Stay of Execution

65

‘You’re no feart, are ye?’ said Malky Gladsmuir.

‘Of you?’ laughed Mario McGuire, amiably. ‘There’s a very small list of people and things that scare me, pal, and you’re definitely not on it. I thought I’d convinced you of that. I don’t like those big spiders you find in the bath sometimes, and my granny can still get to me, but not you, son, not you.’

‘Maybe no’, but meeting me here might not have been the smartest thing to do, if I’d brought a whole team wi’ me.’

‘I suggested this place, remember, when you asked for somewhere quiet. Anyway, give me credit, man. I watched you arrive from across the street. Only you and him came in here. If anyone else tries to join us, they’ll find obstacles put in their way. It’s you that’s in bother, Malky, not me. . if it turns out your man here’s going to waste my time.’

The detective and the pub manager were in a half-built house on a site not far from Salamander Street, where investment by developers was turning acres of redundant warehousing into a residential district. There was a third person there too, a weedy man of medium height, in a woollen hat, a well-worn leather jacket and dark trousers.

‘This is Spoons,’ said Gladsmuir, ‘the bloke I wanted you to meet. He’s got something you might like to hear.’

The man looked at the superintendent with cunning eyes. ‘Is it going tae be worth my while, like?’

McGuire glared at his escort. ‘Is he serious?’ he asked.

‘It’s no’ like that, Spoons,’ the publican barked at him. ‘I told you. Now talk.’

The man shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Aye, okay.’ He looked down at the detective’s feet, as he readied himself to tell his story. ‘Malky said ye wis asking about Sunday night. Ah mibbe saw somethin’.’

‘What time?’

‘After ten.’

‘Where?’

‘Doon the shore. Ah’d come oot the Pheasant. . Ah kent whit the time was ’cos the Spanish fitba’ had finished on the telly, like. . and Ah wis just comin’ tae the bridge ower the watter, when Ah saw this on the ither side. There wis a man. .’

‘Describe him.’

‘Quite a big bloke. No’ as big as you, but quite big. He wis wearin’ this donkey-jacket thing. That’s a’ Ah kin remember; it was dark, ken. Onyway, he’s walking doon the shore, towards Commercial Street, when this motor pulls up alongside him; naw, a few yards in front of him. Jist as he got to it the passenger’s door in the front opened, and the fella stopped.’

‘How many people did you see get out?’

Spoons shook his head. ‘Nane. There was naebody got out. The boy on the pavement just stood, as if he was starin’ at it.’

‘Could you hear anything?’

‘Naw, Ah wis still only hauf-wey across the bridge; Ah wisnae near enough.’

‘So what happened next?’

‘The back door opened like, and the boy got in.’

‘Of his own accord?’

‘Whit?’

‘Nobody forced him?’

‘Naw. He jist got in, and the motor drove off.’

‘Do you remember what sort of car it was?’

‘Aye, it was a Land Rover.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Course Ah’m sure. Ah ken whit a fuckin’ Land Rover looks like.’

‘Registration number?’ McGuire asked in hope, not in expectation.

‘Ah wisnae close enough. Ah think it wis wan o’ the new sort.’

‘Did you see anybody else around?’

‘Naw, no’ a soul. It’s quiet doon there on a Sunday.’

McGuire looked at him, sizing him up, trying to gauge his honesty. . questionable, going by his name. . and what he would have to gain by making up a story. . nothing, unless Gladsmuir had wanted CID off his back.

‘Did you put him up to this, Malky?’ he asked.

‘No. I promise you I didn’t. The manager of the Pheasant’s a pal of mine. I asked him if he’d heard anything, and he remembered that Spoons had left his place around the time you were asking about.’

‘Okay. I think I believe you both. I’ll need a formal statement from you.’

‘Aw, naw, come on,’ the man pleaded. ‘The word’s oot that this was a hit; Ah don’t want any o’ that.’

‘Have you ever heard of Bilbo Baggins?’ Spoons stared at him as if he had been asked to recite Einstein’s theory of relativity. ‘No, maybe you haven’t. What he said was true, though. Every time you step out your own front door you never know the trouble that might be waiting for you on the road. Come on, pal; you and I are going to Queen Charlotte Street, and you’re going to tell all that to a tape-recorder.’