SEVENTEEN

Sweet Gale Lodge was, by Dangerfield's own admission, absurdly large for one man to live in. A terracotta-tiled, snow-white-rendered villa with a domed conservatory attached to one side and a triple garage big enough to accommodate the local Fire Brigade to the other, it sat starkly in an avenue of older, mellower, more discreet residences on the southwestern fringe of the city. A career in the oil industry, Harry concluded, had left Dangerfield well provided for.

The presence of a decrepit old Renault out front indicated that the cleaning lady was on the premises. Dangerfield led Harry through the vast, open-plan lounge, half of which was double-height, overlooked by a gallery landing, to the modernistic kitchen. There they found a broad-hipped, bustling woman of about fifty, with short, grey-streaked hair and apple-red cheeks, dressed in jeans and a Fair Isle sweater, heaving a load of shirts and underwear into the washing machine.

'This is Harry, Shona,' said Dangerfield. 'He'll be here for a few days.'

'You never said you were having another of your old soldiers to stay,' Shona good-naturedly complained.

'We were airmen, Shona, not soldiers,' Dangerfield retorted. 'And Harry'll cause you no problem. He can take Barry's room.'

'What about when Barry comes back?'

'If he comes back, we'll both be happy to stall him with a host of questions while you make up another room.'

'Och well, I suppose…'

'Good. I'll leave Shona to show you where everything is, Harry, while I drop the minibus back. I won't be long.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Barry's room was as generously proportioned as the rest of the house and as minimally furnished, with a king-size bed, a pair of bedside cabinets, and a walk-in wardrobe ready to swallow Harry and his few belongings.

After dumping his bag and stowing his toothbrush and shaving kit in the equally oversized en-suite bathroom, Harry made his way down through the parqueted wastes of the lounge back to the kitchen, where Shona had promised him coffee.

She was talking on the telephone when he entered, explaining that Dangerfield was out. Then she mentioned Harry's name, which surprised him more than a little. And then she crowned his surprise by offering him the receiver.

'It's the polis,' she said, telegraphing her irritation that no-one had warned her she might have to field calls from the boys in blue.

Reluctantly, Harry took the receiver. 'Harry Barnett here.'

'Ah, Mr Barnett. Excellent. Detective Sergeant McBride here, Grampian Police.' He sounded brisk and businesslike. 'Detective Inspector Geddes of the Tayside force gave us to understand you'd be staying with Mr Dangerfield on this number.'

'Well, so I am.'

'Indeed. Now, would you be willing to call in at the station here in Aberdeen later today? This afternoon, perhaps.'

'What for?'

'We were hoping you'd agree to be fingerprinted.'

Fingerprinted? This sounded ominous. 'Why, Sergeant?'

'For the purposes of elimination, sir. We may be able to lift some prints from Mr Wiseman's car, you see.'

'I never went near his car.'

'Then you've nothing to worry about.'

'I know,' Harry said, trying to drain the terseness out of his voice.

'Good. So, you'll come in?'

'Well, I—'

'Oh, our colleagues in Tayside would appreciate a DNA sample as well. Likewise for elimination purposes. It's a very straightforward procedure.'

'That may be, but—'

'Inspector Geddes said you were keen to help in any way you could.'

'Yes. Of course. But—'

'So, shall we say about three o'clock?'

Harry's mind raced. He really did have nothing to worry about. He had not touched Wiseman's hire car. He had not laid a finger on Askew. Why, then, did he feel he was being lured into doing something he would come to regret?

'Sir?'

'OK, Sergeant.' Harry sighed. 'About three.'

As he put the phone down, Shona plonked a steaming mug of coffee on the marble-topped breakfast bar beside him. 'There you go.'

'Thanks.' Harry sat on one of the stools spaced around the bar and took a sip from the mug.

'This all about the car crash near Aboyne — and the fellow who fell out of the train down Carnoustie way?'

'You heard about them, then?' Harry was not surprised. Everyone seemed to have heard.

'It was all on the local news.'

'Yes. Of course it was.'

'Your reunion didna' exactly go to plan.'

'Far from it.'

'Heard from Barry?'

'No. Has he phoned here?'

'It's no for me to check Mr Dangerfield's answering machine. He'll likely do it himself later.'

Mr Dangerfield, then, but not Mr Chipchase. To Shona he was Barry. 'Barry and I…'

'Are old friends. Aye. He said so.'

'Did he?'

'“It'll be good to see my old mate Harry again.” Those were his very words. Sat where you're sat now, drinking coffee, just the same. Then he got a message about his sister, so Mr Dangerfield tells me, and had to rush off to Manchester.'

'Yeah.'

'Must have been a shock. Did you know the woman?'

'Far as I know, Shona, Barry's an only child.'

Shona frowned. 'An only child?'

'Both his grandmothers died at least twice while we were in the RAF. Looks like he's still pulling the same stunts.'

'But… why?'

'That's what the police want to know.'

'They surely don't think… he had anything to do with…'

'They do. And they've roped me in as a suspect as well, on account of Barry and me being old friends and former business partners.' Harry shaped a mock-courageous smile. 'But don't worry about it.'

'I shan't.' Her frown deepened. 'Maybe you should, though.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Dangerfield evidently agreed with Shona. He suggested Harry should consult a solicitor before pitching up at Aberdeen Police HQ and offered to put him in touch with one. Harry demurred. The best way to demonstrate his innocence was to arrive sans legal adviser, co-operate fully and keep smiling throughout.

'Innocence isn't far from naivety,' Dangerfield counselled as he leafed through a copy of that morning's Press and Journal: the Voice of the North, then swivelled the paper round on the breakfast bar for Harry to see and pointed to an article on page 7. 'Read that. I'll be straight back.'

MYSTERY OF FATAL DEESIDE CAR CRASH

Police are investigating the circumstances that led to a car crashing off the B976 near Aboyne yesterday into the river Dee, killing one of its two occupants. The dead man was named as Mervyn Lloyd, 69, from Cardiff, who was attending a RAF reunion at Kilveen Castle Hotel, near Lumphanan, along with the driver of the car, Neville Wiseman, 71, from London. Mr Wiseman survived and is reported to be in a satisfactory condition in Aberdeen Royal Infirmary.

Detective Chief Inspector Graeme Ferguson of Grampian Police said he was not ruling out a connection with the unexplained death of another participant in the reunion, Peter Askew, 69, also from Cardiff, whose body was found beside the main East Coast railway line near Carnoustie on Friday. He went on to pay tribute to a passing motorist who came to Mr Wiseman's aid and appealed for anyone who had information relating to either of the deaths to contact him in confidence.

'Spot the missing words?' Dangerfield asked as he returned to the kitchen.

'What d'you mean?'

'They don't say it was an accident, do they? Or that Crooked's death was suicide. That's because they don't believe they were.'

'They'll have to, in the end.'

'Maybe. Meanwhile, you ought to watch your back, Harry. I don't like how this is panning out. I've just checked the answerphone, by the way.'

'Anything from Barry?'

Dangerfield rolled his eyes. 'What do you think?'