Part 39 (2/2)

'Why not?' Fizz persisted but Buchanan frowned her down.

He said, 'That's all right, Mrs Ford. We won't pester you to say anything that makes you feel threatened. That's the last thing we want.'

Poppy nodded, almost imperceptibly. 'I wish you wouldn't call me Mrs Ford. I'm not Mrs Ford any more.

That's all past. I'm myself again.'

'Will you be happier that way?' Buchanan said.

'You bet I will! It was no fun being married to a two-faced liar ... a drug-dealer ... a thug... a rotten Tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away with an angry sweep of her fist. 'If I can just disappear, like they promised me . . .'

'You'll be able to put it all behind you and live your own life,' Buchanan finished for her. 'And I'm sure you will, Poppy. If they found you at Chirnside it must have been through some very remote stroke of luck. Believe me, I've been involved with WAS before and I've never heard of a single instance of the protection being inadequate. If neither you nor your husband told anyone that you weren't who you appeared to be--'

'Yes, but he did,' Poppy said violently. She got up and walked over to pick up a packet of cigarettes from the top of the TV. 'Jamie told one of the local cops the night they picked him up for drunk driving. b.l.o.o.d.y fool! He'd have 244. been better to pay his fine, or whatever, and keep his mouth shut. But that was Jamie.' She stuck a cigarette between her lips and laughed bitterly as she lit it. That was my wonderful husband. Never faced up to anything in his b.l.o.o.d.y life. Everything was somebody else's fault: his mum's, his teacher's, his parole officer's -never Jamie Ford's. Had to wriggle out of everything, didn't he? Even if it meant giving away our past. I knew that b.l.o.o.d.y copper would let it slip. I told Jamie it was too juicy a piece of gossip for a local bobby to keep to himself. He might as well have put it in the local paper.'

She dragged in a lungful of nicotine and resumed her seat as she let the smoke drift out through her nose.

Buchanan would have killed for a cup of tea but clearly she had no intention of making one, so he said, 'Do you feel able to tell us what happened that night, Poppy? The night Brora Lodge was demolished?'

She let out a puff of tobacco smoke in a single spurt as she raised her eyes to the ceiling and said, 'Huh!'

It looked like she was going to refuse but, after a minute, she started to talk like she needed to get it out.

'It was just a matter of hours after we'd requested a move so we were both pretty nervy and not sleeping too well. Jamie had got up to make us a cup of tea -must have been nearly two-thirty -and he saw someone in the Gra.s.sicks' garden, moving about with a torch.'

'You knew the house was empty?' Fizz asked.

'Yes, 'cause we'd thought that Lawrence might come down that weekend and he didn't. n.o.body had arrived by the time we went to bed at one o'clock.' She drew on her cigarette and smoothed her skirt as though she had lost the thread of what she was saying.

'So,' Buchanan prompted tentatively, 'you must have wondered, given the situation, if someone had mistaken their house for yours.'

'Right. Either that or the place was being burgled, and nothing would stop Jamie from going to meet trouble 245. halfway. I wanted him just to phone Dougie -he's our WAS contact and we have his mobile number so that we can speak to him right away, whatever the time of day or night.' She rubbed distractedly at a cigarette burn on the arm of her chair. 'Anyway, he got out his gun and crept out through the gardens. I begged him not to go in, but he said the best way would be to ring the doorbell and hide till he could see who came to the door. I know ... in fact, I'm b.l.o.o.d.y sure he would have gone in anyway if n.o.body had appeared -that's how crazy he was -but he didn't get the chance. I could see him from the bedroom window as he crossed the gardens. He was very careful. Kept himself hidden all the way. He was just pressing the bell when - woosh -like the whole world exploded!'

Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly handle her cigarette but the words kept tumbling out so urgently that Buchanan felt it better to let her run.

'I didn't really see what happened. The windows came in ... and the bang . . . you wouldn't believe how loud . . .

and everything was lit up, bright as day, by the flames. . .'

Buchanan, unable to prevent himself, crossed over to sit beside her and reached for her hand, whereupon she threw herself against his chest and burst into a storm of weeping.

All he could think to do was wrap his arms round her and pat her back, neither action having the least therapeutic effect. After a couple of minutes of this he said, 'I think a cup of tea is called for. Fizz, maybe you could rustle up something?'

Tcha!' Fizz returned, having clearly picked up this useful expression from Mrs Menzies, and came over to crouch beside Poppy. 'Where d'you keep your booze, kid?'

This allusion turned out to be something of a miracle cure. Poppy gave a few closing snorts, wiped her eyes and lurched across to a gla.s.s-topped cupboard and, minutes later, she and Fizz were getting outside a pair of t.i.tanic scotch and c.o.kes, while Buchanan had to settle for neat soda. 246. 'If you've already given your evidence,' Fizz asked, coming across to take Buchanan's abandoned armchair, 'surely the people you gave evidence against are behind bars? So, who's after you?'

'They banged up all the guys who were actively involved in the syndicate -that's what Jamie called the bunch of thugs he worked for -but the head honcho's son always had it in for Jamie. Jerry Kincaid. He never showed his face around his dad's operation but he had operations of his own -big business, like transporting illegal immigrants, drugs, money-laundering. The police won't ever get anything on him -his left hand doesn't know what his right hand's doing -but he's the only one who would be after us now. And he'll keep going till he finds me.'

Her fingers tightened on Buchanan's hand, which she was still, apparently, unable to dispense with. The cus.h.i.+ons of the couch being what they were, both she and Buchanan had sunk down into a half crouch that felt, to one of them at least, a d.a.m.n sight too cosy.

<script>