was tidying a stack of hoodies.
Hold on a tick, I just need to nip inside and get a few things She ducked through the door.
So what did you dig up on Steven Wallace?
Sabir pointed at the lump above the entrance. They ve gorra hidden camera, right there. Most of them s out in the open where you can see them, but there s this network of sneaky buggers like this one ere. So when the sketchy shopliftin bag eads are casin the joint, they think there s these tasty little blackspots where they re safe they ve no idea it s all on film.
A large rectangular planter sat about eight feet away, with a mini jungle sprouting out of beige pebbles. There was something familiar about it I turned, frowned at the shop Dr McDonald had gone into, then walked around to the other side of the planter.
This is where she was: Megan Taylor, on the CCTV footage.
Sabir pointed over my shoulder. Camera s behind youse.
I turned, and there it was like a glossy black egg fused to the ceiling.
So if you were watchin a bunch of kids, and maybe one kid in particular, and you didn t wan anyone to know about it, you d stand in one of the blackspots, right? Only they don t exist, do they?
If you find Steven Wallace on those tapes I will bloody kiss you, Sabir. Even if you do look like a mouldy Weeble.
Cheeky get He pawed at his iPad. Steven Wallace, AKA: Sensational Steve youse can tell he made up his own nickname, can t you? Born in Oldcastle; boarding school at Glenalmond College; dropped outta Edinburgh Uni after two years of Law; had a trial with Hibs, didn t make it; gorra gig on hospital radio at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary; then a little community station. Most of that s from the bio on his website. In other news: he was married; one kid, but she died in a car crash drunk driver took out the family Vauxhall; got divorced; moved back to Oldcastle when his old lady died and left him the house on McDermid Avenue.
Convictions?
Nothin. Done for speedin a couple of times, but only three-point jobs. Licence is clean now. Made a complaint two years ago cos some bird was stalking him, other than that, he s squeaky.
Sabir lumbered over, holding his iPad out, tilting the screen so I could see it. Grainy black-and-white CCTV footage whizzed backwards until Megan Taylor was sitting on the planter in front of us.
Did you work your internet-search-magic on her?
Facebook, Twitter, and Hotmail. All just bollocks really: moanin about school, droolin over boy bands, wonderin how old you have to be to go on Britain s Next Big Star Nothin sayin, Oh, I m meetin that slimy prick off the radio tomorrow and he s gonna tie us to a chair and take me picture. I m runnin the lot through pattern- recognition software, see if there s anythin that matches up with the other birthday girls.
Customers are advised that the centre is now closed. Please make your way to the exits.
Dr McDonald bustled out of the trendy-teen shop carrying two large red paper bags with string handles. Have we started yet?
Sabir held a finger over the play button. Perfect timin, Doc. He poked the iPad. Megan and her chunky friend sat on the edge of the square planter. The four boys milled around them, strutting, laughing, shoving each other.
Dr McDonald peered over Sabir s massive forearm at the screen. Classic mating pattern: males displaying for the females, showing off and boasting they re not really interested in Megan, they re interested in her friend, the one with the boobs, she s very well developed for a thirteen-year-old.
Sabir pointed. That s Brianna, she s Megan s BFF. And that s Joshua, Brandon, Tyler, and Christopher.
Brianna got up and straightened out her miniskirt no sound on the footage, but her lips moved. Asking a question? Megan curled her top lip. Whatever the reply was, Brianna stood there with her mouth hanging open while everyone else laughed. Then she stuck her nose in the air and marched off on too-high-heels, leaving Megan with the boys.
Dr McDonald dumped her bags on the ground, wrapped an arm around herself. Brianna s my best friend, but I really, really hate her. I mean look at her: she s a fat cow, but everyone loves her because she s got breasts. Morons. Fawning over her when they should be paying attention to me.
Megan took a draw on her cigarette.
Why can t they see I m much more sophisticated and grown up than she is? Than any of them. They re just boys, children, but A frown. Look at her fidgeting. Dr McDonald narrowed her eyes. But I ve got a secret Something I m dying to tell everyone, but I promised
The security guard turned up, pointing and shouting.
Shut up, you jumped up little dick in your crappy uniform. Couldn t even be a real policeman, could you? What a loser. Not like me, I m going to be somebody, somebody special
The Coke went flipping end over end, then exploded on the marble floor.
Outahere, Grandad; place is shit anyway
Megan ran, and Sabir lumbered after her, making for the escalators down to the ground floor. Dr McDonald went with him, still staring at the screen as the picture jumped to another camera.
Got places to go, people to see
I grabbed the bags and followed.
The footage was a long shot of Megan running, laughing. She barged past an overweight woman wrestling a pushchair onto the down escalator.
Outta the way, you old bag! Fuck you. And fuck your screaming brat. None of that shit for me: gonna be famous.
We rode down to the ground floor, Sabir pressing pause again so that we arrived at the bottom as Megan leapt off the escalator. New camera angle: she was running for the exit, ponytail trailing behind her like a banner. Jinked around another of the centre s big rectangular planters. Then bang she collided with an old man, sending his shopping flying. What looked like a bottle of wine exploded in black-and-white.
Fuck you too.
She pirouetted, then out through the front doors, face stretched wide in an animal grin.
Fuck the lot of you!
A hunched old man with a mop and bucket stopped to stare at Dr McDonald as she spun around on the spot giving the shopping centre both middle fingers.
I m gonna be somebody!
More crispy seaweed? I held the plastic container out and Dr McDonald scooped a mound of crunchy green slivers onto her plate.
The house on Fletcher Road was huge inside the dining room big enough to seat a football team, so we camped out in the lounge, spreading a Chinese carry-out from the Blue Wok on Keep Street across a large wooden coffee table. A real fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.
Dr McDonald was on the floor, sitting cross-legged, shovelling in special fried rice with chopsticks. Talking with her mouth full.
You sure you don t want to come down here, it s much more authentic?
At my age? I d never get up again. The chilli beef wasn t bad: crispy and spicy.
Dr McDonald stared into her rice for a moment. It s not your fault. OK
What isn t?
I mean, she s really lucky to have you as a dad. Still not looking up.
I put my fork down. Dr Mc
My father left when I was fourteen months old. Deep breath. I would have killed to have a dad like you.
I couldn t help smiling. Thought I was a man of violence?
My mum had a load of boyfriends after he left, I don t remember most of them, but the last couple were horrible. One broke her arm and her nose. The next one put her in hospital for a fortnight. Dr McDonald picked up her Irn-Bru and ran her fingers around the blue-and-orange tin. It wasn t the same after that She needed someone to protect her and my father wasn t there. Didn t care. Dark brown curls covered her eyes.
Yeah, well my dad was a prick. I jabbed a sliver of deep-fried beef. Swore I wasn t going to be like that. I d be a good dad to Katie and Rebecca Yeah, and that worked out so well, didn t it?
The beef didn t taste quite so nice any more.
