‘It just is.’ She was beginning to sound irritated. I know that happens with people. It happens with the people in my house. I ask one question too many and they sound like that. How does the moon shine? What happens when we die?

‘Celine,’ I said, but she was zipping the case shut.

‘Got to go,’ she told me. She slipped into her jacket. It was brand new. Everything about her looked new. She tucked her hair into a beret. ‘I’m trying for the foreign tourist look,’ she explained.

‘I’ve never been to London.’

‘I’ll send you my address.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’ And then she kissed me on the cheek, and I went redder than ever. I could see myself in the mirror. My face was on fire. Not exactly a cool head, Gravy. The door clicked after her. The room was silent, but I could still smell her perfume. It took me a minute to realise that she didn’t have my address! I opened the door, but she wasn’t in the corridor. Well, I’d told her about the graveyard, a letter would always find me there. I lay on her bed for a while, staring at myself in the TV screen. She had taken all the stuff from the minibar and her bathroom. Supplies for the journey, she’d said. There was a price list for the minibar. It was on the bedside table. Would I have to pay for it in the morning? Maybe that was why she’d given me the money.

I took the notes out of my pocket and tried counting them. Fifteen, or nearly fifteen. Times twenty. That was a lot. The red bag was on the carpet, empty now. In my own room I had the blue carrier bag. It was on the top shelf in the wardrobe. I could put the Celine Dion CD in there. So that was what I did. Then I made myself a cup of tea, using the last of the tea bags and milk. I lay on my own bed, one foot crossed over the other, three big pillows behind my head. There wasn’t much on the TV. On one of the channels, they all spoke a language I didn’t know. But I recognised the show. I was sure I’d seen it in English.

The minutes crept by. Maybe she would come back. Maybe she would miss me, or miss her train. Maybe she’d forgotten something. I looked again in her room, but didn’t find anything. I knew where her cousin lived, and that was a start. She would phone her cousin. Blood was blood, my mum used to say. She would phone her cousin and I’d be there visiting and the cousin would hand the phone over to me. And that would be us, friends again.

The phone in her room rang and I ran through to pick it up. Who else could it be but her?

‘Hello?’

But then the phone went dead. I listened for a while longer, but it stayed dead. Well, at least she’d tried calling. I stared out of the window at the evening. The castle was lit up. There were people on the street. They looked like they were having fun. Life was all about fun, wasn’t it? That was when I realised I was bored.

‘Never mind the breakfast,’ I said to myself. On the other hand, what if she did come back and I wasn’t there? See, I was thinking about heading home. But I’d promised I would stay, just one last night. Yes, but I was bored and I needed some fresh air. I could go for a drive and still come back. Or a walk. I could walk, same as the people outside were doing. Celine had teased me that there were bars on the street where naked girls danced, but I wouldn’t go there. I looked around her room and then mine, and decided to take my blue carrier bag. What else did I have?

Oh, my room key. I couldn’t forget that.

When I went into the corridor, there was a man standing there. He was standing outside Celine’s door. He looked at me.

‘Hello,’ I said. He just nodded. ‘Do you work here?’

‘That’s right, sir,’ he said with a smile.

‘She’s not in.’

He stared at me. ‘And how do you know that, sir?’

‘Connecting rooms,’ I explained.

‘And your name is?’

‘Everyone calls me Gravy. That’s because I work at the graveyard.’

‘And you’re here with…?’

‘Celine. She’s named after Celine Dion.’

The man nodded. He was coming towards me. He stopped just short. ‘Well, Don was telling the truth for once. Do you know when she’s coming back? I’ve got a message for her.’

‘I can take it, if you like,’ I offered.

‘It’s really for her, sir.’

I looked him up and down. He didn’t look like he worked for the hotel. Everyone wore a kind of uniform and a name badge. And he’d used the name Don. I’d heard that name just recently.

He had leaned forward, so his face was right next to mine. ‘Where’s my money?’ he hissed.

I stared at him. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do, Gravy. The red bag.’

‘It’s empty.’

‘So she’s got the cash?’

‘The money belongs to Benjy, and Benjy wanted her to have it. She’s nice.’

He glared at me. ‘I’m going to ask you one last time… Where’s Benjy? Where’s the car? And where’s that tart gone with my money?’

I managed not to blink. Everything was blurry at the edges, but then it wasn’t. It was really sharp instead. ‘The car park,’ I said.

‘Take me.’ He gave me a little shove in the direction of the lifts. Well, what else could I do? He wanted me to, so I took him.

Chapter Thirteen. Jane is in Edinburgh

‘The Mansion Park Hotel,’ Jane said into her phone. She was parked outside. The taxi was about twenty yards away, the driver chatting away on his own phone, paying no mind to anything else.

‘In Edinburgh?’ Bob’s voice asked.

‘That’s the one.’

‘His idea of hiding out?’

‘Who knows.’ Jane shifted in the driver’s seat. As soon as she’d got word that George Renshaw was on the move, she’d set off after him. And as soon as she had caught up with the car tailing him, she’d radioed to tell the other car it could pull back. A two-car tail was perfect, meant you could keep swapping, meaning less chance of the car you were following spotting you. The two CID men were parked around the other side of the hotel, just in case.

‘Is Andrew Hanley talking?’

‘He is,’ Bob confirmed. ‘Remember what I said about Stewart Renshaw’s casino?’

‘You were right?’ she guessed.

‘Only one hundred per cent.’

‘Yet I’m the one who got the promotion.’ Jane was smiling.

‘Bit more good news, if you’re up for it.’

‘Days like this don’t happen nearly often enough, Bob.’

‘Two of Gorgeous George’s boys, the two we’ve been after for the Brigham Woods murder, turned up about forty minutes ago.’

‘Yes?’

‘They marched Donald Empson into one of George’s pubs. When our stake-out team sauntered in, pretending to be customers, there was no sign of any of them. The cellar looks a good bet.’

‘Empson screwed up, and he’s about to pay the price?’

‘I don’t want to go charging in until we’re sure.’

Jane nodded to herself. ‘I agree. Maybe it’s something I can talk to Renshaw about.’ She saw movement at the hotel doors. Two men making their exit. ‘Hold on,’ she said into the phone. ‘Something’s happening. I’ll have to call you back.’

‘Jane?’ Bob was telling her as she ended the call. ‘Remember, look after number one…’

Gravy and Gorgeous George

The two men crossed the tarmac, heading for the multi-storey car park. Gravy was taller than George Renshaw by a couple of inches. Thinner, too. He carried the blue carrier bag. Renshaw signalled to the driver of his taxi. Everything’s going to plan. Keep the engine running. This won’t take long. On the way down in the lift, he had pulled on a pair of tight leather gloves, an idea borrowed from Don Empson. He flexed his hands as he walked.

‘So you’re a mate of Benjy’s?’ Renshaw was asking. ‘How’s he doing?’

Gravy just shrugged.

‘How did he ever think he’d get away with it?’

Another shrug.

‘And Don. You do know Don, don’t you?’

A shake of the head.

‘You don’t know Don?’

‘I know it’s his car.’