SIXTY-THREE

There was no sign of Erica in reception. Gretchen pointed helpfully towards the main entrance. 'She said she'd wait outside, Mr Barnett.'

'Thanks.' Harry plodded out apprehensively into a cool, leaden-skied morning. The Millennium Hotel fronted onto George Square, focal point of the city, round which rush-hour traffic was currently roaring. Erica was standing on the opposite side of the street from Harry, near the pelican crossing adjacent to the hotel. She was dressed in tracksuit and trainers, had her hands on her hips and was gazing expectantly in his direction.

She continued to study him as he waited for the crossing light to change in his favour. Harry struggled to put the brief interval this gave him for tactical deliberation to good use, but found his thoughts still fogged by the rudeness of his awakening. He had left a note for Donna: Gone for a stroll. Back soon. Order breakfast. That had sounded good to him and still did. But breakfast was already beginning to seem a distant and uncertain prospect. Yet Erica was alone. And George Square was as public a place as Harry could wish for. There was surely no threat to him. He felt marginally less anxious than when he left his room.

The traffic slowed to a halt. The green man lit up. Harry crossed. 'Good morning,' he said neutrally. 'Come a long way?'

'Haven't we both?' Erica nodded towards the hotel. 'Does Donna know you're meeting me?'

'Not yet. She's still asleep.'

'Jet lag?'

'It's just early, Erica. Unless you're a working girl.'

'Which I am. But you're right. It is early. As you can see, I was caught on the hop myself.'

'Caught by what?'

'Let's get away from this din.'

The light had changed back in favour of the traffic by then and a retreat from the noise was welcome. They headed into the centre of the square, dominated by Glasgow's answer to Nelson's Column — a statue of Sir Walter Scott perched on a lofty pillar — and commenced a slow circuit round the plinth at its base.

'I thought we should have a word before the police contacted you. They've told me what happened yesterday.'

'I'm sure they have.'

'But this morning… there was an unexpected development.'

'Oh yes?'

'Wiseman was found dead in his cell a couple of hours ago.'

Harry said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

'You don't seem very surprised.'

'I've had lot of surprises lately. Maybe I'm developing an immunity.'

'They think it was a heart attack. There'll have to be a post mortem, obviously.'

'Obviously.'

'He may have had an ongoing heart condition, of course. But then a man of his age would be under a lot of stress in such a situation even if he was in perfect health.'

'Oh yes. Men of his age can find all sorts of situation stressful.'

'You seem to have coped pretty well with recent events. But then you've had more experience than most of such things.'

'Have I?'

'There's a file on you, Harry. Not such a slim one either. I've taken a look at it. Interesting reading. Very interesting.'

'Perhaps I should ask to see it myself. Under the Freedom of Information Act.'

'I wouldn't if I were you.'

'No?'

'How's Barry?'

'Getting better, thanks.'

'Good.'

There was a momentary silence between them. Then Harry said, 'Well, it was… kind of you to bring me the news… about Wiseman.'

'Not really. But I have been kind to you. Kinder than you know. Let me explain how things stand. With Wiseman dead, there'll be no trial. No trial, no publicity. Operation Clean Sheet stays forgotten. That's how we'd like it to be. That's how it can be. If you behave sensibly. And Barry too, of course. I'll assume you speak for him in this. I can guarantee all the police investigations involving you will be dropped. You'll be able to go back to Canada and your life with Donna and Daisy. And Barry will be able to go back to… whatever he does best. Provided you agree to accept the status quo, that is. Provided you undertake not to rock the boat. Make waves and there's a danger you may drown in them. Which would be regrettable. And unnecessary. When you have so much to live for.'

'I have, yes.'

'I've read the transcript of your conversation with Wiseman. My interpretation of your comments immediately following his denial of responsibility for Dangerfield's death is that you didn't believe him. Is that correct?'

'Absolutely.' It was the lie that had to be told. Dangerfield, fair-minded fellow that he was, would have understood why. But, still, it was a hard thing to have to do. Harry silently tendered his old comrade a heartfelt apology.

'Good. And Chief Inspector Knox tells me the unrecorded remark Wiseman made to you towards the end of the conversation was actually “I don't regret a thing”. Is that also correct?'

'It is.'

'You're never likely to present some other version?'

'I'll stick to what I told Knox. There'll be no other version. Ever.'

'Good.'

'Mind if I ask a few questions?'

'Please do.'

'Has Dr Starkie gone home yet?'

'No. But he will soon. Very soon.'

'And Ailsa Redpath? What's going to happen to her?'

'Nothing. The Procurator Fiscal will conclude she killed the man calling himself Frank in a legitimate act of self-defence. He'll also conclude, in the light of this morning's development, that no purpose would be served by a continuing investigation of the circumstances surrounding the events of two days ago.'

'That's neat.'

'I'm glad you approve.'

'And the others. Fripp, Gregson, Judd and Tancred. They'll be… left to get on with their lives?'

'Everyone will, Harry. As long as you let them.'

'Me? You've nothing to worry about there. I've always been a live-and-let-live sort of bloke.'

'That's what I thought.'

They halted, facing the hotel. Pedestrians passed them en route across the square. The traffic continued to surge round it. A flight of pigeons lifted off from the war memorial away to their right. The world went on moving. 'Tell me, Erica,' Harry said slowly, 'is MRQS still being used?'

'Not as such.'

'What does that mean?'

'I think you should be getting back now. But before you do…' She unzipped a pocket in her tracksuit top and took out two passports, held together by a rubber band. 'Returned by the Grampian police. Your passport — and Barry's.'

Harry took them from her outstretched hand. And waited for the answer to his question that he suspected he was never going to get.

Erica smiled. 'That means you're free to go.'