‘Every oddball, weirdo, and tosspot in town is going to descend on this place.’
‘Yup.’ She blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.
‘There’s something else.’ Logan told her about Collin Miller’s little revelation. ‘So with Mental Mikey dead…’
Steel didn’t even blink. ‘I know. Danby told me. Why do you think Knox wanted to move up here: our balmy climate and cafe culture? Nah, knew Mikey was on the way out, needed to be…’ She waved her hand in a circle, the cigarette leaving a trail in the air. ‘…somewhere all those ambitious wee radges couldn’t get their hands on him. With Mikey dead he’s no’ protected any more.’
‘Oh.’ So much for that. Logan turned back to the window, watching the snow settle on the crowd.
‘You get anything out of Polmont’s journals?’
‘Still working on it.’ He’d taken them home again last night and forgot all about them after Samantha came through wearing nothing but her tattoos, stripy hold-ups and a pair of knee-high kinky boots. ‘Why’s Danby so interested?’
‘Who says he’s interested?’
‘Do we have to go through this
‘Can you imagine lying here every Friday night listening to your granny and grandad humping like horny gerbils?’
‘Fine, keep it secret, like I bloody care.’ He flicked ash out of the window. ‘How are we going to get Knox out of here?’
‘Wonder if she was a moaner, a screamer? Or did she just lie there like a sack of tatties?’
‘Road’s packed. Maybe we can get him out over the back wall?’
‘Looking at her photo, I bet she was a screamer. “Oh, Grandad Joe, you’re so big!”’ Steel lowered her voice for: ‘“Who’s the grandaddy?” “Oh,
‘Do you have to do that?’
Shrug. ‘Got to take pleasure in the simple things, Laz. Otherwise, what have you got?’ She stuck the cigarette between her teeth and had a scratch at her crotch.
‘Better go see if they’ve got him packed up yet.’
Knox was curled up on his granny’s tatty quilt in the master bedroom, the handles of his plastic bag sticking out like rabbit ears.
‘Come on, Richard, you’re going to have to help.’ Mandy from Sacro stuck her hands on her hips, a white T-shirt clasped in one hand. A battered leather suitcase sat open on the foot of the bed, with a little pile of clothes in it.
‘I’m not going.’
Logan knocked on the door frame. ‘How we doing?’
Mandy glowered at him. ‘How do you think?’
‘I’m not going. This is me house. You can’t make us leave.’
She gritted her teeth, stared at the ceiling for a moment, then marched out, thrusting the T-shirt into Logan’s hands.
‘I’m not leaving.’
Logan rolled the T-shirt into a ball and lobbed it into the open suitcase. Five points. ‘Not open for debate.’
Knox wouldn’t look at him. ‘You can’t make us.’
‘Want to bet?’ The curtains were closed in the bedroom. Logan opened them. So much for trying to smuggle Knox out over the back wall and through the neighbour’s garden. There were photographers up stepladders on all three sides, zoom lenses trained on the house. Silly sods. It had to be minus-four out there.
It looked as if the paparazzi in the garden opposite had broken their vigil at one point to build a small, vaguely obscene snowman.
It didn’t take long before someone spotted Logan at the window, and flashes started flickering. He closed the curtains again.
‘On your feet, we’re leaving.’
‘Told you, I’m not going anywhere.’ Knox stuck his forehead on his knees. ‘Why does no one listen to us?’
‘Right, Richard Knox, I’m arresting you for—’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘There’s a mob out there, and they’ve already attacked the house once. By staying here you’re inflaming the situation – that means I can do you for causing a breach of the peace.’
‘But—’
Logan took out his handcuffs. ‘Look on it as a test from God.’
Silence. Then Knox rolled off the bed and yanked open a drawer in an ancient dresser. Various old clothes went into the suitcase: shirts, socks, Y-fronts.
Logan watched him pack. ‘So, you’re on the run from the mob then?’
The little man stopped in the middle of packing a string vest. ‘Who told you that?’
