She sniffed. “I suppose so.”
“Well bloody do it, then! Get in there, see if there are any clues to where the boy might have gone, leave him an angry note and let’s be done with it.”
Alison nodded, and fished a brass key from her bag. The lock was a complicated five-lever job, with dead-bolts built in for added security. When she turned the key it sounded like she was opening a cell. She pushed the door and stepped inside, with me at her heels, feeling more useless and awkward by the second.
“David!” she called out nervously. “David, are you here?”
The place was pitch black and deadly still. “No, he’s fucking not!” I snapped at her; impatience is not one of my usual faults, but I had had enough for the night. “Switch on a light and take a look around.”
She reached over to the wall and felt for the switch; eventually she found it, and in an instant the hall was light. “Fucking hell,” I heard myself exclaim.
The floor was tiled, not carpeted; from that, and the solidity of the plaster work and door frames I guessed that the house had either been restored to its original condition, or had never altered in the two hundred or so years since it was built.
The thing that lay at our feet was definitely not an original fitting. He was face down; his right arm stretched out as if it was pointing to something, and his left was by his side. His toes were tucked in, sort of pointing at each other. He hadn’t been a very big bloke, but a bit more than half my size, as Alison had said.
She gave a sudden mewling sound that was half scream, half cry of fear, and seemed to stagger. Then she turned, as if to run. I caught her and held her. She looked down at him again, her eyes wide with fear. I was aware of a puddle forming on the floor.
“David, yes?” I asked her.
She couldn’t speak, she could only barely nod. I held on to her until I was sure she could stand, then let her go and went back to close the door.
Taking care not to kneel on any wet bits, I crouched down beside David Capperauld and went through the formality of feeling for a pulse in his neck. But he was stone cold to the touch, so I wasn’t going to find one.
Without moving him, I took a look at his face. It was almost purple, and he was staring wide-eyed to one side. I could see no signs of violence.
“What’s happened?” Alison whimpered.
“I can’t say for sure, but he might have had a heart attack, or a cerebral haemorrhage.”
“But he’s only twenty-nine.”
“It happens.”
“How long has he been…”
“Love, I only know a bit of first aid. It’ll take a pathologist to tell you that.” I did notice, though, that we hadn’t smelled anything unusual when we’d stepped into the hall. Right at that moment, all I could smell was pee. So could Alison; she tottered off towards what I guessed was the bathroom.
I stood there looking down at Capperauld, looking for anything that might tell me what had happened to him, but seeing nothing. When Alison reappeared around ten minutes later, she was barefoot, and wearing a man’s dressing gown, knotted tightly around her waist. She was red-eyed, and she had scrubbed off her make-up. Apart from the hair she looked just as she had in the old days.
“What do we do?” she asked me, her voice still shaky.
I wanted to tell her that she would call the police and I would get the fuck out of there. I didn’t need any more publicity, and certainly not like this. I couldn’t do it, though. I didn’t answer her. Instead I took out my mobile and called directory enquiries. They gave me the number of the Gayfield Square police office.
There was no background noise when they answered; a quiet night, I guessed. It was time to liven it up. “I want to report a sudden death,” I told the officer on the other end of the line. “We’ll need a doctor and an ambulance, in due course.” I gave him the address and the name of the occupant, and told him that the man’s fiancee and I had just found him.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” the young constable asked.
I threw him the line from The Friends of Eddie Coyle. “If he isn’t, he never will be.” The boy didn’t laugh. Why should he have? It wasn’t funny.
Fifteen.
I woke up, dazed and confused; the phone was ringing beside my head and I had just emerged from a weird dream involving a stiff in a New Town flat, a girl pissing herself with fright…
Only, I realised, it hadn’t been a dream.
I picked up the phone, and mumbled into it. “You lazy so and so,” I heard Susie exclaim. “Do you know what time it is?”
“No,” I answered, truthfully.
“Half past nine. Did you go on the batter last night?”
“Don’t ask about last night.”
She laughed like a bell. “That bad, was it?”
I pulled myself up in bed and told her the whole story.
“Oh, the poor girl,” Susie squealed, when I told her about finding David Capperauld. “It must have scared the life out of her.”
“It scared something out of her, that’s for sure.”
“Did you get the police?”
“Of course, and a doctor, and a wagon for the morgue.”
“Will you be in the papers again?”
“My name won’t be mentioned; the guy who came round was a detective sergeant called Ron Morrow. I met him once; he’s a good lad, said he’d leave me out of his report.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Much the same as me; she said she couldn’t be sure, but that it looked like a cerebral incident, rare but not unknown in a guy of that age. They’ll know for certain once they’ve done an autopsy.”
“When’s that going to happen?”
“I don’t know. Today, I guess.”
“Where’s the girl now? Did you take her back to your place?”
“Did I hell as like! She phoned her mother and told her what had happened; the police took her there.”
“Mmm,” Susie murmured. “I thought you’d have bSen there with a consoling shoulder.”
“She’s better at her mother’s. Besides
“Besides what?”
“Nothing. How’s the baby?”
