The Dark Remains

19

The message next morning said to forget the briefing and rendezvous at the Gay Laddie. As Laidlaw approached on foot, he could smell charred wood and blistered paint. Bob Lilley was eating a buttered roll. He held out a paper bag.

‘Got you one,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ Laidlaw took a bite and started chewing as he surveyed the damage. There wasn’t too much of it. The Gay Laddie was built like an atomic bunker. Its small windows were blackened, as was the area around the door.

‘Thing about that door,’ Lilley mused, ‘looks like wood but it’s actually steel. Not the sort of thing you can buy off the peg.’

‘And not cheap, either,’ Laidlaw agreed. ‘But worth it to somebody.’

‘That somebody being John Rhodes, I’d presume.’

‘Has he been for a look-see?’

‘Not that I’ve heard.’

Laidlaw approached the door. Shards of glass lay at his feet. The neck of the bottle was almost intact, strands of rag sticking to it.

‘Taking a leaf out of Ulster’s book,’ Lilley commented. ‘Two of Rhodes’s men got hit, too. One answered a knock at his door, only to be met by a sledgehammer. The other was jumped walking home from a party.’

‘Makes sense. Colvin’s a man down with another under suspicion. Means he looks weak to the opposition, like a wounded animal. He’s lashing out to try to slow them from coming for him.’

‘You reckon?’

Laidlaw took another bite of roll, wiping the dusting of flour from around his mouth. ‘Need tea or something to wash this down.’ There was a café across the street at the corner, so he headed there, Lilley a few steps behind. The tea was poured from an oversized, much-dented pewter pot, milk already added. A sugar bowl sat on the counter along with a used spoon. The place smelled of bacon fat, its cramped booths filled with people licking their wounds as they recovered from the night before. Laidlaw and Lilley stood at the counter as they drank.

‘Not so much a city as a hangover,’ Laidlaw commented quietly. ‘One nobody can remember ordering. The fun beforehand, that’s fine and dandy, but the consequences are always a shock to the system, and Glasgow’s all consequences, every day of the week.’

‘It’s a bit early for me, but don’t let that stop you nipping my head. Margaret says, can we bring flowers for Ena — would she like that?’

‘Don’t ask me.’

‘Or chocolates maybe?’

‘Bring a bottle of wine, any colour, any price. We’ve probably got a corkscrew.’ Laidlaw had disposed of the last remnants of roll and was brushing his fingers clean. ‘This tea’s putting hairs on my tongue,’ he complained. ‘Is doorstepping around Springburn Park really all the day has to offer?’

‘Milligan’s already got people talking to Rhodes’s walking wounded.’

‘It’s Rhodes himself he should be having a word with. The man’s duty-bound to retaliate, otherwise he’s the one who looks weak — weak or else guilty.’

‘You’re pretty sure he wasn’t behind Carter’s death, though?’

‘Doesn’t mean he’ll deny it to anyone who asks.’

‘Because some will see it as a gallus move?’ Lilley nodded his agreement with Laidlaw’s assessment. ‘He didn’t sanction it, but the fact it’s happened doesn’t exactly harm his reputation.’

‘I saw him again yesterday, by the way.’

‘Rhodes?’

‘Right there in the Gay Laddie. He gave me Chick McAllister, but McAllister didn’t have much to offer.’

‘So now can we mention McAllister to Ernie Milligan?’

‘That’s up to you, Bob.’

‘Playing down your role?’

‘To a bare minimum, if that.’ Laidlaw lit a cigarette.

‘Are you thinking of paying Rhodes another visit?’

‘Rhodes isn’t the one setting off firebombs.’

‘Cam Colvin, then?’

Laidlaw took in a lungful of smoke and offered a shrug. ‘This case is like one of those charm bracelets,’ he said as he exhaled. ‘New charms keep being added. They all mean something individually, even if they never quite meet on the bracelet itself.’

‘Is that how you’re going to talk tonight? It’s just that Margaret is more about knitting patterns, Woman’s Realm and Sacha Distel.’

Laidlaw thought for a moment. ‘Maybe bring two bottles of wine,’ he said.

20

Spanner Thomson locked the front door after him — two mortises as well as the Yale — and, as was his habit, looked to right and left as he walked down the narrow garden path. His car, an Austin Maxi, was parked at the kerb. He unlocked it and got in. When he turned the first corner, heading towards Springburn Road, a white Jaguar XJ6 pulled into the middle of the street, blocking the route. Thomson tensed, hands tightening on the steering wheel. The Jag’s rear door had opened, a figure emerging. John Rhodes walked towards the Maxi, yanked open the passenger-side door and got in.

‘This thing’s more skip than car,’ he complained, kicking aside some of the debris in the footwell.

‘I’d have had it hoovered if I’d known.’

The Jaguar had pulled in close to the pavement again. Rhodes pointed to the cleared roadway. ‘Don’t mind a bit of company, do you, Spanner? You can drop me long before you get to wherever you’re going. Colvin still holding his war councils at the Coronach? I hear the owner’s not happy that the tab never seems to get cleared.’

‘It wasn’t me, Mr Rhodes,’ Thomson said, his voice betraying only the slightest tremor as he pressed down on the accelerator. At the main road, he signalled to turn, something he seldom did. A pedestrian might have taken him for a pupil on his first driving lesson, even if the bulky figure filling the adjacent front seat looked nothing like an instructor.

‘What wasn’t you, Spanner?’ John Rhodes asked.

‘The Gay Laddie. That and your two boys.’

‘Grown men rather than boys. They should know how to defend themselves.’ Rhodes twisted his body to face Thomson. ‘But you’ve just told me that you do know about it, know it happened, I mean, and there’s been nothing in the papers or on the radio as yet.’

‘Bush telegraph, Mr Rhodes.’

‘You don’t even have a phone in your house, Spanner. A neighbour takes messages for you and her laddie passes them on. You slip her a few quid a week for services rendered. That tells me you’re not only cautious but you’ve got your wits about you, too.’

Thomson checked in his rear-view mirror. The Jaguar was right behind him.

‘Is there a message you want me to give to Mr Colvin?’

‘He’ll be hearing from me, but not through you. I’m here because Milligan pulled you in.’

‘A fishing expedition, that’s all.’

‘Conducted by a man who couldn’t catch crabs in a knocking shop. You think the knife was planted near your house on purpose?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘To put you in the frame.’

‘No idea.’ Another signal, another manoeuvre. ‘What if it was?’

‘Well, I’d maybe be curious as to who did it. It would have to be somebody who knows you live locally, somebody who either wants you out of the way or wants your boss relegating you to the subs’ bench.’

‘You seem to have done a lot of thinking on the subject.’

