“The shooter’s been identified as Neil Bostock. A twenty-seven-year-old from Sunderland. He has a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder and hasn’t been taking his meds. His house was raided – unsurprisingly he lives with his mother – and police found a room dedicated to Lennox.” Micky sits back. “This is all a lot to take in. And it doesn’t make sense. We knew Lennox was making himself a target by speaking in an open forum; Lennox knew that. Security was heavy, certain people were kept away…” There’s a shrug and he lights a cigarette.
“So what you’re saying is that it looks like a random obsessive stalker.” Kelvin, head of intelligence, looks pissed off. “We’ve never heard of this Bostock man; he has no known political affiliations that we know and it’s initially looking like one of those random things which we couldn’t have prevented.” His accent becomes thicker, more Scottish.
“It’s never one of those random things though, is it?” Gethin looks up from the table. His glass is empty, the whisky drunk.
“Time will tell in the next few days.” Micky pushes the bottle of whisky to him. “Just remember you’re fucking useless with a hangover.” He looks at me. “About the princess.”
I smile. She hates the title. They all know it too. “She’s not like Lennox. She will listen. We up security though. From now.”
Micky gives a single nod. “Already done. This is where we’re up to.”
He starts to break down the measures that have been put in place for the next few days when media coverage will be higher and the weirdos and freaks who might start to think about a repeat of what Bostock has done will be at their most unstable. The house will be in mourning; people will come to the castle grounds to grieve; we have to be the silent army.
A run-down of known threats is given; updates on known threats. Alba an-Asgaidh is mentioned, the extremists who want to keep Scotland independent. I know them too well.
It’s one in the morning before we finish. I stumble up the steps and long corridors to the rooms I keep here, fatigue hitting me.
Tomorrow there will be chance to deal with the fallout of Lennox’s assassination, but as I turn the handle into the room all I can think about is sleep.
My bed isn’t empty.
Blair lies curled up in the sheets, her fair hair spread over the pillow. The room is dark apart from a dim lamp that she’s left on.
The mattress dips as I sit down on it. This is the first time she’s been in my room – I’ve always gone to her and it feels different.
“I’m sorry. If you don’t want me here I’ll go back…”
I push my fingers through her hair and shake my head. “It’s fine. I need to shower and I’ll get in with you.”
She looks at me with huge eyes. “Thank you.” Her eyes don’t leave me as I strip, folding my clothes onto a wooden chair.
“You’re tidy.” Her words are slurred with tiredness.
“Army.”
She burrows into my pillow and I realise she’s smelling me on it. I don’t think about her while I shower. Instead I focus on the heat of the water and the pressure on my skin and not Blair in my bed. She wasn’t there for sex tonight.
It was never just about the sex anyway.
I dry off my hair before getting into bed, knowing that damp pillows aren’t for everyone. She curls into me, pressing her face against my chest and I just hold her. I can’t bring her brother back. I can’t change what’s happened. There’s no quick fix.
“How did today happen?”
Her words are soft, barely audible. She’s naked under the sheets, her skin silk.
“I don’t know. I’m glad you weren’t there. How are your parents?”
“Devastated. My father doesn’t look well. And I’ve never seen my mother cry before.”
I hold her to me. She isn’t crying and I suspect she’s trying to make sense of things. My phone vibrates next to me. I reach over and grab it, knowing that ignoring it could be more problematic.
Isaac’s name is on the screen.
How are you both?
I unlock the phone and text back with one hand, the other wrapped around her.
Tired. Shocked. How are things there?
