The relentless hiss of rain slithered in through the open hotel doors. Dawn hadn’t so much broken as cracked, letting only the thinnest hint of daylight slip across the drowning world.
Standing on the nasty tartan threshold, Roberta pulled the zip up on her still-damp high-vis jacket, then did a little pirouette with her arms out in true catwalk fashion. ‘What every well-dressed sexy police officer is wearing this season.’
Susan smiled, stepped in close, licked her own thumb, and scrubbed at something on Roberta’s chin. ‘Honestly, you’ve got breakfast all over you.’
‘I’m a passionate person.’
‘And don’t I know it.’ She wrapped her arms around Roberta and gave her a long wriggly kiss that tasted faintly of sausage, bacon, two fried eggs, baked beans, and a slice of haggis.
Mmm, sexy Sunday breakfast.
By the time they parted lips, Sergeant Moore was staring off into the corner, face a hot shade of Barbie pink.
Susan straightened the lapels of the high-vis. ‘Are yousureyou’re going to be OK?’
‘Well, just in case...’ Roberta dipped a hand into a jacket pocket and pulled out the little stuffed mouse. ‘You look after Teeny Roberta for me till I get back, OK?’
‘What...?’ She looked at it, in its little trousers, bra, andsocks with what could only be described as a mixture of revulsion and horror. Holding it between two fingertips, like it was a little plastic bag full of soft, warm dog poo. ‘What the hell isthisrevolting thing?’
‘Now, if Albert Nairn kills us all, you’ll have something to remember me by.’
Susan held it out at arm’s length. ‘Robbie, when people give their loved one something to look after till their return, it’s meant to be somethingromantic. A family heirloom. Jewellery. Not a dead mouse!’
‘Look, she’s even wearing a tiny Old Faithful.’
‘Urgh...’ Chin in, mouth curdling.
Sergeant Moore did one of those loud on-purpose,‘ahem’s, making a whole pantomime of checking his watch. ‘That’s PC McKinnon back now, so we’d better get going.’ He tipped a nod at Susan. ‘Thanks for holding down the fort for us.’
‘Not a problem, I’ll make sure everyone stays in their rooms.’
God help anyone that stepped out of line, she could be right nippy with a righteous wind behind her.
‘Aye, and if they give you any trouble?’ Roberta pointed at the stuffed animal dangling from her fingers. ‘Set Mini-Me-Mouse on them.’ Then turned and marched out to join Moore and PC McKinnon beneath the portico.
The rain was every bit as bad as yesterday, lumping it down from a blackened sky. Bouncing off the sodden ground and shattering the surface of what used to be puddles but were now auditioning as lochs.
Being the lowest on the Police Scotland totem pole, McKinnon didn’t get one of the two high-vis waterproofs, instead he had to make do with a dull-grey outdoor jacket of his own, with his stabproof vest and fluorescent-yellow waistcoat on over the top. Peaked cap sitting a bit squint due to themessy wodge of bandages wrapped around his head. The lad was almost buried under the massive pile of stuff in his arms. ‘Little help!’
Sergeant Moore extracted a couple of the heavier items. ‘You get everything?’
‘Binoculars from the Landy; every bit of MOE and protective gear I could find; and the first-aid kit, just in case Albert Nairn shoots and doesn’t kill one-slash-all of us.’
‘Fair doos.’ Moore handed the hooly bar to Roberta and followed it up with a riot helmet.
The three-foot metal rod felt violently familiar in her hands – an oversized crowbar’s claw at one end, a spike and a wedge at the other. Was thereanythingmore fun than whacking someone’s front window in with one of these, or cracking the door off their secret-stash cupboard? Or just going crazy apeshite on the bonnet of their car with the spikey bit?... Well, anything that didn’t require taking most of your clothes off?
Her new riot helmet was a bit snug, and brought with it the unmistakable whiff of sheep, but hey-ho.
While she was giving the hooly bar a couple of experimental swings, Moore struggled his way into a set of Method Of Entry gear – gloves, elbow and wrist protectors, knee and shin guards. They looked ridiculous on over his jeans and high-vis.
‘And last but not least.’ PC McKinnon held out a pair of wellington boots. ‘I saw these and thought of you.’
‘You wee dancer.’ Roberta plonked her bum down on the top step, pulled off her trainers, and hauled the wellies on. About two sizes bigger than her feet, but at least they’d keep her socks dry. Even if they did shauchle about a bit.
Susan stepped out onto the gravel, clutching a trio of brollies. ‘Don’t forget your umbrellas.’ Not letting go when she handed one to Roberta. ‘And don’t take any silly risks!’
‘What, like this?’ Roberta grabbed a handful of Susan’sbum and gave her a damn good snogging, with extra tongues as Moore and McKinnon shuffled their feet and looked anywhere other than here.
