The Bullet Trick (40 page)

'Ah.'

Archie gave me a look that said it wouldn’t have stopped him in his prime.

'Her wee girl’s one of the kids I’m doing the benefit for.'

'Ah right, I see.'

'And her husband’s a friend of mine.'

'Aye, and you’re an ugly scunner she wouldn’t look twice at. Here,' Archie took a fiver out of the money I’d just given him. 'Put that in the pot for the weans.'

'You don’t have to.'

'I know I don’t bloody have to. They get a hard deal they Down’s kiddies, it’s amazing what they can do given the chance.'

'Aye, I guess so.'

'I mean look at you. Bet your ma was told you’d never make it out your pram and here you are now.'

'Chatting to a turnip heid.' I shook my head and took his money. 'Cheers, you’re a good man, Archie.'

'You’ll not be saying that if I’ve got a ticket. I’ll be back up these bloody stairs afore you can wave your wand and say izzy fucking wizzy.'

After Archie had left I went up to the back of the hall where Eilidh was setting out rows of folding chairs. I had things to do but I dragged over a fresh stack and started to give her a hand.

'I thought I might catch Johnny today.'

'He’ll be sorry to miss you. He’s up to his ears in work, it’s that time of year.'

'Exams?'

'Exams, essays, assessments.'

'It must be difficult to find time to spend together.'

'It’s what you expect with a new baby.'

'And benefits to organise.'

Eilidh smiled.

'It’s not the best timing but you know John, he deals with things through action. Has to feel he’s doing something.'

I picked a collapsed chair off my stack and hit its seat smartly with my hand, unfolding it and starting a new row in front of the one Eilidh had already begun.

'Looks to me like you’re the one doing all the work.'

Eilidh paused; she looked straight at me to give her words emphasis.

'I’m not put upon.'

I placed a new seat next to the last.

'I never said you were.'

'You had that look, poor Eilidh all on her own again.'

I set another seat on the ground and held up my hands.

'Eilidh, I hardly know you and before I met you both in the pub that night it was years since I’d last seen John. I’m in no position to make assumptions.'

We worked without talking for a while, the only sound the scraping of chairs against the rough wooden floor until Eilidh said, 'The last time I saw you I said that every time we meet someone behaves badly. I guess I just proved my own point, sorry.'

I set up another chair.

'You must lead a pretty sheltered existence if you call that bad behaviour.'

'Perhaps I do.'

Eilidh unfastened another chair and wiped a hand across her face.

I hesitated then asked, 'Are you OK?'

'Yes, just a bit tired.'

'And staying up all night with fuck-ups like me probably doesn’t help.'

'It’s my job. Anyway, it’s only part-time.'

'I was hoping you’d say I wasn’t a fuck-up.'

She laughed.

'Well, you’re looking a whole lot better than you were a week or so ago.'

'I’m trying.'

It was my turn to look away.

Eilidh put her hand on my arm.

'What I mean is I don’t think you’re a fuck-up. Far from it.'

I asked softly, 'What do you think I am?'

'I think you’re a bit of a chancer.'

Our eyes met. My lips tingled with the thought of what would happen if I kissed her. I thought of Johnny. Then there was a sound from the back of the building. I looked round and saw Eilidh’s mother come through the door with a small child in her arms.

'Mum, you should have buzzed my mobile. I would have come down and got her. William, this is my mother, Margaret.'

Margaret’s voice was on the edge of politeness.

'We’ve already met.'

'I was just giving Eilidh a hand with the chairs. Is this Grace?' Suddenly I felt awkward. 'I’ve not seen her yet.'

Margaret cradled the child close, her hand supporting its head.

'She’s just dropped off.'

'Give her here, Mum, she’s getting too big to carry any distance.'

Margaret kissed her granddaughter’s crown and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse, but then she passed Grace to Eilidh.

'There was no way I could manage that buggy up the stairs, I told you when you bought it that it was too heavy.'

'I wanted something sturdy.'

The two women had the same strained look round the eyes and the same sharp defiant chins. There was no doubting they were mother and daughter. I said, 'I’ll nip down and get the buggy for you.'

Margaret looked like she’d rather reject my offer, but Eilidh smiled gratefully.

'Would you mind, William? Then I can put her down in it.'

'No problem.'

When I returned, Margaret was sitting in one of the far rows of chairs with the baby on her lap.

'Thanks, William,' Eilidh’s voice was low and amused. 'They’re both knackered.'