‘The body was dumped on my patch, Spanner. I’m taking that as a very personal insult. And while I loathe your boss with every fibre of my being, I don’t see how a war helps either of us. If someone’s cornering us, I want to know who and why. Then again, it could be a falling-out amongst thieves, couldn’t it? That’s almost the simplest explanation. How far do you trust the likes of Panda Paterson, Mickey Ballater and Dod Menzies? With Carter gone, there are only four runners and riders in the race. One of you is going to end up in the winners’ enclosure, and you’ve known Colvin longer than anyone. Maybe that makes you the favourite, and every betting man knows the favourite’s the one most likely to get nobbled.’

‘I see what you’re saying.’

‘I know you do, but you’re also thinking it’s what you’d expect me to say if I wanted to start taking Colvin and his organisation apart brick by brick.’

‘You’d want to sow dissent.’

‘Education wasn’t lost on you, was it, Spanner? But the dissent’s already there. Lobbing petrol at the Gay Laddie is amateur hour, which makes me think it wasn’t Colvin’s idea, meaning one of your colleagues was acting on his own initiative. That might be the very person you’ve got to watch out for.’ Thomson could feel John Rhodes’s eyes drilling into him. ‘Time may come when you need a friend.’

‘And you’re offering to be that friend?’

‘Unless you want me as an enemy?’ The look Rhodes was giving him had hardened still further. ‘Do you need telling that mercy’s not high on my list of personal qualities? I learned long ago that there’s no point being reasonable in an unreasonable world. This is the only time you and me will talk like this. And when I come for your boss — and I will come for him one of these days — if you’re standing in my way I won’t think twice, understood?’

‘Understood.’

Rhodes turned his attention from driver to windscreen, leaving a few moments of distilled silence before speaking again. He sniffed and gave a twitch of the mouth. ‘One last thing you need to know — Carter was planning to set up a rival outfit.’ He saw the look Thomson was giving him. ‘I know this counts as something else I’d say to stir up trouble. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.’ He paused again. ‘Maybe your boss knew and maybe he didn’t. If he did know, maybe he did something about it. I definitely would.’ The car had stopped at traffic lights. Thomson was readying to say something, but Rhodes was already reaching for the door handle.

‘Take care of yourself, Spanner,’ he said as he got out.

Thomson watched as he strode towards the Jaguar and climbed in. The lights had changed to green, but a man was taking his time crossing the road, his movements resembling those of a marionette. Sheepskin coat, cap angled downwards over his forehead, newspaper tucked under one arm. Thomson leaned on the horn, but all the man did was flick the Vs. The performance, however, had given the Jaguar time to execute a three-point turn. Spanner Thomson rubbed a hand across his brow, put the car into first and carried on driving, his brain dizzy with permutations, as if Rhodes’s horse race came with its own unique betting system, beyond the grasp of all but the most seasoned professional punter.

The man crossing the road in front of Spanner Thomson’s car went by the name of Benny Mason, ‘Macey’ to his many acquaintances. He was a small-time thief who had managed somehow not to take sides in a city that was all about which team you played for. Macey was on speaking terms with both John Rhodes and Cam Colvin — Matt Mason, too, if it came to it. He had checked but found no evidence of a blood tie between himself and Matt. Still, he could be useful for passing messages across the trenches, which was why he’d been approached a while back by DI Ernie Milligan, who’d shown him some files relating to unsolved house-breakings and the like before stating that he could have Macey dragged into court and found guilty on all charges.

‘Even though I suspect you only did half of them.’

He’d then bought Macey a drink and they’d come to an agreement, which was why Macey now sought a working phone box. After all, it wasn’t every day you saw John Rhodes stepping from a car belonging to one of Cam Colvin’s inner circle. No, that was a rare sighting indeed, which made it exactly the sort of thing Ernie Milligan would want to be made aware of, paying handsomely for the privilege...

21

It was Detective Inspector Ernest Milligan’s belief that, Bobby Carter having been killed elsewhere before his body had been dumped, all business premises associated with Cam Colvin needed to be searched for bloodstains and Colvin himself brought in for questioning. Besides, a warning needed to be issued: no more attacks on John Rhodes’s properties and employees. Commander Frederick had been insistent on that point.

So Milligan was not best pleased when his train of thought and his preparations were interrupted by word of a phone call. The caller refused to give a name and just said that he had something Milligan would want to hear. Finally Milligan relented and picked up the handset.

‘DI Milligan here.’

‘About bloody time. I’m on my last bit of change.’

Milligan recognised Macey’s voice. ‘What have you got for me?’

‘I’ve got John Rhodes getting out of Spanner Thomson’s car on Castle Street.’

Milligan was pulled up short. ‘You sure?’

‘Well, I suppose I could have mistaken Jimmy Clitheroe for John Rhodes...’

‘All right, smartarse. Any idea what was going on?’

‘Rhodes had a Jag with a driver waiting. He got in and they left in the opposite direction from Thomson, leaving Spanner with a worried look on his face. It’s got to be interesting, hasn’t it?’

‘Aye, maybe.’

‘By “interesting”, I mean worth something.’

‘I’ll see you right, Macey, fear not.’ Milligan slammed the phone down and scratched at his jaw. He stopped a passing DC. ‘Has Cam Colvin been brought in yet?’

‘Should be here any minute.’

‘Let me know the second he’s installed, and make sure he’s in whichever interview room has the sewage problem.’

‘Understood.’

Milligan caught sight of Laidlaw across the room. He made like a torpedo towards him. Laidlaw was sifting through the paperwork on his desk.

‘Typing pool must have steam coming out of it,’ he said.

‘Why aren’t you in Balornock knocking on doors?’

‘Because it’s a waste of time.’

‘A waste of time that happens to be a direct order from your superior officer.’

Laidlaw glowered at him. ‘If I ever start thinking of you as my superior in any way, shape or form, it’ll be a sign I need to check into Gartnavel. By the way, have you done anything about Jenni Love?’

‘Who?’

‘The youngster Carter was cheating on his wife with.’

‘All in good time.’

‘She dances at a club called Whiskies. I’ve already checked it out and visited her home — proper policing rather than doorstepping.’

‘Did you meet her dad? I used to watch him when he played for the Gers.’

‘The Masonic lodge and Rangers FC — it’s a wonder to me that you’ve scaled the giddy heights of CID. Anyway, Bob Lilley knows a bit more that might interest you, so if you pull him from the wild goose chase out at Springburn Park, you might not regret it.’ Laidlaw had finished browsing the sheets of paper. ‘Are you bringing in Colvin and his mob?’

‘Just the main man to start with. But we’re looking at his various businesses, especially workshops and scrapyards.’

‘Team’s stretched as it is.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Milligan squared his shoulders.

Laidlaw leaned in towards him. ‘Every decision you make is being scrutinised upstairs. Any mistake, it’s your name in red. You might try kicking the blame a rung or two down the ladder, but that won’t wash with the people who count. My guess is, right now the newspapers, the council and all the local MPs are lining up to give the Commander a barracking, asking why the investigation’s going nowhere while the city burns.’

