Broken Roses 2 - chapter 2

"Stevie, answer the phone, for fucks sake!" Sam growled into his phone.

He was travelling at 80mph down the Corstorphine Road, heading from the airport to Edinburgh city centre. Half an hour of trying to get in touch was having its effect on him. It must be at least the twentieth time he'd tried to get through, and never even a connection tone. It was as if Stevie had turned his phone off, but Sam knew that he would never do that when he would be expecting Sam to get in touch.

He knew that he was only fifteen minutes from his old family home, but he was still desperate to get in touch and find out the latest information - like what had been in the brown envelope. What's more, he was beginning to panic. What if it had been a bomb? Sams mind started racing in directions that he didn't want it to go, picturing his old friend bent over the envelope, searching for anything helpful. Fingerprints would be nice, but Sam had a feeling that this was personal and not likely to have been carried out by an idiot. He knew that Stevie was an experienced cop and wouldn't cut corners just to save a few seconds, but still he couldn't help picturing the resultant explosion as the switch was triggered when the envelope was opened. He prayed that it was an overstressed imagination, rather than some kind of psychic omen.

Thankfully some primitive part of his brain had noticed the traffic lights and tail lights turning red up ahead, and he managed to slam on his brakes while his brain returned to the task at hand - getting to his destination alive. He was glad that car rentals didn't charge extra for the rubber that was worn off the tyres. The Saabs nose dived and the seatbelt dug in as he screeched to a halt, stopping mere inches from the car in front.

It was a few seconds before Sam remembered to exhale.

Travelling into the centre of Edinburgh was a bit like travelling back in time. The late 20th century highrises giving way to the 1950s bungalows, which in turn gave way to the Edwardian and Victorian grey and pink granite terraces, and finally the pollution stained sandstone of the late 17th century nearest the centre. It was possible to go back even further, into the city upon which the present city had been built. But the only people who went there these days were the dossers looking for a place to drink their meths in peace and tourists looking for ghosts.

Hitting the the main thoroughfare, Princes Street, brought him to a strange twilight zone, stuck between the 21st century clothes retailers and fast food joints on his left, and the everpresent Edinburgh Castle looming over him from his right. In a city which had changed dramatically over the last ten years due to the devolved Scottish Parliament moving back to the city complete with bucketloads of money, the sight of the Castle normally filled him with a glowing feeling that he had returned home.

Today, however, that glow couldn't melt the icy hand around his heart.

He raced up Morningside Road, one of the main thoroughfares leading south out of the city. Lined on either side by middle class, three storey, detached granite Edwardian housing it was an area of the new town that many people could only dream of living in. The immaculately manicured front gardens and the leadwork on the windows were a good indication that these houses were well cared for, which couldn't be said of some less salubrious areas.

From half a mile away he could make out the police presence outside of his old family home. Dusk was falling, but the flashing blue lights were still on. He could see that there was a large number of people hanging around in the street, ghouls attracted by the scent of blood. In this case it was the blood of someone that he cared a great deal for. That angered him, but he knew that it was something that happened the world over, this desire to see that which shouldn't have to be seen. There was no point in lambasting the crowd - it wasn't their fault.

He pulled up a hundred yards away and sat there for a few minutes to survey the scene. There was only one ambulance that he could see, and no indication of broken windows, so that reduced the chances of there having been a bomb in the envelope. He turned off the ignition and climbed out. Wishing to keep his face out of the evening news he did not walk along the street towards the house, instead heading up the path towards the nearest house. Instead of approaching the front door he went through the side gate and into the back garden, where he pulled himself up to peer over the eight feet high brick wall.

Again he could see that there was no sign of an explosion, no broken windows and no smoke. And no firemen. That last was perhaps the clincher. So why hadn't Stevie answered his damned phone? He'd find out soon enough.

Sam was very fit for being in his mid forties. More muscular than sinewy, but not bulky with it. He exercised regularly, a mixture of running and weights. He had also discovered that single person mountaineering was the best way to develop precise body control. He was planning to take up free running in Paris when he got the chance, since that was where the extreme sport / passtime had been born and developed.

Therefore making his way across five back yards and climbing over six walls didn't even have him breaking sweat. He had to be careful of the crushed glass which had been cemented into the top of the walls, however. Apart from a cat out patrolling his territory he hadn't met anyone. And it didn't look like anyone had spotted him from the front of the house either.

The sound of the key in the back door had all of the armed officers in the small kitchen reaching for their guns.

"Good evening gentlemen, and lady," Sam said as he walked casually through them and into the front room. He surveyed the furniture and ornaments, unchanged since the last time he had been here.

He turned back to see seven guns pointed at various parts of his anatomy. He sighed. "Be good little boys and put them away - you're not impressing anybody."

"What took you so long?" he heard coming down the stairs. "Put your guns away everyone - this is Sam Gillespie, ex-husband of the deceased."

Guns were hastily holstered, apologies muttered.

"Good to see you Sam, sorry about the circumstances," DCI Jarvie said, reaching the bottom of the stairs and extending his hand. Sam took the proferred hand and shook it. Under different circumstances the greeting would have been less standoff-ish, but Sam understood without having to be told that Stevie was in front of his subordinates. Therefore their usual friendly affectionate hug was inappropriate.

"It's never a good time, is it?"

"No. Louise sends her love and condolences too," Stevie said.

"Thank you, and thank her for me please."

Stevie nodded.

"So, who's on cuppie duty?" Sam asked, turning to the crowd of officers."White, strong, one sugar."

He turned back to his friend, effectively dismissing the minions. "Did you turn your phone off? I've been trying to get in touch since I landed." he asked.

"No," Stevie replied, reaching into his pocket. He flipped open his mobile and looked confused. He pressed a button. No response. He banged it against the palm of his hand. "Thats strange," he said to no-one in particular.

"What's up?"

"My phones gone dead," Stevie said. "Not just no signal - the battery's gone."

Sam checked his phone - it was fine.

"What about everyone else?" he asked, turning back to the officers that he had only recently dismissed.

They all checked their own mobiles, with some positives and a few negatives.

"Let me guess," said Sam. "You, you, you and you," he said, pointing at the negatives,"have all been upstairs where the envelope addressed to me has been opened, and the rest of you haven't." He looked, inquisitively at them all, as they nodded.

"Shit, I was afraid you'd say that," Sam said. "You'd better show me the way." He took his own mobile out and handed it to a WPC to look after.