A spray of words came through the letter box: ‘What about him?’
I sensed this was going to be tougher than I’d imagined. She sounded edgy. ‘I’m a journalist, I’m looking into the death and… well, I’d like to talk to you about the way Tam passed. Mrs Fulton, I really think we should talk.’
A long pause stretched out between us. I heard whispering, then, ‘I can’t be blethering through the letter box. You better come round the back, this door’s nailed shut.’
As I left the yard one of the beer guts stood in front of me in the path. He was a big biffer. As I sidestepped him I spotted the Regal King Size pack tucked into the sleeve of his T-shirt. I took out my own smokes, sparked up.
Round the back was surprisingly ordered compared to the tip out front. Half of the yard was given over to a row of huge kennels with heavy criss-crossed bars holding in five or six snarling dogs, bull terriers and cross-breeds that looked ready to go. On the other side of the yard, a skinny old bloke with massive Two Ronnies glasses and a ponytail, had one of the dogs on a treadmill, a two-and-a-half-kilogramme weight dangled round the beast’s neck. The dog put eyes on me as I appeared and the old geezer gave it a smack with a belt across its back. I didn’t want to get too close, figured any objection wouldn’t go down well.
‘Well, what is it?’ A woman in her bad forties, bloodshot eyes and a wine-stained smock greeted me at the back door.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Fulton.’
She huffed, folded her arms and looked over my shoulder. The bloke with the hardy dog approached, said, ‘Who the fuck’s he?’
I eyeballed him, looked him up and down. There were creases in his denims that could cut butter; thought him worth ignoring. He slunk around me, stood behind the widow. She said, ‘You wrote that bit in the paper, didn’t you?’
I nodded.
Her eyes looked far away. She said, ‘I recognised you.’
‘Do you think we might go inside? There’s a few questions I’d like to ask.’
The skelky guy bridled, but Vera said, ‘It’s okay, Sid. Come in, son.’
Inside the house we were greeted with a hail of barking; about five or six small dogs let rip. The place was dark and stank of piss. Most of the windows and doors had been boarded up. The carpets had been torn to shreds, I was guessing dug up by dogs. I wondered how people could live like this. The joint needed hosing down, with a fucking flamethrower.
I took a chair, threw myself into it too violently and a cloud of dust was evacuated. A small terrier stuck its nose in my crotch; I pushed it away. Guessed a coffee wasn’t going to be on offer.
Moosey’s wife watched me look for a place to put out my cigarette, spoke: ‘Just put it there.’ She motioned to the floor. ‘Have you any more?’
I offered round my tabs; both were takers. I felt too nauseous to join in. The place was rank.
I wasn’t sure if Vera was playing the grieving widow or this was her usual state, but she seemed tranced. Sid perched beside her on the couch and watched me closely.
I said, ‘I wanted to ask if Tam had any enemies, anyone who might want to harm him?’
Sid creased up. ‘That’s a good yin… Do you a fucking list?’
I was a bit lost for words. A man had just died, brutally.
‘Who would be on this list?’
I looked at Vera but Sid answered. More laughs. Huge belly laughs this time. ‘You’re a comedian, mister,’ he said. ‘They were queuing in the street to kick Moosey up and doon it every day of the week!’
‘And why would they be, Vera?’
She turned away. Sid answered again: ‘Moosey was a right cunt, mister… You’ll no’ find much sympathy for him round here.’
This guy was pissing me off. I hit him with, ‘I hear he had some friends, though… like Rab Hart.’
Sid’s smile vanished. I watched the cocky expression melt from his face, then the streak of piss pointed a nicotine-stained finger at me. ‘If you’re coming round here to noise folk up, you’re liable to go the same fucking way as Moosey, boy.’
I was getting somewhere. ‘Was that his problem? Did Moosey noise somebody up?’
Sid rose, pointed again. ‘Now, I’m fucking telling you-’
I stood up to face him. ‘What, Sid, what are you telling me?’
I had half a foot on him. He backed down, went for the door.
Vera was still sooking on her tab, still looked out of it. I produced my mobile, brought up Hod’s pictures of Mark Crawford, showed them to her. ‘Have you seen this kid, Vera?’
Her moist eyes took in the image. ‘He’s one of the young crew.. from the scheme.’
‘Did you ever see him with Tam?’
She stared on at the picture, shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you know who he is, Vera?’ I said. ‘He’s the brother of the little one that they say Tam’s dog killed.’
Vera’s gaze left the phone. She pressed it back on me. I watched her stare out the back door. Her cigarette was burnt down to the filter tip.
‘Vera, did you know that he’s the Crawfords’ boy?’
Quieter: ‘No. I didn’t know that.’
As she got the words out, the beer guts from round the front came in. Sid was behind them, with the mad- looking dog on a choke chain. He shouted, ‘Take a warning, y’cunt: keep your nose out our fucking business… or you’ll get it broken.’
Chapter 10
I caught the first bus out of Sighthill. Kept looking for the signs that read ‘You are now leaving the jungle’. I was in a hurry to flee this dumping ground. It was strictly for the dispossessed. The druggies. The dangerous. The dole moles. The beyond help. I worried if I stayed there too long I’d begin to fit in. I knew that with less luck, less support, I’d be there myself. Holed up in some one-room rathole, downing Special Brew every night of the week, waiting for the next giro to arrive.
As the bus pulled out my mobi rang. Got some looks. Put on my ‘like I give two fucks’ face.
‘Hello…’
‘Hi, it’s me.’
Most folk have a few close people in their life who can get away with that introduction. Me, I’ve got one. And it had been close on six months since I’d heard her voice.
‘Debs, hi… How are you?’ Sounded weird, struggling for words with my ex-wife, but there it was. No matter what kind of closeness you once shared, life has a knack of getting in the way of it.
‘I’m well, y’know… You?’
I lied: ‘Never better.’
Bit of a gap on the line.
A false start, like banging heads together.
‘I was meaning to call earlier.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ I said.
‘No you weren’t. You would have let me fade to black.’
She had me taped. What was I supposed to do? Call for chats, suggest a catch-up over a bottle of Pinot Grigio now and again? Not a chance.
‘Well, I’m glad you called anyway… It’s good to hear from you, Debs.’
‘You too, it’s good to hear your voice, even if it is a bit croaky!’
A laugh. Some throat-clearing.
‘Well, that would be cos I’m cutting back on the smokes.’
‘Oh, yeah? I believe you. Look, I won’t eat into your day, I just wanted to ask if you could, er, well, could we
