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<h1>16</h1>
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<p>He grabbed Donny Watson when he was half-way up the ladder and hauled him so violently into the boat that the pair of
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them ended in a struggling tangle of arms and legs.</p>
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<p>"What the fuck.....?</p>
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<p>Jack hit him a slap, hard enough to sting, not to really hurt. He wanted to curl his hand into a fist and really give
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him a couple of dull ones, maybe some worse even than that. He kept a hold of Donny's collar and dragged him to his
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feet, gripping it in a twist that was tight enough to make his face match his hair again.</p>
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<p>"What's going on?" Ed asked. Nobody interfered at all, they all just watched, taken by surprise. Neil pulled back,
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face slack. He hated violence.</p>
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<p>Jack hit Donny another slap, catching him on the ear, getting really right to the edge of some serious stuff. Donny
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tried a punch back but Jack knocked his hand away. His brows were drawn right down and his dark eyes hot. None of
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them had ever seen him this angry. They hadn't seen his face when Michael came home with a bloody nose.</p>
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<p> "You stupid lazy <em>bastard.</em> Everybody is in this, we all pull together. You had the easiest job in the world
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and you fucking blew it."</p>
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<p>"I don't know what you're talking about." Donny struggled to force the words out past the tight constriction.</p>
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<p>"Yes you bloody do, you lazy wanker. All you had to do was get a few fish for a diversion."</p>
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<p>"I did that. I got the fish. There was plenty of them."</p>
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<p>"Some diversion."</p>
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<p>"What's the score?" Ed wanted to know.</p>
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<p>"Did you see the news?" They all had.</p>
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<p>"Big close-ups of half-a-brain here's effort. Did you see them? Bloody <em>rainbow trout</em>. I swear to god they
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still had the parsley in their mouths."</p>
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<p>Donny struggled. "It was fish, wasn't it? They cost me a fortune."</p>
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<p>"Sure they did. Cost <em>us</em> a fortune. We'll be lucky if they don't cost us the jail. That big inspector, he's a
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fox. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't spot them."</p>
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<p>"They were just <em>fish</em>," Donny protested again. He got his hands to Jack's wrists and tried to pull them
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apart. Jack simply let go in disgust.</p>
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<p>"Rainbow trout from the shop. Am I right?"</p>
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<p>Donny nodded. "They're all the same, aren't they?"</p>
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<p>"No, they're not all the same. How are fish that size supposed to get up a trickle of water like that? And rainbow
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trout? You don't even get them in the river. You should know that. Christ, we went there fishing every weekend when
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we were kids. Where did you get them, Gallagher's?"</p>
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<p>"No, they never had any." Donny's head was down. "I had to go up to Barloan Harbour."</p>
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<p>"You better hope nobody else goes there to check. If they do, you better be ready to say you had the biggest barbecue
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in the fucking town."</p>
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<p>He turned to them all, his face tight with strain and anger.</p>
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<p>"I told you, good enough <em>never is</em>. We're all on this together. If somebody fucks up, he fucks everybody
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up<em>. </em>Miss a chance and it's no boomerang. It doesn't come back. You have to treat your mind like a
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parachute; it only works when its open. We all have to think and we all have to go along with the plan, or we're all
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down the drain."</p>
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<p>He pulled Donny close again and sniffed.</p>
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<p>"And I'll tell you another thing. You better lay right off the booze, okay Donny? You're hitting it too hard and I
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can't have any drunks on the team."</p>
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<p>"I'm not a drunk," Donny protested.</p>
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<p>Neil put his chin in his hands. "Red, I do believe you're talking out of your ass."</p>
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<p>It was meant to be light. Jed got the Shawshank connection, but didn't manage a smile. Ed sat still, realising now
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how important Jack's idea of a diversion had been. It gave them time, and that was most precious of all.</p>
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<p>Jack loosed his grip and let Donny sink to the little bench seat, panting with anger and shame, while Jack tried to
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shake off his own fury at Donny's stupidity.</p>
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<p>Yet as he did so, he knew he himself had broken one of his own cardinal rules.</p>
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<p>He had humiliated one of the team in front of the others</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Alistair Sproat was aghast at the news that the huge decant of Glen Murroch had been stolen. He had spent most of the
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morning with the insurance rep and the loss adjusters while Billy Butler and the customs men had hauled everybody
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who could have been near the flush valve into the glasshouse for interrogation. Ed Kane wasn't one of them. His
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worksheet showed that he'd been stowing barrels all afternoon, and Butler recalled sending him round to get the
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pallets.</p>
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<p>"Stolen? What do you mean stolen?"</p>
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<p>"I could give you the dictionary definition," Baxter offered. "Purloined, appropriated, swiped, filched and pilfered.
