Love Over Scotland by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

You’d be astonished at how many people come in here to report their car stolen and all the time it’s down at the vehicle pound.”
    Irene gave the policeman the number of their car and he went away briefly to feed the details into a computer. While he was gone, Bertie looked around the room with interest. There were several notices pinned on a board and he sidled over to these and peered up at them. There was a notice about the depth of tread required on a car tyre and one about the closing of a road. And then there was a Wanted poster, complete with the photograph of the wanted person. Bertie peered at the photograph. It was very interesting. Surely not…
    “Mummy,” he whispered. “Come over here and look at this. Look at this Wanted poster.”
    “Not now, Bertie,” said Irene. “We must deal with our car first.”
    “But I recognise the person in that photograph,” Bertie persisted. “Look, Mummy! Look at the person in the photograph.”
    “Oh really, Bertie,” said Irene, the exasperation rising in her voice. “I don’t see what…” She stopped. Slowly she leant forward and studied the picture. “My goodness…” she began.
    “You see,” said Bertie. “It is him, isn’t it?”
    Irene stood up again and pulled Bertie away from the notice board. “Hush, Bertie,” she said. “We haven’t come here to look at Wanted posters. We’re here to find our poor car…”
    “But,” said Bertie. “But the notice says that anybody who recognises…”
    The policeman was now returning to the front desk.
    “Your car has not been towed,” he said. “So if you’d like to tell me when you last saw it and where it was when you last saw it.”
    “We’ve just see that pho…” Bertie began, but was interrupted by Irene.
    “Now then,” she said loudly. “When did we last see the car, Bertie? Can you put on your little thinking cap? When did Mummy park the car up at the top of Scotland Street?”
    Bertie scratched his head. “Last week, I think. Yes, Mummy, it was last week. Daddy was out drinking, remember, and you…”
    “Last week,” interrupted Irene. “Yes, last week. And, Bertie, Daddy does not go out drinking, as you put it. Daddy had gone to meet somebody from the office and it just so happened it was in the Cumberland Bar. It was a working meeting.” She smiled at the policeman. “Honestly! Out of the mouths of babes…”
    The policeman looked at Bertie and winked. “So it was last week some time?”
    “Yes,” said Irene. “I think it was Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday.”
    “So it was stolen some time after Tuesday but before the day on which you found it to be missing, which was…”
    “Yesterday,” said Bertie. “I took Mummy up the street to show her that it wasn’t there. She was very cross. She said a rude word.”
    “Bertie!” exclaimed Irene. “I did not say a rude word. You’re making it up.”
    “But you did, Mummy,” said Bertie. “You said…”
    “No need,” said the policeman. “None of us is perfect. Let’s proceed. I shall need to take all your details at this stage. Then we’ll enter the particulars of the car on the national stolen-cars register. And we shall make inquiries.”
    “It might have been stolen before,” said Bertie suddenly.
    Irene spun round sharply and glared at him. Then she turned back to the policeman. “He has a very vivid imagination,” she explained. “You know how children are. They construct these vivid imaginative worlds. Melanie Klein…”
    The policeman looked at Bertie. “You said it was already stolen?” he asked. “Who stole it? This Melanie Klein? Your Dad?”
    “No,” said Bertie. “Daddy would never steal a car. He works for the Scottish Executive.”
    “So,” the policeman continued. “Who stole it then?”
    “Oh really!” Irene interrupted. “This is completely pointless. It was just a bit of childish fantasy. You were making things up, weren’t you, Bertie?”
    Bertie shook his head. “I think it