‘That’s why I’ll be ordering Cam Colvin to cease hostilities.’ Milligan paused. ‘What if I told you John Rhodes and Spanner Thomson were seen sharing a car this morning?’ When Laidlaw seemed stymied for an answer, Milligan couldn’t help but look pleased. ‘So while you’re stuck in some sordid little investigation into the deceased’s love life, the rest of us are focusing on the main event.’ He paused. ‘Might bring Archie Love in afterwards, though, just to get the measure of him.’

‘I don’t think he knew about his daughter and Carter,’ Laidlaw warned.

‘Well, telling him now’s not going to make much difference, is it? It’s not like he can go round the guy’s house and give him a battering.’

‘Won’t make the daughter’s life any easier, though.’

‘I’ve always said you were too soft. Your head might be hard but your heart isn’t.’ Milligan was being signalled to from across the room. ‘Looks like Cam Colvin’s shown up.’

‘Want me in there with you when you question him?’ Milligan gave a snort and turned away.

‘Thanks for considering it anyway,’ Laidlaw muttered. There was a throbbing behind his temples. It had been there for the best part of an hour, growing steadily more insistent. ‘Not now, migraine,’ he told it. ‘I’ll give you my full attention after work, I promise, but right now, I need to visit the Fourth Estate.’

‘Nice to see you’ve come tooled up, Cam,’ Milligan said as he entered the interview room.

The lawyer seated next to Cam Colvin wore a double-breasted pinstripe suit and a burgundy-coloured silk tie. Slender red veins suffused his nose and cheeks. His name was Bryce Mundell, and Milligan had had plenty of dealings with him in the past. Bobby Carter’s branch of the law was commercial, Mundell’s criminal. If you were bent and could afford his fees, he was the man you went to. Yesterday he had been representing Spanner Thomson. It was no surprise to Milligan to be facing him again across the interview room table.

‘The stink in here constitutes a health hazard,’ the lawyer complained, making show of unfurling a voluminous white cotton handkerchief and holding it to his nose and mouth.

‘I wasn’t aware of any smell until your client walked in,’ Milligan countered, getting comfortable.

‘You’re a regular Merry Mac fun page,’ Colvin told the detective.

‘I like to brighten the gloom,’ Milligan agreed. ‘That’s why I’ve got officers shining torches over each and every inch of real estate connected to you.’

‘I’ve been in touch with Commander Frederick about that,’ Mundell broke in, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘I’m far from convinced that proper procedures were followed before these searches commenced.’

Milligan ignored this. His attention was on Colvin. ‘Setting light to the Gay Laddie is one sure way of bringing John Rhodes running. That what you want, Cam? Smacking two of his boys to the extent that both needed a hospital visit — still a wise move in hindsight?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Colvin had folded his arms, head cocked to one side. He was peering at Milligan as though examining him on a slab. Milligan felt it was time for a bit of provocation. He opened the folder he’d brought with him. It was mostly for show, but he studied the topmost handwritten sheet while he counted off fifteen seconds. The solicitor was clicking his pen, indicating impatience. Not that he would be impatient, not when he billed by the quarter-hour.

‘Was the meeting between Spanner and John Rhodes your idea?’ Milligan asked, keeping his tone casual.

‘What meeting?’

‘Just over an hour ago.’

Colvin shifted slightly in his chair. If his arms hadn’t already been folded, Milligan reckoned the man would be crossing them now, unsettled and playing for time while the cogs turned.

‘Spanner driving,’ Milligan continued into the silence, ‘Rhodes in the passenger seat, a nice chinwag going on. Not exactly subtle either — driving down Castle Street in the morning rush hour. Spotted by several witnesses, so you can take it from me that it happened. I’m just interested to know if it was done with your blessing. You spend half the night attacking Rhodes, then send Spanner — Spanner Thomson of all people — along for a parley.’ He broke off while he reconsidered. ‘Except that doesn’t make sense, does it? They were driving into town from Balornock, meaning it was Rhodes who paid a call rather than the other way round. Even took the Jag and a driver with him so he could bail out before Spanner pushed too far into your neck of the woods.’

He closed the folder again and tapped a finger against it. ‘Any comment, Cam?’

Mundell cleared his throat. ‘You’re offering us nothing but hearsay, DI Milligan. My client has nothing to add.’

Milligan opened the folder again and lifted out the front page of the previous day’s evening paper. ‘This isn’t exactly helpful.’

Colvin studied the picture taken outside the Parlour. It was hard to tell if his attention was more on the widow or himself.

‘In the absence of a press conference organised by the police,’ Mundell drawled in his expensively educated tones, ‘the victim’s family decided to take matters into their own hands. Has any information been forthcoming as a result?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘Yesterday my client Mr Thomson was shown a photofit relating to a person of possible interest seen near where the knife was discovered. Has there been any progress in identifying that individual?’

‘We’re not here about Spanner Thomson.’

‘Which begs the question, why are we here?’ Mundell was glaring at Milligan.

‘We’re here because your client — today’s client, I mean — could be in grave danger of starting a fairly messy war on the streets of my city. I need him to be aware of the consequences.’

‘It’s John Rhodes you should be slapping down,’ Cam Colvin said.

‘How about a meeting brokered between the two of you?’

‘With a cop in the room, we’d have nothing to say.’ Colvin’s eyes drilled into Milligan’s. ‘And you’d want to be in that room, wouldn’t you? No bragging rights otherwise. If Rhodes wants to talk, he knows where to find me. So far there’s not been as much as a phone call or a card of condolence.’ He leaned back a little in his chair. ‘I hear tell Rhodes often stands a round or two of drinks at the Top Spot, including when Ben Finlay retired. Maybe that’s your problem right there.’

‘Might my client have a point, DI Milligan?’ Bryce Mundell chipped in. ‘Mr Colvin here has lost a good friend and business associate. It’s odd that you’re spending so much time harassing him and his colleagues while John Rhodes is allowed free rein. It almost smacks of favouritism. I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want that allegation bandied about in the wider public sphere. Mud has a way of sticking, does it not?’

Milligan was aware of the colour creeping up his face. He closed the folder again and sprang to his feet.

‘Can I take it we’re finished here?’ Mundell was trying not to smirk.

‘Not by a long chalk,’ Milligan retorted, making his exit.

There was just the faintest bonfire aroma in the snug of the Gay Laddie. John Rhodes had summoned his two wounded soldiers there for a post-mortem. Not that either of them could offer much that he didn’t already know. Their assailants had worn balaclavas, leaving only the eyes visible. Even then they’d picked their spot — a poorly lit street; a doorstep behind a tall hedge — leaving few if any possible witnesses. No words had been spoken at any point. The injuries sustained amounted to little more than bruising, a cracked rib and possible concussion. Rhodes hadn’t bothered offering them an alcoholic beverage.

‘Soft drinks are best for you boys,’ he had explained. A bottle of Lucozade had been unwrapped, uncapped and poured into half-pint glasses.

‘Sorry if we let you down,’ one of the men had felt it necessary to say.

