Sunday 9th June
17 days left
Jamieson Maclean’s Sunday morning made Donald’s Saturday night look like a success.
The Prime Minister knew the prospect of tea and biscuits in bed with the Sunday papers was off the agenda when he got a call shortly after midnight from Cammy Russell.
“Bit of a problem, Jamie.”
“Mmmhhm?”
Jamie had gone to bed, but was relaxing with a book while the television chuntered on at the foot of the bed. He wasn’t really watching, but with these late night yoof programmes there was always the prospect of some really raunchy bit of bad taste - perfect for pissed people under twenty five. And over forty five.
Perfect for sad old farts whose wives lay snoring gently by their sides, snug in their sensible nighties.
“It’s the morning papers.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“Lot’s of things I don’t like, Cam. Overcooked vegetables. Pecan nuts. Refried beans.”
“Really not going to like.”
A sigh of resignation.
“Oh, bugger. What?”
“It’s Fiona.”
“What about Fiona? She’s alright, isn’t she? I haven’t heard her come in.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, Jamie.”
“What, then?”
“One of the Sunday red-tops has got hold of a photo. She won’t be happy either.”
“What sort of photo?” asked Jamie, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach warning him he knew bloody well what kind of photo. Fiona!
There was a pause.
“C’mon Cammy. What?”
Another pause.
“It’s a very nice photo...”
“Oh?” Another pause. “But...”
“It was taken last night in a pub in Leith. It appears to show Fiona taking her clothes off.”
“Appears to?”
“Shows.”
“Shall I meet you at the office?”
“No. I’ll come round. The cameras’ll be out for you now. Keep schtum. See you in ten.”
Jamie got up and put on a dressing gown, then stamped down to the kitchen to wait. What the bloody hell did Fiona think she was up to? He’d repeatedly bent her ear that she was in a highly privileged position, and with that came responsibilities! Silly cow.
Jamie started to explore the proposition that she was just like her bloody mother. It just didn’t stack up, though. Pity Linda wasn’t sometimes a bit more like their daughter.
* * *
The pictures were spectacular.
Jamie scanned the paper rapidly, then poured a couple of large drams and hunched forward over the scrubbed pine kitchen table to read the accompanying blurb.
YOU ARE READING
Capital Offence
Mystery / ThrillerTwo brothers, fired up with motorbikes, beer, women and the reckless relish of a summer night. A night which ends with the death of a policeman. As vehicles blaze Dave gives himself up so that Jamie can escape. Dave’s life spirals downwards. He disa...
