I’d been going for broke, but what he’d given me was enough. I’d established that I wasn’t the only witness to place the yobs on the hill. What I needed was Tupac to get me off the hook and there was still some hope he could do just that.
I pulled out my mobi, located the picture of Mark Crawford. ‘Did you see him on the night?’
Tupac squinted, held the phone in his hands like it was a delicate treasure. ‘I saw him. I saw him with the gang of little shits the night that fella was killed. I’m sure as eggs he was there; I’d know them wee bastards anywhere.’
As I put away the phone, Tupac spoke up again, ‘You know I told the police that I saw you come along later on. The commotion had long passed and I heard the car come back and then when I was out I saw you coming down the side of the hill like a great fucking stone falling.’
‘You told them all this?’
‘I told them you were the one that fell on the dead fella… that he was long gone when you came on the scene.’
I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or gutted. Tupac was my alibi, but the filth didn’t want to know.
I rose, handed him over a tenner, said, ‘Here, get yourself a pint.’
His eyes widened. ‘Thank you very much, Angus.’
I peeled off another tenner, then another, handed him a bunch of them. ‘And feed yourself up, get yourself a slot at the hostel for a few days. You might be better out of sight for a wee while.’
His eyes burned like candle wicks.
‘I… I… don’t know what to say.’
‘Say nothing — it’s all owed to you. Tupac, I want you to lay low for a few days, stay off the hill, and when you get yourself settled give me a call on this number.’ I scribbled down my mobi on a beer mat, handed it to him.
He looked at the piece of card, open-mouthed.
‘When you’re settled give me a call.’ My heart was pumping. I could see this all being exposed in a lengthy article for Rasher at some point down the track. ‘I’ll come and pick you up as soon as I get things sorted and we’ll go and make this statement to a lawyer… Okay?’
He nodded, stood up. As he walked out of the bar I saw the elbows poking from the sleeves of his jacket.
‘Hey, c’mere…’
He trudged back in a dream.
‘Take this.’
I gave him Hod’s Berghaus windcheater; like he’d miss it. I justified it to myself as wealth redistribution.
‘No, I can’t, I can’t take any more.’
I thrust it on him, said, ‘Of course you can.’
‘But…’
‘No buts. No arguing.’
He put it on, stuck his hands in the pockets. Pulled out a pack of Marlboro, red top.
‘Ah, my smokes.’
I took them from his hand. He watched me.
I said, ‘You smoke?’
A nod.
I handed back the pack.
Silence.
He turned for the door in a daze.
I called out, ‘Hey, what’s your real name, Tupac?’
A complete halt, stalled in the bar by the door, said, ‘It’s Kenneth.’
‘Just like the old king of Scotland!’
He smiled, weakly. ‘Do you mean MacAlpin… or Dalglish?’
It was my turn to smile, said, ‘Take your pick.’
He seemed to brighten. Then went through the door and back to the street.
Chapter 26
I settled in my chair and tipped the last of the goldie down my neck. As the whisky burn hit my stomach I sensed another strange glow, something I hadn’t felt since my last visit to the nick… it was the return of the feeling that I might crack this case. I could see Jonny Johnstone being cuffed and stuffed in the back of a van — quite an eye-opener that would be for him. But the shiny-arsed little ponce had it coming. I knew now this was more than just a matter of stiffing me to better ingratiate himself with Debs, or, for that matter, to boost his self-worth to make him feel better than his future wife’s ex-husband. Jonny was up to his neck in some serious trouble. I didn’t know where any of this was leading but I felt charged with fire to find out. Whoever Jonny was protecting knew exactly who had murdered Moosey, and why. I’d make it my life’s mission to discover who that person was, and just what the fuck they had over Jonny Johnstone.
As I stood up, the girl behind the bar screamed.
It was an ear-splitting scream, the kind of noise that cuts straight to some deep-rooted primeval instinct.
I ran to her. ‘Jesus, girl, what’s the matter?’
She was trembling, staring straight out the window at the front of the bar. ‘They just drove off…’
I lifted the bar top and walked round beside her. Some people had come from the kitchen now. ‘What is it?’ I said.
‘The car, the car…’ She pointed to the window.
As I looked out my own life seemed to flash before my eyes. Tupac was lying in a heap in the middle of the road. I left the girl shaking, ran out of the pub.
Two American tourists were standing by the side of the road. A tall man stood over Tupac, trying to loosen off his collar. By the time I reached the road the man had removed his jacket and placed it under Tupac’s head.
‘Tupac… Tupac, can you hear me?’ I put my hand on his face, he was cold. He didn’t seem to be breathing.
‘Someone should call an ambulance,’ said the tall man.
One of the Americans appeared at my back. It was the woman. ‘Oh my God… Oh my God!’ She kept repeating the words over and over.
‘Would you shut the fuck up, woman!’ I yelled. The other American came and led her away.
‘What happened?’ I said.
‘A car just knocked him into the air… It was parked over there.’ The tall guy pointed to the car park. ‘You should have seen the reek off the tyres — he must have been waiting for him… Knocked him right into the air he did.’
I looked at Tupac, he was turning blue. I tried to encourage him round by gently tapping at his cheeks, but he didn’t respond. There was blood seeping from his mouth and a pool behind his head.
‘Where’s the fucking ambulance?’ I yelled.
I stood up, I couldn’t bear to look at him any more. I walked to the edge of the road and back again. A crowd formed around the dirty, unwashed heap in the road that was Tupac. I approached the tall man, pulled him aside. ‘Did you see the car?’
‘Yes, yes, I saw it all…’
‘What kind of car was it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, a small one… white. Quite an age I think but well looked after.’
‘Was it a Corrado?’
‘I couldn’t say, yes, maybe… oh, I don’t know.’
