kilveen Castle without ever stepping out onto the flagged and balustraded platform at the top of the tower. The gilded weathercock on the next turret was shimmering in the sun, the flag of St Andrew above them stirring lazily in the slightest of breezes. A golden hue had been cast over the ruckled carpet of farmland around the castle, while the mountains to the north and west and the undersides of the clouds were purpling in the evening light.

Waitresses were on hand with champagne and canapes. Matthews, the hotel manager, was schmoozing with his guests. There was laughter amid the burble of conversation and the popping of corks. A phrase drifted into Harry's ear as he accepted a glass of bubbly and took a first sip. 'Crooked would have wanted us to carry on, I'll bet.' The words were Judd's, but there were nods and murmurs of endorsement all round.

'Do you think it's true?'

Harry turned to find Erica standing close beside him, looking intently at him as she rotated her nearly empty glass back and forth by the stem. Judd for one, Harry sensed, would approve of the closer fitting outfit she was wearing this evening — and its lower neckline. 'Hello,' he said, smiling. 'Isn't it lovely up here?'

She smiled back at him. 'It is.'

'As for Peter, I don't know. It's the sort of thing people say, isn't it?'

'Yes. So, here's another platitude. Tell me about your day. Braemar, Balmoral, Craigievar and a pub somewhere in the middle, according to Johnny. Is that right?'

'Spot-on.'

'All new territory for you?'

'Absolutely. Professor Mac and your boss kept us chained to our desks. There were no jaunts into the countryside during Operation Clean Sheet.'

'And getting out onto this roof with its unforgettable views is a first too?'

'Not according to some,' Tancred cut in, rounding a corner of the balustrade to join them and flashing Erica a raffish smile. 'Jabber's just been telling Magister and me that he's been up here before.'

'Really?' Harry watched Erica's gaze slide past Tancred towards Lloyd and Wiseman. 'How did that come about?'

'He was more than somewhat vague as to specifics. Indeed, it may be no more than stress-induced déjà vu. He hasn't had the carefree day the rest of us have enjoyed, after all. I certainly don't envy him his visit to the mortuary in Dundee. Are you familiar with the city of jam, jute and journalism, Erica?'

'Not at all. Actually, excuse me, will you? Dr Starkie's looking lost.' And with that she was gone, threading a path through the Clean Sheeters and waitresses towards Dr Starkie, who was standing alone near the flagpole.

'I think you frightened her off, Tapper,' said Harry.

'Nonsense. More likely my arrival on the scene was the excuse she was waiting for to shake you off.'

'If you say so.'

'What she sees in that bloodless creep Starkie I can't imagine.'

'A mentor, I should think.'

'Should you? Well, your judgement isn't exactly flawless, is it, Ossie? Choosing Fission as a business partner doesn't say much for your powers of discrimination. From what Jabber's been telling us, he's still up to his old tricks. What was it? Chipchase Sheltered Holdings Ltd? Were you involved in that?'

'No. I wasn't. Were you?'

'Certainly not.'

'No reason to be so tetchy, then, is there?'

'What?'

'You'd be more of an expert than me on the etiquette of occasions like this, Tapper, but isn't the idea to have a pleasant little chat over a glass of champoo and admire the view?'

'Yes.' Tancred smiled through clenched teeth. 'Isn't that what we're doing?'

—«»—«»—«»—

They were joined by Judd, Gregson and Fripp, sparing Harry further verbal fencing with Tancred. He swiftly drifted to the margins of the group and, noticing that Wiseman had left Lloyd to join Dangerfield and Matthews, walked across to where the Welshman was leaning heavily against the wall flanking the door at the top of the spiral staircase. His face was flushed, sweat sheening his upper lip. His gaze was skittering and unfocused.

'This stuff goes straight to your head, doesn't it?' said Harry, raising his glass.

'It's not that,' said Lloyd huskily. 'Bloody vertigo. Came over me while I was standing by the parapet. And not just vertigo either. Something… weird.'

'Tapper said you'd… been up here before.'

'Feels like it.' Lloyd shook his head. 'God, this is… the strangest bloody thing.'

'Are you sure you're all right?'

'No. Matter of fact, I'm… sure I'm not.'

'You've had a long hard day, Jabber. You're probably just tired. We're not as young as we were.'

'Have you been up here before, Ossie?'

'No.'

'Sure?'

'Absolutely. It was always kept locked.'

'Yeah. It was, wasn't it? So, how did I get up here?'

'Maybe you didn't. We've all experienced déjà vu. It doesn't mean—'

'This means something.' Lloyd drained his glass. 'You can take my word for that.' He pushed himself away from the wall and clasped Harry by the elbow, swaying slightly as he did so. 'Do me a favour, will you, Ossie?'

'Sure.'

'Apologize to the others for me. I'm going down to my room. I need a lie-down. Might skip dinner. Ask them to send me up a sandwich later. I'd be sorry to, er, miss out on the… grand supper, but… I just can't… at the moment…' Lloyd's hand fell back to his side. 'I just can't. OK?'

'OK, Jabber. They'll understand. You take it easy.'

'Thanks. Don't worry. I'll be fine. I just need to rest.'

'Of course.'

'Yeah. A rest. OK. Thanks. I'll, er, see you, Ossie.'

Lloyd turned and started down the stairs, taking each step with exaggerated care, his hand grasping the rail tightly, like a man negotiating a ship's companionway in a storm. But there was no storm. Unless it was inside his head.

—«»—«»—«»—

Harry was never to speak to him again.