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Wrongly removed from ownership."</p>
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<p>"Yes, thank you inspector," Sproat said. His throat was dry as his sarcasm. "What I mean is, how can anybody steal
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twenty five thousand gallons of scotch?"</p>
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<p>"It's only a theory, mind you, so that's what we have to ascertain. In the meantime, I've called headquarters and
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they're sending down a couple of lads from the crime squad to help out. We'll have to speak to everybody involved in
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the process."</p>
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<p>Sproat ran a hand through his thinning hair. Everything was coming unravelled, and he'd spent the whole morning going
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over the company insurance policy. Aitkenbar was covered for fire and flood and all sorts of disasters that can
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befall a distillery and a bonded warehouse. He couldn't recall seeing the word theft anywhere at all. A hollow
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sensation of impending disaster had started to expand in the pit of his stomach. </p>
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<p>"Impossible," he said. He tapped the intercom and told Marge Burns to get Billy Butler.</p>
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<p>"What, are you saying we can't interview your staff?"</p>
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<p>"No. We're already doing that, trying to find the idiot who pulled the flush-cock. His feet won't touch, I can tell
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you. I'll have him charged with sabotage."</p>
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<p>"I don't think it might be quite as simple as that."</p>
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<p>Billy Butler arrived from the glasshouse where every man had stared blankly at him, insulted at even being asked the
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questions.</p>
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<p>"I'd like to inspect the whole area," Baxter said.</p>
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<p>"What for? We know what happened." Butler knew his job was on the line, even if he'd be out of one in a month's time
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when the gates finally shut. He didn't want this on his reputation.</p>
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<p>"I want to make sure that what you know happened actually <em>did </em>happen."</p>
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<p>"Sure," Butler said, obviously puzzled. "Be glad to help."</p>
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<p>Baxter beamed. Sproat put his head in his hands.</p>
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<p>They found the connection at seven that night, after the place was closed. The women on the bottling lines had been
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sent home early, seieng the Glen Murroch would never be bottled, and the two constables from CID were going over the
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work records.</p>
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<p>"That shouldn't be there," Butler said. He had the big plan spread on the floor and the maintenance crew were with
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him. </p>
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<p>"What's that?" Baxter walked over.</p>
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<p>"This pipe. I never saw that before."</p>
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<p>The big policeman peered behind the tangle of other pipes and followed the line of the torch.</p>
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<p>"Wait a minute," Butler said. "Somebody's welded in a new length of pipe."</p>
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<p>The pair of them traced it back and saw the join where it connected to the bottling filler.</p>
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<p>"That's where it comes from," Baxter said. "But where does it go?"</p>
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<p>Butler followed the wall. Baxter told him not to touch anything, an unnecessary warning. In the flashlight he could
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see the pipe was shiny clean. They came to the turn and the pair of them had to admire the workmanship. Only a very
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close examination of the maze of connectors could have shown up the new piece of pipework. Butler pointed out where
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it had been sawn from the original and capped off.</p>
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<p>"So we've got an expert," Baxter said.</p>
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<p>Butler looked at him, grinned, feeling a sense of relief that the blame for this might be shifted from his shoulders.
