drunk more than usual; the bottle he had brought had gone quickly, and he had opened another. He had been restless, fidgety: the meal was barely over before he had insisted on taking her to a pub that he knew in Stockbridge, then to another. They had returned to the flat just before twelve and he had gone to bed, but she had heard him through the night, in the bathroom then in the kitchen. And yet, in the morning, he had been clear-eyed and clean-shaven. He had brought her cereal, orange juice and coffee on a tray, as she lay in bed struggling to focus from her disturbed night and the onset of what she had hoped was not a hangover. He had kissed her on the forehead, as he had always done, and he had left, for a golf tie at Gullane.
‘What is it, Mum?’ she found herself whispering, as she looked out at the night, as he had done twenty-four hours earlier.
‘Pardon?’ said her friend Gina, from the chair in which he had sat.
Alex had forgotten her presence. She had forgotten that it was Sunday, their girls’ night. ‘Sorry,’ she exclaimed. ‘I was miles away there.’
‘I’ll say you were. You’ve been staring straight ahead for about five minutes now. Have you got a work problem?’
‘No.’
Gina’s face creased into a knowing grin. ‘Ah, a man problem, then?’
‘No.’ Alex hesitated. ‘Not in the sense you mean at any rate. It’s my dad. I’m a bit worried about him, that’s all.’
‘I’m not surprised, after all that happened to him last week.’
‘What?’
‘Are you kidding me? That stuff he was involved in, with those gunmen, the soldiers and everything. Like Nicolas Cage did in that movie, he saved the fucking day, but there were people killed there. If it was my dad I’d be more than a bit worried, I’d be pissing myself.’
Alex looked down at her, as the obvious hit her between the eyes. Of course, that had to be it. But why had she not realised from the start? She knew the answer at once. Her father had been involved in dangerous situations before: he had emerged more or less unscathed but not always. There had been that time, that awful time, when he had been stabbed and had almost died. She had seen him in the aftermath of all those things, but she had never seen him like that. Everyone has a best-before date: she had said that often enough herself. She identified her fear: it was that his might be behind him.
‘I suppose you’re right, G,’ she said. ‘It’s just that . . . I’ve never had to worry about him before. Poor old bear: he has to face all that, plus, he’s getting divorced.’
Her friend gasped. ‘He’s not! You never told me that was happening.’
‘I didn’t know myself until last night, not for sure at any rate.’
‘Poor guy. No wonder you’re worried about him, you daft cow. But it’s down to you to help him out of it. He’s done the same for you in the past, when you and Mr Perfect split up.’
‘Don’t call Andy that: he wasn’t like that, not really.’
‘He expected you to be, though. Goose, gander, sauce, et cetera; he didn’t deserve you, girl.’
‘Well, he’s happy with what he’s got now, so that’s okay.’
‘I hope your dad will be too, one day.’
‘He will. I’m sure about that.’ She reached over and took an almost empty glass from her friend’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go along to Comely Bank and get those pizzas.’
She had her keys in her hand, one foot in the entrance hallway, one in the flat, when the phone rang. ‘Bugger,’ she muttered. ‘Hell, it can ring.’
‘No,’ said Gina. ‘Answer it: it might be your dad.’
‘True,’ she agreed, and ran back indoors, snatching the nearest phone, from the kitchen wall. ‘Alex,’ she announced brightly, hoping it would be him, calling to apologise for worrying her with his restlessness.
‘I know.’ The voice was a whisper, hoarse and faint, almost as if its owner was trying not to be overheard.
‘Oh, shit.’ She groaned. ‘Not you again. Listen, who are you and what do you want? Do I know you? Should I know you? Or are you just some fucking greasy pervert who gets his rocks off by phoning women?’
Silence, other than background noise on the line.
Alex was aware of Gina staring at her, but she remembered her father’s instruction to keep him on the line as long as she could. ‘Did I hit a raw nerve there?’ she challenged. ‘Are you standing there with the phone in one hand and your dick in the other?’
‘Not right now.’ The voice was clearer this time. It sounded accent-free; she tried to place it, but failed.
‘Ah, you need both hands for that, do you? Listen, fruit cup. You know my first name, do you know my surname?’
‘Ssskinner.’ The word sounded like a hiss.
‘Genius. In that case, I’ll assume you know who my father is. Let me ask you something: do you have a death wish? Or a high pain threshold?’
Silence.
‘Because if you have either, you’re hassling the right girl. Weirdo, I want you to think of me as a health and safety adviser: if you value either of those, don’t phone me any more. Well, do you get the message?’
‘Sure.’ The whisper again. ‘I like your friend.’ The words took her by surprise: she was still struggling for a reply, when there was a click and the line went dead.
Twenty-two
‘He was calling from a pay-phone, in a pub called the Amphora,’ said McIlhenney.
‘The Amphora?’ Skinner exclaimed. ‘Alex and I were there last night. It’s just round the corner from her flat.’
‘I know: Stevie Steele told me. Alex kept the creep on long enough for the boys to identify the number. Stevie had a car there inside five minutes, and he and big Singh were there inside ten. It was a Sunday night, so the place wasn’t packed, but there were quite a few punters in nonetheless. The barman said that nobody had come in or left in twenty minutes, so they thought they were on a winner. The trouble was that everybody denied using the phone, and they were all in groups, so they each had someone to vouch for them.’
‘At least two people were lying, then. I hope Steele got the name and address of everyone there. I want them re-interviewed, individually.’
‘Of course he did, but they could all have been telling the truth. You’ve been there, and so have I. Can you remember where the pay-phone is in the place?’
At once, Skinner knew what he meant. ‘It’s just inside the door, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, and there’s a big partition between it and the bar. It’s quite possible for somebody to step in off the street and make a phone call without anyone in the pub knowing he was there.’
‘Yes, damn it, you’re right.’ McIlhenney heard a breath being taken, and knew what was coming next. ‘But that doesn’t mean that’s what happened: I still want all those people seen again. I’m not saying haul them in or anything like that, but talk to them. You never know, someone might have gone to the toilet and seen someone on the phone.’
‘It’ll happen, don’t worry.’
‘Of course I’ll fucking worry, Neil; he told her that he liked her friend. I take that to mean that he was watching her this evening, looking right inside her flat. You can do that, you know, and she never closes the bloody curtains.’
‘She’ll know to do that from now on.’
‘Yes, but there’s more to it than that. She’s in the telephone directory, so getting hold of her number’s no problem, but she’s just moved house and she transferred it. This fucker knows about it: he knows where she lives. This isn’t a random thing, man: he knows her or he’s picked her out.’
‘I’ll have her watched round the clock. She won’t come to any harm.’
‘Use the best available.’
‘That should have gone without saying.’
