Hostage to Murder

  “You ended up on tequila slammers with wee Ian Harvey,” Sandra said. “That was after five gin and tonics, two Zombies, several bottles of that disgusting lemon alcopop and a rum and Coke.”

  Rory groaned. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. Now I know it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  Annie dumped a cappuccino in front of her and shook her head in disgust. “You need a Bloody Mary,” she said.

  Rory shuddered. “No, don’t. Remember we’ve got a Human Rights Act now.”

  “Look, Lindsay got the splash and spread,” Sandra said, waving the paper in front of her.

  Rory managed a wan smile. “That should put you back on the map, babe. Me, I wouldn’t have touched the story, but you were right to go with your instincts.”

  Sandra finished her coffee and her cigarette. “I’m out of here,” she announced. “I’ve got to meet some guy at the modern art gallery. Apparently he makes sculptures out of sex toys. Which probably means he’ll win the Turner Prize next year.”

  They watched her leave in silence. Then Rory looked blearily at Lindsay. “You’re awful quiet for a woman who should be celebrating her return to the big league. Is it just out of respect for my hangover ? Or is there something I should know about?”

  “There is something. But it’s not what you think,” Lindsay added hastily, seeing the hurt spring up in Rory’s eyes. “This is not about us.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Sophie’s pregnant.”

  Rory’s eyebrows arched. “Is she sure?”

  “She’s a fucking obstetrician, Rory. Of course she’s sure,” Lindsay snapped.

  “OK, OK, don’t take it out on me.” She reached across the table and covered Lindsay’s clenched fist with her hand. “How are you feeling about it?”

  Lindsay sighed. “I don’t know. Scared, mostly. It’s like everything in my life is going to change, and I have no idea how. I feel like I’ve got no choices, no control over what happens next. And I’ve just got to go with it.”

  “Sounds about right to me. Because you’re not about to leave her, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. I know you’re the last person I should be saying this to, but I love her. I can’t face the thought of losing her.”

  Rory shook her head. “Who else would understand that better than me? Of course you’re scared. Anybody in your shoes would be. She’s sprung this on you, backed you into a corner and given you no choice about something that is totally life changing. But you’ve got nine months to get your head round the idea. And for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a great parent.”

  “Thanks. Look, can we talk about this another time? I just wanted you to know, but I think I’m still in a state of shock.”

  “Sure.” Rory rubbed her eyes then yawned. “I’m supposed to be meeting Giles for lunch. Do you think I’ll live that long?”

  Lindsay grinned. “Probably. I’m going to stay here and plough through the local papers. And maybe a punter will bring me a wee titbit of a story, given that we’ve been away for the best part of a week and there must be something somebody’s dying to tell us.”

  Rory stretched and yawned again. “Oh God, I’d better go.” She slid out of the seat and turned to go.

  “You really shouldn’t have got so drunk,” Lindsay said, amusement in her voice.

  Rory glanced over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have made me miss you.” She poked her furred tongue out at Lindsay. “Only joking. But it was worth it for the look on your face.”

  Only joking? Lindsay thought. She fervently hoped so. Because the only way she was going to be able to keep her own divided emotions under control was by convincing herself that Rory did not, would not, could not feel the same turbulent surge of emotion and desire that had her in its grip. Believing that, Lindsay could stick to the conviction that revelation would only lead her to rejection. Keep it light, that was the way to deal with it.

  How hard could that be?

  Patrick Coughlan stared at the newspaper spread across his desk. He’d been relieved when Michael had called him the previous evening to report that Bernadette had turned up at Glasgow Airport with the boy and her husband and that they’d gone straight home. The couple of days she’d been out of his reach had made him edgy and tense, something which both his staff and his perpetually embittered wife Mary could attest to. Knowing she was back where he could put his hand on her whenever he wanted to was satisfying.