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"That rules out anybody from in here."</p>
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<p>The policeman went along with it. </p>
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<p>"So, it joins to here." He hunkered down, admiring the clever line of the pipe that kept it hidden from view. "And
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what's this."</p>
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<p>"That's the fire hose inlet."</p>
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<p>Baxter stood up and took out his pipe.</p>
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<p>"You can't smoke in here," Butler said. "All the high proof spirits. It's a fire hazard."</p>
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<p>This time Baxter winked. He bent over and flicked his lighter on, sucking furiously.</p>
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<p>"All the spirits, eh? You show me all the spirits first." He nodded at the connector. "That's where all the spirits
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went, I imagine. But where did they go after that?"</p>
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<p>They found the fire hoses and when young constable Jimmy Balloch unravelled them, the smell of whisky was
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unmistakeable. Butler made them roll it into a wheel, so that any residue would be forced to one end, and he managed
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to get a mere half pint of liquid from the hundred-yard length. He held up the little jar, letting it flash amber in
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the setting sunlight.</p>
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<p>"Can you test that here?"</p>
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<p>"Sure I can," Butler said. Sproat stood there in the humid evening, squinting against the sun, audibly grinding his
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teeth. There was nothing he could do now. He just wished Butler would drop the damn sample and let it shatter.</p>
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<p>Baxter walked across the turf, crouching here and there, trying to see if there were any tracks in the grass, but
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even with the sun so low in the sky and sending slanted shadows in the low dips, it was hard to tell.</p>
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<p>He called Butler across to the fence, about forty yards down from the bushes on the other side, close to the barrier
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gate that led to the cooperage. The grass was strewn with little wormy coils of goose shit, and peppered with
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hundreds of little white down feathers.</p>
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<p>"What's this?" he said, hunkering down low again. He picked up some light material from the grass and held it out to
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Butler.</p>
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<p>"Looks like popcorn to me," Butler said.</p>
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<p>"Is that what your geese eat?"</p>
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<p>"I think they'll eat anything. But I'll have to ask."</p>
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<p>A half hour later, Butler had used the hydrometer and confirmed the tiny drop of whisky they'd found had exactly the
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same specific gravity as the Glen Murroch they'd decanted into the holding tank. He showed Baxter the shade-match
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apparatus, turning the little coloured glass spheres clockwise until he had an exact match with the sample in the
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hopper.</p>
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<p>"We can do an ethyl alcohol and trace elements check," he said. "But I'd say that's pretty conclusive. At a hundred
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and forty proof, it's particularly volatile. Fast evaporation. Another two hours and there would have been nothing
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left. What's in the hose hasn't been there long. The rain probably helped keep it humid." </p>
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<p>Sproat stormed out, fists clenched. It was all coming apart.</p>
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<p>"Marge!" She had stayed behind when the rest of them had gone. Sproat appreciated that.</p>
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<p>"Get me Michael Gabriel," he snapped as he walked into his office and slammed the door behind him.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Donny Watson got drunk. He'd hefted the water container into Willie McIver's van and stowed it behind his garden
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shed. He was thinking how they'd all been on an adrenaline high on the night of the heist. They'd all been wet and
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excited and absolutely amazed at what they'd done. Like Commandos on a mission. Like the SAS. Like a <em>team.</em>
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</p>
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<p>Tonight they had all gone and left him on Gillespie's boat, still smarting at the humiliation.</p>
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<p>"Shouldn't have done that," he muttered to himself. The whisky burned a trail down his throat. "Not in front of
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them."</p>
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<p>He had been embarrassed and ashamed and totally taken aback that Jack had treated him like that. Hell, they went back
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years. Before school even. They'd been friends so long he couldn't recall a time when they'd not been. That's what
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hurt. He'd hauled him up in front of Tam and Neil and the others. Friends never did that.</p>
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<p>He took another swig from the plastic bottle and felt hot tears nip at his eyes.</p>
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<p>"Bastard Jake," he said aloud. All this over a couple of fish in the burn. He'd tried his best, hadn't he? It wasn't
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his fault the first batch had turned to mush, and then his young brother had gone to scout camp with the rest of the
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kids, and there was nobody to go up the stream and catch some more.</p>
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<p>Another slug of whisky.</p>
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<p>He'd done his best. That was enterprise, wasn't it. And who would know? Really! What stung was the other thing Jack
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had said. <em>You had the easiest job you lazy wanker.</em></p>
