Dark Blood

could out of the school records. Knew it would be worth somethin’ some day.’

He shook his head, took a sip of tea. ‘Report cards, notes from his mum, complaints from the gym teacher…Tell you, makes you proud of the education system, doesn’t it? First thing she thinks of is how much cash she can rake in.’

‘And?’

‘Gonnae be in tomorrow’s Examiner: “Portrait of the monster as a small boy”, kinda deal. Four-page spread.’

‘No, you idiot, how did you get the address?’

‘School kept next-of-kin details on file. Mrs Euphemia Abercrombie-Murray was down as a second point of contact, in case they couldn’t get hold of Knox’s mum.’

At least that meant Finnie could call off his witch hunt.

Logan looked out through the falling snow. Lights were on in Knox’s house, everyone probably woken hours ago by Colin and his grumpy photographer. That was one good thing about the weather: no journalist was daft enough to camp out on the doorstep.

‘Anything else I should know?’

‘Well—’

The driver’s door creaked open and Sandy stuck his head in, snow clinging to the shoulders of his blue parka and the fringe of hair around of his head. ‘God it’s freezing out—’

‘No’ yet, eh, Sandy?’

‘Oh for…’ He threw his arms wide. ‘It’s my bloody car!’

‘Five minutes, mate.’

‘You know what: it’s my bloody petrol too.’ He yanked the key out of the ignition, then slammed the door again and marched off, hauling the parka’s fur-trimmed hood over his bald patch.

Colin dropped his voice to a whisper, ‘Ever heard of someone called Michael “Mental Mikey” Maitland?’

‘Newcastle mobster. If you’re going to tell me Knox was working for him, save your breath. I know.’

The reporter seemed to deflate a bit. ‘Oh.’

‘Anything else?’

‘You know he died Friday night?’

Pause. ‘So?’

The smile was back on Colin’s face. ‘Welcome to Wednesday’s exclusive: Knox was Mental Mikey’s accountant, right? Not someone you’d trust your grandad with, but cash: genius. Word is Mikey got Knox to squirrel away a bit of rainy-day money.’

‘How much?’

‘Millions. Two weeks ago Mikey has himself a wee “cardiac incident” and they wheech him into hospital for observation. He has three more, then a bloody huge one on Friday. Mental Mikey, Terror of Tyneside finally passes away in the wee small hours, surrounded by his nearest and dearest.’

‘Who all now want to get their hands on Mikey’s nest egg.’

Colin tapped the side of his head with a stiff, leathered finger. ‘Aye, but our boy Knox is the only one knows where it is and how to get at it.’

Logan watched a robin bob and hop across Knox’s front garden, leaving little CND footprints. ‘The lying bastard…’

‘Eh?’

‘Nothing.’ He clunked open the back door. ‘Anything else comes up – and I mean anything at all – give me a call.’

Colin shrugged. ‘Aye, and what’s in it for me?’

‘Dundee, Desperate Dan: truth. Remember?’

Logan climbed out into the snow, clunking the door shut on the reporter’s reply.

28

It was almost as cold inside Richard Knox’s house as it was outside, the windows spidered with tendrils of frost. So everyone gathered in the kitchen, listening to the kettle rumbling its way back to the boil again.

Everyone except Richard Knox: he was through in the lounge, kneeling in front of the three-bar electric fire, praying.

Logan nodded towards the door. ‘How’s he doing?’

Mandy from Sacro pulled a face. ‘Not happy. When that Weegie short-arse hammered on the door this morning Knox went off on one. Smashed the rest of the ornaments and broke all the furniture.’

Harry, her partner, stifled a yawn. ‘Only thing he didn’t do was lie down and beat his fists on the floor.’

Steel hauled herself to her feet. ‘Good. Maybe he’ll get so upset he’ll sod off somewhere else.’ She clunked her mug on the tabletop. ‘Anyone wants me, I’m outside having a fag.’