“Hi, Charles.” He spoke without even his normal politeness.
Robbin didn’t waste any time, taking Stewart’s arm and steering him towards a quieter part of the room.
“How’s the investigation going?” His tone was light, but his eyes bored into Stewart like a drill going into the earth.
Stewart thought back to Dakar shouting at him in the car, claiming the only person without an iron-cast alibi couldn’t have done it.
“Fine.”
Charles nodded, silently. Normally, Stewart would have expected some comment on his flat, irritated tone of voice. But today Charles was the worried one.
“Listen. Erm. Terrible things, these investigations. Throw up all kinds of spurious, irrelevant details. Things that never need to see the light of day. Do you know what I mean?”
The word ‘cocaine’ floated through Stewart’s head, in big white crumbly letters.
“Yes. Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”
Charles squinted at him. “Good. Good man. Listen. I’m sure it won’t, but if anything did come up about me, or anything I might have …” Charles paused suddenly. “Ah, done, I’d be very much in your debt if you could make sure it didn’t become known in the firm. Too many damned rumours around this place already. Ha.”
Stewart looked back at him, nodding slowly, waiting for this awful conversation to be over.
“And I would be very happy to acknowledge that debt. I can be a useful man to know.” Now his voice was weightier, the words coming slowly. Charles stared into his eyes, presumably waiting for a light of understanding.
Stewart pulled his shoulders back, suddenly aware of how tense they were.
“So, ah, has anything come up yet? About me?” Charles tried to keep his voice neutral as he cast his eyes down to his wine glass, before they suddenly shot back up.
Stewart looked at Charles for a few seconds. A part of his brain knew that, normally, this would have him on edge. To tell about the cocaine, not to tell … To have Charles in his corner. Did he want that? For the job later, perhaps. But perhaps not.
But now, now, all he cared about was this conversation being over.
He shook his head.
Charles smiled with relief. “Good man. Let me know if anything does. Only me. I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.” He turned and walked away, leaving Stewart on his own.
Stewart headed towards the buffet table, deliberately aiming for people he didn’t know, sliding around the outside of groups, and avoiding eye contact. Within seconds he was there. He grabbed a paper plate, and was just reaching out for some kind of sweet chilli wrap when he heard a voice behind him.
“Hi, Stewart.”
He automatically turned around, hand unconsciously retracting before his stomach could intervene. Jennifer was smiling, holding a large glass of red in front of her in both hands, although she seemed smaller than she usually did, like the weight of this occasion was pressing down on her.
“Jennifer!” Stewart felt a jolt go through him, like his brain had just been kicked back into life. He blinked a couple of times. “Hi. How’s it going?”
“Good thanks, yeah. Just, you know, here.”
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, and managed a smile. “Chatting with the rich and famous?”
She smiled a little wider. “Oh, I don’t know. These occasions always feel a bit awkward.”
“A bit like the zoo, right?”
“A zoo?”
“Yeah. I mean, you, me, Michelle, Hamish and a bunch of others at the bottom of the food chain, we’re all competing for attention, like the animals. Doing tricks in our cages. The partners are the tourists, wandering around to see if there’s anything interesting. And then those of us they like, they give their attention to. Maybe even take us home.”
She gave a small laugh. “Yes, maybe.” She took a gulp of her drink, and right on cue, into the silence, Stewart’s stomach rumbled ominously, furious at its frustrated expectations.
“Oh, I’ve stopped you from eating. I’m so sorry.”
Stewart went to reply, empty paper plate in his hand, but in the end just nodded and turned to the table. He gratefully loaded up a couple of wraps and some bits of hard bread with paté on top, biting into one of the wraps as he turned back to her. Thankfully it didn’t go everywhere, as it was prone to do.
Maybe the big man upstairs was ready to turn around this day for him.
“I sometimes think, when I get really hungry, that my stomach starts eating itself.”
Stewart looked at Jennifer as he chewed, Jennifer’s cheeks slowly turning pink in the silence. He swallowed.
“Yeah. Could be, I suppose.”
“I meant that I used to think that. When I was little. When my stomach made noises.” She spoke urgently.
