Long Time Dead (Gus Dury 4) (16 page)

‘You think I can go poking about in it? Jesus Christ, they’d throw me to the wolves. And then … then there’s young Colin.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s implicated.’

I couldn’t see it, pushed: ‘All he’s done is speak to you. Hardly implication.’

Fitz gasped, ran fingers through his grey hair. ‘Day after, he was in the office, due to put in his report … he got a visit from one of the Craft laddos. Handed him an envelope, said, “There’s the money I owe you” … walked off. There was enough in there for him to clear a deposit on his first flat in Gorgie.’

That was implication. ‘The daft fucker.’

Fitz shook his head. ‘What’s he supposed to do, Gus? Ye have no idea of the pressure … There are people in there you just don’t piss off. This stage of his career, he’d be finished before he got started. Hasn’t he a lass and a youngster to think of.’

I looked away to the window. The sun was ducking behind a rain cloud. I watched a black cat leap onto the top of a wall. I said, ‘You need to tease some more information from Colin.’

‘Ah, now … I don’t know about that.’

‘Just see if he’s anything to add to his story.’

‘Gus … sure, he’s still very young.’

I hit my pint, put the glass down hard on the table. ‘I’ll need you to do some more digging as well. Colin might know more than he’s let on; just check it out. It’s his arse on the line as well.’

Fitz turned over a beer mat, his red-rimmed eyes moistening; I could see the concern in them. It unsettled me, made me question what the hell I was doing. Fitz nodded slowly. ‘All right … but don’t be surprised if it’s me you find swinging from a rope next.’

I TRIED TO KEEP IN the ballpark of some regular hours at the uni, but even with my pretence to being part-time, I felt the cover story was slipping. Had never got the hang of this working-life lark – dunno why I expected it to be any different now. Some folk just aren’t cut out for the real world. Was I one of them? Oh, yeah. Me and reality don’t get on. Call me a cynic, but answer me this: what the fuck’s modern life got to recommend it?

I put on my dustcoat, tidied up around the doocot. Put a few dirty coffee cups in the sink; tipped out some old newspapers – nothing in them I wanted to see anyway. Stalled for as long as possible before I had to tackle some real work. Well, as near to it as you got in this job. There wasn’t much to do on the rounds so I occupied myself with moving a set of ladders from one end of the campus to the other. I took off with them under my arm but was stopped in my tracks by a face I’d been keeping an eye on. Ben Laird’s so-called best mate was in animated conversation with my janny colleague, Stevo. Look of it, Paul was warming up to full-on apoplexy.

I put down the ladders and tried to get close enough to hear what was being said, but it was no good. They were too far out of range; if I moved any further in I’d blow my cover. By the body language, however, it was plain enough to see they weren’t discussing what
to get each other for Christmas. Paul was poking Stevo in the chest with a book he held in his hand like a dagger. His face was redder than usual. Under the red hair it was quite a sight – looked like the home stand at Tannadice. Had I been any closer I might have intervened. This was a side to Paul I hadn’t seen, though I’d suspected it lurked in there. Some people you just get a feeling about.

In a few moments, the tirade seemed to pass and the ginge returned to his normal pasty complexion; save a few thousand freckles. He moved away, still pointing the book at Stevo, but backing off. I watched Stevo stand thunderstruck. He looked deflated, as if he’d been punched in the guts, or maybe given a death sentence. It was the kind of look to make old women rub you on the back and offer to get you a cup of tea. I felt for the guy.

By the time I was through moving the ladders, it was time for a smoke. I schlepped through the campus, putting friendly smiles out, but all were rebuffed. I’d been trying to hit some of the few student stragglers for info on Ben, but to a one they had held schtum. Felt my luck was up. And Calder’s hanging had all but put the kybosh on it. The place was now in a state of shock. As a new face it made my task even harder; no one was risking their neck to talk to me.

A subdued Stevo was back at base when I returned.

‘All right, there,’ I said.

Got a nod. He had his feet up on a bale of barbed wire.

