not with me. ‘I think you could be right.’
This was a bullseye. Normally drawing information from Fitz was like getting blood from a stone. I felt wary, he was filth after all, but I pressed him. ‘If you’re saying that, then you know something… or want something.’
A nod. Fitz inflated his chest and exhaled slowly as he spoke: ‘My nephew, young Colin, he’s a good lad… cleaner than a cat’s arse, I assure you. He was at the scene on the night the Laird laddo died.’
I corrected him: ‘The murder scene.’
More nods. Fitz was playing into my hands, or feeding me a line; I didn’t care which if it got me what I wanted to know. ‘He’s sharp as a tack, our Colin, no shiny-arsed careerist either. He’s only after doing the best job he can… ’tis green as grass to be honest.’
I could see he had something more to say. ‘Go on.’
‘He came to me… couple of days ago. Christ, he was near white as a sheet, didn’t know whether to sit or shit. He says there was some
I knew it: fucking filth up to their nuts in it as usual. If Fitz was telling me this then it was bad. He was Irish – and if there’s one thing they don’t do it’s inform. More than that, though, he was filth – and they look after their own. Fitz was doubling up on the rule-breaking and it didn’t sit well with me, or him… that was clear enough.
He went on, ‘Colin was first to the campus, secured the area and called in the squad. Only, somewhere along the line it got to be known to the ranks.’
‘The ranks?’
‘Top of the tree, Gus.’ Fitz fingered his collar. ‘‘Tis olde worlde, the Craft.’
He was talking about the Masons. It was a fair stretch for me to get my head around the force’s top brass covering up a murder with the university’s big boys. For a kick-off, what was the motive? Save the bad publicity? Or perhaps there was more to this than met the eye. For sure they were all old school, all looking out for each other, but in such an obvious fashion? It was a leap I had some trouble buying into.
‘Wait a minute… are you saying what I think you are?’
He breathed in, exhaled slowly. His face was redder than ever and seemed to sag in dreary fashion from brow to jowl. ‘Look, I’ve seen the word given in the past: go slow, go quiet, go fucking dumb!’
‘So, what? Who’s to protect?’
Fitz picked up his glass, hit the goldie. ‘I don’t know the whole story… but I’m not shitting you here.’
I watched him wipe a line of moisture from his top lip then look away. He was either putting on a very good performance or totally convinced of what he was telling me. One more thing didn’t make sense. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘You think I can go poking about in it? Jesus Christ, they’d throw me to the wolves. And then… then there’s young Colin.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s implicated.’
I couldn’t see it, pushed: ‘All he’s done is speak to you. Hardly implication.’
Fitz gasped, ran fingers through his grey hair. ‘Day after, he was in the office, due to put in his report… he got a visit from one of the Craft laddos. Handed him an envelope, said, “There’s the money I owe you”… walked off. There was enough in there for him to clear a deposit on his first flat in Gorgie.’
That was implication. ‘The daft fucker.’
Fitz shook his head. ‘What’s he supposed to do, Gus? Ye have no idea of the pressure… There are people in there you just don’t piss off. This stage of his career, he’d be finished before he got started. Hasn’t he a lass and a youngster to think of.’
I looked away to the window. The sun was ducking behind a rain cloud. I watched a black cat leap onto the top of a wall. I said, ‘You need to tease some more information from Colin.’
‘Ah, now… I don’t know about that.’
‘Just see if he’s anything to add to his story.’
‘Gus… sure, he’s still very young.’
I hit my pint, put the glass down hard on the table. ‘I’ll need you to do some more digging as well. Colin might know more than he’s let on; just check it out. It’s his arse on the line as well.’
Fitz turned over a beer mat, his red-rimmed eyes moistening; I could see the concern in them. It unsettled me, made me question what the hell I was doing. Fitz nodded slowly. ‘All right… but don’t be surprised if it’s me you find swinging from a rope next.’
Chapter 18
I TRIED TO KEEP IN the ballpark of some regular hours at the uni, but even with my pretence to being part- time, I felt the cover story was slipping. Had never got the hang of this working-life lark – dunno why I expected it to be any different now. Some folk just aren’t cut out for the real world. Was I one of them? Oh, yeah. Me and reality don’t get on. Call me a cynic, but answer me this: what the fuck’s modern life got to recommend it?
I put on my dustcoat, tidied up around the doocot. Put a few dirty coffee cups in the sink; tipped out some old newspapers – nothing in them I wanted to see anyway. Stalled for as long as possible before I had to tackle some real work. Well, as near to it as you got in this job. There wasn’t much to do on the rounds so I occupied myself with moving a set of ladders from one end of the campus to the other. I took off with them under my arm but was stopped in my tracks by a face I’d been keeping an eye on. Ben Laird’s so-called best mate was in animated conversation with my janny colleague, Stevo. Look of it, Paul was warming up to full-on apoplexy.
I put down the ladders and tried to get close enough to hear what was being said, but it was no good. They were too far out of range; if I moved any further in I’d blow my cover. By the body language, however, it was plain enough to see they weren’t discussing what to get each other for Christmas. Paul was poking Stevo in the chest with a book he held in his hand like a dagger. His face was redder than usual. Under the red hair it was quite a sight – looked like the home stand at Tannadice. Had I been any closer I might have intervened. This was a side to Paul I hadn’t seen, though I’d suspected it lurked in there. Some people you just get a feeling about.
In a few moments, the tirade seemed to pass and the ginge returned to his normal pasty complexion; save a few thousand freckles. He moved away, still pointing the book at Stevo, but backing off. I watched Stevo stand thunderstruck. He looked deflated, as if he’d been punched in the guts, or maybe given a death sentence. It was the kind of look to make old women rub you on the back and offer to get you a cup of tea. I felt for the guy.
By the time I was through moving the ladders, it was time for a smoke. I schlepped through the campus, putting friendly smiles out, but all were rebuffed. I’d been trying to hit some of the few student stragglers for info on Ben, but to a one they had held schtum. Felt my luck was up. And Calder’s hanging had all but put the kybosh on it. The place was now in a state of shock. As a new face it made my task even harder; no one was risking their neck to talk to me.
A subdued Stevo was back at base when I returned.
‘All right, there,’ I said.
Got a nod. He had his feet up on a bale of barbed wire.
‘You got a light by any chance?’ he said.
‘Aye… aye.’ I handed him my Zippo, pulled out a Marlboro for myself.
Stevo produced a half-tanned reefer, let it droop from his lip, sparked up. I watched him take the smoke deep into his lungs, let it settle there, then exhale slowly. It seemed to do the trick, calmed him. His eyes rolled up behind heavy lids.
‘Busy morning?’ I said.
‘Could say that.’
I tried to move the conversation on. ‘The gents’ toilets overflowing again?’
Frowns. ‘I put in a new ballcock… Should be fine.’
‘You make it sound like a doddle. Bet it’s a big job.’
‘Not really.’
I let him get comfortable, took a couple of blasts on the joint myself. It seemed to put him at ease; made him think he was in friendly company. I wanted him to think that. He was a good bloke. I liked his company and I knew
