‘Jesus H, you sound rough as a badger’s arse. Big night last night?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You kids and your parties. I remember the days. Go for it. At your age you bounce back like knicker elastic. Anyway, like I was saying, we’ve got a potential scoop on our hands. Want in?’
‘What’s the story?’
‘Suspected suicide. Word on the street is that it might be someone already known to the police, as they say.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Just come meet me. It’s on our frigging doorstep, so we’ve got a start on those tabloid pricks for once. The body was found this morning at the bottom of Salisbury Crags.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, Kiddo. Got a jumper. Or maybe something a little more interesting, my sources tell me.’
‘Salisbury Crags?’
‘You’re taking a while to wake up, eh?’ She put on a voice as if talking to a toddler. ‘Yes. Salisbury Crags. Why don’t you extricate yourself from Little Miss Sunday Supplement, sling on your outsized trousers and meet me there in ten minutes?’
‘I don’t think…’
Rose’s voice turned serious. ‘I know this is strictly my shift, and you’re supposed to be having some well- earned kip, but trust me, if you want to get on at this game and learn the ropes properly, you’ll help me on this one.’
Billy hesitated. He looked at Zoe, still crashed out on sedatives. ‘OK.’
‘Good laddie, see you there.’
‘Wait, where is it exactly?’
‘Can’t miss it, Kiddo, the place will be crawling with police. Look out for large swathes of crime-scene tape.’
‘Right.’
Billy ended the call. A jumper at Salisbury Crags, just a few minutes’ walk from their accident.
He stared at Zoe, thighs white against black lace panties, arms covering her breasts. He reached over and stroked a strand of hair away from her eyes. She looked peaceful.
He pulled on his clothes, his body aching. He left the room and padded along the hall to Charlie’s door. He pushed it open. Charlie was spreadeagled naked on top of his covers, his room the usual mess of gadgets, magazines and junk. He was snoring heavily. Billy found his jacket and went through the pockets. He found two MXL blister packs, lifted them and tiptoed out of the room.
*
The sunlight made him cringe as he stepped out of the front door. A hot day, the air choked with traffic fumes and pollen, making him sneeze. He stopped when he reached the gate. Right in front of the house was the red Micra, parked as if nothing had happened.
He examined it. Ran a finger along the side panel, then the bumper and the bonnet. It was filthy, his finger came away grey and gritty. There didn’t appear to be any damage, how could that be? Now that he looked closely, he could see a slight bevel in the bonnet, a little to the left of centre, and a corresponding dent in the bumper. Hardly even noticeable. In the reflecting sunshine he spotted a few indentations in the roof, small dimples in the curve of the metal. Jesus, was that it?
He looked at their heavy front door, the flat that Zoe’s dad had bought for her when she started Uni, Billy and Charlie freeloading as usual. Further along the road at the end of Rankeillor Street was St Leonard’s police station, an anonymous modern brick block. Beyond that loomed the ragged brown cliff of Salisbury Crags, buttressed by the near-vertical slope beneath, spreads of rough yellow gorse clinging on for dear life.
4
He turned the corner at the top of Queen’s Drive. It all looked so different in the thick, shimmering sunlight. The expanse of gorse on the Crags seemed to glow. His head throbbed. The cliffs above looked less ominous than last night, just a mottled strip of rock against pale sky.
Cars zipped up and down Queen’s Drive as normal. Two police cars and a van were parked on the large spread of grass to the right of the road, where the slope of Salisbury Crags levelled off and the gorse petered out. A rough square of police tape cordoned off an area of grass and gorse, half a dozen men in uniform or white overalls milling about.
It wasn’t the scene of Billy’s accident. That was at least two hundred yards away.
He looked from the crime scene back to the small clump of trees that lined the road. Where they’d left the body. What the fuck was going on? Was the body still in there?
He saw Rose puffing up the hill towards the crime scene. He dry-swallowed two of Charlie’s capsules and went to meet her, the pills haunting his throat. She waved when she spotted him. She had a fag in her mouth and a huge suede shoulder bag. She was fifty, busty, divorced and coughing her lungs up when he met her a few yards from the police tape.
‘Hey, Kiddo.’ She was gasping, getting her breath back. ‘You look as bad as I feel.’
Billy stroked the bump on his head then stole a glimpse at the copse of trees from this angle. Just a tight cluster of beech, cars swishing past alongside, nothing to see.
Rose began walking in the opposite direction towards the cordoned-off area. ‘Come on, let’s find a story.’
Billy traipsed after her. She was surprisingly fast. By the time he reached the crime scene, she was already talking to a middle-aged police officer with a neat grey beard and a smart suit. She had her notebook out and was making shorthand scribbles.
‘Stuart, this is Billy, my toyboy,’ she said. ‘Billy, this is Detective Inspector Price. Or Stuart, if you know him like I do.’
DI Price put on a smile but didn’t offer a hand. He turned back to Rose.
‘As I was saying, the body was found at 9.15 this morning by a local woman walking her dog.’
‘Name and address?’ Rose raised her eyebrows.
Price smiled. ‘I’ll get it from one of the grunts in a minute. Anyway, the body was found in amongst the gorse bushes here, which would seem to indicate a suicide or a tragic accident up on the Radical Road.’
‘Where?’ Billy said.
Price pointed upwards. ‘It’s the name of the path that runs along the base of the cliffs, at the top of this slope.’
Billy shielded his eyes as he looked up. He’d lived in Edinburgh his whole life and never heard the name before.
‘Got an ID on the deceased yet?’ Rose said.
Price smiled and looked at her notebook. ‘Not officially.’
She stopped writing and lowered the pad. It was like they were flirting.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘Officially he’s a white male in his forties, average height and solid build, well dressed.’
Billy thought about last night.
‘And unofficially?’ Rose was giving him big eyes.
‘It’s Frank Whitehouse.’ Price had a note of triumph in his voice.
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Holy crap, Frank Whitehouse.’
‘Who?’ Billy said.
Price turned to him. ‘You’re a crime reporter and you don’t know who Frank Whitehouse is?’
‘He’s new,’ Rose said. ‘Learning the ropes.’