“She kept me awake half the night, but other than that she’s perfect. Ethel’s here now.”
“Ethel?”
“Ethel Reid, the new nanny; she arrived at nine sharp, and she’s taken over already.”
“Ah, but can she breastfeed?”
“I shouldn’t think so; she’s about fifty. But we’re going to get Janet on to the bottle quite soon.”
“Have you thought that through?”
“Absolutely. I’m going back to work, remember. I’m a builder, Oz; that’s what I do, it’s the world I live in, and I am not, repeat not, whipping out a tit halfway through a meeting with my site managers.”
“No,” I conceded. “I can see that might distract them. You might have houses being built in inches rather than centimetres.”
“Was than an oblique reference to the size of my bosom?”
“Not so oblique; they’re pretty spectacular just now, you have to admit.”
“Enjoy while you can.”
I paused. “If that’s an invitation, I thought I might come through tonight.”
“Why?”
“I have to see Greg McPhillips, about the divorce arrangements, so I thought I’d fit it in this afternoon.” I paused. “Also… am I allowed to say I’m missing you?”
“You are… since I feel a bit that way myself.”
“See you later then.”
“Okay. You can take me out to dinner; I’ve got a sudden urge to get dolled up in normal-sized clothes. I haven’t been able to do that for months.”
I hung up, swung myself out of bed and lurched into the shower. Half an hour later, after finishing off the Lome sausage and the last couple of rolls, I began to feel human again.
I was looking out over the city, getting ready to go to the Edinburgh Club, when the phone rang once more
. It was Alison; she sounded sad, but together. “I want to thank you for last night,” she said. “If I had gone in there on my own…”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to thank me.”
“You surprised me, you know,” she murmured. “The way you handled it. There’s more to you than I ever realised.”
I didn’t tell her, but I’ve seen things that were a hell of a lot more grisly than her late fiance. For some reason, I found myself thinking of a man called Ramon Fortunate.
“I suppose losing your wife must have had an effect on you. I understand that now, being in the same boat myself.”
I felt my forehead bunch into a savage frown. Brain first, mouth second, Blackstone, I tried to tell myself, but I was too late. “What?” I said; actually it was more of a snarl. “Was David pregnant too?
“You’re not even on the same fucking ocean as me, never mind in the same boat. You were ready to screw me last night, remember. If I’d said the word we’d have been at my place, not his.”
“Don’t, Oz,” she pleaded, and the wail in her voice got to me at once. “I’ve been torturing myself about that all night.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. That was brutal of me, but I still can’t talk about that. I never will.”
“I understand. That’s all; I understand.”
“Yeah. Truce.”
“Good.” She paused. “About that thing we discussed last night?”
She was back to business already; she took my breath away. “Torrent?”
“Yes. Will you still do what you said?”
“Of course I will. Ewan might feel a bit guilty now. He’ll probably be a soft touch.”
“Maybe we should forget him and just go with Miles Grayson. You’re right; Mr. Torrent would love that.”
“No,” I told her. “Miles is fall-back. You stick with Ewan Capperauld, if you can get him.”
“All right. When’ll you do it?”
“This week, I hope. I expect to meet him on Thursday. I’ll call you at your office when I’ve got something to tell you. I take it you’ll be going to work regardless?”
“I have to; there’s no choice.”
“Suppose not. I’ll call.”
“Thanks. Goodbye.”
She hung up and left me shaking my head. I hadn’t understood Alison before, and I sure as hell didn’t now.
Her call had left me keener than ever to get into a gym, so I caught a taxi on the Mound and went straight to the Club. I signed up for a short-term membership and let the instructor show me round the equipment, although there was nothing there I hadn’t used many times before.
I had a lot to get out of my system, so once I had warmed up with a few hundred sit-ups, I bench-pressed a shitload of weight, first legs, then arms, in increasingly large lumps. Once I was through with that, I worked my way around the rest of the machinery in my usual pattern, and finished off with a tough twenty minutes on the exercise bike.
“If AH the Grocer could see me now,” I gasped as, finally, I swung off. I hadn’t been a total stranger to physical exercise on my last sojourn in Edinburgh, but we hadn’t been the best of pals either.
Once I had showered, for the second time that morning, I walked back up to Princes Street, picked up some lunch in Marks & Spencer’s food hall, and made my way home, via the National Gallery, which stands at the foot of the Mound. It isn’t the biggest in Britain, but it’s one of the best, and it’s always been one of my favourite places to chill out.
After I’d eaten, I decided to do some more work on my script; Thursday was looming up. I didn’t know it, but so was something else.
I worked for nearly an hour, looking at my scenes, and going through them in my head at first, then aloud, my own very early rehearsal process. Eventually I decreed a coffee break and headed for the kitchen.
When the door buzzer sounded, it took me a second or two to figure out what it was, then another few to figure out where. I was puzzled as I reached out for it, too late to stop it from buzzing again. Apart from Susie and Miles, and neither of them were in town, nobody knew I was there. I guessed it had to be Luke Edgar.
I picked up the instrument. “Hello,” I said, tentatively.
