say it may have something to do with the bullet in my brain, but those people say I should be dead, so what the hell do they know?’
‘Are those two your only staff?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he replied. I noticed for the first time that his chair had high supporting pads on either side of his head. ‘I have a housekeeper, a chef, both Chinese, and a personal assistant.’
‘Assisting you with what?’
‘My business activities, of course. My property holdings, and my other investments, take a lot of management, and I’m becoming more involved in development again, after my involuntary hiatus. Miss Young
… that’s my assistant, is a lawyer with an accountancy qualification. I recruited her from a merchant bank; I pay her a bloody fortune, but she earns it.’
I settled into one of the soft white armchairs and studied him. The Perry Holmes I’d interviewed had been wired up to half the devices in the Western Infirmary, but he’d been a solid, formidable man. Two years on, he’d lost some weight, but his eyes were keen and bright, and his life force was strong. He was past sixty, but take him out of the chair and you wouldn’t have guessed; you’d have called him ten years younger.
‘What do you see?’ he asked. ‘What are you thinking? Do I look like that poor wee professor chap? Or the Father of the Daleks? Come on, tell me; I don’t have many visitors, it’s useful to know what people really think of me.’
I told him exactly what I’d been thinking, and saw pleasure register on his face. ‘That’s good. You don’t feel sorry for me, then?’
‘Mr Holmes,’ I replied, ‘suppose you were sitting on hot coals with an imp of hell poking hot needles in your eyes, I wouldn’t feel sorry for you. That bullet in your brain doesn’t absolve you of all the crime you’ve committed, or rather that you had committed, through your brother. To tell you the truth, I had a wee bit of sympathy for him when I saw him lying dead in the mortuary, evil bastard that he was, since he was never really a man in his own right, just the instrument of your will, him and that big German pansy, Kraus. How do I feel about you? Like many people do: sorry that Billy Spreckley wasn’t a better shot, and didn’t put all four in your head.’
‘Fair enough,’ he conceded. ‘I like a man who speaks his mind. If you’re that repulsed by me, then how about giving me a good thump on the head? The slightest blow could kill me, so my consultants all agree. Christ, if you hit one of these support pads hard enough, and I know you could, that would probably do it. Nobody would ever be the wiser either, because there wouldn’t be a mark on me.’
I frowned; and then I smiled. ‘You’ve got a point there,’ I said. I started to rise from the armchair. Just for a moment, a tiny moment, I saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. It was enough. I sat back again.
‘Bastard,’ he murmured, and then he grinned too. ‘You didn’t do it, though. And do you know what that tells me? That you are what you say I am… or I was: someone who delegates to others the things that he’s too careful, or circumspect, to do himself. But that’s just what you do: you delegate the shitty end. You catch your thieves, your murderers, and although sometimes your instincts may be Old Testament, as they clearly were with the late Johann, judging by the contempt with which you spoke of him, you don’t act upon them. Instead you simply deliver the people up to justice; to the jailer, or half a century ago to the executioner.’
‘That’s my job,’ I pointed out. ‘If I let my own feelings get in the way, I wouldn’t be doing it properly. There’s this too: I work for society; you work against it.’
‘Me?’ he laughed. ‘I’m a property tycoon.’
‘Of course you are, Mr Holmes, of course you are. Now, can I ask you, as a property tycoon, or as anything else, does the name Winston Church mean anything to you?’
I had a big advantage over Perry, in his situation. He couldn’t look away from me. Sure he could have turned his chair around, but I could have turned it right back. He could have closed his eyes, I suppose, but he didn’t. He surprised me by holding my gaze and replying. ‘Would that be Mr Church of Newcastle?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Yes, it’s a name I recall. I’ve never met the gentleman, but I believe my late brother may have… on what business,’ he added, ‘I know not. Why do you ask?’
‘He’s connected to a couple of people we’re interested in eliminating from a murder investigation. I appreciate that you’re a respectable property developer, but I’m wondering, did your late brother ever mention any other people in Edinburgh who might have been acquaintances of Church’s?’
His face was expressionless. ‘I can’t think,’ he replied, slowly, ‘that any of my brother’s friends would have felt the need to move in his circles. Let me get this right,’ he continued. ‘Are you saying that Mr Church has business interests in Edinburgh, ambitions even?’
‘No, that’s not my view. He ran out of ambition a while back, from what I’ve been told. I’m trying to establish whether he might have provided services to someone who has.’
Holmes blinked. ‘If that’s the case,’ he said, ‘you might want to find that person before Mr Tony Manson does.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ I told him. I stood up, abruptly. A finger moved and the chair rolled backwards for a couple of feet, then stopped when it became clear that I wasn’t moving towards it. ‘I must be going,’ I said. Another finger moved, but on his left hand; a few seconds later the door reopened and the two carers came in.
‘Please show Mr Skinner out, Vanburn,’ Holmes instructed. ‘Do call again, Mr Skinner. You’re an interesting man.’
Takes one to know one, I thought as I left. Even in a wheelchair Perry Holmes ranked as one of the most imposing men I’d ever met. I found myself regretting that I’d never confronted him in his prime, before he’d been wrecked by Billy Spreckley’s bullet. I understood why Tommy Partridge had become obsessed by him. I’d probably have been the same in his shoes. But I’d have had a better chance of nailing him. Even crippled, he was supremely self-confident. When a guy has an ego that size, it’s a weakness. Fuck, I should know.
I headed back into town. The Discovery really was a pile of shit, but it was kept reliable by our mechanics… and the radio worked fine. I switched it on; Airburst was still tuned in and Mia was past the halfway mark in her three-hour stint. I felt myself throb at the sound of her voice, and I knew then that I would keep our date. ‘Shit!’ I said aloud, as I remembered something very important. Luckily I spotted a late-hours Boots as I drove through Tollcross. I pulled up, and bought a supply of condoms… for the first time in at least fifteen years. Why would anyone want them flavoured? I wondered as I surveyed the range on offer. The answer didn’t come to me until I was on my way out of the shop.
Is there a God?
I’m past fifty now, and no nearer to answering that one to my unshakeable satisfaction, but I do believe, against all logic, that there is a force that guides our daily lives and that it is one perverse son-of-a-bitch. I hadn’t even restarted the car when my mobile sounded. It was six o’clock and Airburst would have been in its news break, so I thought it might be Mia, but a glance at the screen told me different. It was Fred Leggat.
‘Boss,’ he began, ‘are you in the vicinity?’ There was an urgency about his voice.
‘Near enough. Whassup?’
‘Newcastle,’ he replied. ‘It’s blown up in our faces. Milburn and Shackleton have turned up. Dead.’
‘Eh?’ I gasped. ‘How?’
‘Well. It wasn’t an accident. They were found in a hotel in South Shields, on the seafront. They’d been there for a couple of days, sharing a twin room. They were seen last night in the bar, but not today. The “Don’t disturb” sign was left on their door, so housekeeping left them alone until about an hour ago. They knocked, got no reply and went in with a pass key. Both men were in there, dead.’
‘Bugger!’
‘I’ll second that. What do you want to do?’
I didn’t have to consider my answer. There was only one possible. ‘Go there. What else? They’re our prime suspects for Marlon. If we can’t put them in the dock at the High Court, there’ll have to be a public Sheriff Court hearing, and someone will have to give evidence of their death. I’m not bringing Newcastle cops across the border.’
‘Who do you want to send?’
‘Nobody.’ I didn’t realise it at the time, but Perry Holmes’s crack about me ‘delegating the shitty end’ had irked me. ‘I’m going myself. Is Martin still there?’
‘Yes.’
