‘She volunteered.’ My beloved had his soothing voice on now: like dark honey poured over a sore throat. ‘Come on, Letty. She and I are partners. You know that. And we didn’t obstruct the police.’
‘That’s a debatable point, Daniel. I am strongly tempted to handcuff the lot of you and bring you in for questioning. But what I really want to know is: what the bloody hell are you doing here, of all places? Are you completely out of your minds?’
I gave her my most dazzling smile. ‘I told you we were looking for a lost dog. That was absolutely true.’
‘And here he is,’ put in Alasdair from the front seat. He lifted the dog in his sling. Geordie wagged his tail weakly, blinked, and tucked his head back into the harness.
Letty abandoned Daniel and me, opened the front passenger door and looked from Alasdair to Geordie and back again. ‘Who are you?’
He saluted. ‘Sergeant Alasdair Sinclair, British Army, retired, ma’am. And this is Geordie.’ Hearing his name spoken, Geordie’s head reappeared briefly to say hello.
Letty shook her head wearily. The bullhorn was still issuing orders, flames could be heard crackling behind us, sirens still resounded through the baking plains of Kilmarnock, as far as we could tell the walls and roof were falling in, but we had eyes and ears only for her. ‘Well, Sergeant Sinclair, would you care to tell me what this is all about?’
‘These bastards stole ma dog from me in the city. I sustained a number of injuries defending meself and Geordie. He and I went through a lot together in Afghanistan, and I wanted him back. So I engaged Daniel to find him.’
Letty’s mouth opened once or twice. ‘Why on earth would they steal – no, wait. They wanted him to check for explosives, yes?’
‘That’s right. And Geordie knew all along there were explosives there, but he didn’t tell them because they didn’t know the right words. Geordie only answers to commands in the Gàidhlig.’
‘Garlic? What? Oh, never mind. I don’t care. So if I arrest the lot of you on a charge of police obstruction, your defence is that you were looking for a lost dog, and the fact that it happened to coincide with a bigger and more important crime was pure coincidence, is that it? All right. I’ve seen the dog. Get out of here.’ She fished in her pocket for the keys and returned them to Timbo. ‘Just make sure you drive straight ahead and clear right out of the area.’
‘Soggies taken over the crime scene?’ Daniel ventured.
‘Yes, Daniel, they have. They’ve been standing by all day. Because I was expecting this to blow up today and we called them in as soon as the shooting started. Luckily for you, I don’t think you precipitated the shootout, otherwise you really would be helping me with my enquiries. Off you go. Straight ahead till the T-junction, then turn right and don’t come back here for any reason whatever.’
Dismissed, we slunk away towards the T-junction.
For those unfamiliar with our police force’s ultimate weapon in crisis management, the Soggies, or Sons of God – their real name is the Special Operations Group – are the ones who do most of the shooting. I thoroughly approve of this, as does everyone acquainted with them. We do not want rank-and-file cops blazing away blammity-blam and shooting anything that moves. If there is to be a shooting war, it is carried out by the Soggies. They are without exception experienced marksmen and women who do not fire off ordnance out of animal high spirits. They can stake out a target for hours on end. They will shoot when instructed to, and not otherwise. They are quite happy to hold fire, should fire not be required. Because this is Australia, and we do not worship firearms or constitutional amendments.
I let out my breath slowly. We really had got away with it all. We had the dog, we had solved most of our mysteries, and we were still in one piece. I wondered about this. ‘Daniel, are we all right? Please tell me we still have all our necessary bits. Please tell me that we aren’t dead, and merely imagining that we’ve escaped.’
He took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Can you feel my hand, ketschele?’
‘I can. It feels warm, alive and reliable. And you’ve still got soot on your face.’
‘So have you. I think we’re alive.’
‘Erm, well.’ Alasdair turned to face us. ‘I’d say we’re definitely alive, because my arm hurts. The fact that I’ve got Geordie back might be no more than the fulfilment of a dream, but I doubt I’d be hurtin’ so much in the afterlife.’
‘I notice you came out of the yard with an impressive dive under the door, Alasdair.’ I looked at him. He seemed to have escaped the blanketing cloud of soot. Maybe as a soldier he had special soot-avoidance skills. ‘What were you looking for, if I may ask?’
‘Clearing our line of retreat. I wanted to make sure there was no one behind us.’
‘And please,’ I wanted to know, ‘how did you find the combination? I’ve been wondering, but there wasn’t any time to ask before.’
He gave a short bark of fox-like laughter.
‘I tried 1-2-3-4. It’s amazing how often that works. Where are we going, Corinna? Because this poor wee doggie is seriously underfed.’ I saw him stroking Geordie through the sling. ‘He’s no’ been eatin’ much, I guess. ‘Ach, mo chu!’ Alasdair’s voice died away into muttered Highland endearments.
‘I’d like that too,’ Timbo volunteered. ‘I’m fresh out of supplies.’
‘All right.’ Daniel closed his eyes for a minute. ‘There’s a Nando’s not far from here. Do you know it, Timbo?’
‘Oh yeah!’
‘Good. Let’s go there. Immediately. I’m starving.’
Alasdair looked at him doubtfully. ‘Will they serve Geordie as well?’
‘They will if we go to that one. The owner owes me a favour.’
‘A big favour?’
‘Tolerably big. He was being stood over for protection by a certain family – no, not the Petrosians this time – but I persuaded them to back off and leave him alone.’
‘Guid for you.’
And so it was that twenty minutes later we were seated at a sidewalk cafe. Daniel was tucking into a splendid-looking paella and Alasdair was devouring a terrifying peri-peri chicken. Perspiration streamed down his face, but he didn’t even seem to notice it. I recalled that hot curries are the national dish of Scotland. I would not have approached it without fireproof gauntlets myself. I had chosen a chicken, bacon and avocado salad. It tasted heavenly. Sometimes simple, well-cooked food is just what you want, especially after narrowly avoiding being blown up or shot.
Beside us, Geordie was tucking into a metal water bowl filled with raw chicken pieces, courtesy of our grateful host. I gazed at our rescue dog. Alasdair’s left hand was stroking the fur around his head. Geordie was a medium-small, happy little fellow with a whiteish coat and a few black spots indicating that some near ancestor had been fraternising with a cast member from One Hundred and One Dalmatians. If dogs could purr, he would be purring.
I looked back at Alasdair. The haunted, despairing look on his face I remembered had vanished. I looked at the imperturbable Timbo, steadily working his way through a supersized plate like a front-end loader through a gravel pit. And I looked at my beloved Daniel, wielding his knife and fork with quiet pleasure. We raised our glasses of iced cola and clinked them together.