“Hello, Blackstone,” a deep voice boomed in my ear. “Guess what; it’s a blast from your past.”
It sure was, and one that I had hoped with all my heart, would stay there.
Sixteen.
I could have left the bastard stood there in the street, but if he was determined I’d only have been postponing the moment, so I let him in and told him to take the lift all the way up to the top.
I left the front door open for him; he strolled into my living room, all swagger and menacing smile, came up to me and, without a word, threw a right-hander straight at my nose.
It stopped about an inch short; I’ll never know whether he’d have pulled it, because I caught his wrist in mid-swing and held it steady. I squeezed the bones together until the grin left his face and he winced, then I threw him his arm back.
“Hello, Ricky,” I said, evenly. “You’re still underestimating me. I thought you’d have learned by now.”
“Only kidding, Blackstone, only kidding.” He rubbed his wrist. “When did you get tough?”
“It happened along the way.”
I looked him up and down. Ex-Detective Superintendent Richard Ross looked older than before, and by more than the three years or so that had passed since our last meeting. He was a bit slimmer, too, but he was still a pretty formidable specimen for a guy in his mid-forties.
He and I had enjoyed … no, that’s the wrong word; we hadn’t… only a brief acquaintanceship, but it hadn’t worked out too well for him. He had ended up in a very embarrassing position, after his piece on the side was charged with murdering her husband, and his shiny career had come to a tawdry end.
Serve the bastard right, though. He’d been keen to do me for said murder at one point, and had even broken into my flat in the process of trying to nail me for it.
Then the obvious hit me, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place all at once. “Let me guess,” I said to him. “You’re our technical adviser for the movie. Miles hired you; he gave you this addresS. I might have bloody known.”
He nodded. “The boy detective lives on, eh. That’s right; I just thought I’d pay you a call before we all get together, to get a few things out of the way.”
I sighed. “If you really want to have a go, Ricky, try it. That window’s toughened glass; you won’t go through it, but I promise you this, you’ll hit it bloody hard.”
Ross gave me that loaded grin again. “No. If I was going to do you, son, it’d have happened by now, and I wouldn’t have got my own hands dirty, either. I just wanted to say there’s no hard feelings, about what happened back then. I’ve got a good chunk of pension, and I’m making more in private security work than I did on the force. In a way, I’ve got you to thank for that.
“I still think you or your bird, or her sister, did that murder, but I’m past caring.”
“Well you’re wrong,” I told him. “Yes, I know who did it, but he’s dead. He was killed in an accident not long afterwards.”
He stared at me; I hadn’t expected to take him by surprise. I thought he’d have worked it out by now. “Yet you still let them charge Linda?”
“Too right. Did you know about a certain attempted hit-and-run incident, up in Auchterarder?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It happened. Linda Kane was the driver, in a hired car; she bloody near got all three of us too. It was you who told her where we were, Ricky. We both know that, don’t we?”
He grimaced. “I never thought she’d do that, though. First I’ve heard of it too. Did you make a complaint?”
“No. I told Mike Dylan about it, but that was all. Are you still porking her, by the way?”
“That’ll be right. After they dropped the charges, she was going to bloody do for me. No, I steer well clear of M
rs. Kane. You’d be well advised to do the same.”
He frowned. “Mike Dylan, eh. A shame, what happened to him. I saw in the papers that you’ve moved in on his ex.”
Actually, he had it the wrong way round, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Susie and I have both had our bereavements,” I said. “It suits us, the way we are.”
Ross actually looked sympathetic. “Aye, I heard about yours. That was a damn shame too. That was some girl you wound up marrying. Mind that time I was following her thinking she was you? She led me a real dance.”
I never thought that he and I would share a laugh about that day, but we did.
“Before I forget, Ricky,” I said, ‘and in case you do. My bird’s sister, as you called her, is now Mrs. Miles Grayson. I don’t think Miles connects you with all that stuff, or he wouldn’t have hired you. Best let it stay in the past.”
“Point taken.” He glanced back at me. “I heard a story you were there when Dylan got it. Is that true?”
“All too true.”
“What happened?”
“We tracked the guy we were after to Amsterdam; Mike was with him. Apparently he’d been his accomplice all along. The guy made a move and the Dutch policeman shot them both.”
Ross heaved a sigh. “Aye, that’s what I heard, only the bloke wasn’t a policeman. He was Dutch Special Forces, and he had his orders.” I had suspected that, although no one had ever admitted as much. “Was it quick?”
“He said something to me, then died; that’s how quick it was.”
“Ahhhhh, that Michael. He was always getting in over his head, was that boy. I knew when they let him into Special Branch that something bad would happen.”
“But not that bad. Mike and I became good friends, you know. I was gutted when it all went wrong.”
“Weren’t we all, son. But it was his choice; remember that.”
“I’ll never forget it; that made it even harder for Susie to deal with.” I paused and glanced at my watch. “Speaking of whom, I’ve a train to Glasgow to catch.”
“Aye, I’ll let you get on. See you on Thursday, then. By the way, if Grayson does remember it was me he was complaining about that time he phoned the chief…”
Poisoned Cherries Page 7