“Right, aye. Of course.” Stewart saw her cheeks turn red.
“Did you know I used to think that cars moved because of the gas shooting out the exhausts? I thought that’s what pushed them forward.” Jennifer giggled, her embarrassment spreading into a smile, the red in her cheeks fading.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Until I was about eight or something. Then I had an argument about it with my brother. He tried everything to convince me, talking about buses, and then big trucks, saying they were too heavy to push with gas. But even with the trucks, I was sure that’s how they worked. The exhaust points backwards at some point, so that must be how they move forwards.”
“So what changed your mind?”
“He asked me how cars reversed.” She laughed, the red now entirely disappeared.
“Oh yes, I see how that could be a problem.”
Stewart nodded. “The mental equivalent of a pile of bricks landing on your head.” There was a beer on the table, invitingly within reach and it had been a long day. He reached over and grabbed it, with a twist top. He untwisted it with relish, practically tearing the thing off, and took a swig.
“So, can you tell us what you’re working on yet, or are you still going to be all cloak and dagger again?” Her tone was playful.
Stewart smiled grimly. He looked over at Sudgeon and Green – far, distant people – then back at Jennifer, right next to him.
“Do you remember a few months back I went to watch that guy Sebastian Dakar working? Investigating a suicide? It was down in the Borders.”
Jennifer nodded as she took a sip.
“Well, I’m basically doing another investigation with him. I can’t say what it’s about though, sorry.” Stewart paused as Dakar’s face flashed through his mind again, the words echoing in his head. “Although we might be finished.”
She nodded. “Might be? You don’t sound very certain.”
Stewart shook his head bleakly. “No. I’m not. It’s just …” He shook his head. “It’s just that the police think it’s one guy, and Dakar doesn’t, and I don’t have a clue who it was, and I don’t know how it’s going to end. It’s all gone a bit wrong.”
“Well, tomorrow’s a new day. Maybe there’ll be light at the end of the tunnel.”
Stewart nodded. Yeah, could be. Just might be an oncoming train.
Chapter 41
“Pinky swear, was it?” Michelle asked, laughing raucously at her own joke. She had put away quite a few wines before she had arrived, a dynamo of energy regarding work gossip. It hadn’t taken long for Stewart’s mission to come up, and he’d explained in the same way as he had with Jennifer.
“Or boy scouts?” Jennifer joined in, Michelle laughing twice as hard.
“Everyone’s a comedian tonight, aren’t they?” Stewart smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. He was on beer three, but the small bottles weren’t really sufficient to carry him off in a warm haze. He tried to banish the memory of Dakar shouting in the small car, surrounded by the cold, dark night, as he stood bathed in the bright lights of the firm office, awash in the legal small talk, but it remained stubbornly there.
“Ah,” Michelle said, wiping her eyes
. “At least you get to work with the partners though. Most of them don’t know our names.”
“If it’s any consolation, Mannings didn’t even know I worked for the firm when I went to see him. Dakar had to tell him. And yeah, Sudgeon says hello sometimes, but Green just glares at me. The other partners don’t know I exist. Hardly like they ever call me in for a social chat. I’m no Hamish.” He paused. “They don’t even say hello to you guys?”
“None of the partners say hello to us. Ever,” Michelle answered.
Stewart glanced around the room. It had cleared out since he’d been talking with Jennifer and Michelle, but there were still a few high heid yins left. Sudgeon and Green were in a little knot with a few other men. Charles was one of them. Stewart could see that Hamish was there too. Of course he was. Stewart felt a sour taste in his mouth.
He turned back to Jennifer and Michelle, who were talking about something or other, but his thoughts again centred on Dakar. Where would he have gone? And the answer welled up in Stewart’s mind, an image of Dakar’s cramped, dark, lonely room. Stewart remembered the look Dakar had given him when Stewart had asked to go to the office party. It might be dark in his room, but it wouldn’t be as dark as Dakar’s mind.
And he was here, seriously considering going over to have conversation with people he disliked in the hope that they’d pay him more than the minimum wage so he could keep on doing the same stuff, year after year. He looked back at Michelle and Jennifer, and put his beer down on the table. It wasn’t that far to Dakar’s place, after all.
