Perfect Death. Helen Fields

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      ‘You weren’t at fault, and this isn’t the same thing. Let me call you another cab. It’s too far for you to walk to your place from here.’

      ‘I’m cold,’ Ava said. ‘And I need a proper drink. At least let me buy you a single malt. The bar in here is warm and comfortable. It won’t kill you to walk through the door. I’m not ready to go home yet.’

      Callanach wondered if that had been the plan all along, before she’d even walked into his office and invited him to dinner. Ava was rarely taken unawares, her brain usually ten steps ahead of everyone else’s. That was what made her such an impressive police officer. Even so, she was intruding on a deeply personal situation, but he wasn’t ready for the emptiness of his apartment yet either. His mother had never been one for bars, rarely drinking unless they were dining with friends. He wasn’t even sure she was still at the hotel. Chances were that she’d left town early.

      ‘One drink,’ he said. ‘Then I’m getting you home.’

      ‘Deal,’ Ava said, walking ahead of him through reception and turning right into the hotel bar.

      They sat on stools. It was busy but not packed, the bulk of casual diners already finishing dessert or drinking coffee, their conversation a friendly hum in the background.

      ‘Two Laphroaigs please,’ Ava directed the barman. ‘No spoiling it with water or ice.’

      ‘You sure you wouldn’t prefer it straight from the bottle?’ Callanach asked.

      ‘You can lecture me about French wine when we’re in France. Never lecture a Scot about whisky. It’s apt to end up with a trip to get stitches.’

      ‘Luc?’ a voice said softly from behind them.

      Callanach stared at Ava.

      ‘It’s no good looking daggers at me,’ Ava said. ‘It’s not as if you weren’t aware I never take no for an answer.’

      ‘You had no right.’ He leaned across to whisper in her ear.

      ‘I accept that,’ Ava said. ‘I also know that if you really hadn’t wanted to stand any chance of seeing your mother you wouldn’t have walked into this hotel with me. So say goodbye or hear her out, whichever suits you best. Just make a decision.’ She turned around. ‘Madame Callanach,’ she held out her hand, ‘I’m Ava Turner, we spoke on the phone earlier. I’ll leave you to it. I suspect I’ve already done more than enough.’

      ‘You certainly have,’ Callanach replied.

      Ava smiled, picked up her glass and tossed back the Laphroaig. ‘Take it easy,’ she told Callanach. ‘Nice to have met you,’ she said to Véronique, slipping her coat back on before exiting.

      ‘I see. Your colleague didn’t tell you she’d phoned me,’ Véronique said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to trick you into seeing me.’

      ‘Well, I’m here now,’ Callanach said. ‘So if there’s something else you wanted to say, now would be the time.’

      ‘Shall we go up to my room? It’s quieter there. I’m not really sure this is the place …’

      ‘I’m leaving in a couple of minutes. You may not want to waste time travelling between floors. Here is fine. There’s a table by the window.’ He picked up his drink and walked away from the bar, silently cursing Ava’s inability to restrict her meddling. They sat down. ‘What was it you wanted to say?’

      His mother stared out of the window. ‘I don’t know how to begin,’ she said. ‘I want to repair the damage I’ve done. I want my son back.’

      ‘Is there something you need to say that I haven’t already heard?’ Callanach asked. ‘Because I’m not here to repeat the conversation we had at my flat. You said you needed more time and I’m afraid it’s run out.’ He pushed his drink away across the table.

      ‘Luc, please,’ his mother said, reaching out to him. ‘I can’t stand the thought of losing you forever. There’ll be nothing left to live for.’

      ‘I felt like that too, when you left me. At least we have that in common. This is a waste of both of our time.’ He stood up. ‘Goodbye, Véronique. Safe journey home.’

      ‘Luc, no. There’s no easy way to tell you this. It was a long time ago, and I never talked about it. When Astrid accused you, her story brought it all back and I couldn’t cope.’ She paused, ran a shaking hand over her mouth, lowered her voice. ‘I was raped, a long time ago, but it never leaves you. I had no idea what Astrid told me would affect me so badly. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me, but it was all too much. I know I failed you. Whatever I have to do for you to forgive me, I will.’

       Chapter Eleven

      ‘Turner,’ Ava answered her mobile.

      ‘DS Lively here, ma’am. We’ve been asked to attend a road traffic accident. Your car’s at the station, so I assumed you were still around.’

      ‘I’m walking through the city trying to find a cab. Why’s a car accident anything to do with MIT, Sergeant?’

      ‘It’s a bad crash, blood in and out of the vehicle, on the A702 where the road runs through the edge of the Pentland Hills Regional Park. I’m on my way there now. Only one car remaining at the scene but tyre marks indicate that a second vehicle was involved.’

      ‘Still not hearing a reason for this telephone call …’

      ‘There’s no body, ma’am. No one at the scene at all,’ Lively said.

      ‘So the driver was injured and the other vehicle opted to take him to the hospital. Who’s the Inspector on duty? You don’t need me for this. I’ve been out for the evening so there’s no way I can drive to a scene, no matter what’s happened.’

      ‘It has to be a DCI. The car involved in the crash is registered to a man called Louis Jones. He’s known to the police but his file is marked for review by an officer of the rank of Chief Inspector or above, as directed by Chief Begbie,’ Lively said. ‘It can probably wait until tomorrow, but I thought that should be your call.’

      ‘I’ll be waiting at the junction of The Mile and New Street. Have a car pick me up, and make it quick, it’s bloody freezing out here,’ Ava said.

      Coffee in hand, Ava was sitting at her desk twenty minutes later, staring at an envelope, the contents of which had yet to be reduced to the digital recesses of the cloud and trying to get her head straight. The food she’d consumed had soaked up a portion of the alcohol, but the room was still swimmy if she didn’t stay focused on a single point. The sealed envelope had Begbie’s confidentiality order on it, and a list of names and signatures of people who had accessed the file within the last few years. The last reader was George Begbie himself a few months earlier. Ava ran her fingers over the seal, imagining the Chief exactly where she was now, preparing to read the same sheets of paper, tapping his pen on the desk as he always did when he was impatient.

      Inside was a brown cardboard file with Louis СКАЧАТЬ