August 2016

Edgware, London

England

Harriet went to bed early because she had her Detective Inspector exam at Hendon the next day. Unfortunately, the buzz of her phone woke her after only three hours of sleep.

She glanced at the time before swiping the screen. “Jimmy, it’s one-thirty—”

“I’ve solved the mystery—”

“A call at this hour is a mystery?”

“Please, listen, Harriet.”

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Go on.”

“It was Ken McGregor who killed the Glasgow bank manager and accessed the systems—”

“I hope you haven’t been hacking—”

“I’ve traced the transactions … oh, shit, I’ve been pinged. I’ll have to run—”

“Jimmy … Jimmy!” The call had ended. “Jesus H. Christ.”

Harriet rapidly dismissed the idea of contacting colleagues in the Glasgow force. This was her brother.

A short while later, dressed and ready to go, she grabbed her unofficial Walther PPK and confirmed it was loaded.

She stuck reflective film over the number plates of her BMW 3-Series and headed north. As she joined the motorway, other vehicles became a blur of lights. Instead of considering her exam and promotion, Harriet was thinking about her only relative, Jimmy, who would shortly graduate from his computer programming course. His ambition was to be an analyst with the London Met. He didn’t want to be a regular detective because he was computer-savvy, and keen to be a fraud investigator.

Harriet drove mile after mile at excessive speed, her thoughts continually returning to a brief call she’d had from her sibling two days earlier. Jimmy had created a programme that allowed him to select and follow transactions in bank accounts belonging to others. His enthusiasm had caused his big sister to listen, but she’d warned him he’d created something that could be dangerous for the user.

‘Fatigue kills – Take a break’ appeared regularly, but the signs were a blur at one hundred miles per hour. Another sign snapped Harriet into alertness. It was also blue, but with a large white X depicting the saltire, St Andrew’s flag, and it proclaimed, ‘Welcome to Scotland’. Harriet glanced at the clock, rubbed her tired eyes, and pulled into the next motorway services area. She’d driven over three hundred miles but was mobile again within minutes, a black coffee seated in the centre console. 

* * *

.

Kelvinside

Glasgow

At 05:28, pulse racing, Harriet parked in a street where several houses were rented to students. She approached the front door, noting the splintered area around the lock.

“Shit.” She pulled on her leather gloves, drew her Walther, and pressed her back to the wall as she cocked the weapon. Harriet had only seen the house in photos, but she had some idea of the layout and knew there were three occupants.

It took two minutes to clear the ground floor before she crept upstairs, her automatic pointing where her gaze fell. The bathroom door was open, and the room was empty. The next door was open too, and the room tidy, apart from the crumpled bedding. On the wall was a picture of Jimmy in a suit and Harriet in a police uniform, accompanied by their proud parents. Harriet’s graduation from Hendon seemed so long ago.

The second bedroom was open, and the mess suggested a struggle. When she pushed the next door open, she saw two young men in their underwear, sitting on the floor, bound back to back, gagged, and blindfolded. The floor beneath them was sodden.

“Don’t panic,” Harriet said. “I’m a friend.”

The two heads turned left and right rapidly.

“Please don’t shout or scream when I remove the gags.”

The dark-haired man trembled and sobbed, but both young men nodded understanding, knocking the back of their heads together.

Harriet untied the gags. “I need to know where Jimmy has gone and if he was followed.”

The blond man said, “Jimmy said he was going to the Bardowie ruin, whatever that is.” He paused. “When the two men tied us, one told the other that they could trace Jimmy’s laptop … and one of them had a gun.”

“Is Jimmy on foot?”

“No, he’s got my old red Fiesta.”

“Don’t mention me or the ruin to anyone, including the police.” She untied them and left before they saw her. 

* * *

.

Bardowie Castle

Thirty minutes later, Harriet arrived at a small loch and could see the castle and nearby ruins not far away. A silver Saab was parked behind a red Fiesta among the trees ahead. She parked, drew her automatic, fitted the suppressor, and stealthily approached. A big, bearded man with a knife dashed forward from the undergrowth.

‘Phutt!’

She glanced at the body. “Never bring a knife to … ah, never mind ….”

Harriet ran along the narrow woodland path. She was crossing a stream when something caught her eye. Partially submerged, resting against a grassy mound, was a laptop. She retrieved the computer and saw the initials JW on the lid. She slipped the machine into the long grass and set off for the gamekeeper’s cottage ruin. As she crept closer, she heard voices.

Jimmy said, “You’re too late because I’ve emailed all the evidence to the police.”

“You’re fucking bluffing, son,” a man said. “Tell me where the computer is, or you die.”

Harriet said, “Move away from him, McGregor.”

The gangster stepped behind Jimmy, still aiming his gun at the younger man’s head. “Aw, it’s the heroic big sister.” He grinned. “Drop the gun, copper, or risk killing your little brother.”

Harriet slowly knelt down, lowering her weapon, but brought it up quickly.

‘Phutt! … Phutt!’

Both men fell among the years of decay, rubble and wild vegetation.

Harriet dashed forward, glanced at McGregor, and shook her brother. “Jimmy … Jimmy, talk to me.”

“Harriet,” he gasped, blinking.

“Have you emailed the evidence to the police, or were you bluffing?”

Jimmy sat up and swallowed. “I was bluffing.”

“Well played, little brother. Now, I’ll need your help to get two bodies and a car into the loch.”

She grinned, recalling her Chief Constable’s opinion of her.

“Harriet, you’re shit with regulations, but at only thirty, you’re a great detective.”

She’d laughed and replied, “I treat the law as a guide, Sir.”

The End