Hit and Run (10 page)

Billy’s head pulsed and he felt dizzy. The vet got up to leave, but Billy stayed on the floor, the prescription limp in his hand. Jeanie came over towards him warily, sniffing the piece of paper as if it might be food.

Zoe saw the vet out.

Billy reached out for Jeanie. ‘Come here.’

She leaned in and let herself be held. Billy pulled her close and buried his face in her fur, sucking up the smell of her.

Jeanie slept all morning and half the afternoon. Zoe got her prescription then headed to the office. Charlie was out already on a split shift. Billy switched his phone off and stayed in the darkened room with the dog, watching her chest swell with every breath, soaking up the feral smell from her body.

When she finally came round he sandwiched a pill between two dog chocolates and gave it to her. She didn’t seem lethargic or confused. He wondered if she had any memory of the previous night. He fed her and gave her some water, then took her out.

The sun was still beating down on everything, bleaching the world. This weather couldn’t last, not in Scotland. He headed up the Radical Road; it was like a scab that needed picking.

From up high, the heat made the Pentlands fuzzy in the distance. A low haze meant he couldn’t see the Bridges. He kept his eye on Jeanie the whole time. She seemed fine. He thought about what was going on in her brain in the fizzling synapses, the surges of rogue energy. He’d spent a while earlier looking up epilepsy in dogs, but no amount of clinical blurb on the Internet could equate to the horror of watching his dog helpless and writhing on the floor.

He sucked in a deep breath and looked down. Queen’s Drive was open again, cars blurring up and down past the small clump of trees.

He took out his phone, but didn’t switch it on. He looked at his hands. Barbed-wire cuts, gorse-bush scars, nettle stings and now dog bites. They were fucked-up maps of his life. If only he could decode the information in those scabs and sores, maybe he could find a way out of this.

He switched his phone on. Three messages. Zoe asking after Jeanie. Charlie saying that Jamie Mackie had discharged himself post-op against the surgeon’s wishes. Rose asking where he was, and telling him that the Whitehouses were having a memorial service for Frank tomorrow morning at Greyfriars Kirk.

Greyfriars, Jesus, just about the most distinguished church in the city. The preserve of politicians and public figures. That’s what a life of crime got you, the most respectable send-off imaginable.

He stared at his phone. No message from Adele. His fingers moved over the keys until he heard the tone. Three rings then she picked up.

‘Billy.’ She was whispering.

‘Hey there.’

‘It’s not a good time.’

‘Why not?’

‘Wait a second.’

He heard footsteps, muffled voices, more footsteps. He imagined Dean and Adele together, her olive skin against his pasty flesh.

‘What is it?’ She sounded urgent, scared.

‘I wanted to speak to you.’

‘Jesus, Billy, you can’t just call me up whenever you feel like it. Don’t you understand my situation here?’

‘What about my situation?’

‘What about your situation?’

Billy stared out over Edinburgh. The castle looked tiny from here, on its stumpy little throne. Below him, the bushes rustled in a light breeze.

‘Never mind.’

‘Look, I’m in the middle of something here.’

‘I bet.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Are you sleeping with Dean?’ It felt as if someone else had asked it, but it was his voice all right.

‘Fuck off. How dare you ask me that.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Billy wondered what the hell he was doing. ‘I want to see you.’

‘Not today.’

‘Got your husband’s memorial to plan?’ He hated the way his voice sounded.

‘As it happens, yes.’

Billy looked at Jeanie. There was something different about her. She was staying closer to him, not venturing as far amongst the grass and gorse. She was clinging to him.

‘I have something to tell you.’

‘What?’

‘Detective Inspector Price has asked me to try and get the truth out of you about Dean’s alibi for the Mackie shooting.’

‘Oh yeah?’ A lightness crept back into Adele’s voice. Billy’s heart sang when he heard it.

‘Yeah.’

‘Pump me for information, is that the idea?’

They were flirting again.

‘Something like that.’

‘Isn’t that supposed to be his job?’

