MARGARET McKINLAY
Double Entry
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © Margaret McKinlay 1992
First published in Great Britain in 1992 by The Crime Club
Margaret McKinlay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780002323819
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2017 ISBN: 9780008252731
Version: 2017-04-18
For my husband Patrick, my children
Frances, Patricia, John, and for James
CONTENTS
He was hungry. Hands deep in the pockets of his black bomber jacket, the young man hunched his shoulders against the chill wind and looked around for a café, but it was too early in the morning and nothing was open.
The narrow winding street of the Edinburgh suburb was clogged with slow-moving traffic; he envied the drivers who had spent the night in warm beds, had eaten breakfasts and were now on their way to work. Then he brightened as he saw a familiar face and he darted between cars to cross the street. It was the perfect answer, he wouldn’t need to go right across town now. Instead he could head for home, shave and eat, before going to work.
Thirty yards back, a silver BMW had pulled into the kerb and the occupants, hidden from view by smoked glass windows, watched the young man’s progress. They noted who he spoke to and then the man in the back seat issued precise orders in a flat tone.
‘Pick him up and get the other car to follow that one.’
The young man in the bomber jacket, cheerful now, was not to eat breakfast that day, nor any other day.
Friday began, deceptively, like any other day. John Leith looked from the window of his flat at a grey sky, at litter being blown into shop doorways by a cold November wind, and almost decided not to bother going to work. However, there was young Tracy, already on her way in from Rose-burn, a five-minute bus ride away from his office, so he really had no choice.
He didn’t hurry over breakfast—being his own boss, he had no