We chatted a while about arrangements for the gig and then I said, 'Do you remember I asked you about old evidence?'

Eilidh nodded.

'Of course.'

'Well, if you had something like that who would you go to?'

'My lawyer, which in your case is me.'

Eilidh smiled. I thought again how beautiful she was and was tempted.

'I’d rather keep you out of it.'

'Then it’s obvious, the police.'

'Sure, but is there anyone in particular? Especially if it was something a bit unusual.'

Eilidh raised her eyebrows.

'You’re intriguing me, William.' She thought for a moment. 'You’d want someone experienced, but with a bit of imagination. After a while there’s nothing policemen won’t believe given the right evidence, they’ve seen so many odd things, but sometimes you find they can’t be bothered. They’ve burnt out.' She paused. 'I’d probably go to Blunt, the guy who interviewed you the other week.'

'Why would I want to deal with that cunt?'

Margaret was too far away to hear our conversation, but maybe some instinct alerted her to the nature of it, or maybe she could lip-read swear words. She looked up in her chair and called over, 'Eilidh, have you almost finished?'

'Just a minute, mum.' Eilidh turned back to me. 'He is a cunt but he’s a straight cunt. Take your lawyer’s advice. If you won’t show me, show Blunt. I happen to know he’s back on nights this week.'

The voice came again from the back of the hall.

'Eilidh.'

'Whoops.' She took the buggy from me. 'I’d better go. Good luck.'

And she turned and ran towards her mother and child.

I waited a long time until Inspector Blunt walked into his local. He was alone, wearing the same tired suit and weary expression he’d worn the last time we’d met. He stepped up to the bar without looking at me, though I knew I’d been marked as soon as he came in. The barmaid set Blunt’s drink in front of him without waiting to be asked. I let him have his first swallow then joined him at the bar. Blunt looked at my not-so-fresh orange juice and asked, 'You signed the pledge?'

'No, I’ve made a resolution. No strong drink till after 8.30 in the morning.'

Blunt raised his pint to his lips.

'Aye, well, some of us have already done a full day’s work.' He sucked the froth from his moustache. 'Been bedding down with any winos lately?'

'No. You?'

'Only the wife.' He pulled out his cigarettes and lit up without offering me one. 'I thought I said you weren’t welcome round here.'

'If I listened to everyone who told me that I’d never leave the house.'

'That might not be such a bad thing.'

I lit my own cigarette.

'I’ve got something that might be of interest to you.'

'So come and see me in shop hours.'

'It’s a bit delicate.'

'There are days I feel like a nurse at the clap clinic. Everyone wanting to show me their sores.' He looked at me through the smoke of his cigarette as if trying to make up his mind about something. 'Jesus Christ.' The policeman shook his head. 'OK then, what’s the worst that can happen?' He laughed and I wondered if this was his first stop on the way home or if he had a bottle in his locker to ease the pain. 'Just give me a chance to order my breakfast.' Blunt leaned across the bar. 'Mary, goan throw us a packet of dry roasted over.'

'Not fancy a nice fry-up on the house, Mr Blunt?'

'Naw, hen, the wife’ll have mine waiting when I get back.' He put the peanuts in his suit pocket, and straightened up muttering, 'Will she fuck.' He looked at me. 'Remind me of your name again.'

'William Wilson.'

'That’s right. Down-among-the-dead-men Wilson. Right then, Mr Wilson, show me what you’ve got.'

'Can we go somewhere a bit more private?'

'As long as you promise not to slip into something more comfortable.'

We settled ourselves at a table with the kind of logistics favoured by teenage dope smokers, out of sight of the bar and away from the gents and the puggy machine. Blunt took another inch off his pint.

'Right,' he spanned his hand from the bottom of the glass to where the dark liquid ended. 'I’ll give you this long.' I calculated it as two and a half seconds at his current rate of drinking, but there was no point in arguing. I reached into my pocket, took out a transparent plastic bag holding the envelope containing Montgomery’s photographs and put it on the table. Blunt looked at the envelope, but made no effort to pick it up. 'Tell me about it.'

I started to regret not buying myself a short, but I took a deep breath and began.

'Twenty years ago a woman named Gloria Noon disappeared under mysterious circumstances. She never turned up, neither did her body. Her husband was chief suspect, but nothing was ever proven. This is a photograph that shows him with a guy who was then a junior officer and is now a recently retired chief inspector in the Met. They’re standing next to what I believe could be her grave. The policeman is married to the sister of the murdered woman.'