The Ardmore Inheritance by Rob Wyllie (reading the story of the .txt) 📕

'And I love you too mummy.'

It made her feel so much better to hear Ollie's sweet voice, and again she marvelled at his resilience after all they'd been through together. Recently he'd began to speak of his father again and she was fine with that, because the last thing she wanted to do was air-brush him from Ollie's life. Philip had been a complete pig to her but he'd been a good dad, and she owed him some respect for that at least.

'Everything ok?' Jimmy asked as she returned to the bar. 'Your wine's waiting for you, by the way. Large one, of course.'

'Naturally,' she smiled. 'Yep, everything's great. So Frank, how have you got on today? You were going to Helensburgh Jimmy said. Wherever that is.'

'Nice wee seaside town,' he replied, 'and we got on no bad, no bad at all. But look, I didn't tell you guys the last time we met, but the case we're working on is the Morag McKay murder. Morag Robertson as was. It was the husband's sister we went to see. Jess Sinclair.'

She could see Jimmy tense up. 'Jesus Frank, that was a horrible thing, with the wee toddler being murdered as well. So why has it landed on your lap then?'

'Long story. The short version is, her man didn't do it. There was a forensics screw-up over the time of death and he was still two miles under the Atlantic when it actually happened.'

'And you're trying to find out what did happen?' Maggie asked.

Frank nodded. 'Indirectly. Our job is to see if there's enough evidence to open the case up again, but it'll be the local prosecutors who'll make the final call. The prevailing view amongst the brass is that it should stay firmly closed. Too many skeletons buried in too many cupboards.'

'And how's it looking?' Jimmy asked.

'Well funny you should ask,' he said, winking at Lexy, 'because I think you two might very well be able to help us with that.'

Maggie shot him a suspicious look. 'So is this why you got Jill Smart to authorise some budget for us?'

'Well, yes and no,' he said defensively. 'Then, I didn't have anything specific in mind. Now I do.'

'So come on, are you going to tell us what you want us to do?' she asked.

'No,' he said, 'not until I clear it with Jill. But let's just say that pretty soon, you're going to get the chance to speak with Police Scotland's esteemed Chief Constable Sir Brian Pollock. And in the flesh too. In London.'

Chapter 17

They'd had a great night in the Lochmorehead Hotel, he had to admit that. The food had been wonderful, a traditional Scottish menu but served with an international flair, and the drink flowed freely, though not for his brother's designated driver WPC McDonald, who had nonetheless not let her sobriety dampen her spirits. There were plenty of laughs, and for Jimmy, it had been brilliant to be in the relaxed company of two of his best mates in the whole world, even if one of them was his boss and one of them was his big brother. That was the thing he missed most since coming out of the army, the camaraderie, the bonding that only came from facing danger together and suffering terrible loss, yet somehow managing to come through it unscathed. Physically unscathed that was, because no one ever came through it mentally undamaged, no matter how much of a hard man you pretended to be. He'd come to learn there was really no such thing as bravery. It was just that some guys had been better at disguising their fear than others, and he had been one of them. Brave guy that Captain Jimmy Stewart. He knew people used to say that, but the appearance of bravery came with the territory when you were a bomb disposal officer. You knew very well that every mission could be your last, with a Taliban booby-trap waiting to blow you to bits, but it didn't stop you from doing your duty. Brave guy that Captain Jimmy Stewart. What a joke that was.

Because if he was so bloody brave, why was he continuing to bottle the big question that might finally end the burden of sadness that he carried with him every day of his life? Flora, will you take me back? Maggie, bless her, had steered clear of the subject during their visit, but had raised it on the flight back, with a gentle diplomacy he was grateful for.

'You were glad Flora was away in Glasgow, weren't you?' she had said. 'I could tell, and I don't blame you for that. But you'll have to face up to it sometime, don't you think? You can't put it off forever.'

And of course she was right, but that sometime didn't have to be right now. Kick the can down the road. That was the expression opposition politicians liked to use when they accused the government of deliberately delaying an important decision, and that was exactly what he was doing now. But what was the big brave soldier so afraid of, the bomb-squad veteran with a five-year stint in the Helmand hell-hole under his belt? He knew of course what it was. If Flora said no, that was it. The end. Finito. So who could blame him for kicking that bloody tin can down the road as far as it would bloody well go? Now, two days later and back in their Fleet Street office, he tried to push it all to the back of his mind as he and Maggie planned their next moves, case-wise.

'So this nanny, Susan McColl,' she said. 'I guess tracking her down needs to be our priority, but I'm not sure where we would start. Any ideas?'

'That shouldn't be too hard you know,' he said, thinking on his feet. 'From what my father-in-law told you, her husband served for a number of years at the Ardmore base, so his records