A waitress arrived at my shoulder.
"Yes?" she said.
"What happened to 'Can I help you sir?'" I said.
She looked at me as if I was stupid.
"What?" she said.
She moved her gum from side to side. I noticed that she was actually a very pretty girl. Her long black hair hung heavy on her shoulders, her eyes were deep, chocolate brown, and a nametag over her left breast said 'Eileen'.
"What's the other one called," I said.
"Right tit," she said. "Which describes you perfectly."
I liked her.
"I'll have a coffee. Long, black, and none of that latte nonsense."
She actually smiled, and her face lit up. She dropped me a mock salute and moved away.
I smoked another cigarette and watched the world pass outside. It was nearly lunchtime, and office workers were beginning to fill the streets. I almost envied them their sharp suits, their well-organized days. But then I thought of spending my time in a hermetically sealed office, working in a box among tens of other boxes. No, thank you. My life was disorganized, and I liked it that way. Besides, I got to have chance encounters like the one I was about to have with Eileen.
She brought me my coffee, and I noted appreciatively that it was filled to the top of the mug, and piping hot.
I thanked her, she nodded, and was about to turn away when I asked her to stay.
"Do you know the owners of the shop across the road?" I asked.
"What, Mr. Durban?" she said.
"Aye. Any gossip? Any juicy stuff I should know? Does he like wee boys? Or does he eat babies."
She giggled, and I saw the teenager she had been-and not that long ago.
"What are you? A reporter? And is there any money in it for me?"
"I don't have an expense account, if that's what you mean. And I can't get you your picture in the papers."
"Cop?" she asked.
"Private dick," I said in my best Bogart voice, and I got another laugh.
"Come on. Nobody does that. It's just old American television shows, isn't it? What's the matter-did you see too much of The Rockford Files when you where younger?"
"No, really," I said, and showed her the license in my wallet. She wasn't to know that wee Jimmy had got it for me for a tenner. "And I lied a wee bit about the expenses-I might stretch to twenty quid if you know anything I can use."
"I don't know anything. Well, not really," she said. A voice called her name across the room and she turned away again. I caught her by the arm.
"When do you get a break?" I said, and gave her my best smile.
She returned it, but there was a hint of uncertainty there.
"Three o'clock," she said. "I get fifteen minutes."
"I'll be here," I said. "I've got nowhere else to go."
I left the coffee to cool slightly and went to the pay phone, making sure I could still see the entrance to the shop across the road.
First of all, I phoned Jimmy.
"Hello, wee man," I said. "How's tricks?"
"A quiet day," he said. "Although I might have to get the environmental health folk round. I think something's died behind the walls in here. It stinks something terrible."
"Probably a kid that got caught in your security system while trying to break in."
He laughed.
"Chance would be a fine thing. The wee buggers try it at least three times a week. These systems are costing me a fortune."
"Aye," I said. "But think how much you'd lose if they didn't work."
"Don't even mention it," the wee man said. "I have enough trouble sleeping at night as it is."
"I need some gen," I said.
"Always willing' to oblige," he said. "Just remember, I still want that photo."
"Durban," I said. "Of Durban and Lamberts. Is he clean or dirty?"
I got the cackle again.
"Oh, he's dirty enough," Jimmy said. "But nothing too illegal. He's more your 'weekend wizard' out in the stockbroker belt."
"What, witchcraft?" I said, incredulous. "I thought that died out in the sixties."
"Aye. Mostly it did," Jimmy said. "But you know the kind of thing-robes, orgies, altars and the occasional dead cat. You'd think they'd be too old for it, but I know of several pillars of the community that are involved. I just wouldn't like to have to watch it. Who wants to watch old folk having sex?"
This time it was me who laughed.
"And this from the man who was boasting to me about the videos he'd been taking of himself with young lassies."
"That's different," the little man said. "I don't look at myself."
"You're not turning puritan on me, are you?" I said.
"Not while there's still women around like yon Mrs. Dunlop," he replied.
"Just forget about her for a minute. Anything to report on Edward Macey?"
"Nothing," Jimmy said. "He's squeaky clean. His daddy got him the job. I suspect he pulls the wings off flies in the quiet of his own home, but he's too scared of losing his position in society to do anything even slightly dodgy. Now his daddy-he was another story."
"Bent?" I asked.
"As a nine-bob note. He was into everything he could get his hands on."
"Could he be the fence for the amulet?" I said.
"Not unless his health has improved. Last I heard he was in a nursing home in Skelmorlie. He had a stroke-a massive one."
"And there's no chance the boy is involved?"
"Next to none. He's chasing some society blonde-it would queer his pitch if there was anything dodgy going on."
