Chapter 4
The Central Records Warehouse looked like a place where information went to die.
Brodie pulled into the car park behind Art and Cameron, studying the grey concrete building that squatted between a shuttered electronics factory and a storage facility.
No windows, no architectural pretensions, just function over form.
The kind of place that housed decades of police work in climate-controlled anonymity.
‘Cheerful,’ Cameron said, getting out of the car.
‘Shithole,’ Art replied. ‘At least this stuff’s organised.’
Inside, they all signed in and were admitted through the back.
The warehouse stretched away into darkness.
Row after row of metal shelving disappeared into the gloom, loaded with banker’s boxes that contained the accumulated paperwork of Fife’s criminal history.
The air smelled like old cardboard and dust. And possibly lingering BO.
It was silent, except for the clanging of a metal cabinet somewhere in the distance. It reminded Brodie of the night he had been stabbed in the depository of the library in Edinburgh, something he had barely survived.
‘You’d be looking for The Embalmer files,’ said a voice from the shadows.
‘Fuck me,’ Art said, jumping slightly.
A woman emerged from behind a row of metal shelving, as if she’d been standing there, waiting to jump out at her visitors.
She was middle-aged, maybe mid-forties, attractive with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
She smiled at them, showing a nice set of teeth, and Brodie couldn’t tell if they were false or not.
Her name badge read: Rose Clark, senior archivist.
‘Word travels fast,’ Art observed, his heart still beating rapidly.
‘It’s not like I have a crystal ball. I had a phone call from MIT a little while ago.’ She laughed. ‘Usually you tell me you’re coming, Art. And I wait with bated breath.’
‘Been busy this morning, Rose.’ Art’s cheeks started to go red, like he spent too much time here and didn’t brag about it in the office.
‘Did you find the files?’ Brodie asked.
Rose looked at him as if he was daft, or taking the piss. ‘Of course I found the files. I’m the big cheese in here. I can find anything. Tell him, Art.’
Art nodded and winked at Rose before looking at Brodie. ‘She can. She can find anything.’
‘Great. How many boxes?’ Brodie asked, not liking the smell of must and dust getting up his nostrils. He much preferred the smell of seawater.
‘Sixteen,’ Rose answered.
The three detectives stood looking at her, waiting for somebody to make the next move. Like, who was actually going to lift the boxes. Art looked like he was bracing himself to throw Cameron in front of Rose, just in case push really did come to shove.
‘I have one of the men loading the van for you now,’ Rose said. ‘He’ll drive it round to the station.’
‘Thanks,’ Art said. ‘We’ll have some Uniforms bring them upstairs.’
‘No problem. Happy to help.’
Brodie and Cameron turned away, and Rose smiled and winked at Art and made a ‘call me’ sign with her hand. Art smiled and nodded.
Outside in the warm air, Brodie turned to Art. ‘How long have you been seeing her?’
Art spluttered for a second. ‘My flabber has never been so gasted.’
Brodie raised his eyebrows. ‘We’re all detectives here, not lollipop men. How long?’
‘I took her home one night after we met in the bowling club.’
‘That fucking bowling club is a den of iniquity,’ Cameron said.
‘Shut your pie hole,’ Art said. ‘We hit it off. We went out for a drink last night. We’re going out for a curry tonight. I didn’t think I’d have to plaster the news all over the noticeboard.’
Brodie slapped him on the arm. ‘Good for you, Art. She seems like a nice woman.’
‘She is. She’s a widow. Lost her husband a few years back in a car accident. We’re just looking for friendship just now.’
‘Nothing wrong with that, mate,’ Cameron said. ‘I called my Moira last night and she told me to fuck off. I mean, it’s not like I cheated on her. I think she’s going out with somebody.’ He looked at Art. ‘Does Rose have a sister? A much younger sister?’
‘Not that I know of, but we haven’t got around to sharing photos yet.’
‘Well, if she does, give me a shout. Even an older sister would do at this point. Watching old films with my ma is getting to be a pain.’
‘You need your own place, son. Or you’ll end up being a weirdo who lives with two cats and starts plotting stuff in his bedroom.’
‘He’s right,’ Brodie said. ‘That pish can get to you.’
‘I don’t suppose your girlfriend—’
‘Nope.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ Cameron looked disappointed.
Brodie got into his car, and drove out of the car park, leaving Art and Cameron to debate the pros and cons of dating sites, and whether they harboured black widows, men pretending to be women and why they had adverts for itch cream.