‘You let your guard down, that’s all. But that should be a lesson to you. Game we’re in, it’s never only nine to five. Your defence mechanism should never, ever be switched off, understood?’

There were nods from both men. They didn’t even touch their drinks until a gesture from Rhodes told them they should. Their first sip was wary, as if they suspected poison of some sort.

‘I said we’re in a game,’ Rhodes went on, ‘and that means we’re a team. Someone hits us, we hit back. Don’t think that’s not coming. Don’t think you won’t be getting your revenge. But nothing rash, understood? It has to happen on my terms rather than yours, at a time of my choosing. I need you to know that I’ve not forgotten and I’m not ignoring you. It’s just that something bigger might be brewing and there are things that need to be cleared up first.’

‘Whatever you say, Mr Rhodes.’

‘We’re just—’

Rhodes’s right palm landed heavily on the table, causing both men to flinch.

‘No more apologies,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hear them. I just want you to watch your backs in future, because this time you made it far too easy for whoever did this.’

‘It was Cam Colvin, surely.’

‘There’s no “surely” about it, son. Not in this business. Lazy thinking can lead you down any number of dead ends, and dead ends are where you’re most likely to get jumped. Now bugger off, the pair of you.’ Rhodes reached into his pocket and brought out a couple of notes, sliding them across the table. ‘Let’s call this sick pay,’ he said.

‘We’re not being given the boot?’

‘You’re on a warning, that’s all. If you’re savvy enough to learn from it, so much the better.’

‘On your way, lads,’ the scarred man said from behind them. They stood up, mumbling their thanks as they picked up the cash.

Once they’d gone, John Rhodes pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs.

‘Maybe put them on overnight guard duty outside here,’ he said to the man with the scars.

‘You think whoever hit the place will try again?’

‘No, but do it anyway. It might dawn on them that it’s by way of punishment. Then again it might not.’

‘The Lucozade was a nice touch.’

‘It’s not because I care about them, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s because I’d sometimes be better off employing convalescent schoolkids. Though again, they might be too thick for the insult to get through. Now, do you need me to repeat any of my instructions?’

‘Received and understood.’

‘Then what the hell are you waiting for? Go tell them!’

22

The Glasgow Press Club was on West George Street. A curving staircase — the bane of many an over-weight journalist’s life — led to a locked door behind which sat a bar and a separate snooker room. Eddie Devlin was already there. Devlin worked for the Glasgow Herald and had an archivist’s knowledge of the city. A quarter-gill measure of whisky was waiting for Laidlaw, along with a jug of water. A TV was on in a corner of the room, showing what looked like an Open University programme.

‘Barman’s studying structural mechanics,’ Devlin explained. He had a pint of Tennent’s in front of him, and would doubtless refer to his glass as half empty rather than half full.

‘Get you a top-up?’ Laidlaw asked, but the reporter shook his head. ‘I must be losing my hearing, Eddie,’ Laidlaw chided him.

‘Doctor’s orders. He wants me losing two stone. I did suggest he lop off a limb or two, but he advised against.’

‘What’s the diagnosis?’

‘You name it, I’ve got it. Diabetes, scarred lungs, coronary heart disease. Oh, and a touch of toothache too.’

‘Sounds like a full house to me. You’re still working, though?’

‘Crime never sleeps, Jack, and neither does the Herald’s chief reporter. Actually, I do snatch a few hours here and there, though I’m always fretting I might not wake up again. So fill me with good cheer — tell me you’re here to divulge rather than dig.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Eddie.’ Laidlaw opened his cigarettes and offered Devlin one.

‘I’m trying to quit.’ Which didn’t stop him gazing wistfully at Laidlaw as he placed one between his lips and lit it.

‘Willpower apart, what’s the secret?’

‘Polo mints and chewing gum.’

‘Explains the toothache, at any rate.’ In a small act of charity, Laidlaw blew some smoke his friend’s way, watching Devlin inhale it. Then: ‘You hearing anything from your sources, Eddie?’ He dragged the ashtray across the table towards him.

‘About last night, you mean? One petrol bombing, two doings?’

‘That and everything else. I’m sensing a pattern behind the chaos, but it’s not quite revealed itself to me yet.’

‘You and me both. You know Carter wasn’t the type to keep his nose clean? Had trouble keeping his trousers zipped, too.’

‘We’ve spoken to Jennifer Love. Are we missing any others?’

‘Probably a slew of one-night stands and afternoon assignations. He’d go to that casino on Ingram Street. They have a couple of bedrooms on the top floor, sometimes used by clients when they’re the worse for wear — I’m talking high-rollers the casino treats with kid gloves. That’s where Carter took at least some of his conquests.’

‘Seems like everybody knew except his wife and kids.’

‘Isn’t that always the way of it, though?’

‘Is the casino still run by Joey Frazer?’ ‘It’s his name on the paperwork, but Colvin owns the building and takes the lion’s share of the profits.’

‘So if Carter got in over his head...’

‘Carter never did bet much. He’d eat a meal, drink a bottle of champagne, try a few spins of the wheel or hands of blackjack. It was just a place where he could socialise and maybe play the big man for the benefit of a secretary or hairdresser from Maryhill.’

‘Or a dancer from Knightswood.’

Devlin’s mouth twitched. ‘You know she was seeing Chick McAllister before Carter?’

‘I’ve had a word with him.’

‘Then you’ll know McAllister works for John Rhodes?’

‘It’s a small city, Eddie.’

‘You could paint it in a day,’ Devlin agreed. ‘But by the time you were finishing, there’d already be graffiti on the first bit.’

The two men sat in silence for a moment, savouring their drinks. ‘Have you given any thought to Matt Mason?’ Devlin eventually asked, his voice dropping several notches. Laidlaw looked at the other tables, pairs of men busy trading their own battle stories and tales of woe. No one seemed to be listening, but then none of them were daft either. They all knew who Laidlaw was, or at least what he was. When he spoke, Laidlaw’s own voice had become a murmuring brook.

‘Not especially. Are you saying we should?’

‘You know who Jennifer Love’s dad is?’ Devlin watched Laidlaw give a slow nod. ‘Word is, Matt Mason pays his wages these days.’

‘What’s the job description?’

‘Love still knows a few people in the football world. He coaches youth teams, junior league. But those players often go on to bigger things, and through them Love meets pretty much anyone and everyone. There can be a lot of money riding on a game of football. A few bets spread across a variety of bookmakers, plus the pools, obviously.’

‘You’re saying Love talks players into chucking the odd game?’

Devlin offered a shrug. ‘Goalkeepers are the easiest route. A busy goalmouth, a fumbled catch, maybe something that makes your defenders look equally culpable. I’m not saying it’s true, but it’s what I’ve been hearing.’

‘And meantime Love’s daughter switches from one of John Rhodes’s men to one of Cam Colvin’s.’

‘Can you see her father being thrilled about that when he’s tied his wagon to Matt Mason’s horse?’

