She turned to Billy. ‘Frank Whitehouse is, or was, probably the biggest criminal in Edinburgh. First made his mark in the nineties, started in drugs, moved into prostitution, identity fraud, money-laundering, you name it. These days he’s semi-legit, in property and development, with half the council in his pocket, but he’s still a thug at heart. Smart, though, never got caught himself, always got someone else to take the bullet.’
‘Until now, it would seem,’ Price said.
‘I can’t believe it, Frank Whitehouse is dead.’ Rose shook her head.
‘We haven’t had a formal identification yet,’ Price said. ‘A couple of officers are away to collect Mrs Whitehouse, escort her to the morgue.’ He nodded at two men in overalls. ‘We’re just about ready to remove the body.’
‘Can we see?’ Rose said.
Price raised his eyebrows and thought a moment, looking around.
‘Follow me.’
He lifted the flimsy tape and guided them under. He strode up to where the two overall guys were kneeling. Billy hung back, cricking his neck, rubbing his aching shoulders, feeling damp under his armpits. They were amongst gorse bushes now, mustardy flowers and thorns everywhere. Horseflies and midges skittered around them. A bee zigzagged between blossoms. DI Price and Rose were in front of him, looking at the body. He crept forward until he was almost between them.
He recognised the shoes. Expensive brown leather. Scuffed. He could see now that the socks on the ankles he held last night were burgundy. He raised his eyes. Fitted grey suit, cornflower-blue tie. Sturdy chest underneath, thick neck. The face was the same scraped and bloody mess Billy remembered.
He turned and staggered out the bushes, swiping at midges, his forehead wet with sweat. He made it ten yards then fell to his knees and threw up, his vomit blood-red from the beetroot schnapps, tearing at the lining of his throat as he retched and coughed.
He ran his tongue around his mouth and spat. He spotted two orange capsules among the mess. He carefully picked them out of the red swill and put them on his tongue, tried to swallow. He worked up some saliva and threw his head back.
He heard footsteps. Rose and DI Price were standing over him.
‘It’s his first dead body,’ Rose said. ‘He’ll be fine in a minute.’
5
They spoke to the woman who found the body. Five minutes on a doorstep in West Richmond Street jotting down her middle-class shock and trauma in quotable chunks. Rose did all the asking, Billy in a daze, his mind and stomach churning.
‘Nice bit of colour for the piece,’ Rose said as they came away. ‘We need to get something more meaty, though.’
She turned to him. ‘You’ve got a car, right?’
Billy nodded.
‘Rankeillor Street?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK, let’s drive to the Whitehouse place, wait for the merry widow to get back from the morgue. Catch her with her guard down.’
They headed up St Leonard’s Street, Billy a step behind.
‘There’s no way Frank Whitehouse topped himself,’ Rose said. ‘And there are plenty of rivals who wanted him dead. Oh boy, we are so ahead of the curve on this story, thanks to the lovely detective inspector.’
She gave Billy a cheeky smile. He could see how she would’ve been a real beauty in her day. Hell, she still had it, despite the crow’s feet and smoker’s cough.
‘He’s a widower, you know. Gets lonely being on your own sometimes.’
Billy stared at her. ‘You’re sleeping with him?’
‘Don’t be so crude, a bit of human companionship never did anyone any harm.’
They turned into Rankeillor Street.
‘Speaking of which, how are things with Little Miss Sunday Supplement?’
Rose had a thing about Zoe. Hard-working, veteran crime reporter for the Evening Standard versus privileged lifestyle and fashion journalist on the Sunday paper. It wasn’t hard to fathom the resentment.
‘Fine.’
‘You’re awful quiet today, Kiddo.’
Billy was trying to work out everything. Frank Whitehouse. They’d hit him, left him in the trees. Dead, apparently. But he was found two hundred yards away at the bottom of the Radical Road. What the fuck?
They were at the car now. Billy patted his pockets. Charlie had the keys.
‘I’ll need to get the keys, wait a second.’
He went inside and met Zoe coming out of Charlie’s room.
‘Jesus, Billy, where have you been?’ She glanced behind her. ‘Charlie, Billy’s back.’ She turned to him. ‘I texted you.’
Billy pulled out his phone. Three texts, right enough. He hadn’t even noticed.
Charlie came out, hair a mess, bleary-eyed. ‘Fuck’s sake, Bro, what are you playing at?’
‘I’ve been working with Rose. At a crime scene. Salisbury Crags.’
Zoe looked shocked. ‘Was it…?’
Billy nodded. ‘The guy we hit. But he wasn’t where we left him. He was hundreds of yards away in the bushes at the bottom of the Crags.’
‘How can that be?’ Charlie said.
‘You tell me, you’re the one said he was dead.’
‘He was.’
‘Then how the fuck did he end up somewhere else?’ Billy felt the stings in his hands throb, his neck muscles bunch up.
‘Oh God,’ Zoe said.
‘Cooee?’ Rose was in the doorway at the other end of the hall. ‘Don’t mind me, dearies. Looks like you all had quite a night of it. Kiddo here has already puked at a crime scene this morning. Billy, we need to get going in case the red tops get wind of this.’
‘Cool.’ Billy turned to Charlie. ‘I need the car keys.’
‘You OK to drive?’
‘I’ll have to be.’
‘Where are you going?’
Billy looked at Rose waiting in the doorway and lowered his voice. ‘We’re going to interview Mrs Whitehouse, the wife of the dead man, who happens to be Edinburgh’s biggest fucking crime lord.’
‘Holy shit.’
‘Yeah.’ Billy turned and left.
Outside, he unlocked the car and he and Rose got in. The seats were warm in the sun, the air stale. He wound down his window as Rose put her seat belt on. He stared at the steering wheel, tried to stop his hands shaking. He put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.
‘You OK?’ Rose said.
He didn’t speak.
‘You’re not still drunk from last night, are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
He still hadn’t turned the key.
‘Look, if it’s about being sick back there, don’t worry about it. I was the same the first time I saw a stiff. You get used to it pretty quickly, trust me.’
Billy turned the key and the engine started straight away. Mum’s car had always been reliable, had seen
