Long Time Dead

Her voice came slow and controlled, calm even: ‘Mr Dury, if I was the type of woman to take offence, how do you think I’d be greeting you now?’

She had some moves – it was quite a gambit. I let her hang a moment, held back my desire to say Shut the fuck up went with: ‘I believe I told you from the start, Gillian… if you want answers, I’m the man you need.’

Her eyes flared, went through the spectrum from warm intensity to fire in the hold, said, ‘I never gave you licence, Mr Dury, to use my name to open doors like some handy credit card. And nor did I ask you to put my colleagues in such a state of fear that… Look, I have a reputation that extends further than this town.’

I turned away, rolled eyes. ‘What you have is a dead son.’

That stung. Her lower lip trembled. It was almost imperceptible and the second it appeared she hauled it in. I waited for her reply but none came.

I continued, ‘Gillian, we both know this was never going to be pretty.’ I caught sight of Hod out of the corner of my eye. He looked nervous. I played it cool, dropped it down a notch or two. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?… There’s a lot you need to know, a lot I’ve uncovered.’

Gillian’s eyes flashed back to life. She nodded quickly, waving a palm towards the sitting room. Hod and I followed her. The leggy Tina eased herself from the shadows where she had been leaning on the jamb of a door. She wore an expression I’d seen a few times before: contempt. I had half a mind to say Got a fucking problem, hen? Went with, ‘Hello again.’ She sneered at me, shook her head as she followed her partner to the sitting room. As she went I spotted a tattoo sitting above the band of her tight black mini – what is referred to colloquially as a tramp-stamp. I looked at Hod, whispered, ‘What’s her bloody problem?’

‘You don’t know? Seems obvious to me – it’s you!’

Gillian walked over to the drinks cabinet, poured herself out a large brandy, swirled it about in the base of the glass. Tina gently rubbed her back, put an arm around her shoulder. I saw that the bruising I’d noticed earlier had subsided. I made a mental note of that. Seemed worthwhile keeping tabs on this girl – and she was just a girl.

Gillian broke away from her young partner, said, ‘Drink?’

I looked at the silver tray with crystal decanters on top – seemed to be all spirits. I wasn’t about to risk it in my current condition… no matter how loud the wail. ‘Have you anything with a bit less of a kick?’

She turned from me, reached for the handle of the cabinet below her. There was a mini-fridge tucked away. ‘Wine? Beer?’

I eyed the contents: Polish lager would have to do. ‘A beer would be grand.’ I could feel my nerves shrieking for a taste of alcohol, any taste. I needed an hour inside that fridge, maybe with a few decanters of scoosh to help me out, but I fought hard. The consequences didn’t bear thinking about, no matter how much my veins screamed for it.

Gillian handed over the beer, then turned to Hod and repeated the process.

We moved to the seating area, parked ourselves. Gillian looked sheepish, as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what I had to say. I watched her cross and uncross her legs, then she took Tina’s hand and clasped it tightly.

With the first tug on my beer, I was gantin’ to get out my face. Tried to hold it off, pushed the beer back again and let my insides think it was just a matter of time before there was more to follow. I needed to stay calm, said, ‘There’s been some… developments.’

‘Go on,’ said Gillian.

How did I tell her Calder was most likely killed? That her only son was about as popular as a fart in a spacesuit? How did I tell her he was dealing drugs on campus, and supplying call girls? How did I tell her Ben was mixed up with the likes of Danny Gemmill? How did I tell her the Craft was engaged in a cover-up of his death with the very university she was now heading up? None of it sat easy with me, but she’d hired me to know this, so I told her.

When I was finished Gillian looked as if she’d fallen to earth without a parachute. I thought she must be too shocked to cross-examine me, or ask for the proof; or maybe she believed it all along and was just too tired to fight her conscience any more. Tina placed an arm around her again, stroked her hair with her other hand. Gillian was devastated. I had expected anger, denials, accusations, deflection, but the sight before me was of a mother bereft. Something in the telling had struck a chord; she knew her son, and it made sense. But she was his mother and forgave him all his sins; what she wanted more than anything was peace of mind. I knew the feeling.

‘Gillian, I can see much of this is of little help to you… I told you it wouldn’t be pretty.’

She shot eyes at Hod and me. ‘Yes, yes of course…’ She rose, walked to the other side of the room, pulled open a drawer and removed Hod’s contract. She signed it before us, then handed it over to Hod. ‘You’ll need expenses, I suppose…’ She returned to the drawer, took out a chequebook and started to scratch away with a pen. Hod looked satisfied when she handed over the cheque.

As Gillian came back to face me, Tina got up from the couch, walked towards the door, turned, put icy blue eyes on Gillian for a moment, then walked out. Her heels sounded like hammer blows as she stomped down the hall. I figured this was a move she’d perfected storming out of some chippy or other on Leith Walk after a row with a schemie boyfriend, or maybe even a pimp. It was all street trash theatrics; she was showing her true worth – in all its glory.

‘I’m sorry… she doesn’t approve of… this,’ said Gillian.

‘Oh, no?’

She shook her head. ‘Thinks sleeping dogs are best left to lie. Thinks I don’t have my troubles to seek.’

‘And you, what do you think?’

She pressed the sides of her mouth back. It was a weak attempt at a smile of sorts, said, ‘I need to know… I need to know the truth about what happened to Ben.’

I felt her grief; I’d lost loved ones myself, knew that nothing prepares you. Knew the need to know eclipses everything at times of pain. Gillian wouldn’t rest till she had all the answers. I admired her strength, her resolve… I just hoped Tina wasn’t right. Though something told me her motives were entirely different from what she was letting on.

I thanked Gillian, said, ‘I’ll be in touch.’ We headed for the door.

Tina was sulking by the window in the front room. She had a cigarette in her hand; I couldn’t see an ashtray. I nodded to her. She turned away, leaned against the wall, one high-heeled shoe supporting her, just like a proper brasser.

As the door closed on us, Hod pulled out the contract and kissed it. ‘Oh, Gus… fucking nice one, mate.’

I couldn’t share his enthusiasm. I was glad for him, but I knew the shit was shaping up to hit the fan. There were so many interests lining up to stick the knife in me that I felt like yon Pop-up Pirate.

Chapter 20

I WAS WOKEN BY THE MOBI going off next to my ear – bit of Chemical Brothers was normally a good get, but not this time of the day. Knocked over a few empty stout tins as I reached for the phone, said, ‘Hello.’

‘Gus, that you?’

I recognised the hardy voice at once. ‘Mr Bacon… yeah, it’s me.’

‘Good, good… How you keeping?’

Was this a fucking social call… this early? ‘What?’

‘Aye, small chat, eh, screw that. Just calling to let you know I looked out that stuff you were after.’

‘The files?’

‘Oh, aye… quite a few. Some good reading in there as well.’

‘There is?’

‘Bastardin’ sure there is. That laddie was up to his neck in some muck!’

‘Oh, really…’

Rasher’s voice arked up: ‘Fucking wee scumbag, so he was… Looking at this load on my desk, I’d say he wasn’t far off a stretch at Her Majesty’s displeasure. Total wee toley so he was.’