figures. That’s what a life of crime got you, the most respectable send-off imaginable.
He stared at his phone. No message from Adele. His fingers moved over the keys until he heard the tone. Three rings then she picked up.
‘Billy.’ She was whispering.
‘Hey there.’
‘It’s not a good time.’
‘Why not?’
‘Wait a second.’
He heard footsteps, muffled voices, more footsteps. He imagined Dean and Adele together, her olive skin against his pasty flesh.
‘What is it?’ She sounded urgent, scared.
‘I wanted to speak to you.’
‘Jesus, Billy, you can’t just call me up whenever you feel like it. Don’t you understand my situation here?’
‘What about my situation?’
‘What about your situation?’
Billy stared out over Edinburgh. The castle looked tiny from here, on its stumpy little throne. Below him, the bushes rustled in a light breeze.
‘Never mind.’
‘Look, I’m in the middle of something here.’
‘I bet.’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Are you sleeping with Dean?’ It felt as if someone else had asked it, but it was his voice all right.
‘Fuck off. How dare you ask me that.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Billy wondered what the hell he was doing. ‘I want to see you.’
‘Not today.’
‘Got your husband’s memorial to plan?’ He hated the way his voice sounded.
‘As it happens, yes.’
Billy looked at Jeanie. There was something different about her. She was staying closer to him, not venturing as far amongst the grass and gorse. She was clinging to him.
‘I have something to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘Detective Inspector Price has asked me to try and get the truth out of you about Dean’s alibi for the Mackie shooting.’
‘Oh yeah?’ A lightness crept back into Adele’s voice. Billy’s heart sang when he heard it.
‘Yeah.’
‘Pump me for information, is that the idea?’
They were flirting again.
‘Something like that.’
‘Isn’t that supposed to be his job?’
‘He was impressed with my Standard piece. Thought I could get inside you.’
‘Really?’
‘Under your skin.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘Maybe you can.’
There was noise in the background, a door banging.
‘I have to go. Maybe see you tomorrow at the memorial service.’
She hung up.
He looked down. Jeanie was sniffing at his shoes, circling his legs so closely that he could feel the warmth of her body through his trousers. He knelt and gave her a hug.
21
The graveyard was a jumble of ancient moss-green stones. Morning sunlight played through the crevices as mourners in designer black made their solemn way to the kirk. Despite the sun, a dankness hung amongst the graves, hundreds of years of history weighing down the air like mist. A handful of paparazzi lurked outside the church entrance, snapping at scowling faces. Two outside broadcast vans were parked further away, reporters preparing pieces for camera.
Billy walked alongside Rose. He had Jeanie on the new lead, and she trotted along close by his side.
‘I still can’t believe you brought that mutt,’ Rose said. ‘We’re working here.’
‘I didn’t want to leave her on her own.’
Rose shook her head. ‘The great crime reporter, with Greyfriars Bobby along for the ride.’
A minister in black robes came out and pleaded with the photographers and journos to move away from the entrance. They didn’t budge. The two thugs Billy recognised from the Whitehouse place came out and asked more forcefully. Everyone shuffled down the path and on to the grass.
A steady stream of mourners was still going in, the sound of camera clicks mingling with murmured conversation.
‘God, will you look at them,’ Rose said. ‘Councillors, businessmen, advocates. I never realised Frank Whitehouse had so much of the city in his pocket.’
‘Why would they care, now that he’s dead?’
‘Sucking up to Dean. There’s a power vacuum and the last thing these clowns want is any disruption to routine. They don’t want psychos like the Mackies in charge of things, so they’re showing solidarity with Dean, presuming he’s going to take over the mantle.’
Billy stroked Jeanie as Rose got her notebook out and began scribbling in shorthand. His phone beeped and he pulled it out. A message from Adele. Your name’s on the list, A x.
Billy turned to Rose. ‘You’ll never guess what.’
‘Pope’s a Catholic?’
‘I’ve got an invite for inside.’
Rose chuckled to herself. ‘From the merry widow?’
Billy nodded.
‘You’re some guy. I don’t want to know what you and her have been up to.’
‘It’s not like that. I’m just keeping her sweet, as instructed by your close friend PC Plod.’
Rose narrowed her eyes. ‘What does Little Miss Sunday Supplement make of you getting friendly with Adele Whitehouse?’
Billy looked at the people going inside. Well-fed men squeezed into expensive suits, showcase wives in tight black dresses.
‘Why should she mind? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Really?’
Billy turned and held the lead out to her. ‘Hold this, I can’t take Jeanie inside.’
‘I’m not looking after her.’ Rose waved her notebook. ‘Some of us are here to work.’
‘Do you want me to get another exclusive with Adele or don’t you?’
‘Tie her up there.’ Rose pointed at a nearby disabled handrail. ‘And get some good colour for the piece while you’re inside, eh?’
Billy looped the lead around the rail then bent and ruffled Jeanie’s fur, comforting her. He sauntered up to the thugs at the church door and gave his name, smiling as they grudgingly moved aside for him.
He took a seat in the back pew and slunk down. He got a notebook out and started writing, just notes about the place, the people, the atmosphere. The grey stone columns, the wooden rafters, the stained glass and organ, the hubbub of expectation. None of this would get used in a Standard piece, but he wrote anyway to keep his hands