“Right, I’m—”
A booming voice cut across the room. “Scott! Scott!”
Stewart looked around. Sudgeon, unbelievably, was calling his name. The man made a ‘come here’ gesture with one hand, almost impatiently.
Stewart looked back around incredulously at the girls, who were both staring back at him. Jennifer had cocked her head to one side. Stewart could see the amusement in their eyes.
“Didn’t he say something about social chats a second ago? I can’t quite remember …” Jennifer turned to Michelle inquiringly.
Stewart put up his hands. “Look, hold on a wee second. This is the first time—”
“Scott!”
Stewart stopped, closed his eyes and put a hand up to his face, his back to the group of men so they couldn’t see. “In the name of the wee man—”
“Time for you to go and join your boy’s club, ‘Scott’. For one of those nice social chats. Enjoy.” Jennifer and Michelle turned away. Stewart looked at them for a second, looked over at the door, then clenched his teeth. He grabbed his beer, turned and walked over.
“Can’t have you standing the whole night talking to women, now, can we, Scott?” Sudgeon said, his face painted with a welcoming smile and red cheeks. “Particularly not trainees.”
“Eh, no, sir.”
Sudgeon was holding a glass of red wine, as were all the other men. Stewart cradled his beer with an odd feeling of defiance. There were seven of them in total. Sudgeon and Green, Charles, three guys Stewart didn’t know other than that they were senior associates, and of course Hamish. Hamish looked particularly unamused that Stewart was now the centre of attention.
“Sir? No ‘sirs’ just now, Scott. How’s it going with Dakar? I do hope he’s not infecting you with his ludicrous utopian ideals! Ha ha ha.”
Dakar’s face again loomed in his mind, the anger in the car. As soon as he could wriggle free of this … Beth and the Oak could wait. She’d understand. “Safe to say he’s not, Mr Sudgeon. I would—”
“Good man! Last thing we need. That report of yours makes for amusing reading. Excellent to go to sleep with, eh?”
“But a little less irrelevant detail, like the sartorial style of the victim or the nature of permaculture, would be appreciated.” Green cut in, his normally bright eyes dull. Stewart smiled with a grim pride.
“You know Hamish wanted to work with Dakar? Didn’t you, Hamish?” Sudgeon turned towards the other trainee with an amused smile. Hamish’s sullen look became further tainted, his cheeks going red.
“Dakar turned him down flat! Ha ha. Said he wanted to work with you.”
Stewart looked at Hamish, but the guy was looking at the floor. No wonder, then, Hamish had looked so annoyed that morning. Wasn’t used to having Stewart picked above him. But there was no flash of schadenfreude. Instead he felt an odd feeling of solidarity, as if he and Hamish were fighting dogs, being provoked to lash out at one another for the amusement of the crowd.
“I think it might be time for me to go home!” Sudgeon boomed. There were gentle murmurs of protest from the senior associates. “No, no, I’m not young anymore. Not like you chaps!”
Sudgeon looked between Hamish and Stewart. “The rest of them are taken, like me, but I bet you two will be heading out tonight, painting the town red. Probably find some lucky young ladies to take home as well, eh?”
Stewart’s eyebrows came together as he frowned. Hamish was recovering his smile, although the rejection of Dakar had clearly left its mark.
“In my prime, many moons ago, I used to get through three or four a week, you know.” Sudgeon spoke as if conveying an important secret. “And that was back in traditional times, when young ladies truly were ladies. From what I read in the newspapers now, that’s probably conservative for you young guns!”
Sudgeon looked between them, but after a moment he cocked an eye towards Hamish.
“Eh, Hamish? You’re a smart young buck. You’ll be fighting the ladies off with a stick tonight, no?”
“Oh, I won’t be heading out tonight.”
“Oh?” Sudgeon sounded not only alarmed but annoyed, a frown coming over his face. Stewart understood why. Hamish wasn’t playing along. Even if he wasn’t heading out, he should still be lying and say that he was to let Sudgeon revel in his topic.
