Chapter 40 #2
Aye, not the kind of place to be wandering about bare handed.
He pulled his glove back on, working both stubs back into place against the prosthetic extensions, and climbed the stairs. Not touching anything.
At the top, the landing turned into a corridor, stretching away to either side, with a bunch of closed doors to explore.
After all, the paper’s new owner could be hurt, right? Lying on the floor unconscious, somewhere. Maybe even dead.
Now that would make a great story.
So, he poked his head into each and every room: kid’s bedroom that smelled as if they still pished the bed; box room; a semi-furnished bedroom; then the main bedroom with its en suite and walk-in closet. The bed was made, no deid body decomposing beneath the duvet or in the bath.
There wasn’t a corpse in the big family bathroom either, which just left the one door, at the far end of the corridor.
It opened on a large home office, lined with bookshelves – though they were empty, except for a couple of Aberdeen guidebooks and a thin layer of dust.
An Apple desktop, laptop, and iPad were perched on the desk in their respective stands, along with what looked like one of those combi fax-scanner-printer jobs. And an answering machine with a flashing red light on it.
Nice: old-school.
And if there was one thing a red-blooded journalist couldn’t resist, it was an answering machine.
Colin dug out his phone and pulled up the audio-memo app. Set it recording. Then pressed ‘PLAY’ on the answering machine.
An electronic voice boomed out into the silent house: ‘YOU HAVE . . . TWENTY-SIX . . . NEW MESSAGES AND . . . FOUR . . . SAVED MESSAGES.’ A click. ‘MESSAGE TWENTY-SIX:’
Great, it was one of those stupid ones that played everything in reverse order – newest first.
A posh Glasgow accent replaced the robot. ‘Tasha? We still on for Winetastic Friday? I got some serious gossip about You Know Who – you’re going to just scream it’s so delicious. OK: love you, bye!’
‘END OF MESSAGE. MESSAGE TWENTY-FIVE:’
‘Erm . . . hello?’ It was that stripy-jumpered idiot from the Art Department. ‘Miss Agapova? It’s Louis Garfield, you asked me to do some redesigns on the masthead and layout and I just sort of wondered if you’d be coming into the office anytime to see—’
Colin poked ‘←’ a few times, skipping back through the messages.
‘MESSAGE NINETEEN:’
A cough spluttered out of the speaker, followed by a man’s voice.
Stuffed full of forced cheer. ‘Hi, Natasha? Hi. It’s Frank Abercrombie again, giving you a wee tootle back to see if you’d be interested in doing some sort of feature on Claire.
I really think this is going to be her year.
Today: MSP for Aberdeen South and Kincardineshire, but tomorrow: top cabinet post, or even party leader!
And I think your paper is perfectly positioned to give Team Fordyce the momentum it needs to—’
Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke.
‘MESSAGE FOURTEEN:’
A plummy English voice. ‘You can’t keep avoiding me for ever, Natasha. The lawyers say I’m entitled to two weekends a month: you sent her away to that bloody school in Switzerland on purpose! I want to see my daughter!’
‘END OF MESSAGE. MESSAGE THIRTEEN:’
‘Are you embarrassed by the state of your doors and windows? Well, let the Auchterturra Glazing Company—’
Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke, poke, poke.
‘MESSAGE SIX:’
This one was a slick tit of a man, full of himself and a bit drunk.
‘Hey, Natasha? Hi: it’s me. I know it’s not cool or anything, calling so soon, but why play games?
I really liked spending time with you at the ball tonight and I’m pretty sure you had fun too, my little Cinderella.
’ You could almost hear the arsehole waggling his head as he said it.
‘So let’s do it again yeah? How about this weekend?
Did I tell you I have a yacht? How cool is that?
Give me a call and we’ll take her for a spin – picnic on deck, maybe a little champagne, and see what happens next .
. .?’ Leaving a suggestive wee pause. ‘Catch you later.’
Surprised he didn’t throw a ‘ciao’ in at the end, there.
‘END OF MESSAGE. MESSAGE FIVE:’
A man’s voice. Hard. Angry. ‘Karma comes in like a hurricane, Bitch, and it’s going to blow your house of lies right down. See you tonight!’
‘END OF MESSAGE. MESSAGE FOUR:’
Then a little girl on the verge of tears. ‘Mum? Mum, pick up, OK? Please? I hate it here – they don’t even speak English, and it’s—’
Colin poked the ‘→’ button this time.
‘MESSAGE FIVE:’
‘Karma comes in like a hurricane, Bitch, and it’s going to blow your house of lies right down. See you tonight!’
‘END OF MESSAGE. MESSAGE—’
He hit pause.
Then sat back and blinked at the machine.
Aye, it could be nothing, but it’d be a massive sodding coincidence if his new boss went missing, leaving blood all over her downstairs hall, right after a threatening message appeared on her answering machine.
Colin stopped his phone recording. Puffed out his cheeks. Then dialled nine-nine-nine.