  But he’d been horrified by Michael’s call suggesting he get hold of a copy of that morning’s Scottish Daily Standard. He’d sent one of his counter girls straight down to the big newsagent’s in town to pick up a copy. And there she was, plastered all over the paper again, complete with the dramatic story of her husband’s rescue of the boy from a Russian park. The man clearly had more balls than brains, Patrick thought. He supposed he should be grateful to Tam Gourlay for doing his work for him, because there was no denying that any threat to the boy was what kept Bernadette firmly in line.

  But Patrick was far from happy. He had a sneaking suspicion that Bernadette was trying to outflank him. Perhaps she thought that if she kept herself in the public eye, it would make him back off.

  She couldn’t be more wrong, he decided grimly. If she wanted to play this game out in the full glare of the media, so be it. He’d give them something to write about. Something she couldn’t argue with. Something that would surely make her hand over what was rightfully his. Something very special indeed.

  Rory groaned. “It’s not nice to mock the afflicted, Giles,” she complained, warily sipping the glass of brandy he’d insisted she drink.

  “I’m not mocking, Rory,” Giles said. “I’m telling you the truth. Madonna and Guy are absolutely not buying a house in Drymen.”

  “Oh well, you lose some and you lose some.” But even through her bleariness, Rory could tell there was more that Giles wasn’t telling her. There was a twinkle in his eye that suggested there was more to come. “What?” she said. “You’re not telling me the whole story here.”

  Giles nodded. “Well spotted. Your tip did check out, in the sense that I managed to find three top notch estate agents who finally admitted that yes, they’d been showing properties to Madonna. So I got on to her people, and they were adamant that I was mistaken. So I gave them a list of dates when my contacts said that Madonna had been in Glasgow looking at Scottish estates. And her PA came back with a list of other places where she’d definitely been on those dates.”

  Rory had perked up at the sniff of a mystery. “How very curious,” she said.

  “So while you were in Russia, I made some other calls and I found an estate agent in Perth who had been approached by someone purporting to be representing Madonna. They’d made arrangements to view an estate near Gleneagles. So I turned up with a pic man and we fronted up the alleged Madonna and her PA, who had, incidentally, stayed the previous night in a suite at Gleneagles at the estate agency’s expense.” He paused for effect.

  Rory leaned forward. “And? Come on, the suspense is killing me.”

  Giles grinned. “ ‘Madonna’ turned out to be an unemployed actress from Edinburgh. She and her mate had hit on this scheme for getting freebies from estate agents. They’ve been swagging nights in luxury hotels, free meals, limos, the lot, from these estate agents desperate to flog their prestige properties to a celeb client. A lovely little con, really.”

  Rory burst out laughing. “Gotta love it,” she said. “So what happens now?”

  ‘We’re running the story across six and seven tomorrow.”

  “And what about the women? Are the agents going to have them prosecuted for fraud?”

  Giles shrugged. “I suspect the estate agencies will let it lie. It makes them look too silly if they go to the cops. So, although it didn’t quite stand up, we ended up with something even better.”

  “You know, that story is the best hangover cure I’ve come across in ages.” She raised her glass. “You made my day, Giles.”


  “All part of the service. Now, tell me all about Russia.”

  Chapter 20

  Lindsay’s prediction had come true. Just after the lunchtime rush, a middle-aged man with cropped hair and the smartest leather jacket she’d seen in a long time eased into the booth opposite her. “Are you Rory McLaren?” he asked.

  “I’m her business partner. Lindsay Gordon. Anything you were going to tell Rory, you can tell me.”

  He looked slightly dubious. “I don’t know. The friend who told me I could trust Rory, he didn’t say anything about you.”

  Lindsay gave him her most reassuring smile. “That’s probably because we’ve not been working together very long. Look, I understand your reluctance, and if you want to come back another time when Rory’s here, I’m not going to be offended. But you’re here now. You might as well do what you came for.”

  “I need to be sure you’ll keep me out of this,” he said. “It could cost me my job if it comes back on me.”