‘You got a light by any chance?’ he said.

‘Aye … aye.’ I handed him my Zippo, pulled out a Marlboro for myself.

Stevo produced a half-tanned reefer, let it droop from his lip, sparked up. I watched him take the smoke deep into his lungs, let it settle there, then exhale slowly. It seemed to do the trick, calmed him. His eyes rolled up behind heavy lids.

‘Busy morning?’ I said.

‘Could say that.’

I tried to move the conversation on. ‘The gents’ toilets overflowing again?’

Frowns. ‘I put in a new ballcock … Should be fine.’

‘You make it sound like a doddle. Bet it’s a big job.’

‘Not really.’

I let him get comfortable, took a couple of blasts on the joint myself. It seemed to put him at ease; made him think he was in friendly company. I wanted him to think that. He was a good bloke. I liked his company and I knew he could be of some use to me – if I could prise some proper chat from him. It had proved next door to impossible up till now, but nothing lasts for ever.

‘Stevo … what do you make of the Calder thing?’

He had his eyes closed as he toked away, kept them shut. I saw them twitch behind those heavy lids as he spoke. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well … seems a bit strange, doesn’t it?’

‘Does it?’

He was acting coy. This from the guy who had found Ben hanging, who had no time for Calder … I wondered what he was up to with Paul earlier, where he fitted into all of this. ‘Aye, well, I was thinking … y’know, with the Ben Laird hanging, then him hanging himself in such a short period of time.’

Stevo opened his eyes wide. The whites dazzled me. ‘Paper said Calder felt guilty … it was in his note.’

‘You believe that?’

He sat up straight, spoke fast: ‘Maybe! He was a funny bloke.’

I finished off my tab, took out another Marlboro, offered one to Stevo. ‘I hear a lot of folk never liked him. Do you think, y’know … ?’

Stevo’s mouth twitched now. His gaze moved from me to the window. ‘What, that he was done over?’

I tried to look nonplussed as he put his eyes back on me. ‘Well, it happens doesn’t it.’

‘Oh, yeah … wouldn’t put it past—’ He cut himself off.

I leaned forward. ‘You wouldn’t put it past
who
?’

Stevo realised he’d said too much. He got up and went over to the tray with the kettle and the coffee cups. ‘You want a coffee?’ It was all a distraction.

‘Go on then.’ I let him think I was finished with the subject, played the game.

When he brought over my coffee I started again. ‘You were saying?’

‘What about?’

‘About Calder. You said you wouldn’t put it past someone?’

‘Did I? … Don’t think so.’

He was being infuriating now. It was on my mind to jump out of the chair and clamp a good wake-up slap on him. But I had to keep my cool. There was no point in blowing my stack with Stevo, he was too decent a bloke for that kind of treatment. He’d come good yet, I figured, soon as his conscience got the better of him.

I changed tack. ‘Did you know Ben Laird?’

‘Bender Ben … oh, yeah.’

‘Bender Ben …’ I played dumb. ‘What’s that all about?’

Stevo sipped his coffee: was too hot; he blew on it, said, ‘That’s what they called him … Was a bit of a party animal. Seen him out on the town a couple of times. He was always the most drunk bloke in the room … Had this motto, “You’re a long time dead”.’

‘Did he really?’

Stevo seemed to be more interested in talking about Ben. A smile cut his cheeks. ‘He was a good man to get a bag of puff from, if you know what I mean.’

‘A dealer?’

He reached for a biscuit from a pack of ginger nuts. His heavy stomach looked as if it had been suddenly sliced in two, the top sagging like a full sack over his belt. ‘In more ways than one … He offered to get me some serious gear, y’know. And more besides.’ He giggled, a boyish gleam in his eye. ‘He offered me a go at a pro they’d brought back one night!’

I kept my tone flat, feigned low interest. ‘They?’

‘Ben and his boys. There’s a wee clique of them.’

‘Would this be the ones you talked about before?’