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<p>Jack had given him the easiest job, the simplest task, and everybody else were doing more important things. Like Neil
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in the van, and Jed on the tanker. Ed and Tam inside. Jack doing his own thing, organising the whole operation. But
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Donny had ended up with the easiest job, and that stung and itched at him. Jack hadn't trusted him, had he? His old
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mate Jack Lorne. He remembered Jack explaining what he had to do, telling him to make sure he got it right. And on
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the night when the hose burst <em>he</em> had to sit like that little Dutch fucker with his finger jammed in the
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hole. And there just now, he'd told him to lay off the booze. What the hell did that mean? And if they were all in
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it together, how come nobody knew what was happening to all the whisky they'd heisted? How were they going to share
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it? That was all a big secret. <em>Jack's</em> big secret.</p>
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<p>Donny took another pull at the whisky, now feeling misery pile up on his anger, and maudlin distrust climb on top of
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that.</p>
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<p>"They could be out selling it now," he mumbled. "For all I know."</p>
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<p>He tried to shake that thought away. No! <em>No?</em> They had all gone off together, hadn't they, leaving him to
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stew in it.</p>
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<p>He sat back, thinking. No, they couldn't leave him out of it. They were all in it together, weren't they? He'd paid
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in his two hundred smackers.</p>
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<p>But why should he wait to get his money back?</p>
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<p>Donny's mouth twisted down in something close to a grin, seeing a little ray of sunshine poke through the gloom. He'd
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got himself a bonus, something of his own. It was sitting behind the garden hut, all five prime gallons. Ten if you
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diluted it by half. Sixty bottles at a fiver apiece, that would do for a start.</p>
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<p>He jammed the cap on the bottle and twisted it tight, hauled himself off the bench. The boat swayed alarmingly and he
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had to steady it with his hands. It took him several minutes to find his way down the narrow ladder to the ground at
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the corner of the boatyard and a lot longer to wend his way home. In the morning he had a monstrous hangover, but he
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still had five prime gallons behind the shed.</p>
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<p>"You're in a lot of trouble, Jack," Marge Burns said. Her voice was sharp and terse. She sounded wound up.
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Worried.</p>
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<p>"No names on the phone." At least she'd called this mobile.</p>
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<p>"Okay. The police are crawling all over the place." Margery Burns spoke in a whisper. "They know it was stolen."</p>
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<p>"Shit!" A long silence drew out and then he was back. "Sorry about that."</p>
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<p>"That's all right. I've heard a whole lot worse. I was married to a councillor."</p>
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<p>"How do they know?"</p>
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<p>"I got it from one of the customs men. They found something down in the stream. He said it was some kind of
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fish..."</p>
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<p>Jack punched the wall in his uncle's house. Sandy came in from his pigeon hut and looked at him, eyebrows raised.</p>
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<p>"Anyway, they're all over the place and Sproat's going berserk. He's as mad as a wet hen and now he wants to talk to
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you."</p>
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<p>"Stall him," Jack said. "I have to think." He gritted his teeth so hard they creaked glassily. "What are the
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insurance people saying? Can you talk?"</p>
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<p>"Just for a minute," she spoke so softly it was difficult to make it out. "He's expecting you right now. Anyway, he's
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been on to them all day. They sent a loss adjuster, but that's all up in the air now, isn't it? He's not covered for
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theft."</p>
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<p>Jack blew out slow. They had needed the few days to let the heat die down, and now it was clear they'd be denied
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that. It squeezed the pressure too tight.</p>
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<p><em>Stupid lazy bastard Donny!</em></p>
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<p>"Right. That's in our favour." You always had to think of a way out, not get caught in a corner. Every disadvantage
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carried a hidden advantage. So they said. He was thinking fast.</p>
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<p>"If he's not insured, then his three million is down the drain."</p>
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<p>"That's what he's worried about."</p>
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<p>"Fine. That puts him well on the back foot, so let's keep him hanging on. You tell him I'm out of the country. I
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won't be back for two days. We have to turn the screw."</p>
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<p>"That will be my pleasure, young man."</p>
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<p>Jack clicked off and closed his eyes. They'd have found out eventually, nothing surer, but he'd hoped to be home
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clear by then. That was the plan, but like every plan, there were weak points and when he'd seen the item on the
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news he knew he'd found one.</p>
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<p>He recalled Donny's red, shameful face and his hand drew into a fist again, just in sheer frustration. He punched the
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wall hard and the pain in the knuckles brought him up sharply.</p>
