SIXTY-TWO

After Wiseman's arrest Harry was taken to the ground-floor office on the southern side of the square which had served as Knox's observation post. Wiseman was en route to Strathclyde Police HQ for questioning by then, having cast Harry an enigmatic glance of farewell through the window of the squad car as he was driven away. The operation had ended in the smooth success Knox had confidently anticipated. He shook Harry by the hand in a congratulatory fashion. An air of quiet satisfaction hung over the comings and goings of the junior members of his team. All had ended well.

'Thank you for your assistance, Mr Barnett. It's been invaluable.'

'Am I free to go now?'

'Certainly. But it'd be appreciated if you could remain close at hand for a little longer. We might need to check a few things with you. This is a complicated case and no mistake.'

'How close?'

'I was thinking… here in Glasgow. We've booked you and your wife into a city-centre hotel for a couple of nights. Well, we don't need to hide you out at Milngavie now there's no danger of you bumping into our chief suspect before we're ready for him, do we? Your wife's already on her way to the hotel, as a matter of fact. A couple of Strathclyde WPCs met her off her flight. So, why don't you relax there? Visit your friend in hospital. Maybe take in a few sights. We'll be in touch as soon as we need to be.'

'All right.'

'One thing, though. We couldn't pick up something Wiseman said to you. Just before you vacated the bench. From what I could see on the monitor, he seemed to be whispering into your ear.'

'He was.'

'And what did he whisper?'

'“I don't regret a thing,”' Harry lied. 'That's all.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Harry phoned the hospital before leaving Blythswood Square to find out if there had been any change in Chipchase's condition. Why he expected to hear bad news he could not afterwards have explained; he was not pessimistic by nature. Whatever the reason, though, his expectation was confounded. 'There's been a big improvement overnight,' the sister informed him. 'Mr Chipchase is sitting up and taking notice. He'll probably be on a general ward before the end of the day. The doctor's very pleased with him.'

—«»—«»—«»—

So it was that Harry was able to greet Donna at the Millennium Hotel with the broadest smile he had worn in many weeks, though not as broad as the one with which she greeted him.

'Hi, hon,' she said, hugging him close. 'Is it good to see you! There have been times this last couple of weeks—'

Harry silenced her with a kiss and gazed warmly into her eyes. 'Don't say it. I'm sorry for all the worry I've put you through. Let's leave it at that.'

'Leave it? You must be kidding. I want to hear every last detail.'

'And you will. But remember: it's over now. However hair-raising some of it may sound, it is over.'

'Thank the good Lord for that.'

Harry nodded. 'Amen.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Two hours later, they were seated at Chipchase's hospital bedside. He had been moved from intensive care to a private room. A large bandage covered his head, which had been shaved prior to the craniotomy, and a drip was attached to a cannula in his right arm. In the circumstances, he had no right to look as well as, strangely, he did.

His memory of recent events, however, was patchy. 'A spot of amnesia's only to be expected, according to the doc.'

'There's a lot of it about,' said Harry with a smile. 'I'll fill you in on the ins and outs of our latest exploits next time I come in.'

'But we are in the clear, right?'

'Absolutely.'

'Great. Now, what do you mean by “next time I come in”? Won't Donna be with you?'

'Do you want me to be?' Donna asked.

'Too bloody right I do, darlin'. I want you to see me a good bit closer to my normal irresistible self. Then Harry will really have something to worry about.' Chipchase winked. 'Know what I mean?'

—«»—«»—«»—

'According to Marvin's researches, some of the US troops they allegedly experimented on with MRQS in the fifties tried to sue the Defense Department,' said Donna over an early lunch in a cafe back in the city centre. 'The action failed for lack of evidence, of course, but…'

'You think I should sue the MoD?'

'No. But there's bound to be hard evidence now for someone to act on. Or there will be when Wiseman stands trial.'

'If he stands trial.'

'Why shouldn't he?'

'No reason. Except he doesn't expect to.'

'Pardon me?'

'It was almost the last thing he said to me before they arrested him. In a whisper, so they didn't pick it up on the microphone. “I'll never make it to court.”'

'What made him say that?'

'I don't know. But if it's true he wasn't responsible for Dangerfield's death…'

'My God. They wouldn't do that, would they?'

'I'm not sure. But I'll tell you what I am sure of. Whatever happens to Wiseman — if anything does — I won't be challenging it. And I won't be suing anyone. It was difficult enough to get off this particular hook. I don't intend to do anything that might get me back on it.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Relieved that Chipchase was on the mend and their shared troubles — bar a lot of no doubt time-consuming police paperwork — were over, Harry managed for the rest of the day to do just what Knox had recommended: he relaxed. Ordinarily, he would have pulled a face at Donna's suggestion of a visit to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, such places tending to leave him weak at the ankles and yawning uncontrollably. But the prospect of strolling around anywhere with his wife was deliriously appealing after all he had been through. And she promised him they could go to a pub afterwards.

As fate would have it, the Kelvingrove was closed for refurbishment and they ended up in the Transport Museum on the other side of the road, where the vintage cars and venerable steam engines were actually of more interest to Harry than to Donna. As he explained to her later over a pint, it only confirmed what he was slowly coming to believe: his luck had changed at last.

—«»—«»—«»—

Dinner at a good restaurant rounded off their day of unlooked-for contentment, marred only slightly by the knowledge that another parting was not far off. Donna would have to return to Vancouver as soon as possible to appease her ireful head of department. A week or so at least seemed likely to pass before Harry could join her. But this time, he promised, he would be accepting no out-of-the-blue invitations to far-flung get-togethers. This time, he would be caution personified.

'It's the quiet life for me after this, Donna. For us.'

'Not too quiet, I hope.'

'Unlikely, with Daisy around.'

'She's missed you.'

'And I've missed her. But we'll all be together soon.'

'I'll drink to that.' Donna raised her glass.

And Harry raised his. 'Cheers.'

—«»—«»—«»—

The bedside telephone roused Harry shortly before eight o'clock the following morning. It had been a late night — and a delightfully energetic one. A long lie-in was what Harry's sluggish thought processes told him he needed. But the telephone did not stop ringing. A glance at Donna revealed her to be out for the count. He grabbed the receiver. 'Hello?' he said in a sandpapery sotto voice.

'Gretchen at the front desk here, Mr Barnett,' trilled a birdsong-bright female voice. 'Sorry to disturb you, but there's a lady in reception who wants to speak to you. She says it's very important.'

'Who is she?'

'Her name's Rawson. Erica Rawson.'

Ah, Erica. Of course. Why had he not anticipated this? He rubbed his eyes and tried to concentrate, wondering whether his change of luck might not be as wholesale as he had fondly imagined.

'Mr Barnett?'

'Tell Miss Rawson I'll be right down.'