  Sensing a thaw, Lindsay nodded. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve been keeping confidential sources under wraps for years.” She pulled a self-mocking face. “It’s got so my girlfriend complains I won’t even tell her where I get my gossip from.”

  Forty minutes later, Lindsay was in possession of the bare bones of a story that she thought could be dynamite. Her source was a Senior House Officer at a city hospital, and he was concerned because surgical equipment designated for single use only was being employed several times. “It’s not hygienic, and with some pieces of equipment, it’s just not safe,” he’d told her. “We’ve already had a couple of near-tragedies on the operating table, and it’s only a matter of time before somebody dies.” He’d given her several leads to follow up, and she was looking forward to bottoming the story.

  By the time she’d finished writing up her notes of the interview, it was too late to start work on the investigation. Rory still wasn’t back from lunch, and Lindsay guessed she might have taken her hangover home to bed. She might as well take an early cut herself. On the way home, she stopped to buy a huge bouquet of designer flowers for Sophie, secure in the knowledge that the Sentinel’s coverage of the kidsnatch story would mean she could pay for it out of her own pocket.

  Although she was home before five, Sophie was there before her, feet up in the living room, a pile of papers on her lap. “Good to see you’re taking care of yourself,” Lindsay said, presenting the flowers with a flourish.

  “They’re beautiful,” Sophie exclaimed, pulling Lindsay down so she could kiss her. “Thank you. I decided to bring some work home with me because I was feeling a bit sick. Of course, it passed as soon as I got back here, so now I feel like a fraud.”

  “You’re pregnant, you’ve got to look after yourself,” Lindsay said gruffly, leaving the room to put the flowers in water. When she came back, Sophie had put her work to one side.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “Did you see the Sentinel ?” Lindsay asked, placing the vase on the floor in front of the fireplace.

  Sophie’s hand shot up to cover her mouth in an expression of horror. “Oh, Lindsay, I’m sorry. It completely slipped my mind.”

  Trying not to show her disappointment, Lindsay shrugged. “No big deal. It’s not like you’ve never seen me get a splash and spread before. Besides, it wouldn’t do your street cred any good in the university to be seen reading the tabloid press.”

  “I’m really sorry, love. I know it was important to you, I should have remembered.”

  Lindsay perched on the arm of the sofa. “Well, at least my business partner noticed. And was impressed.”

  “I’m glad. She seems like a nice kid, Rory.”

  “Hardly a kid, Sophie. She’s been in the game a good few years, she’s running a freelance business that’s successful enough for her to be able to give me a job.”

  “I guess it’s a sign of old age, when the journalists start to look like children,” Sophie said, trying to make light of it.

  “I told you we were too old for this parenthood business,” Lindsay said, not entirely joking.

  “You underestimate yourself, Lindsay. And besides, a child will keep us young.”

  Lindsay winced. “I’m not sure I want to be young. Rory came in this morning with the hangover from hell. You should have seen her. I swear to God her face was green, and the whites of her eyes were somewhere between pink and yellow. She’d been out clubbing with her pal Sandra till all hours. It sounds like they drank a distillery between them. I think I do old better.”

  “Well, that’s hardly a mature attitude to business, turning up in a state like that. It’s not exactly going to inspire confidence in the sources or the customers.”

  “Come on, you know how drinking still goes with the territory here in Scotland. Rory’s perfectly capable of doing what she needs to do, regardless of how much she’s had to drink or how little sleep she’s had.” Even as she spoke, Lindsay realised how protective she sounded. Careful, she warned herself.

  “I didn’t realise that working with Rory meant you had to become her staunch defender too,” Sophie said, a spike of malice in her voice.

  “Feeling a bit hormonal, are we?” Lindsay flashed back at her.

  “Don’t turn it back on me, Lindsay. This is your reaction we’re talking about.”

  “Well, you don’t even know her, and here you are, sitting in judgement on her. You’ve no idea what she’s like.”

  Sophie cocked her head on one side. “So what is she like?”

