The police cars had stopped and a trail of searchlights made their way up the hill to the clearing.
I had, I guessed, time to make one last call. If this dog was to have any hope I needed to get moving soon.
I dialled Mac. He still owed me after all I’d done for him of late.
‘Mac, it’s Gus.’
‘How goes it? You done with the badgers?’
Oh yeah, that was the job: stake-out on the hill, to catch badger-baiters. These days, I was big time. My late friend Col had left me his pub, but it wasn’t doing too well. We had more debts than punters. I’d been picking up what extra work I could, in any line. Going back to hack work was looking like a more tempting offer than ever.
‘Fuck the badgers, Mac.’
‘Gus, what are you saying? Are you off the job?’
‘I don’t have time for this…’
‘Gus, those Badger Protection boyos are paying top whack… Are you pissed?’
‘Mac, just listen the fuck up!’ Where I found the balls to speak to Mac the Knife, with all his form, like that, I’d no idea. ‘Give them back their fucking deposit.’
A pause, then, ‘I’m listening, Dury.’
‘Good. Now get in your car and drive to the foot of Corstorphine Hill… Right now.’
‘Gus, I’ve got the pub to look after.’
‘Fuck the pub… Shut the pub.’
A moment of silence, the radgeness of the idea registered, then: ‘Okay. I’m on my way.’
‘And bring towels, lots of them. And some water if you can manage it.’
‘What the… are you delivering a baby?’
‘No, I’ve just had a fucking cow. Now shift your arse, Mac.’
I hit ‘end call’. My phone smelled of Regal — made me want to spark up. As I fished in my pocket for my smokes the dog yelped.
‘Sorry, boy… we’ll get you to a vet soon. Mac’s on the way.’
I just got my Marlboro lit when a torch was shone in my face.
I raised my hand, said, ‘You’re blinding me.’
A uniform stomped over. As he approached, the dog let out a bark — bravely, I thought, given his injuries. Had we bonded already?
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said the uniform.
‘I called you. I’m the one that found the body.’
He shone the torch on me again, ran the light up and down. For the first time since my fall I copped an eyeful of my new Leatherface get-up.
Uniform’s jaw drooped; his eyes didn’t blink. ‘You’re fucking covered in blood.’
‘I know… I, eh…’
‘You’re dripping in it.’
‘I fell and, well…’
He turned away, gave a groan, chucked up. I figured he hadn’t been on the job long.
More uniforms arrived; I pointed them to the corpse. There was suddenly a lot of movement about the place. Radios buzzing, people running back and forth. I pointed the way, retold my story twice, three times to uniforms. Then the big guns got rolled out.
I’d seen a suit like it before, in the window of Jenners, but I never dared to check the price. Like they say, if you need to ask, you can’t afford it. I remembered the make though, Hugo Boss — mob that made the SS uniforms.
Boss Suit strutted past me, shot me the kind of look I guessed he normally kept for Big Issue sellers on the Mile. He took some directions from uniform then followed the by now well-trodden path to the corpse. He kept his hands in his pockets, except for when he wanted to wave away his underlings, or point them in a new direction. He was big on himself, no question.
I followed to the edge of the clearing. There was yellow crimescene tape being rolled around the trees and a white tent being unfurled, but I could see everything clearly in the breaking light.
It seemed all straightforward: Boss Suit was leaving it to the shitkickers. Then someone handed him a plastic tray with the corpse’s wallet. I was close enough to see the change of expression from cocksure to shit-scared when he registered the victim’s details.
He wiped his mouth. It was only a few seconds, but telling. Immediately he dropped the wallet back in the tray, ordered the uniform away and strolled to the side of the clearing to make a call.
I tried to get closer. Caught the words ‘It’s fucking Moosey!’ Then he turned, caught me in his gaze. He lowered the phone. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘I found the body.’
‘Dury!’ It seemed my reputation preceded me. ‘Well, well, well.. the mighty Gus Dury. I don’t know whether to shake your hand or bow.’
I tried a smile. Nah, wasn’t happening.
He walked over to me, checked me up and down. I got the impression he’d been rehearsing this bit. ‘Well indeed… I had you down as quite different.’
‘You did?’
‘Oh, yes… I didn’t have you down as a total fucking jakey.’
The dog squirmed. I did too.
‘Look, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.’ I held out my hand. It was covered in blood. Dark, almost black blood.
Boss Suit looked down, laughed. ‘I don’t fucking think so… Though, given I wouldn’t be standing here now if it wasn’t for you, maybe I should be shaking your hand, Dury.’
I saw where this was going: my last case had made some waves with Lothian and Borders plod. ‘I don’t think that’s true.’
‘No, you’re right. I was fucking fast-track; that wee shit storm you caused with the people-smugglers just sped things up. But if the force hadn’t shed a dozen-plus of the top brass, who’s to say I might not be poking about in the grass with those uniform retards?’
I looked away, tried to appear bored. Truth was, I’d heard it all before. I’d blown the lid on an Eastern European people-smuggling racket that was bringing young girls into the city, forcing them into prostitution. My discovery led to some big boys in the force being shown the door. The papers ran with it for weeks. I was the man pointing the finger but I sure as fuck didn’t get anything out of it. This prick, though, seemed to have done all right.
I fronted him: ‘Look, this is all very interesting, going over old times and all that, but if you don’t mind-’
‘What, the case in hand?’
‘Well…’
He smiled. Teeth dazzled me more than the torches going about the place. ‘I’m happy to take your statement… In fact, it would be my pleasure.’
He produced a Moleskine notebook, black with an elastic strap. He twanged the band, licked the tip of his pen. ‘Go on, Dury… I’m Johnstone by the way, Jonny Johnstone. You might be hearing more of me.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, I’d say so… But to your statement.’
He had me rattled and knew it; he was enjoying winding me up. I tried to calm it, but my nerves were shot. ‘I was just going down the hill after these yobs-’
A hand went up. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa… back up. What were you doing here?’
‘I was on a case… badger-baiting job.’
He burst out laughing, had to wipe his eyes, near toppled over. ‘Come again… badger what?’
I repeated.
‘Fuck me, Dury… you’re big time, eh.’
I was beginning to lose it. ‘Look, d’you want to hear this or what? I could just as easily have fucked off and left you to it.’