‘He was impressed with my
Standard
piece. Thought I could get inside you.’

‘Really?’

‘Under your skin.’

There was a pause on the line. ‘Maybe you can.’

There was noise in the background, a door banging.

‘I have to go. Maybe see you tomorrow at the memorial service.’

She hung up.

He looked down. Jeanie was sniffing at his shoes, circling his legs so closely that he could feel the warmth of her body through his trousers. He knelt and gave her a hug.

The graveyard was a jumble of ancient moss-green stones. Morning sunlight played through the crevices as mourners in designer black made their solemn way to the kirk. Despite the sun, a dankness hung amongst the graves, hundreds of years of history weighing down the air like mist. A handful of paparazzi lurked outside the church entrance, snapping at scowling faces. Two outside broadcast vans were parked further away, reporters preparing pieces for camera.

Billy walked alongside Rose. He had Jeanie on the new lead, and she trotted along close by his side.

‘I still can’t believe you brought that mutt,’ Rose said. ‘We’re working here.’

‘I didn’t want to leave her on her own.’

Rose shook her head. ‘The great crime reporter, with Greyfriars Bobby along for the ride.’

A minister in black robes came out and pleaded with the photographers and journos to move away from the entrance. They didn’t budge. The two thugs Billy recognised from the Whitehouse place came out and asked more forcefully. Everyone shuffled down the path and on to the grass.

A steady stream of mourners was still going in, the sound of camera clicks mingling with murmured conversation.

‘God, will you look at them,’ Rose said. ‘Councillors, businessmen, advocates. I never realised Frank Whitehouse had so much of the city in his pocket.’

‘Why would they care, now that he’s dead?’

‘Sucking up to Dean. There’s a power vacuum and the last thing these clowns want is any disruption to routine. They don’t want psychos like the Mackies in charge of things, so they’re showing solidarity with Dean, presuming he’s going to take over the mantle.’

Billy stroked Jeanie as Rose got her notebook out and began scribbling in shorthand. His phone beeped and he pulled it out. A message from Adele.
Your name’s on the list, A x
.

Billy turned to Rose. ‘You’ll never guess what.’

‘Pope’s a Catholic?’

‘I’ve got an invite for inside.’

Rose chuckled to herself. ‘From the merry widow?’

Billy nodded.

‘You’re some guy. I don’t want to know what you and her have been up to.’

‘It’s not like that. I’m just keeping her sweet, as instructed by your close friend PC Plod.’

Rose narrowed her eyes. ‘What does Little Miss Sunday Supplement make of you getting friendly with Adele Whitehouse?’

Billy looked at the people going inside. Well-fed men squeezed into expensive suits, showcase wives in tight black dresses.

‘Why should she mind? I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Really?’

Billy turned and held the lead out to her. ‘Hold this, I can’t take Jeanie inside.’

‘I’m not looking after her.’ Rose waved her notebook. ‘Some of us are here to work.’

‘Do you want me to get another exclusive with Adele or don’t you?’

‘Tie her up there.’ Rose pointed at a nearby disabled handrail. ‘And get some good colour for the piece while you’re inside, eh?’

Billy looped the lead around the rail then bent and ruffled Jeanie’s fur, comforting her. He sauntered up to the thugs at the church door and gave his name, smiling as they grudgingly moved aside for him.

He took a seat in the back pew and slunk down. He got a notebook out and started writing, just notes about the place, the people, the atmosphere. The grey stone columns, the wooden rafters, the stained glass and organ, the hubbub of expectation. None of this would get used in a
Standard
piece, but he wrote anyway to keep his hands busy. He’d been at it a couple of minutes when a hush spread through the congregation.

Dean, Adele and Ryan Whitehouse walked down the aisle to the front row. Ryan clutched Adele’s hand and looked intimidated. Adele had on the same large glasses she’d worn the first time Billy saw her. She was in a dark blouse and a figure-hugging black skirt, cut to just above the knee. She looked stunning. He couldn’t see a trace of emotion on her face. Dean walked beside her, eyes cold. Billy imagined being in Dean’s place, walking to the front of the church with this beautiful woman.