But there was something in that, something dangerous, because Hamish was a master player of this particular game. Stewart could smell it. Hamish was smiling properly now, a nasty little smile. Stewart shifted uncomfortably. He could probably finish his drink and then head off to check on Dakar. Sudgeon wouldn’t be happy, but Sudgeon’s contentment was low on the priority list now.
“I was out last night, Mr Sudgeon, and picked up a lovely young lady then. A few drinks, and then back to my place, and we were up all night. Up all night.” He repeated the words slowly. “I’m exhausted. It’s a wonder I made it into work.”
Sudgeon guffawed, clapping Hamish on the back. Stewart looked around the rest of the group. Charles and two of the senior associates were also smiling as if they were genuinely enjoying this, but the other one had a look of tepid enthusiasm at best. Green was smiling metallically, as if he was touching something hugely unpleasant.
“Oh yes, young women these days! I bet she had you scrambling all around the bed, eh?” There was a gleam in Sudgeon’s eye now.
Stewart looked away. In the name of the wee man. Nothing to do but sit there and listen to this shite. Well. At least he had his beer. He could focus on that, and escape as soon as possible.
“Oh yes. All round the bed, all kinds of different positions. And the noises she made! Incredible. I thought the neighbours would complain!”
“Ha! Desirous of more, was she?”
“Oh yes. Quite a bit more.” Stewart snuck a look at Hamish. Funnily enough, he was looking at Stewart, not at Sudgeon.
“What I would do for a fit young woman who wanted to have plenty of exercise in the bedroom! Ha ha! And will you be seeing this young lady again, or are you moving on to sow your seeds more widely?”
Stewart stared fiercely at his bottle, fighting the overwhelming impulse to shake his head.
“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind another go.” Hamish spoke almost modestly.
“Ha ha! Quite right! Keep going until you’re bored. And does this young nymph have a name?”
“Yes. Stewart knows her, actually.” Stewart looked up with a jolt from his be
er, and saw Hamish still staring at him, his finger on the trigger. “He lives with her. Her name’s Beth.”
Chapter 42
Stewart felt like he was underwater, with everything moving slowly. He could see fine, but all he could hear was muffled noises, mouths opening and closing, seemingly laughing – laughing? – all to the soundtrack of the dull beats of blood pumping through his ears.
Sudgeon was saying something, looking at him, although he couldn’t make out the words. It looked like it might be quite important. He listened harder.
“Well, Scott? Sounds like this young woman is quite a tempting mare! I suppose you’ve also had your way with her, eh?” Stewart almost stepped away from the loud, booming voice as if it had physically struck him.
Hamish was laughing. Sudgeon was laughing. Everyone was laughing, in fact, all around the circle. Stewart saw big rows of gaping teeth everywhere. It was like the world had gone mad.
Stewart opened his mouth to respond, with no idea what was going to come out, but Sudgeon saved him the trouble. He clapped him on the shoulder in a way that he probably thought was hearty.
“Ha, good man! Of course you have! And you, Hamish, you should most certainly see her again. If she can make a young stallion like you exhausted, she must be quite a creature! Perhaps not one to marry, of course, but good entertainment in the meantime.”
Stewart, still feeling like he was in suspended reality, idly noted that Hamish had been a buck but was now a stallion. He wondering if Sudgeon had some kind of pecking order of sexual prowess in the animal kingdom. Lion, stag, stallion, buck? Something like that?
Hamish looked faux-modest for a second. “Oh, we’ll see. I believe she had a rather good time as well, so I’m hopeful she’ll be, shall we say, desirous of a second night.”
Sudgeon almost spat out the slug of wine he’d just taken in delight, just barely managing to swallow it before he now clapped Hamish on the shoulder.
Sudgeon seemed to enjoy touching young men. The second thought floated in and out of Stewart’s mind.
But he had an uncomfortable feeling now, like a stone in his shoe, but one that was underneath his skin, so wherever he placed his weight it irritated him, and it was getting worse, like the stone was getting bigger, or maybe there were more stones …
The Price to Pay Page 22
