The Corran Ferry had berthed at dusk and Special Branch drove around Loch Linnhe before heading south. The rhythm of windscreen wipers at work soothed him as he headed through Glencoe and Rannoch Moor on the long haul to Crianlarich. The narrow road along Loch Lomond had him crawling behind a caravanette and long gaggle of tentative drivers. Finally, he passed a sign welcoming him to Glasgow.
At his room in the Hilton, the Commander received a call from reception.
“That’s him now,” he said to Guthrie, “so I’ll be off. Things seem to have gone reasonably well. The local coppers have their man in custody. Good that the National Press have been unusually quiet, out of respect for their dead, supposedly, with not a chirrup about Lashkar Gah and Chummie on his way to the truth drug. Every gurgle during waterboarding will earn us big bucks to lessen our trade deficit. Or will it be the thumbscrew and the rack? Bellows will be heating the dungeon coals already, as back-up.”
“What a colourful imagination you have, Commander,” Guthrie smiled. “Kindly convey my fond greetings to the hierarchy when you return to London, particularly to anyone from Eton.”
“They rarely talk to people like me,” Comb-over said, “not unless you tell them to, of course.” Guthrie smiled at this and they briefly shook hands in parting. Comb-over watched him take the stairs rather than an elevator, and thumbed a plastic room key out of its wallet. He checked the number handwritten on the wallet, stepped over the threshold, and waited for his door to click shut before walking down the corridor.
Special Branch stepped out of the lift at the seventh floor and left the central core. He saw his boss in a doorway and walked towards him.
“This is your room,” Comb-over said, handing him the electronic card. “No luggage?”
“It’s in the car, and pyjamas,” Special Branch said, “cramp my style. This place is packed full of deodorants, toothbrushes, and razors. Why use my stuff when I can wallow in disposable luxury?”
“Took you a while to get here,” the Commander observed. “Bloody Loch Lomond, I know. I’ve been by yon bonnie banks for bloody hours behind a pair of caravans. Wet night, too. Brief me now, unless you need a bite to eat. Not hungry? Okay then. So you met Chief Inspector Henderson?”
“I met the Chief Inspector. He says he knows you,” Special Branch kept his tone light.
“We met in another life.”
“Funny,” Special Branch remarked, “that’s what he said. Did Akela teach you both to say that?”
“Sharp you are, my son. Eagle scout told me how you solved the riddle of nails on the road. He seemed quite impressed. To keep me awake you can tell me about your adventures in the heather, not omitting the latest travel news on Chummie,” and Comb-over transformed himself into a sphere in a well upholstered armchair.