motorway and head towards a village called Dalswinton. The postcode would get him there and Spiv's red beamer would indicate to him which cottage he was at.
Spiv had been spooked into leaving the town. He had been coy with Bob, but wanted to speak to him before he fled for good. Bob had asked if Spiv was guilty. ‘Fuck no,’ was the reply, ‘but those bastards will frame me. My record is shit and, to be honest, I’m surprised they havenae tried to get me for it already.’
‘After 200 yards take the next junction on the left.’
Bob veered off the slip road and round and under the motorway onto a clear stretch of open road, left vacant by all those people who took only trunk roads to get to their destination.
Spiv was no killer. He knew Spiv and he wasn't like that. Why would he tell Bob about Dev being his brother and about being with Ollie Ingram if he had then gone on to kill them both – or either of them. No, Bob believed Spiv and he would use the time they had together down in deepest darkest Dumfries and Galloway to get to the bottom of it. He would encourage Spiv to stay and clear his name, instead of running and looking guilty.
But then they would have to face up to the truth of what did happen last year. Because Ian Ingram still had what he believed was evidence against one of them. And if it wasn't Spiv....
The road twisted and narrowed over stone bridges which passed with a flicker of the headlamp and then back to more open stretches up hill to blind summits and down again through the wondrous valleys. Sheep stood on the slopes and watched. To Bob they were a blur of white foam flashing by him.
---
Lauder College was quiet. It was a Sunday evening after all. The windows of the overlooking flats were lit to varying degrees as students got ready to go out or were studying behind closed curtains.
Mon had picked up Marie. Emma hadn't been around when they visited her home. No sign of her there, although Marie swore she saw Emma's car as they passed the train station in Rosyth. So it would be up to them to confront Pam. The exterior of this new build student accommodation looked grandiose - turreted apartments in cream and gold, large shining letters telling you the wing names and directions to room numbers above brass arrows, some of which had been stripped off and redirected or just removed. Bloody students. Room 178 was where Pam resided and while Marie clambered out of Mons mum’s car, Mon made a confident b-line in that direction.
Enough had been said on the phone when Marie had told Mon what Aid found at the Crook Inn. Her head was full of why Aid was there and what he had found - but worse than that – the uneasiness she felt that the person she had trusted for a long time had, over the past year been untruthful and worse, could have threatened her safety and had caused the death of a friend and the father of her son.
Stairs led the girls up to a landing. Metal bars attached to a wooden banister used for support. Newly painted black frame preceded windows overlooking the car park and yard. Some students were sitting on the landing, one girl had been crying. Over a boy, they thought, fleetingly and they stormed through the main landing door into the hall which would lead them to Pam's room.
'What you's doing?' a mouthy youth, her hair tied up with neon ribbon, confronted them.
'What’s it to you?' Monica broached the teenager, who retreated to her group at the far end of the corridor with a sarcastic 'wooo'. Mon was in no mood for any nonsense as she clocked the 178 on the door and battered it, before trying the handle.
'She's not in', one of the mouthy lot called out. Marie glanced at Mon, who in turn looked at the group, and then at Marie, before making the decision to crash her size 6 onto the door.
The crowd turned to see the door crash open, while one of the group ran off in the opposite direction. To get security - Marie thought. If it had been Bob the roll of her eyes would follow. Monica was in Pam's room. Marie looked over to the girls who still buzzed about and stared. She gave a wry smile and followed Mon, closing the door as best she could.
'She's not here Mon. What are we looking for?’ Mon was moving items across the desktop over at the window.
'Dunno, dunno. There must be something.'
'We are going to get into big trouble for this.'
'I know, sorry. I just think we need to help Aid and Bob.' Mon paused. ‘For Dev'. They both searched in silence for the thing they didn't really know. Whatever it was that would help.
'Right lets go.' Marie turned to see Mon heading for the door. She made her way over. Opening the door, they crept like criminals into the corridor. No need to try and hide themselves from those who had gathered in the hall. Word had spread that Pam Watters room had been busted.
'There they are!' One girl called out, as Mon and then Marie coasted along the hall. A couple of large football-type boys stood at the far door. They looked at each other and voices called out. 'Don't let them go!' and 'Stop them!' They positioned themselves across the door but Mon was not for stopping. She approached the two men, the first one buckled over with a knee in the groin. There was no break of stride as she continued into the stairwell.
Marie could only muster a 'Sorry' to the other lad, who was not going to get involved now, as she rode on Monica's tailwind.
---
'You are now at your destination', the satnav called out. Not such an accurate address. Spiv had told Bob that when you got to the village, which was like an inland Tobermory with its multicoloured doors and frames, you kept on going until a construction entrance with large steel framed gates appeared on the left. This led to the Wind Farm at Dalswinton and to the cottage where he would find his mate.
'How will I find out which cottage it is?' Bob had asked.
'Well it'll be the one wi’ ma car outside it for a start.' So Bob would find it alright. The road was more track than road, and Bob was glad he had Marie's car, although it gave him light butterflies in his stomach to think what Marie was going to say or do when she realised he was away in it to Dumfries. Flowers and chocs? Shouldn't have to explain. It was for the good of a mate. His mate who if he said hadn't killed a wee lass and his mate, he was going to believe. Surely Marie would be OK. Surely. The track twisted and turned, and as one dip in the road lead to another rise, the first of many Wind Turbines came into view. They stood high and proud, majestic and modern on this remote land. As out of place as the red sports car that caught Bob's eye. A white painted cottage with some smoke billowing from a chimney. Picturesque from a distance, Bob imagined it would be all show and no heart. As he drew closer the shattered dream became reality as the potential dream house showed signs of worn timbers and missing frames.
As he turned into the driveway Bob saw Simon Deuchar puffing on a cigarette arm raised towards him, like someone trying to catch the attention of a mate in a bar, only there was no-one else near here, so Bob acknowledged him with a wave. This was their friendly embrace, or as close as they would get to one. Spiv had grown into character in the short time he had been away. Red lumberjack jacket and a woolen hat. Bob had had the heating on full in the car, while he sat in his work overalls, his own woolly hat lying on the passenger seat.
Bob pulled down the window on the passenger side.
'Where can I park round here?' Ironic laughter made Spiv almost drop the fag end from his lip as he stuck his head in to greet him. A large puff of smoke or frozen air blew across Bob’s face.