Suddenly Stevo started to get cagey again. He sat back in his seat, clamming up. ‘They’re just a group.’ He dunked his half-eaten
ginger nut in his coffee. Filled his mouth with the biscuit like it was a gag.

I shook my head, made to laugh. ‘Sounds like quite a wild wee gang.’

He sparked up, ‘I never said they were a gang!’

‘Okay. Okay, Stevo … we’re only talking here. Why so defensive?’

‘Look, Gus … there are things in here you know nothing about.’ He got out of his seat. Coffee spilled from the cup in his hand. ‘You don’t want to mess about with that lot. I’ve seen them, heard them in the hall going on about being the masters and the born rulers … They’re out of control! Out of fucking control!’

It was the first time I’d seen Stevo in this much of a state. For a doper he was seriously animated.

‘Okay, mate … we’re only talking here.’ The words sounded trite.

Stevo dropped his cup. The last of the coffee spilled as the pottery shattered on the floor. I thought the lad might hyperventilate, his skin darkened and his cheeks puffed up. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Gus … I’ve had them asking about you! They know you’re up to something!’

I rose to face him. ‘Who, Stevo? Who’s been asking about me?’

He brought his chubby fingers to his lips. His hand trembled for a moment then he jerked it away. His face seemed to tighten now; his jaw drooped and his mouth contorted like Munch’s
Scream
. For a second he was frozen, then he turned and bolted for the door.

I went after him but I was too slow on my pins to catch him.

‘Stevo … Stevo … come back!’

He took off down the corridor at a fine clip, never looking back once. For a big biffer, he could fairly shift it.

‘Stevo …’ I yelled.

He was round the corner and out of sight before I could call him again.

I KEPT MY RETURN VISIT to hospital from Hod. He handed me the newspaper as I walked into the car park. Calder’s obituary had been written by some po-faced cadet journo who looked young enough to still be a student herself. A photo-byline on an obit as well … what next? She’d even failed to link it to Ben Laird’s murder – went on the line of Calder being overcome with guilt at the death of a student. It was the same old pish again. Was beginning to tire of hearing it.

‘Utter bullshit!’ I said. Made me want to chuck.

‘You really are away with the mixer now, Dury,’ said Hod.

I said nowt; kept my eyes fixed on him, though. It was a well-worn look, I’d perfected it in my marriage to Debs. Let him know he could only get away with this kind of rant for so long.

Hod reloaded: ‘I mean, where was your mind, man? Going to shake down Calder … Gillian blames you for his death, y’know.’

‘Oh, really.’ What did he know? Hod was baggage. I was merely carrying him along.

‘Y’know … we still haven’t signed this contract with her. This is just the kind of thing that would put her off. Do I need to remind you—’

Enough was enough. ‘Shut the fuck up, Hod.’ I crushed up the newspaper, raised a finger, shook it left to right. ‘If you think you’re
starting on that patter with me you can fucking well think again. We’re mates, not family.’

Hit the right note; he drew in his head. Could almost see the shoulders recoiling as he sighed. Hod walked over to the edge of the car park, sat down on a wall. I watched him fold arms, quickly raising a paw to test the stubble on his chin. He looked lost.

I walked over, sat next to him. ‘Look, mate … what’s your game?’

‘Come again?’

That had come out wrong. I rephrased it: ‘I mean, you’re a businessman, I’m right?’

‘Suppose … feel like a fucking shit one right now.’

I turned out my pockets looking for a tab. Found a pack of Regal smalls that I’d been avoiding until I was desperate, sparked up. ‘You’re not a shit businessman, mate. You’ve had a rough stretch.’ I knew all about rough stretches, went on, ‘Way this economy is, your mob – builders – were always gonna take the worst hit …’

He shrugged. ‘What you getting at?’

‘What I’m saying is … this racket, investigating, it’s not your game, mate. It’s mine.’

That registered. He let out a slow breath, rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Okay … I hear you. You have the form … do it your way.’

‘Grand.’ I smiled, slapped him on the back, said, ‘I ever need a conservatory building, I won’t question how you put the windows in!’