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<p>They'd have found the pipe sometime and eventually put two and two together and they'd have come looking. He had
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hoped that would have been later. The window of opportunity was closing, but Sproat would be in a blind panic, and
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Lars was in the bag. He had a couple of people to speak to first and then work out the next move under the new
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circumstances.</p>
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<p><em>Christ,</em> he said to himself. Nobody ever said it had to be easy.</p>
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<p>"Sandy?"</p>
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<p>There was no reply and he had to shout.</p>
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<p>Sandy came back in and took the safety goggles off. He slipped the walkman plugs out of his ears and Jack heard the
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faint sounds of Louisiana blues.</p>
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<p><em>One whisky, one bourbon, one beer.</em></p>
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<p>"What's up?"</p>
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<p>"I was right about the fish. Big Baxter worked it out quicker than I thought."</p>
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<p>"I told you he was sharp. Okay, he knows. You tried to make it idiot-proof and somebody came up with a better idiot.
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Like I said before, you can chalk it down to experience."</p>
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<p>"Some experience."</p>
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<p>"Experience is what lets us repeat all our old mistakes, except with more finesse, panache and <em>je ne sais
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quois</em>. So what's the next plan. I have to assume you've got one?"</p>
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<p>"We're going to have to take the fight to them. I hope you brushed up your Italian. How do you fancy a shave and a
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haircut, all on me?"</p>
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<p>"And there's a catch of course."</p>
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<p>"Of course there is. But you're going to love the suit."</p>
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<p>The two patrolmen faced Angus Baxter across the table. He flicked from one to the other and settled on the one on the
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left. Constable Derek Travers.</p>
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<p>"So tell me again," Angus said. "You spent half the night chasing a couple of dogs round the distillery. Tell me, did
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you see anything at all?"</p>
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<p>"There was nothing to see. The dogs were going wild," Travers said. "We had a couple of calls from people on the far
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side, complaining about the noise."</p>
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<p>"And it turned out they were the guard dogs," Walter Crum said. "Something got them all worked up. We thought we'd
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have to send for a vet and get them tranquillised."</p>
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<p>"So, just to get this straight, the guard dogs were all excited, and nobody thought to check if perhaps they had
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scented intruders?"</p>
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<p>Blair Bryden had agreed to hold the story for a day at least, and that suited him, because he could slam it on the
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front page of the gazette and then make a fortune selling it to every paper across the country. So far the two
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patrolmen didn't have a clue. Baxter savoured his moment.</p>
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<p>Travers shrugged. "The security men would have told us if anything was going wrong. Is there a problem?"</p>
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<p>"So you think, with all the training you've had, and all the money we pay you, plus the overtime, the nice uniform
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and the cosy patrol car for you to skive off up Overburn, shiny handcuffs and yankee-style night-stick, you think
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that two part time security men on a bare five quid an hour should do your job for you?"</p>
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<p>"I don't follow you, inspector. Nothing much happened. The dogs quietened down after a bit and that was that."</p>
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<p>Baxter treated them to one of his very rare and special smiles. For a second Derek Travers had the sensation that he
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was looking at a crocodile, and it was staring back right hungrily.</p>
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<p>"Nothing happened." He nodded. "Nothing <em>happened</em>. Nothing at all except that while two of the county's
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finest are chasing through the undergrowth after a couple of barking dogs, some enterprising ruffians were making
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off with some of Aitkenbar's finest. Some twenty five-year-old Glen Murroch, to be precise."</p>
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<p>Travers looked at his mate. He shrugged. "There's bottles of that stuff go out the door all the time. Everybody's at
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it. The Customs just turn a blind eye."</p>
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<p>"Not to this, they didn't. Like I was saying, you two were plowtering about in the bushes while these nameless
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individuals took an entire decant tank of the stuff. Some twenty five thousand gallons, to give a rough estimate,
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all pumped out of the place and gone."</p>
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<p>Travers pulled back.</p>
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<p>"They never did!"</p>
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<p>Baxter started stoking his pipe again.</p>
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<p>"I'm told it had a retail value of between two and four million. Not to mention the revenue accruing to Her Majesty's
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exchequer."</p>
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<p>He blew a thundercloud of smoke and let it hang in the air for a while, then bulled forward.</p>
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<p>"And you two were right there when it happened."</p>
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<p>"Oh shite," Travers said, with deep feeling.</p>
