Eilidh raised her head, her interest sparked, and I caught another glimpse of the sharp lawyer who had sat with me in the police station.
'It’s hard to generalise, it’d depend what the evidence was, but technology’s moved on remarkably. There are cases that were thought long dead being dusted down, reexamined and solved through DNA and the like.' She smiled. 'A lot of worried crims who thought they’d got clean away are dreading the knock at the door. Why?'
The urge to share was strong, but I resisted.
'Just something I was reading.'
Eilidh gave me a look that said she wasn’t sure she believed me. But it wasn’t an unfriendly look.
'Please think about John’s benefit.' She held my red-rimmed eyes in her violet gaze. 'He admires you. It would mean a lot to him if you were involved.'
'I’ll think about it. No promises though.'
'No promises.'
She leant over and gave me a kiss goodbye. Apart from the day when I’d met my mother it was the first time in a long while that a woman had kissed me. It felt better than it should.
I was halfway down the close stairs before I realised that I hadn’t asked Johnny what his benefit was in aid of.
Berlin
SYLVIE AND I spent the rest of the afternoon and much of a long sober post-show night trying to light on the super-sexy twist we’d promised Ulla. It was morning by the time we’d sorted it out. We went through a private rehearsal then headed to our respective beds with the warm worn-out feeling that comes from a good evening’s work.
Of course the cutting the lady in half trick was only a small part of the new act, but separating the woman’s torso from her legs was a private nod to myself that I was moving on from the kind of second-rate penetration effect I’d performed at Bill’s club. There was a dramatic death-defying illusion destined for our finale, something I doubted the crowd at Schall und Rauch had seen before.
It was 9 a.m. and I was sitting on my hotel bed adding the last touch to a diagram and sipping a medicinal Grouse before finally getting my head down when the telephone rang.
The voice on the other end was as brash as a barker in a penny arcade.
'William, I was expecting your fucking answerphone.'
'Hi, Richard, I was up all night rehearsing.'
'Good boy, well you can spare me three minutes.'
I held the phone away from my ear while he coughed a phlegm-filled cough. 'How’s things in der Fatherland?'
'Better.'
'You wowing them yet?'
'About to.'
'Glad to hear it ’cos I’ve got some good news for you.'
'What?'
'There’s a scout travelling over on Saturday to take in your show.'
'Saturday?'
'Christ, don’t drop dead of enthusiasm.'
'No, that’s great news, Richard, it’s just Saturday’s the first night of the new act. I would’ve liked a chance to iron out any glitches that come up.'
'Don’t worry, the adrenalin’ll carry you through.'
Richard hacked out another round of coughs and I wondered where he’d heard of adrenalin.
'Who’s he scouting for?'
'TV, BBC3 to be exact, a late-night show. This could be what you’ve been waiting for.'
'So do you want me to meet him? Wine and dine him?'
'No, keep schtumm. He likes to go incognito. A lot of the big scouts are like that. But forewarned is forearmed. Save you screwing it up.'
'Thanks, Richard.'
'Don’t mention it, son. Just thank me by keeping sober and avoiding making a balls up.
This could be the big one. He was most insistent, no comics, no dancing girls, no singers, he only wants conjurers. This could have your name on it, Will.'
Glasgow
MY TRAWL THROUGH the Mitchell Library’s archives had revealed that one particular case was mentioned every time the murdered nightclub owner Bill Noon, or his father, Bill Noon senior, appeared in the newspapers. Bill had referred to it obliquely on the night we met and I’d read about it in the Telegraph’s report of Sam and Bill’s death, though its significance had been lost to me then.
On the morning of the Friday, 13th March, 1970, Mrs Gloria Noon had left her home at about 12.15 in the
