The Papers of Tony Veitch

36

Hanging about the main office, Bob Lilley was glad that he saw Harkness first. Harkness sent his eyes to the ceiling in admission of what they both knew would have to be acknowledged. Bob looked at his left lapel and took in enough breath to launch a zeppelin.

‘It’s what they say, is it?’ he said.

Harkness nodded.

‘Has he burst yet?’

‘Aye,’ Harkness said. ‘He’s burst. His fingerprints were on the bottle. That’s what did it. He’s writing his memoirs now.’

‘Jesus,’ Bob said. ‘Old Jack gets it right now and again, though. Doesn’t he? Sometimes I wish he didn’t.’

‘No,’ Harkness said. ‘I’m glad he does. Sometimes I don’t like him. But people like that deserve to get it right.’

Laidlaw came in with a paper cup of coffee, looking for sugar. He had no problem finding it, being popular for the moment. He stirred his coffee and looked at Bob.

‘Ernie Milligan’s not around, is he?’ Laidlaw said.

The room winced. Laidlaw smiled at Bob.

‘Naw,’ he said. ‘I’m only kidding. He did it according to his lights. Which are about two-kilowatt.’

Harkness was about to defend Milligan when Laidlaw looked at him. It was a hard look, as sore as your father finding you out in a lie at the age of seven. Harkness knew what was coming.

‘Brian. There’s something I better say. I’m disappointed in you. I like you but you’re a slow learner. So you gave Big Ernie the photo. Fair enough. But you should’ve said. That’s all. It was fair enough giving it to him, if that’s what you felt. But you should’ve said. I felt a bit betrayed. When Macey let that slip. He didn’t know what he was saying. But I did. Aw, Brian.’

‘I was going to tell you.’

‘Going to’s what they put on the headstone. Be quicker next time. Friends should share.’

‘Come on, Jack,’ Bob said. ‘Maybe friends should share. But did you share with Ernie?’

‘Friends? I don’t see Ernie Milligan as a friend. “A thing devised by the enemy.” That’s what he is.’

Laidlaw was testing his coffee, put in more sugar. He lit a cigarette.

‘Jack,’ Bob said. ‘You’ve done well. Don’t crow.’

‘I’m not crowing. Because I didn’t do well enough. Tony Veitch is dead. This case was a failure. But it could’ve been a bigger one. That’s all. I want to admit the failure but I don’t want to flagellate myself with it. You know?’

Bob was pushing back his shoulders and putting on his the-world’s-my-junior face.

‘I still say you should’ve told Big Er-’

‘Bob. Don’t say. You’ve had your say. I sat in the Top Spot and listened to you a long time. And apart from the Fenwick Fury here, you’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve got in this place. And I took it because I couldn’t prove otherwise. But now I can. I’ve just proved it. So don’t tell me again. That I should’ve told Big Ernie. Because I shouldn’t. You accused me of careerism. Bob. I’m still here because I think it’s where it really matters. But only if you do it right. This time I haven’t done that. I just came closer than some. That doesn’t mean much. But maybe it could exempt me from your advice for a wee while. Eh? As auld Eck used to say.’

Bob sculpted his face into impassiveness.

‘Okay, Jack. I was maybe out of order-’

‘Bob. I think you were definitely out of order.’

‘I was maybe out of order. But I don’t see any need to dig up Brian. He did what he thought was the right thing.’

‘Nobody’s digging up Brian. Brian. Am I digging you up?’

‘Well. I feel as if my second name was Pompeii.’

‘Ya bastard,’ Laidlaw said.

‘See what I mean, Jack?’ Bob said complacently. ‘You dig people up even when you don’t know you’re doing it.’

‘But I should’ve said,’ Harkness said.

‘Why?’ Bob said. ‘Jack would probably’ve needed tranquillizers if you had. I mean, what was wrong with telling Ernie?’

‘I’ll tell you,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Because this thing isn’t finished yet. I’m sorry, Brian. But it’s what wee Frankie Millers sings: “You mighta brung brains to the show”. You know what you’ve done? Just by giving a photograph to Big Ernie. You’ve extended the problem.’

‘Oh Christ,’ Bob said. ‘Here we go again. Jack and his amazing crystal ball. Tell me, Jack. Why was that a problem?’

‘Because people like Ernie Milligan are dangerous. He knows this city, he says. Brian. You have to learn where to put your trust. He’s like a lot of policemen here. He knows the names of streets. He doesn’t know the city. Who does? Walk down a side-street on your own, you’re finding out again. Who ever knew a city? It’s a crazy claim. And those who make impossible claims are always going to cause more trouble than they solve.’

‘Aye, all right, Jack.’ Bob was trying to be patient. ‘But could you be more exact.’

‘Certainly. Somebody else is going to die. Like tomorrow or the next day.’

‘That’s a safe bet,’ Bob said. ‘In China, you mean?’

‘Brian. I’ll talk to you. Bob’s head’s on holiday. Milligan doesn’t solve bother. He manufactures it. Because he is a careerist. If trouble wasn’t there, he would invent it. He feeds on it, he needs it. You listened to Dave McMaster there. But did you hear him? He was telling us two things. He killed three people. And. There was Ballater. Hook Hawkins. John Rhodes. Cam Colvin. And Macey. You know what “volatile” means? That’s what that mixture is. I mean, Cam and John. They don’t await the fullness of time. They’re looking for someone. Because they know this deal was gerrymandered. They may not know how. But they’re going to decide they do. Because they’re angry. And their kind of violence is just anger declaring independence from reason. That’s what Ernie Milligan’s helped to do. He puts his X into the equation and doesn’t give a shit how it affects the final calculation. Knows this city? He couldn’t get a bargain at the Barras.’

‘That’s nonsense, Jack,’ Bob said. ‘All that seeing into the future. You using Tarot cards?’

‘We’ll wait and see,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Anyway’ — he was staring into Harkness’s quietness — ‘what about more normal things? The stuff of life and that. How’s the women situation, Brian?’

Harkness looked up at him, winked.

‘I’m getting engaged.’

‘Congratulations,’ Laidlaw said.

‘Same from me. I think,’ Bob said. He looked at Laidlaw’s face. ‘Some bruise that. It’s a good thing Mickey Ballater was half-dead when you fought him.’

‘I know.’ Laidlaw was finishing his coffee, gruing at how sweet the dregs were. ‘My hands are lethal weapons. They could get me killed.’