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<p>"Indeed, I'd say that's what you are deep in, the pair of you."</p>
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<p>He pulled back again and surveyed the two young constables who shifted very uncomfortably under his gaze.</p>
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<p>"This is going to look extremely interesting on your records."</p>
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<p>"Honest inspector," Walter Crum said. "There was nobody there. You can ask those council workers. They were right
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next to Aitkenbar the whole time."</p>
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<p>"And which council workers would they be?"</p>
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<p>"The ones with the big tanker and the pump. They were emptying out a.......drain."</p>
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<p>He gulped. Travers looked at him, a kernel of realisation beginning to form. Baxter glared at them both. A very long
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pause developed while the smoke drifted slowly towards the ceiling.</p>
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<p>"Now," the inspector finally said, speaking very softly. "We're going to go through this one step at a time, missing
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nothing out, not a cough nor a splutter nor a sneeze, you got the picture?"</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Franky Hennigan woke up in a haze, disturbed by the crackling of bracken and twigs. He closed his eyes tight and when
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he opened them again it was still fuzzy.</p>
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<p>"What's that smell?"</p>
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<p>"Oh, that's <em>awful</em>. Something must have crawled in here and died."</p>
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<p>Franky saw blurred motion and moved back into the shadow, shading his eyes now against the light that filtered
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through the brambles and into the little niche near the bridge.</p>
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<p>"I hope at least it's an animal."</p>
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<p>The dead bramble runners from last year crunched under heavy feet and Franky shrank away from them, cuddling his
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bottle like a cherished child.</p>
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<p>"There's something here."</p>
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<p>"What is it?"</p>
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<p>A flashlight stabbed on, speared straight into his eyes, and Franky let out a yell.</p>
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<p>"Oh, <em>man</em>. What a stench."</p>
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<p>"What is it?"</p>
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<p>"I found a body."</p>
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<p>"Jesus."</p>
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<p>"And the really horrible thing is, it's still alive."</p>
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<p>A big shadow loomed forward.</p>
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<p>"Manky Franky Hennigan. Heavens above, man, you need a heavy hose down with a drum of industrial strength
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disinfectant and carbolic soap."</p>
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<p>"Leave me alone." He pulled himself into the shadows, shielding his eyes. The air in here was thick with the smell of
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drink and the unwashed Franky.</p>
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<p> "Come on out, Franky. I want a word with you."</p>
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<p>"Bugger off, you."</p>
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<p>"Don't make me come in there after you."</p>
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<p>"Rather you than me," the second voice said. "You're on your own."</p>
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<p>"Leave me alone."</p>
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<p>"You don't come out right now and I'm going to take that bottle away from you, and I'll be back every night for the
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next one."</p>
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<p>"Don't touch him. Get some gloves."</p>
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<p>"Don't worry. I've not had my tetanus jabs." The first man switched off the flashlight and Franky made his way out of
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the gloom, like a dishevelled bear at the end of winter, blinking in the daylight, a week-long growth grizzled on
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grey cheeks.</p>
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<p>He still held tight to the bottle.</p>
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<p>Angus Baxter stood under the bridge, hands jammed in his pockets, sniffing the air and scanning the road surface.</p>
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<p>"What's that here?" He scraped a toe across the tarmac where a light film stained the black.</p>
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<p>"Looks like paint to me," the CID man said.</p>
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<p>"Me too." He followed the stain across the spine of the road where it hadn't been washed away in the sudden downpour,
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and hunkered down, poked it with his finger and sniffed again.</p>
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<p>"Fresh emulsion," he decided. The two patrolmen were shifting from foot to foot.</p>
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<p>"And this is where you saw the tanker?" </p>
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<p>Derek Travers nodded. "They had that manhole up and had a pump taking the sewage out. It was definitely sewage. You
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could smell it halfway up the street."</p>
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<p>Baxter nodded agreeably. "And it was definitely a council vehicle?"</p>
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<p>"Definitely. It had the council logo on the side. I saw it myself."</p>
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<p>"What colour would the tanker have been?"</p>
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<p>"The usual. Sort of buff colour. Beige."</p>
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<p>Baxter tapped the road with his foot. "By any chance was it this colour?"</p>
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<p>Travers felt his face go crimson. His mate looked as if he wanted to disappear.</p>
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<p>"And this manhole here," Baxter went on. He beckoned to the council official and motioned him to get the lid lifted.
