“It was an accident.”
“Lying makes me very unhappy.”
“Okay, okay, you were acting suspiciously and I followed you.”
“Why? Are you a cop?”
“No. I’m a… I’m a reporter.”
“A reporter? Investigating drug dealers in Scotland?”
“No, I…”
“Tell me the truth or I might change my mind about letting you go.”
“I was in Scotland doing a special obit piece on the death of Andrew MacDougal,” she said in a rush.
“Which paper?”
“The New York Tribune.”
He paused and then said, “You’re Katie James?”
“How did you know that?”
“I read the obit piece on MacDougal. It had your byline on it. But MacDougal died in Glasgow. What are you doing in Edinburgh?”
“On vacation. Reporters do get those from time to time.”
“Snooping around in stuff that doesn’t concern you part of your vacation plans?”
“I wish it wasn’t.”
“Guess you screwed up somehow to get stuck on the obit page before you turned seventy.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’ve actually been to hell. It’s just as bad as people think it is.”
He said this so matter-of-factly that even the seasoned journalist could only stare at him before stammering, “What do you mean by that?”
“If you have to ask, then you wouldn’t understand the answer.”
Actually, Katie thought she knew exactly what he meant, yet she chose to say nothing. They drove on in silence. Thirty minutes later the Cooper pulled up next to the Balmoral.
Shaw turned to Katie. “Okay, now get out of town as fast as you can.”
“How about you? They were shooting at you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
She reached over and grabbed his hand as he started to climb out. “What’s your name?”
“I’ve followed your work over the years, so I know you’re not that dumb.”
“Can you at least tell me what happened back there?”
He hesitated.