Phosphate Rocks Chapter 35: Cannoli

John is not entirely surprised to see Detective Inspector Rose Irvine at the café when he arrives for his dinner at 11.30 am. He has been wondering when she will be back in touch. But he is irritated to find her on the wrong side of the table they shared last time. His table. His side. His chair. Certain routines are inviolable. If you mess up the order of things, then there is no knowing what will happen next. Entropy, the natural tendency of things to fall apart, is the enemy. 

She waves at him. 

‘Punching above your weight, old man.’ Giuseppe leers and winks. 

John ignores them both and takes an empty table, stony faced. 

After a few minutes, Rose appears at his side. ‘Might I buy you lunch?’ she asks. 

John shakes his head. 

‘May I speak with you?’  

‘Any news?’ 

The detective inspector runs a hand through her hair. Fine, fair hair with a touch of ginger. Strawberry blonde his wife called it. The hair reminds him of Polly. Only the hair. Any resemblance stops there. The policewoman has bright eyes and clear skin. A woman who enjoys her food but exercises as well. Plump and soft in the right places. Lean and strong where it matters. 

‘Yes,’ she says. 

Back in control again, John rises and pulls out the opposite chair. His face relaxes into a more genial expression as they both order the specials – arancini and pollo Milanese. 

He waits until Giuseppe brings their drinks – Irn-Bru for her and house wine for him – before asking. ‘What’s the crack?’ 

‘We found Fraser.’ She pushes a letter across the table to him. ‘Alive and well and working in a bank.’ 

Exactly the sort of job that would suit the lad. Numbers. Safe, warm and boring. Some of the men called Fraser an auld wifey. John would never use that as an insult; he maintains the highest respect for old women. 

John scans the letterhead, recognising the logo from the Clydesdale Bank. He does not bother to read the letter, so her next words take him by surprise. 

‘What does Fraser mean about the business with Polly?’ He looks up at her. 

Why is he surprised? She is whip-smart. It was just a matter of time before she found out. They must have records, after all. 

John sighs and casts his mind back to the coldest day of the century, the day it happened.