  “She’s very smart, she’s good company, she’s very funny and she’s totally professional. Believe me, we were in a couple of tight spots in Russia, and she was absolutely on the ball. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have had in my corner.”

  “So I gathered from your conversation over dinner last night. Rory this, Rory that, Rory the next thing. You sounded like a teenager with a crush.”

  Lindsay stood up abruptly and walked across the room to the window. “Now you’re talking rubbish. Come on, Soph, we’d just come back from a really dangerous job, running on adrenaline. Of course I had to decompress, talk it out of my system.”

  Sophie raised her eyebrows a fraction. “And that’s all it was?”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply,” Lindsay said, forcing outrage into her voice. She didn’t quite know how it had happened, but she was out there on the thinnest of ice, hearing it creak under her words. She’d never believed in lying to Sophie and she didn’t want to start now.

  “It’s not like you to be lost for words.”

  “Well, maybe that’s a sign I’m finally acquiring the maturity I’m going to need if I’m going to be a parent.”

  “If ?”

  Lindsay sighed. “OK, when.”

  “You don’t sound very certain.”

  “I’m certain.”

  “You sure Rory would approve of her new employee embarking on parenthood?”

  “This has got nothing to do with Rory. You know I love you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “Suddenly we’re on to love? Where did that come from, Lindsay? Why are you hiding behind declarations of love? More to the point, what are you hiding?”

  Lindsay shook her head in frustration. “I can’t talk to you when you’re in this kind of mood. I’m going to cook the dinner.”

  “Never mind dinner.” Now Sophie was on her feet, moving to cut off Lindsay’s route to the door. They faced each other, a couple of feet apart. Sophie tried to keep the fear that had burned in her for days out of her voice. “We need to talk about this. I know when you’re hiding stuff from me, Lindsay. Are you sleeping with her?”

  Lindsay’s eyes widened in shock. She’d never had any problem with avoiding the truth when bullshit was the route to nailing a story. But she had never looked Sophie in the eye and delivered absolute falsehood. “This is stupid,” she said, trying to find a way round the question.

  “Answer the question, L
indsay. Yes or no. Are you fucking Rory?” Sophie’s face was white, her whole body tense as a gun dog on point. She’d forced this moment of truth and she couldn’t back away from it now, whatever the cost.

  Lindsay closed her eyes momentarily. “I slept with her.”

  The words hung in the air, vibrating with a terrible life of their own. Sophie gasped, then slapped Lindsay so hard her ears rang. Lindsay recoiled, her hand automatically going to her scarlet cheek. “You bastard,” Sophie said in tones of utter contempt. “You absolute bastard. I’m sitting here, going off my head because I don’t know if I’m pregnant or not, and you’re escaping from your life, shagging some bimbo in St Petersburg.”

  “Look, that’s not how it was,” Lindsay said, groping fruitlessly for a response that wasn’t a wretched cliché.

  “That’s exactly how it was.” Tears stung Sophie’s eyes and she turned away to prevent Lindsay seeing her pain.

  “You make it sound like I had it all planned out.” Lindsay put out a hand to Sophie, who shrugged it off violently.

  “Well, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I didn’t. Jesus, Sophie, what do you take me for?”

  Sophie turned back, eyes blazing. “I take you for a coward, Lindsay. Hedging your bets. ‘If Sophie’s pregnant, hey, that’s OK, I can just run off into the sunset with Rory.’ ”

  “You’re so wrong,” Lindsay said desperately. “What happened between me and Rory was not about you.”

  “No, it was all about your perennial bloody selfishness. You don’t like your life? Trade it in for a different model. That’s what you’ve always done.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Is it? Think back to when we got together. You didn’t like the way Cordelia was making you feel so you cheered yourself up by diving into bed with me.”

  Lindsay stepped back as if she’d been slapped again. “That’s not true. You think we’d still be together if you’d been nothing more than a diversion? Come on, Sophie, you know that’s not how it was.”