Capital Offence

Chapter 12

Friday 31st May

26 days left

The following morning, he logged on before waking his wife and daughter. A housekeeper and police bodyguard lived in a relatively recent extension to the house - they wouldn’t be about yet.

There was no response.

Jamie switched off again, and made his way through to the kitchen. He met Donald Murray, the young policeman, padding along a corridor in his stocking soles. Donald looked startled for a moment.

“Thought I heard something.”

“Probably Fiona grunting in her sleep,” muttered Jamie, as he headed for the fridge and poured himself an orange juice.

*      *      *

That morning Jamie had one of those interminable trade missions. He was expected to put in an appearance and explain to a bunch of industrialists from Birmingham and Coventry what a welcome they’d be given in places like Dunfermline and Thurso. In some respects it was just too easy, now that deal-making had replaced dogma in Scottish politics. There was a lot of flexibility to structure tax packages and incentive schemes to suit an individual inward investor. The silly thing was that most of the government hand-outs looked like going on to create net wealth, as long as the Scottish ownership nettle could be firmly handled.

London still hadn’t got its act together, but Jamieson Maclean had little sympathy. Clearing up after Dounreay was still likely to be the biggest source of employment in Caithness for years to come, yet anyone who suggested that the Scottish exchequer had benefited would have been a laughing stock.

The mission might be dull, but the car ride from Holyrood down into town was exhilarating. Jamie still hadn’t tired of the fuss his presence created. As he walked out of the front lobby of Parliament towards his official car a wee Edinburgh wifie rushed forward, pulling her granddaughter by the hand.

“I want you to touch her, but.”

As if he was some kind of deity. Then a woman with a shopping bag had stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. The police were doing their nut, as usual, but Jamie made sure he held her close for a moment until the cameras had flashed. She was all right, too. And all the time the crowd which had started to gather was yelling and cheering, like he was a pop star or something. Totally unreal, but cool.

More people had stopped to wave and cheer as the cars made their way through the Cowgate and the Grassmarket towards the Edinburgh Exhibition and Conference Centre.

“I think that speaks for itself,” beamed the PM as the last strains of grandiose synthesised corporate video music died away and the lights went up.

“You can see, Arnold, Henry, ladies and gentlemen...” he said looking around the room after a quick shuftie at his notes, “...your workforce would find the north coast of Scotland a beautiful and unspoilt environment to bring up their children. The scenery is wonderful, and I’m told the crime rate is among the lowest in Europe.”

Nothing worth nicking, he thought.

There was a question from a member of the press at the back on childhood leukemia clusters which he quickly fielded - “I know why you’re asking that Forbes, and we both know it’s old familiar ground which doesn’t bear scrutiny. If you need any further background then Kate from the Press Office can give you details, thank you ladies and gentlemen, if you’d like to make your way through next door for refreshments...” and he was off the podium and heading towards the far side of the triangular panelled auditorium where he’d spotted Hector Sutherland, the Chief Constable for the combined Scottish Police Service.