After they were settled in the front row, the minister made everyone rise. There were prayers and hymns, short speeches. Billy stared at the back of Adele’s head as she sat through it all, occasionally dipping to whisper in Ryan’s ear. Billy thought about Jeanie outside, about Zoe down in the office. He thought about Charlie in his doctor’s coat, and then pictured himself and Charlie in black ties and what were then their school shoes and uniforms. White shirts and black trousers weren’t the kind of thing you wore every day, so they’d had to return to dressing up like schoolboys for their mother’s funeral. There had been hymns and prayers that day, but Billy couldn’t remember any of it. No one made any speeches. He and Charlie weren’t up to it, neither was anyone else. The minister had spouted some platitudes, then they were out of there, the tiny throng of people who knew their mum, colleagues and shop owners, precious few else. The minister wanted them out in a hurry, he had another funeral in five minutes. And that was it.

Billy realised the memorial was almost over. Dean was re-taking his seat after saying something, Billy had no idea what. They were about to rise again for a final hymn when Billy’s phone went off. Several people turned round and tutted under their breaths. He grabbed it from his pocket. Rose.

‘What?’

‘Get outside, now.’

Billy’s first thought was Jeanie. He bolted out of his seat, the echoing clatter making more heads turn. He ran for the door, vaguely aware of several more phones going off behind him. Dean’s two goons weren’t at the door any more. He ran out and spotted them ten yards ahead, standing over the body of a dog. A collie.

He looked at the handrail where he’d tied Jeanie up. Not there. Photographers and journalists swarmed all around, gathering around the dog’s body, jostling for position, cameras out and mobiles to ears.

He pushed through them to the dog. It was covered in blood from a gaping wound in its neck. He rushed to it and knelt down, pushed his hands into the bloody fur. He was overwhelmed with relief. It wasn’t Jeanie. White patch over one half of the face. Much thicker around the middle. A male, older. He let go of the body.

A voice behind him.

‘Jesus Christ, is that Rebus?’ It was Dean Whitehouse.

‘Looks like it,’ said one of his goons.

‘Is he dead?’

The goon nodded.

‘What the fuck happened?’

‘A car drove up. No plates. Toyota. Two guys in balaclavas threw the dog out of the passenger seat and fucked off.’

‘Holy shit. The fucking Mackies. Cunts. Get it out of here before the kid sees it.’

‘Uncle Dean, is that Rebus?’

Billy’s guts tensed at the sound of Ryan’s voice.

‘No, son,’ Dean said.

The two heavies pushed past Billy and lifted the dog by the legs.

Billy turned. Dozens of people were spilling out of the kirk, Adele and Ryan at the front of the pack.

‘It is.’ Ryan already had tears in his eyes. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Nothing. Don’t look.’

Adele reached for Ryan and jerked his arm, pulling him into her waist. The two heavies took the dog’s body out of sight. The sound of cameras going off filled the air like perverted birdsong.

Dean turned to the snappers. ‘Fuck’s sake, leave us in peace, will you?’

He ushered Adele and Ryan towards a waiting car.

‘Billy.’

It was Rose behind him, on her mobile and dragging Jeanie. She handed him the lead. He petted Jeanie, who was whining softly.

Rose covered the mouthpiece of her mobile. ‘She went mental when they dumped the dog.’ Then into the phone: ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

She turned away. Billy kept stroking Jeanie, pulling her emaciated body to him and sinking his nose into her fur.

‘It’s OK,’ he whispered. ‘Everything’s fine.’

There was a crunch of gravel as the Whitehouse limousine sped out of the churchyard, followed by photographers clicking away.

Rose was back. ‘Just spoke to the Dog and Cat Home, they got a collie in last night. A girl came to pick him up, said she was the owner. By her description it sounds like the same schemie airhead who was with Wayne Mackie at the hospital the other day.’

‘Christ. Who could do that to a dog?’

‘Come on, and bring Lassie with you. We’ve got another story to write.’