‘I can’t, no. Thanks for that, Eddie.’

‘Anything for me in return?’

‘Milligan’s being the usual bull in a china shop.’

‘Isn’t that your role?’

‘He’s pulled in Cam Colvin for a word.’

‘Stands to reason after the attack on the Gay Laddie.’

‘Much good it’ll do him.’

‘Remember me telling you I’m a sick man, Jack? This is hellish thin gruel you’re feeding me.’

‘I thought you were trying to lose weight, Eddie.’

‘I’d rather not lose my job at the same time. Newspapers don’t look good with big white gaps where the stories should be. If I don’t give my boss something soon, I might have to emigrate.’

‘I hear South Africa’s nice.’

‘Might explain why they’re taking out so many ads in the paper.’ Devlin gave Laidlaw a look. ‘But then you already know that.’

‘Because I read it religiously, Eddie. Nice to see Mr Heath’s keen on us joining the Common Market. I hear Enoch Powell was in town recently, stirring up shit.’ He saw Devlin wince. ‘You were there?’

‘Editor’s orders.’

‘Then you’re every bit as well informed as me,’ he offered by way of apology. ‘I’ll happily let you trounce me at a frame of snooker if that would help ease the discomfort.’

‘I’ve seen you play snooker, Jack. I could read Proust in the original French in less time than it takes you to pot a ball.’

‘But only be half as entertained in the process,’ Laidlaw said, raising his emptied glass in a mock toast.

23

Colvin had gathered his men in the same function room at the Coronach Hotel, Dan Tomlinson providing alcohol-free drinks only. Panda Paterson would look in vain for snacks, Colvin having instructed Tomlinson to keep catering to a minimum. Colvin sat at the head of the table, producing a freshly laundered hankie and blowing his nose before starting to speak.

‘First thing to say is, it’s good to have you back, Spanner. I trust you were treated well at Central Division.’

‘I gave them nothing because there was nothing to give,’ Thomson said.

Colvin nodded his apparent acceptance. ‘They doled me out the exact same treatment,’ he said, ‘albeit for different reasons. Seemed to think I might have sanctioned the attack on the Gay Laddie and those two punishment beatings. The word is, Rhodes’s men are giving Milligan’s team nothing, but didn’t actually see who it was that jumped them anyway.’ He paused to play with one of his gold cufflinks. ‘I can understand the impulse to do something, maybe thinking it would make a nice gift for me, tied with a ribbon and everything, but that’s not the way things work. So which one of you arseholes was it?’

The four men exchanged glances and shrugs.

‘I’m inclined to rule out Spanner, not that he was in custody at the time, but cops were probably keeping an eye on him. Mickey, Dod and Panda — ball’s in your penalty box, so to speak.’

‘Nothing to do with me,’ Ballater muttered, while his colleagues shook their heads in agreement.

‘Someone further down the ranks then,’ Colvin offered. ‘I need you to find out who. Start with the eager beavers, the ones keenest to please you. They’re going to want to be found out, thinking it’ll mean a promotion, or at the very least a peck on the cheek.’

‘Have you considered Matt Mason, boss?’ Dod Menzies asked.

‘I’ve considered everything, Dod,’ Colvin snapped back. ‘What is it about me that makes you think I wouldn’t have?’

Menzies held both palms out in a show of surrender. ‘Just saying, if anyone stands to gain from you and Rhodes squaring up to one another...’

‘Guessing games are all well and good, but it’s answers I need and you lot sitting around here on your fat arses isn’t bringing me them.’ Colvin fixed each man in turn with a look. ‘So get out there and get asking.’ As the four of them started rising to their feet, he turned his head towards Thomson. ‘Hang back a minute, Spanner,’ he ordered. ‘I want to compare notes with you about Ernie Milligan.’

Colvin dribbled some more water into his glass as the others shuffled out, Paterson intimating to Thomson that they would wait in the car. Once the door was closed, Colvin waited another half-minute before giving Spanner Thomson his full and undivided attention.

‘What about Milligan?’ Thomson asked into the silence.

‘Anything you want to tell me, Spanner? Anything you might know that I don’t?’

Thomson shook his head warily.

‘I’m talking about this morning rather than yesterday.’ Thomson’s shoulders slumped perceptibly. ‘John Rhodes,’ he said in an undertone.

‘Not very clandestine, was it? Driving down Castle Street in broad daylight. So what did he want?’

‘He thinks me getting pulled in might change things.’

‘What things?’

‘You and me, me and the others.’ Thomson jerked his head in the direction of the door.

‘And you planned on keeping this to yourself?’

‘I knew how it would look. How it does look. But John Rhodes is going to get nothing from me, that’s a promise.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, because if you ever tried crossing me, I’d go after your whole family, from long-buried ancestors to third cousins twice removed that you didn’t even know you had. Understood?’

‘Christ’s sake, Cam, how long have we known one another?’

Colvin struck the table with the flat of his hand. ‘That counts for fuck all, Spanner.’ He had bared his teeth, matching the ferocity of his tone. ‘Anyone comes for me, I drop the atomic bomb on them. Are we clear on that?’

Thomson nodded sullenly.

‘Anything else to tell me about our friend Rhodes?’

‘He was waiting around the corner from my house.’

‘He wouldn’t have wanted the neighbours seeing. Even so, his presence in your company was noted, meaning he wasn’t too bothered about keeping it quiet. He’s playing games with us, Spanner, I hope you appreciate that. I’ve known you longer than just about anyone in my life. If Rhodes can drive a wedge between us, he reckons he can do anything.’

Thomson couldn’t quite bring himself to make eye contact. ‘He told me Bobby was planning to jump ship and set up for himself. In competition, I mean.’

Colvin gave a snort. ‘He told you that, aye?’

‘He also said it’s the sort of thing we’d expect him to say.’

‘John Rhodes wasn’t at the back of the queue when rank animal cunning was being handed out by the man upstairs.’

‘You think he was spinning me a line? I know you put a lot of trust in Bobby, Cam, but the rest of us didn’t quite see the same golden boy you did...’

Colvin’s face darkened further. ‘Bobby was one of us, no matter what poison John Rhodes spouts. You’d do well to remember that.’

‘Yes, Cam.’

‘So if and when he contacts you again...?’

‘I come straight to you.’

‘Fucking right you do. And don’t you ever try keeping something like this from me again.’ Colvin paused. ‘And if you have any inkling who gave the nod for those hits last night...’

‘Swear to God I don’t.’

‘Then get out there and find out who it was!’

Thomson sprang to his feet, but paused after a couple of steps. ‘Are we okay, Cam?’

‘You tell me, Spanner.’

‘I’d hate for us not to be.’ He waited a further moment, but his boss was busying himself with his cufflinks again.

As Thomson yanked open the door, he saw Mickey Ballater a few yards down the corridor. Ballater started striding towards him.

‘Need a word with the chief,’ he explained. ‘I’ll see you in the car.’

