'Ah ken, like fuckin Piccadilly round here int it!' The ice was literally broken and Spiv was in good form.
'You want a coffee or a beer or something?' Spiv walked back over towards the cottage while Bob positioned the car beside Spiv’s in front of the doorway. 'Aye, coffee would be grand'
Spiv opened the cottage door, poking his head around the door frame.
'Pam! Go and pit the kettle oan and make Bob a coffee', he bellowed.
---
'Are we going to get out of here?' Marie watched Mon as she leafed through the book taken from Pam's room. It was the first time that either of them had spoken since leaving the Halls of residence.
'What?' Mon was preoccupied, then returned to reality momentarily, passing the book to Marie in the passenger seat. 'Take a look'. She turned the ignition on. People gathered outside the halls in the evening dusk. Lampposts flicked on as the car revved and Mon took them away from their crime scene.
Marie looked out of the window as fingers pointed their way - at the getaway vehicle - she mused.
'Are you looking?'
Marie leafed through the pages of what was Pam's student diary. August to August.
'What am I looking for?'
'What does it say?' Mon stared at the road, but her mind was focused on the book.
The car tore across the road towards Halbeath roundabout. 'Where are we going?'
'To have a look at the diary'. The car barely slowed as Mon pushed it into 4th gear and accelerated towards the out of town shopping area. They were less than 500 yds away from Pam's apartment, but pulling up in the busy car park, Mon felt that this would do as a place to study Pamela Watters diary.
Aid had found a message. A message that they would always remember from when Dev was killed last year. He had found it in the Crook Inn. He had found it in the room where Pam Watters had been staying.
---
The light was dimming and these unfamiliar roads helped little as Aid attempted to get down to Dumfries. The headlights flashed across stockfencing and broken gate posts. Bright light showed a signpost and Aid knew he was a bit closer to Bob and Spiv. He just hoped he would get there in time to tell them what he knew.
‘
Pam Watters. Little Pammy. An add on. Really a non-entity in the whole scheme of things. Not a certainty. But what did they know of Pamela Watters? Certainly they knew more about their mate Spiv. And between them, one of them knew more than they were letting on. One of them had sent Dev to Olive Island. One of them, at the very least, sent Dev to the place where Ollie Ingram’s body was found and, later, where Dev Coulding’s last breaths would be taken.
These thoughts had been hard to figure out – a long drive it had been from Fife to Dumfrieshire. The car had reached Dalswinton village. No lights from shops or pubs here. Just a row of houses in the middle of farmland at the foot of the hillside. Aid pulled into the side of the road outside one of these white houses which fronted the road. Some light remained in the sky, but it was fading fast, and the house lights indicated that someone would be home. There was no sign of Spiv’s car. Or Marie’s. So it was unlikely he was in the right place - yet. He tried his phone. No reception. Had anyone been trying to contact him? When had he last used the phone? Certainly no-one had called since he left or, at least, he had received no calls since the reception had died. The bright green door adjacent to the car was probably as good a bet as any, so he got out of the car and proceeded to click the doorbell. Chime.
It was cold in these southern climes, and he wasn't really dressed for this in his jumper and jeans.
'Whae is it?' an older man's voice quizzed from behind the door.
'Sorry to bother you. I'm just looking for a friend of mine. He’s staying down this way.'
'Uh hu', the voice stood just behind the door and the silhouette of a short man appeared through frosted glass as a curtain was drawn back from the door.
'Simon Deuchar? Do you know him?'
The door unlatched and a key was turned in the lock. Not a Yale. One of those old locking keys with their various sized heads.
'Deuchar?' The old man wore a scarf despite having been locked inside, but Aid said nothing, 'There's no Deuchar’s in the village. Sorry.' He looked Aid up and down. Perhaps to answer police enquiries later should someone in the village report misdeeds at a later date, Aid thought.
'OK, thanks. I don't suppose I could borrow your phone. I can't seem to get any reception.' The old man looked him up and down again.
'No. You'll get no reception down in the village.' Aid nodded and took a step toward the door, which started to shut as soon as he moved.
'You'll get reception about 200 yds up the road. Goodnight son'. And with that the door was closed and Aid stood still for a second feeling a bit foolish. 200yds in what direction? He got back into the car.
---
The coffee smelled good - warm - which was the most important thing.
'I'm sorry Bob. I just got spooked eh? I mean if Ingram thinks I've done this, I'm a dead man. I mean, I did see Ollie Ingram. I did take her to Olive Island, but I'll tell you the same as I told Pam. I didnae kill her man. No fuckin chance.' Spiv puffed on another cigarette, and slumped back again in the couch, while Bob perched forward on the armchair in silence. Pam was clinking the cups in the kitchen.
'But why didn't you tell the police this?'
Spiv rolled his eyes, taking in a long drag, and as he spoke the puff billowed out.
'You think I did it. Fuckin hell man. You do.'
'No Spiv. I want to believe you, but you have just gone and told me that you lied to the fuckin police man. It's difficult to believe someone when they’ve just told you that.'
'I didn't do it', Spiv’s speech was slow and deliberate as he looked straight at Bob.