‘I heard about what happened.’

Billy glanced up and saw Zoe standing over him, looking concerned. He nodded at his screen.

‘Just finished writing it up with Rose now.’

Zoe spotted Jeanie curled up under the desk. ‘You brought her into work?’

Billy stared at Zoe. ‘I didn’t want to leave her at home alone.’

‘Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you got her.’

Billy pictured Adele on her doorstep, refusing to take the dog.

‘Jeanie’s fine, aren’t you, girl?’ He turned to Zoe. ‘It’s only until she gets used to the pills.’

He thought about the blister packs stolen from Charlie in his pocket. He was itching to take something, to feel the dry shape of a capsule in his throat as he swallowed.

‘I need a piss,’ he said.

Zoe tried to reach for him but he was already walking towards the toilets.

‘Meet me for a coffee downstairs?’ she said.

Billy stopped and turned. ‘Sure. Take Jeanie with you.’

He watched as Zoe led the dog to the stairs, then he made for the bogs. Inside he popped two morphines and two methamphetamines. He still hadn’t opened the mood stabilisers. He had Jeanie’s phenobarbital in his pocket too. He stared at the packet, wondered what they would feel like. He put all the blister packs back into his pocket, splashed some water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. His skin felt waxy, as if the water had slid right off it on to the floor. He prodded his cheek, then rubbed at the bump on his temple. Was it hurting? He was having trouble telling. He cricked his neck widely and accidentally smacked his head on the hand dryer.

‘Fuck.’

He stared at the hand dryer, which had gone off, blasting air downwards, noise like an aircraft engine. He banged his head on it again, deliberately this time, and harder.

The sound of a door opening. A suited guy came in, thick around the middle, shirt untucked. Billy put his hands under the dryer and rubbed them together. Pain shot through his head and palms, all the injuries talking to each other.

He yanked at the door and left.

Downstairs in the cafeteria, Zoe was sitting next to the huge glass wall at the back of the room. Outside, a couple of smokers, then across the road the arse end of the Crags, the tail of the Radical Road slashing across the hill. He couldn’t escape it.

He grabbed a coffee and sat down.

‘I heard you were inside the church for the memorial service,’ Zoe said.

He could feel her stare, but kept his eyes on Jeanie.

‘Who did you hear that from?’

‘Rose told me.’

‘Since when were you and Rose best pals?’ Billy didn’t like the sound of his own voice. Every syllable made his head throb.

‘We’re not. Look at me, Billy.’

He raised his eyes. It was blinding sunshine outside, the Crags in heavy shadow. A pair of gulls traced routes across the cliff face. The light outside gave Zoe a diffuse halo around her hair, her face in shade like the cliff. He couldn’t make out her expression. He widened his eyes, felt air on his eyeballs. His hands were tingling in Jeanie’s fur, creepers of sensation climbing up his forearms.

‘Rose is worried about you.’

‘She’s got no need to be.’

‘I’m worried about you, too.’

‘I thought we established all this a long time ago. Everybody’s worried about little Billy.’

Zoe sighed. ‘Why are you being like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Weird. Uptight. Different.’

‘You know why.’ Billy’s voice came out loud. The sound of it sent needles into his brain.

‘Calm down.’

Billy’s leg twitched. Jeanie stood up and circled his chair, licked his outstretched hand, then settled again.

‘I know you, Billy,’ Zoe said.

He looked past her at the Crags.

‘At least, I used to.’

His phone beeped. He stared at his coffee on the table, trying to make sense of the swirling patterns of steam rising off the oily surface.

‘Aren’t you going to see who that is?’

Billy shrugged, then took his phone out. A text.
I want to see you. The Crags pub. Now.
He pushed the phone back in his pocket.

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘What is it?’

‘Got another lead on this story.’

Billy stood up and made a noise to Jeanie. She rose with a flick of her tail.

Zoe stared at him, but didn’t get up. ‘Was that Adele Whitehouse?’

Billy looked at her, her face dark against the glare outside.

‘No.’