Thomson nodded and left, Ballater entering the room and closing the door behind him.

‘Everything okay, Cam?’ he enquired.

‘Something I can do for you, Mickey?’

‘Just wanted to make sure there’s not a problem with you and Spanner. If there is, you only have to ask.’

Colvin pressed his hands together, fingertips to his lips. ‘I might need you to keep an eye on him for me. He had John Rhodes in his car this morning. If that happens again, I want to hear about it from one of my own guys rather than CID.’

‘What did Rhodes want?’

‘Most probably us fighting each other rather than him.’

‘But you’re not sure you can trust Spanner?’

Colvin made a non-committal gesture.

‘The knife was planted near Spanner’s home,’ Ballater went on. ‘Next thing, John Rhodes is paying a visit. I’d say Rhodes fancies Spanner for the killing and wants us to know it.’

‘Or he’s covering for one of his own. You know Jenni Love and Chick McAllister used to be an item?’

‘That was a while back, though. And she’d broken things off with Bobby before he got done in.’

‘Jealousy’s weird, though, isn’t it? It’s not rational the way business is. When we pay a visit to someone, it’s always because of business. It’s never personal. Whenever I’ve seen anyone make a mess of things, it’s because they let the heart rule the head and they stopped thinking.’

‘Chick McAllister doesn’t have the shortest of fuses.’

‘He might harbour grudges, though, letting them fester quietly deep down.’

‘In which case he’s the one we should be watching, rather than Spanner.’

‘One step at a time, Mickey. Eyes on Spanner, find out who was busy last night, and after that we can focus on McAllister — agreed?’

‘One hundred per cent, Cam.’

Colvin stretched an arm out so it rested along the back of the empty chair next to him. He didn’t have to say anything. The meaning was loud and clear and Mickey Ballater nodded his complete comprehension and acceptance of the implicit offer.

In the otherwise empty hotel car park, Menzies, Paterson and Thomson had the engine running so the heating was on. The Peugeot 504 was a big car, but they filled it — Menzies behind the wheel, Thomson in the passenger seat, Paterson in the back. Their eyes were on the hotel entrance, wondering what Mickey Ballater was up to.

‘Can we trust him?’ Menzies asked.

‘He’s hungry,’ Thomson answered. ‘And he thinks he’s smart.’

‘Neither of you had anything to do with last night?’ Paterson asked before taking another bite of his macaroon bar.

‘I know I didn’t.’

‘Me neither. How about you, Panda?’

Paterson chewed and swallowed before replying. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Mickey, though. He likes to surround himself with the youngsters, showing off to them. I’m sure one or two would jump if he told them to. If he wants to go question any of them without us being there, that might be a sign that he needs us kept away from them in case they let something slip.’

There were nods of agreement from the front seats.

‘I might as well tell you,’ Thomson added, ‘that I had a visit from John Rhodes this morning. He says he wants to be my buddy.’

Dod Menzies snorted, kneading the steering wheel. His hands were gloved, the gloves a gift from his wife. They were made of the thinnest, softest leather, with a button to keep them nice and tight around the wrists. He always wore them when driving, and when carrying out various other tasks too.

‘Cam knows you’re not Judas material,’ Paterson assured Thomson, stuffing the empty sweet wrapper into his coat pocket.

‘Even though you’re just about daft enough to have done Bobby in and tossed the knife into a bush practically outside your back door.’ Menzies gave a chuckle.

‘Don’t even joke about it,’ Thomson said with a scowl. ‘It feels like somebody’s doing a decent job of stitching me up here.’ He rubbed at his chest, feeling the comforting weight of the concealed spanner.

‘As if you’d use a blade,’ Paterson said, gripping the back of the passenger seat and pulling himself forward. ‘We all know Mickey’s the one who likes a proper knife.’

‘Though he prefers a razor,’ Menzies countered. ‘Besides, Mickey’s not the one with the hots for the widow.’

‘Don’t be too sure about that,’ Thomson said quietly.

‘How do you mean, Spanner?’

Thomson just shrugged, all three of them watching as Ballater emerged from the building, pulling up his collar and almost dancing down the steps towards them. He seemed relaxed, as if his little chat with Cam Colvin were a job interview that had gone exceedingly well. He didn’t even look particularly put out that he was being consigned to the back seat. He climbed in and closed the door.

‘Everything all right?’ Menzies enquired, watching in the rear-view mirror.

‘Right as rain,’ Ballater answered, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. ‘So are we going to make a few house calls or what?’

‘Just like the boss said.’

‘Mind you, it’ll take us all day if we don’t divvy it up,’ Ballater commented. ‘I could talk to my guys while you talk to yours.’

‘Maybe that’s what we’ll do then,’ Menzies said, releasing the handbrake and giving Spanner Thomson the most meaningful of looks.

24

There were goalposts but no nets and the turf had been churned by a succession of studded boots. Discarded jackets took the place of corner flags and line markings existed only in the imaginations of those present. Pulpy leaves covered the stretch of parkland where Laidlaw emerged from the line of trees. The sky was almost as sullen as the smattering of spectators. Red plastic Adidas shoulder bags were lined up next to the pitch. Beside them stood three men in matching tracksuits, shouting instructions and imprecations towards the teenage boys whose field of dreams this purported to be.

Laidlaw recognised Archie Love, who was a good couple of decades older than the assistants flanking him. The other onlookers comprised parents and bored siblings, some of whom were busy exercising their dribbling skills.

‘Fuck’s sake, Kenny, Stevie Wonder could have made that tackle!’ Love spat the words with real passion, his arms outstretched. He slapped his palms against his thighs in exasperation.

‘The boy’s weary,’ one of the assistants offered by way of excuse.

‘Too many copies of Mayfair hidden in his bedroom,’ the other agreed. ‘Right arm’s getting more exercise than the rest of him put together.’

‘You’d know all about that, Jimmy,’ Love complained, ‘seeing how you’re the source of most of those mags.’

‘Man has to make a living, Archie.’

‘Mr Love?’

All three turned at the sound of Laidlaw’s voice.

‘Sorry to drag you away from an enthralling encounter, but could I have a minute of your time?’

Love checked his wristwatch. ‘Forty-five’s nearly up anyway.’ There was a tin whistle hanging around his neck. He puckered his lips around it and blew. There were groans of relief as the players started making for the touchline.

‘Sort them out,’ Love commanded before heading in the direction of the trees and the footpath beyond. He was about six inches shorter than Laidlaw, and he’d added maybe a stone and a half in weight since his playing days. The thick head of hair was turning silver, his tan showing that he still treated himself to overseas holidays.

‘What’s this about?’ he asked, unwrapping a stick of gum and readying to place it in his mouth. He changed his mind, however, when Laidlaw produced a pack of cigarettes. ‘Give me one of those, will you?’ Laidlaw obliged and the uneaten gum was tossed onto the grass. Both men smoked in silence for a moment.

