Doors Open

‘I meant, what’s Doors Open?’

‘Doors Open Day. People get to go into lots of buildings, ones they’re normally barred from. Masonic lodges and banks and stuff. I think Leith cop shop’s throwing open its doors.’

‘Sounds a riot.’

‘It’s fun. Ellie says it’ll be good for the girls, too.’

‘Well, good luck with that.’ Ransome knew that Brewster had two daughters just shy of adolescence and a wife who, like Sandra, always got her way. The girls were being educated privately, which kept funds tight elsewhere. As good a reason as any never to have kids… not that Sandra had shown much interest in that department… Ransome sat at his desk until the office had emptied. He liked the CID suite when it was deserted and silent. Staring at his screen, however, he realised he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to do. There was the paperwork to be got through, but it could wait. Maybe he’d come in tomorrow or Sunday – a couple of hours would clear the backlog and give Brewster something to think about on Monday morning.

An hour and a half later, Ransome had been home, eaten lamb Peshwari, changed clothes, and was seated in his local on Balgreen Road. There was a darts match, and normally he would have pitched in, but not tonight. Teams were wanted for a pub quiz, but he steered shy of that commitment, too. He was thinking about Chib Calloway and all his money… and Michael Mackenzie and all his money. Sure enough, they’d been at school together – a check of the records had confirmed as much. And it could well be true, as Gle

Or there was some skill Calloway needed, and Mackenzie was privy to it. Hacking came to mind. It was a stone-cold fact that these days to rob a bank like First Caly you didn’t need to ram-raid it or pick the locks – you just had to chip away at its digital defences. And that could be done from anywhere…

He held out another hour before phoning the station, asked if anything had been happening. He did this some evenings – and on days off, too. He’d call the central switchboard at Bilston, or the comms room at Torphichen Place.

‘It’s Ransome here.’

Usually that was all he had to say. They knew him well enough by now and would reel off the details. Cars nicked or torched, break-ins, fights, domestics. Dealers busted, flashers collared, shoplifters hunted down. Friday nights were second only to Saturday in the number and variety of offences. Tonight was no different. ‘Still on the lookout for a few stolen cars and vans,’ Ransome was informed. ‘Two drunks ejected from a stag do on Lothian Road and taking umbrage. And one poor old chap mugged down by the canal.’

Ransome wasn’t surprised: like a lot of Edinburgh, the canal was more dangerous than it looked. Probably kids from Polwarth or Dalry.

‘What was he doing down there?’ he asked.

‘Nothing suspicious, far as we can tell. He lives in the new flats by the old Arnold Clark showroom.’

Just bad luck then – wrong place, wrong time. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

‘Couple of shoplifters earlier on today, and a hit-and-run in Shandon. Teenagers smoking dope in the Meadows – give it till later, there’ll be the usual booze casualties and fights.’

Ransome gave a sigh and put away his phone. He’d promised Sandra he wouldn’t be late, even though Friday had always been his night out. But looking around him, he wondered why he bothered. The darts players were going through the motions. The quiz hadn’t found enough bodies to make up the requisite teams. Nobody was playing the bandit. Ever since the smoking ban, the place had been dying on its feet.

‘Too quiet,’ Ransome muttered to himself, finishing his pint and deciding enough was enough.

Mike was sitting on his balcony, smoking a cigarette, when the phone rang. He answered and there was a lengthy pause filled with static hiss. Then a voice he recognised.

‘Michael, you old bugger, how’s tricks?’

Mike smiled to himself and sat back down. The past few days, whenever his phone had started ringing he’d assumed the worst: Westie had exploded or Allan had gone ru

‘Where are you?’ Mike asked.

‘Sydney, of course.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Tomorrow. Bit of a breeze out here on the deck, but balmy with it. What are you up to?’

Mike considered all the possible answers open to him. ‘Not much,’ he eventually said. ‘I’ve got half a cigarette left to smoke and then I was thinking about bed.’

‘You’re a desperate man, Michael. Isn’t it Friday night over there? Shouldn’t you be out making merry and draining the spuds? I could ship you over one of the girls I know here…’

‘I bet you could. So what have you been up to? Make me jealous…’

‘Just the usual – parties, more parties, sun, sand and surf. Chartering a boat later on today.’

‘Sounds awful.’

There was laughter on the line. ‘Yeah, well, you always did prefer the quiet life – behind the scenes, I mean.’

‘So did you, Gerry. What happened?’

‘Life happened, mate.’ It was the answer he always gave. ‘Maybe it’ll happen to you some day.’

‘In Edinburgh?’

‘Good point – you need to drag your sorry carcass down here. How many times do I have to ask?’

‘It’s on my list, Gerry.’ And why not? What exactly was keeping him in Scotland? Then again, what was waiting for him elsewhere? ‘How’s your portfolio doing?’

‘Moved out of property just in time.’ Mike could hear his friend exhale noisily. ‘Minerals and gold, plus a smattering of new technologies. ’

‘You should get back into the game, Gerry. The world needs brains like yours.’

‘Pickled, you mean?’ Mike heard a female voice. Gerry covered the mouthpiece with his hand as he answered it.

‘Who is she?’ Mike asked.

‘Just someone I met.’

‘It’s considered courteous to get a first name at the very least.’

‘Harsh, Michael.’ There was a pause. ‘But fair.’ Followed by an explosion of laughter from the other side of the world. ‘Suppose I better go see how I can keep her happy.’

‘You do that.’

‘Come visit, Mike – just picture the fun we’d have.’

‘Night, Gerry.’

‘Morning, cobber.’

Their usual sign-off routine. Mike was still smiling as he placed the phone on his lap. He took a deep breath and stared out across the city, a jagged silhouette dotted with points of light.

What happened?

Life happened…

Wasn’t that the truth of it? He knew he could have told Gerry about the heist, probably would tell him about it some day, if it turned out a success. Or even if it didn’t, come to that. Gerry would whoop and slap his thighs and shake his head in wonder, same as he had when Mike had walked into the office with news of the cash offer for their company from the consortium.

Shouldn’t you be out making merry?

Who with, now that his friends had become ‘business associates’? What would Chib Calloway be up to? Bars and nightclubs, wine, women and song? Fine and dandy, but Mike needed a clear head for the morning, needed to rehearse each and every step one final time. At what point would there be no turning back? Hadn’t that point already been reached?

What happened?

‘A door opened,’ he told himself, flicking the cigarette butt out into the night sky.