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The inspector waited until it had been prised up and clanked to the ground. A deep hole yawned and as soon as the
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cover was off, the acrid smell of ammonia soured the air. "This manhole, you're sure it was sewage?"</p>
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<p>"That's the smell. They couldn't have fixed the leak."</p>
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<p>Baxter covered his nose with a handkerchief and bent over the hole. Finally he straightened up and asked the council
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drain man to lift out the plastic bottle five feet below the surface. He gave him the handkerchief and told him to
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touch nothing else. The man went down and brought the bottle up. The Inspector stuck a pencil in the nozzle and
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lifted it clear. He sniffed again, winced and they saw his eyes begin to water.</p>
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<p>He held it up to the two patrolmen.</p>
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<p>"<em>Permacurl</em>. Home perm solution. Recognise it?"</p>
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<p>Travers wrinkled his nose.</p>
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<p>"That's not sewage," Baxter said. "It's ammonia."</p>
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<p>Franky Hennigan was surprisingly strong and not just in an olfactory sense. He was rake-thin and despite the heat, he
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wore a big ex-army overcoat that had seen better decades. His dirty fingers clasped the bottle in an iron grip.</p>
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<p>"Och, just let him keep it," Baxter said, running out of patience. "I can't see him reaching the fence, never mind
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climbing it."</p>
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<p>Franky sat on the wall, breathing powerful fumes.</p>
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<p>"So tell me again Franky."</p>
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<p>"It was the spaceman."</p>
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<p>"The spaceman. Yes."</p>
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<p>"In a space ship." Franky's eyes had cleared and were now wide and certain, if a little red-rimmed. "It was there.
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Just there." He pointed a dirty nail at the space beyond the bridge.</p>
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<p>"It was a miracle. A real miracle." Franky was surprisingly lucid. "It was a UFO, Just there. All silvery and the
|
|
whole sky was all lit up."</p>
|
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<p>"And what did this UFO look like, this <em>space</em> ship."</p>
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<p>"Big, and silver, like. And all the lights were flashing. And smoke coming out of it. And then the spaceman came out
|
|
and took my bottle and changed it."</p>
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<p>"Run that past me again Franky." The two patrolmen snickered and Baxter shot them a look.</p>
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<p>"I came out to see what the noise was and I saw it. The lights under the bridge. And then the spaceman came out and
|
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took my bottle. It was a miracle. He went back to the ship and it was all smoke and when he came back again he
|
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turned the wine into whisky. He must have had a transformerator or something."</p>
|
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|
<p>Franky stopped dead and a sudden comprehension flicked in his eyes.</p>
|
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<p>"I'm not saying any more."</p>
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<p>Baxter leant in as far as he was able to brave the smell. "Why's that, Franky?"</p>
|
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<p>"He said I was picked out special. He said if I told anybody he'd be back, with a ray-gun or something and blast me.
|
|
Fry my head. They're from a galaxity far away, but they can come back and find me. That's what he said, so I'm
|
|
saying nothing more."</p>
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<p>He reached out surprisingly quickly and took Baxter by the lapel.</p>
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<p>"Gonny just lock me up now Mr Baxter. If they creatures come back and find out I've blabbed, I'm a total goner."</p>
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</div>
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</div>
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</body>
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