‘I’m a detective, Mr Love.’

‘I didn’t think you were a scout from Inter Milan, son.’

‘I did play a bit in my younger days. A few folk said I was good enough to stick at it.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I decided not to waste my life playing games. Speaking of scouting, though, you do a bit yourself, I hear.’

‘Good young players are rarer than a convent with the toilet seat up. I sometimes steer one towards a deal that’s going to be right for him, then I’m left to watch as most of them piss it all away. Talent and brains is the rarest combination of all.’ Love studied Laidlaw above the cigarette in his mouth, having offered him all he was going to get by way of casual conversation.

‘Do you know a man called Matt Mason, Mr Love?’

‘By reputation.’

‘You’ve never done any work for him.’

‘That’s a pretty wild allegation to be making. How about telling me your name, for when I make my complaint?’

‘It’s Detective Constable Laidlaw. You’ll find me at Central Division, where I’m investigating the murder of Bobby Carter. I don’t suppose you knew him?’

‘Bobby Carter?’ Love shook his head and checked his watch. Some of the players were stretched out on the edge of the playing field, as if a soft bed couldn’t come soon enough. Love blew on the whistle, gesturing for his assistants to get them back on their feet.

‘I’m not doing too well here, am I?’ Laidlaw said. ‘Let’s try one final name — Chick McAllister.’

‘He’s a friend of my daughter’s.’

‘Her boyfriend, in fact, at one time.’

Love gave a shrug.

‘Were you aware that he works for John Rhodes?’

‘The laddie seemed fine, very respectful.’

‘But not exactly son-in-law material?’

‘My Jennifer’s too young for any of that.’

‘That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? She’s not going to remain yours for much longer. She’s got her own life to lead and decisions she’ll want to make without any interference from you and her mum.’ Laidlaw paused as the man’s face grew taut. ‘I speak as a parent myself.’

‘What exactly are you doing here?’

‘How do you feel about the fact that Jennifer works as a dancer?’

‘How would you feel?’ ‘I imagine I’d be a bit fearful. Mine are a good bit younger, so there are a few more cotton-wool years left.’

‘Dancing’s all she does, you know. She knows better than to go with any of the lowlifes who stand there staring at her.’

‘You’ve watched her, then?’

A momentary discomfort passed across Love’s face, as though he’d been found out. ‘What kind of father wouldn’t want to check out the place where his daughter works?’

‘Most of them, I’d say.’

‘Maybe you’ll find out some day, when yours have grown.’

‘You sound far from happy about her chosen career, Mr Love. And as for her not hanging out with the punters...’

‘What?’

Laidlaw hadn’t known until this point that he was about to say anything. Later, he would wonder why he had, knowing it was bound to cause an angry scene in the Love household. He suspected it was because he had taken an immediate and visceral dislike to the man. It was to do with his attitude, the way his living room was focused on him — his chair, his memorabilia. He didn’t doubt that Love’s wife had been ground down by years spent under his control. Meantime, Laidlaw had a knife of sorts, and he couldn’t help but twist it.

‘Jenni was seeing Bobby Carter, Mr Love,’ he revealed. ‘This was after she broke up with McAllister. Carter worked for Cam Colvin, McAllister belongs to John Rhodes, and I hear whispers Matt Mason has you tucked in his breast pocket like one of those fake cardboard pocket-chiefs you can buy at the Barras.’ Examining the effect of his words, Laidlaw reached the swift conclusion that Carter was coming as news to Jenni’s father, so much so that there wasn’t room in his head for a denial of his links to Mason.

‘I would have known,’ he said quietly.

‘Would you, though? Is that the sort of relationship you’ve fostered with your daughter, Mr Love? Or is it more likely your family hide things from you to stop you taking off like a Saturn rocket?’

A cry came from the touchline, one of the assistants tapping his wrist.

‘Lucky for you I have to go,’ Love growled.

‘You can swear to me you didn’t know about Jenni and Bobby Carter? If you had, what would you have done?’

‘All depends, doesn’t it?’

‘You’d have had words at the very least, though? Maybe at a rendezvous like the Parlour?’

‘The Parlour’s a John Rhodes pub.’

‘As Matt Mason’s man, you wouldn’t have been comfortable there?’

‘I’m my own man and nobody else’s.’ Love showed his teeth as he spoke. Laidlaw was shaking his head slowly.

‘You’re bought and sold for a gangster’s shilling,’ he corrected him. ‘In my book that gives you all the integrity of a back-street hoor at chucking-out time.’

He watched as the man squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. One appraising look at his opponent, however, was enough to change Love’s mind. Instead, he began to trudge back towards his other family. Laidlaw wondered if he really deserved either of them, but then the world both men inhabited was seldom equitable that way.

25

‘Well,’ Bob Lilley said, ‘what did you make of that?’

Margaret went up through the gears. It was her turn to drive. She’d had just the one glass of warmish white. Bob had enjoyed a lot more, as well as a large post-prandial helping of Antiquary.

‘Lovely kids,’ Margaret answered. ‘Shame they’re living on a battlefield.’

‘That’s a bit over the top.’

‘Maybe. They’re good people, but there’s so much tension in that house. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it?’

‘I became progressively more inoculated.’

Margaret enjoyed driving at this time of night, when the city dozed and the only hindrance was the occasional red light or tipsy pedestrian. She had never told Bob this, however. It would only have given him the excuse to avoid his turn at the wheel — and she enjoyed a drop of wine as much as she enjoyed being in the driver’s seat.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘tell me more.’

She knew he was aware that she read domestic situations more astutely than he did, although that knowledge didn’t always sit easily with him. He’d said himself more than once that she’d have made a good detective.

‘Every marriage has its darker moments,’ she obliged. ‘Even ours. But we tend to bury the corpses and get on with things. Tonight, I thought some of them were sitting with us at the table. When we were talking about the hours you boys put in and I said you’ve been told that if you’re coming home after midnight you’ve to take the couch so you don’t wake me up...’

‘And Ena said Laidlaw prefers to stay out.’

‘It was what she said afterwards, though, about it being like having a soldier who only ever comes home on leave.’ Margaret paused. ‘I’m guessing something’s happened and that’s why she was keen to have us round. She needs to feel she has witnesses. Does Jack play the field?’

‘I’ve not long met the man,’ Lilley argued, before proffering a sigh to fill the silence. ‘He sleeps some nights in a hotel in town; says it’s so he can stay close to whatever he’s investigating.’

‘He’s a good-looking man, though.’

‘You think so? I hope you’re not getting interested.’

She laughed and placed her free hand on his thigh. ‘I’m spoken for. Besides, he’s too dangerous.’

‘And I’m not?’

‘Maybe he’s a different type of dangerous — there were moments I could sense him ticking like a bomb. More than that, it was as if Ena wanted him to explode, so we’d see what she has to deal with. Did you not feel that, Bob?’

‘Maybe she’s not worked out yet who it is she married.’

