the car, then Rab drove a hundred yards back down the Inverness road and turned, pulling into a layby from where they could follow Harris upon his exit. Rab had mounted the video camera on thedashboard again, so that they could resume recording their pursuit of Harris’s car.
She watched him put his tools into the Volvo, followed by the rotted boards and rusted wire he’d replaced. Rab watched too, all the while talking on the phone to Harry Deacon, recounting what they’d just seen and recorded. She didn’t follow all of what was being said; hearing one side of a conversation could be hard enough to follow, but much of this exchange seemed to be conducted in an arcane code. Further confusing her was Rab’s reference to Harris’s moonlighting as ‘an arson job’.
Rab terminated the call just as Harris was making his final exit, wiping his hands on a rag. The old woman appeared again, hurrying from the front door like she was afraid he’d already left. They watched her present him with a bottle of whisky, then the familiar pantomime of refusal and insistence. Jasmine remembered her mum telling her there was a grace to receiving that was hard to learn, and the memory briefly delayed her realisation that Harris hadn’t been looking to be paid. He was just helping out some old crofter woman who needed her chicken coop repaired.
‘Aye,’ Rab said with a sigh. ‘Puts me in mind of a pal of mine who was doing a favour for his upstairs neighbour in a tenement close. Old woman’s pulley was jiggered, so she couldnae dry her washing. He went up and fixed it. I think the cord had snapped, so he replaced it. When he was finished he says tae her: “Right Mrs McGlumphur, you can get your clothes up noo.” The wee woman says: “Aw, son, if it’s all right with you, I was just gaunny give you a bottle of whisky.”’
Jasmine didn’t feel like laughing, though.
‘What’s up?’ Rab asked. ‘You not like that one?’
‘No, it’s …’
‘Never mind. You’ll like this.’
And with that he pressed rewind on the camera, cueing the tape back to before she got out of the car. He then resumed filming, recording over Jasmine’s footage.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, though it was staringly self-evident. She hoped she managed to sound professionally shocked rather than personally delighted.
She must have done. He told her not to worry, assuring her he’d cleared it with Harry, and reiterated his curious reference of before.
‘How is it arson?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to tell Steadfast the tape got burnt?’
Rab laughed.
‘Naw, not arson. Arsène. As in Wenger. It means “I did not see ze incident”,’ he explained, putting on a cod French accent.
‘See, screwing chancers is our bread and butter. Some fly-man claiming compo for his gammy leg then going out and playing five-a-sides, I’ll nail him seven days a week. But sometimes these insurance firms can be like the world’s worst bookie. They’re happy enough to rake in money on long-odds bets, but they cannae accept that the laws of probability dictate that sometimes they’ll be unlucky. So they cry foul and look for any way they might be able to invalidate the claim: welshing on the bet.’
‘So we’re going to report that we saw nothing untoward?’
‘No, we’re going to report exactly what we witnessed: that Mr Harris is so debilitated by multiple sclerosis that he couldn’t possibly make a living as a joiner.’
‘Roger that,’ said Jasmine.
‘He who pays the piper calls the tune, but this isn’t a job without its moral choices. I did not see ze incident,’ he repeated. ‘And we didn’t have this conversation either, you understand?’
‘What conversation?’
Jasmine got a call as they passed through Aviemore on the drive back down the A9. Her phone didn’t associate the number with any of her listed contacts, but Jasmine recognised it as the main switchboard at the tax office: outgoing calls from internal
She watched him put his tools into the Volvo, followed by the rotted boards and rusted wire he’d replaced. Rab watched too, all the while talking on the phone to Harry Deacon, recounting what they’d just seen and recorded. She didn’t follow all of what was being said; hearing one side of a conversation could be hard enough to follow, but much of this exchange seemed to be conducted in an arcane code. Further confusing her was Rab’s reference to Harris’s moonlighting as ‘an arson job’.
Rab terminated the call just as Harris was making his final exit, wiping his hands on a rag. The old woman appeared again, hurrying from the front door like she was afraid he’d already left. They watched her present him with a bottle of whisky, then the familiar pantomime of refusal and insistence. Jasmine remembered her mum telling her there was a grace to receiving that was hard to learn, and the memory briefly delayed her realisation that Harris hadn’t been looking to be paid. He was just helping out some old crofter woman who needed her chicken coop repaired.
‘Aye,’ Rab said with a sigh. ‘Puts me in mind of a pal of mine who was doing a favour for his upstairs neighbour in a tenement close. Old woman’s pulley was jiggered, so she couldnae dry her washing. He went up and fixed it. I think the cord had snapped, so he replaced it. When he was finished he says tae her: “Right Mrs McGlumphur, you can get your clothes up noo.” The wee woman says: “Aw, son, if it’s all right with you, I was just gaunny give you a bottle of whisky.”’
Jasmine didn’t feel like laughing, though.
‘What’s up?’ Rab asked. ‘You not like that one?’
‘No, it’s …’
‘Never mind. You’ll like this.’
And with that he pressed rewind on the camera, cueing the tape back to before she got out of the car. He then resumed filming, recording over Jasmine’s footage.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, though it was staringly self-evident. She hoped she managed to sound professionally shocked rather than personally delighted.
She must have done. He told her not to worry, assuring her he’d cleared it with Harry, and reiterated his curious reference of before.
‘How is it arson?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to tell Steadfast the tape got burnt?’
Rab laughed.
‘Naw, not arson. Arsène. As in Wenger. It means “I did not see ze incident”,’ he explained, putting on a cod French accent.
‘See, screwing chancers is our bread and butter. Some fly-man claiming compo for his gammy leg then going out and playing five-a-sides, I’ll nail him seven days a week. But sometimes these insurance firms can be like the world’s worst bookie. They’re happy enough to rake in money on long-odds bets, but they cannae accept that the laws of probability dictate that sometimes they’ll be unlucky. So they cry foul and look for any way they might be able to invalidate the claim: welshing on the bet.’
‘So we’re going to report that we saw nothing untoward?’
‘No, we’re going to report exactly what we witnessed: that Mr Harris is so debilitated by multiple sclerosis that he couldn’t possibly make a living as a joiner.’
‘Roger that,’ said Jasmine.
‘He who pays the piper calls the tune, but this isn’t a job without its moral choices. I did not see ze incident,’ he repeated. ‘And we didn’t have this conversation either, you understand?’
‘What conversation?’
Jasmine got a call as they passed through Aviemore on the drive back down the A9. Her phone didn’t associate the number with any of her listed contacts, but Jasmine recognised it as the main switchboard at the tax office: outgoing calls from internal
Similar Books
