Lifting the Lid(21)

‘Fine.’

‘Could you tell me your memorable date?’

Trevor glanced at the index card in his hand. ‘Thirtieth of July, sixty-six.’

‘Football fan, eh?’ She treated him to the same dentally perfect smile as before.

‘Sorry?’

‘World Cup Final? England four, West Germany two? They think it’s all over?’

‘Oh yes, of course.’

She looked back at the file. ‘And your mother’s maiden name?’

‘Hurst.’

‘Quite a coincidence that,’ she said, closing the file.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ said Trevor, not having the slightest clue what she was talking about.

‘Right, that’s all, sir. You can carry on now.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She beamed at him once again while the male attendant studiously continued to clean his fingernails with the fork.

Trevor headed towards the banks of lockers in the middle of the compound. By now, Milly had investigated the area thoroughly and, having apparently discovered little of interest, lay down for a nap.

Each of the blue-fronted lockers was about a foot wide and six inches high, and they were stacked in columns of ten. He located C nine with little difficulty and began entering the numbers from the index card into the chunky combination lock. Hearing a faint click when he punched in the final number, he removed the lock and cautiously opened the small metal door as if afraid that he was about to be attacked by whatever lay inside.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN



The ground was hard, and MacFarland’s arse was killing him. Not only that, but he was getting desperate for a pee. He shifted his position on the sloping grass bank and winced. Two bloody hours he’d been sat there, pretending to read the festival programme whilst keeping a careful eye on the locker area twenty yards in front of him. And where the hell was Humpty Numpty? He should have taken over from him ages ago. For the third time in as many minutes, he tried to reach him on his mobile phone but, as before, the unavailable message cut in straight away.

Idle bastard must have switched it off. Probably getting himself bladdered in the beer tent.

He scanned the small groups of people scattered here and there along the embankment, most of whom were in their early twenties or younger. They sat or lay chatting, eating and drinking, and every one of them seemed to be having the time of their lives except for the two older men who had been sitting in the same spot ever since he’d arrived. One was short and slightly overweight and wore a smart tan-coloured leather jacket. The other was of medium height and pipe-cleaner thin with a blue denim jacket and a matching baseball cap. Both wore sunglasses even though the sun had yet to make an appearance that day.

MacFarland had decided they didn’t look much like your average festival goers when he had first noticed them, and he’d become convinced that they too were taking an unusual interest in anyone entering the locker area. Right now, he was certain they were watching a man in a hooded fleece who was heading towards the block of lockers.

He followed their gaze, thinking this would be yet another false alarm until he realised the man seemed to be making for C nine. He sat upright. Jesus, he’s going for it. I’m bloody sure he is. – Hang on a sec though…

He snatched up his phone again and punched rapidly at the keys. It rang only twice before Delia answered. ‘What’s up, Mac?’

‘I thought ye said it was a woman supposed to be making the pickup.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, seems to be a wee blokie opening the locker.’

‘Maybe she’s got a partner. I wouldn’t worry about it for now. Just make sure you don’t let him out of your sight.’

‘Fair enough.’ MacFarland twisted round to see that one of the two men he’d been watching had produced a fancy looking camera with a long lens and was aiming it at the locker area. ‘Oh aye, an’ I reckon there’s a coupla other guys watchin’ him as well.’

‘Probably Special Branch – or whatever they call themselves these days. Hardly surprising in the circumstances, I’d say.’

‘Fair enough,’ he repeated and hung up.

He got to his feet and grimaced as he felt the stiffness in his legs and backside. At the same time, a man in a white singlet with a severe stoop and extraordinarily hairy shoulders sidled up to him.

‘Anything happening?’ he said.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ MacFarland said without taking his eyes off the locker compound.

‘Sorry, Mac. There was this really good band on the main stage, and I lost track of the time.’

‘Yir no here tae enjoy yirself, Humpty. We’ve got a bloody job tae do.’