‘He knows we’re here,’ Cameron said from the passenger seat, shifting slightly to get a better view of the BMW three cars ahead.
‘He suspects. Doesn’t mean he knows for certain.’
‘Why don’t you swerve the car a few more times and let him know for sure?’
‘Cheeky bastard. If I let you drive, you’d be so close that he would offer you a fucking tow rope.’ Art maintained a careful distance, keeping two cars between them and the BMW as they headed north on the M90. ‘Besides, if he was really worried about being followed, he’d have taken a different route or pulled over to confront us. This is just general paranoia.’
‘Aye, see what happens to the bastard if he pulls over and getsout to have a go. After hearing about my wife being with Magic Willie, I’m looking to let off some steam.’
‘Will you relax about him? I’m sure Morag will see the error of her ways.’ Art looked at him. ‘You just have to play it cool.’
They’d been following Barry since he’d left Mitchell and Son Funeral Directors’ business fifteen minutes ago, watching as he’d driven north out of Dunfermline. Brodie was still on the line.
‘We’re in Perth, near an old farm with a huge shed at the back. There’s a boarded-up petrol station and service place along the road. We’ll pull in there where we can see the warehouse from here.’
‘Right. Give me the final directions.’
Art told him. ‘I’ll have Cameron text the detail so you can put it in your satnav.’
‘I shouldn’t be long. Don’t approach him until DI Warren and I get there.’
Brodie hung up and Cameron relayed the information to Lucy.
The sky was black, threatening rain in that peculiarly Scottish way where you couldn’t tell if it would hold off for hours or open up in the next five minutes.
‘Cheerful place,’ Cameron observed. ‘Perfect setting for a horror film.’
‘Or for doing things you don’t want witnesses to see.’ Art kept watching as Barry’s BMW wound deeper into the farm, past collapsed fencing and vehicles that had been left to rust where they’d broken down.
The estate was larger than Art had initially realised, spreading across what must have been thirty or forty acres. Art drove past the entrance and stopped. Across the way was an abandoned house with an area at the side for parking. He pulled in there and turned the lights out as they faced the road.
Through the sparse hedgerow, they could see the lights of the BMW. The beams lit up Barry Mitchell as he walked forward to one of the old warehouses, took some keys out and let himself in.
Art immediately pulled their car behind a section of collapsed fence about fifty yards away, positioning it so they had a clear view of the warehouse but wouldn’t be immediately visible to anyone looking back. He killed the engine and they both settled in to watch.
‘What do you reckon he’s doing here?’ Cameron asked, pulling out a pair of binoculars from the glovebox.
‘Nothing good, that’s for certain.’ Art accepted the binoculars when Cameron handed them over, rubbing the eyepieces with his sleeve before focusing on the warehouse.
‘They’re clean,’ Cameron said.
‘Not saying they’re not, but I wouldn’t use a phone without cleaning the earpiece either,’ Art replied, keeping the binoculars up to his eyes. ‘Manky bastard.’
‘Do you think Barry Mitchell’s The Embalmer?’ Cameron asked with the same enthusiasm he’d use if he was telling Art the results from the clinic were negative.
Art lowered the binoculars and looked at him. ‘Cool your jets there, for God’s sake. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re the fucking Embalmer.’
Cameron grinned. ‘I think that Brodie thinks Alan McRae is our man.’
‘For God’s sake. Innocent until proven guilty.’
‘Tell McRae that when he’s creeping about your house in the middle of the night with a fucking axe.’
Art felt a shiver run down his neck, and mentally reminded himself to shove a dining chair under the door handle after he got home. Checking that McRae wasn’t in the house first, of course.
‘That’s enough, Christ,’ he said, lifting the binoculars again.
The building was maybe forty feet wide by sixty feet deep, with a large roller door on one side and what looked like a standard entrance door on the other. Windows were set high in the walls, dark and impenetrable from this distance.