‘Has he even worked that out himself?’

‘Let’s say he’s a work in progress, then, and thank our lucky stars we’re past all that.’

‘Did I not say? I’m leaving you next week.’

‘Mind and take the mortgage with you.’ Lilley smiled as he did some thinking. ‘You’re right in one respect — it was awkward seeing him in his home setting, like he wasn’t comfortable there. Maybe he’s a streetsman, the way Davy Crockett was a woodsman. Davy could read all the signs in the wild, he’d lived there so long. Probably wasn’t so good on the domestic front. I think Jack’s like that with Glasgow: he brings the city home with him, and that’s too much for even a decent-sized living room to contain.’

Margaret seemed to be considering his words as she slowed, the lights ahead changing to red. ‘Bit of a romanticised notion you’ve got of him, no?’

‘I think he is a romantic, in a weird sort of way. He really believes there’s truth to be found on the streets that exists nowhere else.’

They watched as two men weaved down the pavement, their heated discussion conducted in nothing but curses and adverbs.

‘Do you want to deal with that?’ Margaret asked.

‘I’m off duty. Besides, that’s not a fight, it’s a decibel contest. Look at the bellies on the pair of them — they’re like Lambeg drums, big and noisy but with nothing but air inside.’

‘You’re even beginning to speak like him,’ Margaret said with an indulgent smile.

The lights changed to green and they set off again.

‘Another thing about Jack is, he’s deep,’ Lilley went on. ‘I got no sense of that from the house — everything in there seemed to be more Ena’s than his. On his desk at work he has these foreign books. Spanish, French, Danish maybe. Philosophers. Yet all I saw in the living room was Catherine Cookson.’

‘He’s in hiding, then, is that what you’re saying?’

‘I’ve not known him nearly long enough to form a view.’ Lilley paused. ‘We’re going to have to return the favour, aren’t we? Invite them round to ours?’

‘Would that be such a bad thing? Maybe away from the kids they can find out what it is they like about one another.’ Margaret paused, moving up through the gears. ‘Then again, in public they’ve maybe perfected the happy families act. Could be that’s why the meal had to be on her territory, masks removed.’

‘You really think she wants us on her side and not his?’

‘I doubt there’s room in that marriage for neutrals.’

‘And have you decided whose colours you’ll be wearing.’

‘Hers, obviously.’

‘Even though he’s a good-looking man, and a romantic with it?’

‘Never bet against the wife, Bob. You should know that by now. Speaking of which, I’m going to bed when we get in, and you’re fetching me a cup of tea and maybe a wee brandy.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lilley said, giving a salute as Margaret squeezed his thigh again.

‘Are we the only people we know who’ve not seen that film?’ Ena asked as she busied herself washing the dishes.

‘You don’t do X certificates, remember. Even a musical like Cabaret.’

‘Al Pacino’s supposed to be very good, though.’ She glanced towards Laidlaw, who was drying the wine glasses. ‘They seem nice, don’t they?’

‘Salt of the earth.’

‘You once told me armies salt the earth to stop crops growing.’

‘Well, that’s true.’ Laidlaw opened a cupboard door.

‘Next one along for glasses,’ Ena informed him.

‘It’s been a while,’ he said. Then: ‘Why exactly did you invite them?’

‘Any reason why not?’

‘It’s just unusual, that’s all.’

‘Inviting people to dinner?’

‘Us having people to dinner. It’s all a bit...’

‘Middle class? Did I miss you cleaning the coal dust from under your fingernails before we sat down?’

‘I’m not much of a one for small talk, you know that.’

‘Which explains why you didn’t say much of anything.’

‘I kept smiling, though, didn’t I? And I talked about the kids.’

‘You don’t get extra marks for doing something any father would do without having to think twice about it.’

‘Maybe that’s because most people don’t think before they speak. As a result, most of what passes for conversation is just dross. Sifting through it is what gives me those dirty nails.’ He saw the look she was giving him. ‘Present company excepted, obviously. Your conversation is always the stuff of legend.’ He snatched up a couple of plates with the dish towel.

‘When you’ve done those, can you bring the bowls through?’ He nodded and complied. There wasn’t a separate dining room, but the living room was big enough for a large drop-leaf table and four chairs. He started piling up the pudding bowls, while struggling to think back to what the starter had been. He paused and looked around him. Two armchairs and a matching floral sofa; framed photos of the three children on the wall unit; china ornaments that had belonged to Ena’s mother — there had been only one casualty so far due to the kids. A smoked-glass bowl sat on top of the unit, a ceramic cat attached to its rim, eyes locked on a smaller ceramic mouse inside. There was a tiny amount of Antiquary still in Laidlaw’s glass, so he finished it, rinsing it around his mouth. In the past, he had tried reading the meaning behind the bowl and the scene playing out on and within it. Was he the cat or the mouse? Was the bowl Ena’s idea of their marriage? Or did she just think it a charming and witty addition to the room?

He was all too aware that he had been neither charming nor witty during the meal. But he’d been placid, she couldn’t say he hadn’t been that. Placid and polite.

Though, as she had already indicated, he deserved extra marks for neither.

‘Are you stopping here tonight?’ Ena asked. She was standing in the doorway, suds on her hands.

‘I’ve got another early start.’

‘There’s an alarm clock, Jack.’

In the end, he offered the nodded acceptance that the situation seemed to require.

‘Fine then,’ his wife said, turning away from him again.

‘I’ll just go up and check on the kids,’ he said, conscious that she had stopped listening. On the staircase, his legs felt simultaneously heavier and lighter with each step he climbed.

Four in the morning. That was the Faron Young song, wasn’t it? Four in the morning and... something about the dawning. Not dawn yet in Glasgow, though, as the passenger climbed out of the car. The driver stayed, ready to give warning, engine ticking over. The fence was high, the gates secured by a heavy chain and padlock. He hoisted the bolt-cutters but froze as a man in a stained car coat appeared around the corner, looking almost concussed. Either one of the local prozzies had given him a doing, or he’d passed out from the night’s bevvy and dozed on the pavement until the chill shook him awake. The passer-by saw the bolt-cutters a moment before raising his eyes to the figure who was releasing them. That figure now reached into a pocket, producing a combat knife, which came with a serrated edge and a nasty-looking tip.

‘Keep walking and you’ll keep breathing. Open your mouth about this and you’ll find it widened by a fair few inches when I catch up with you — got that, or would a few wee nicks maybe help you file it away?’

The pedestrian didn’t need telling, his eyes fixed on the knife that was being flexed in front of him.

‘None of my business, son, God’s honest truth.’ The man began stumbling away. The driver was watching his colleague intently. A shake of the head as the knife was tucked back into pocket said no further action need be taken. Not this time. He bent down and retrieved the bolt-cutters.

Four in the morning: how did the tune go again? He’d maybe get them to play it in Whiskies. It was a bit mournful, but who was going to stop him? And if anyone could dance to it, that wee ride Jenni could...