Yet another dead-end. I had to start finding roads that went somewhere.
"Remember the photo," Jimmy said, and hung up on me.
Next I phoned Doug.
"Any joy on the case?" he asked.
"Nothing yet. This town is like the three wise monkeys-nobody's heard, seen, or said anything."
"So, when are we going for a beer?" he said.
"Not until the case is over," I said. "It's getting a bit complicated. Have you still got Internet access at home?"
"Yes. Do you need something?"
"Anything you can get on Arthur or Artie Dunlop."
"The one that's been in the papers? The gangland guy?" he said.
"That's the one," I replied, and another thought came to me. A coincidence that might turn out to be something else entirely.
"And while you're at it, can you cross reference with Gilbert and Sullivan or The Mikado?" I asked.
"Weird shit," Doug said. "What do you hope to find?"
"Anything, nothing, I don't know. I just thought I'd keep you away from the porn for a wee while."
There was an embarrassed silence on the other end of the line before he spoke again.
"Come on, Derek. You know I only use the web for research."
"Oh yeah," I said. "Etruscan strippers, Aztec nudes... that kind of thing? I've heard there's some good sites depicting Babylonian orgies that have great pictures of dusky maidens with big knockers."
He gave me a nervous giggle.
"I could tell you where to find them, but then I'd have to kill you. I'll see what I can do on your query. Ring me tomorrow," he said abruptly, and hung up on me.
I liked being around Doug. It was just too easy to wind him up. I'd have to stop it...sometime when it wasn't quite as much fun.
When I turned away from the phone there was a little old lady waiting behind me.
"Have you finished, son?" she said. "Only I need to phone my boy...he had an appointment with the consultant in the Western General this morning about getting a wee problem with his waterworks sorted out and...."
I stopped her. I knew the type-let her get started and you would be there for twenty minutes or more.
"That's okay, I'm finished," I said.
"Thanks, son," she said. "I just hope it's not one of those new fangled phones. I can't be doing with all this technology. It was much easier in the old days when..."
"E
xcuse me," I said, and brushed past her. "My coffee's getting cold."
"Oh, I cannae abide cold coffee," she said. "I remember the time when..."
I turned away from her, but she'd already aimed her conversation at one of the waitresses, and kept going without even breaking flow. It would be some time yet before her son got a phone call-I thought he might be relieved at that.
* * *
I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and hoping that Durban wouldn't leave the shop until I'd had a chance to speak to Eileen. The clock clicked, painfully slowly, around to three.
I was on my fifth cup of coffee, and feeling over-heated and bloated when Eileen touched my arm and sat down opposite me.
"You're a savior," I said. "Watch the antiques shop. If Durban comes out, give me a shout."
She spoke to me, but I didn't hear. I was already on my way to the washroom. Only another man will understand the blessed relief that visit gave me. I was thankful that she was still looking out across the road when I got back.
"Nothing to report, sir," she said, and gave me another mock salute as I sat down.
"Thanks," I said. "You can stand down."
She reached over and took one of my Marlboros.
"What are these? American?" she asked.
"Yes. They're pretty strong if you're not used to them."
She shrugged and lit up.
"So why all the cloak and dagger?" she asked.
"I'm on a case," I said. "And Durban knows something about it. I'm keeping an eye on him for a while, and anything you can tell me would be useful."
"I don't really know much," she said. "And Mr. Durban's friendly with my boss. I don't want to get into any trouble."
"It's just between you, me and the gatepost," I said, and she looked at me again as if I was stupid. Maybe I was getting old-my patterns of speech didn't seem to register with the young.
"It's just that he's weird," she continued. "And not just him-there's all those old folks he sees every Thursday."
"Every Thursday? Like, two days time Thursday?"
"Well, today's Tuesday, isn't it?" she said, and I got that look again. She was beginning to think I was a bit simple.
"They turn up at the shop after closing time. They must be eighty, if they're a day. There's four or five of them, the women all with fur coats and the men with smart suits. He takes them away in that big flash car of his. One day he brought them in here. They wanted iced tea, cucumber sandwiches, that kind of thing. And they treated the waitresses as if they were servants. Then they left big tips. Weird, huh?"
She was younger than I had first thought, probably no more than nineteen. I suppose I could excuse her some confusion at the foibles of the elderly, or the values of an older era.
"And this happens every Thursday."
"I told you that, didn't I?"
She sucked on her cigarette like a baby with a dummy. She smoked like a beginner, in small puffs, with little being inhaled. I double-breathed a smoke ring to show her how it should be done.
"Neat trick," she said. "But we had an old guy in here last week that could blow rings out of his ears. Now that was impressive."
"I'm sure it was."
I thought better of trying it-it sounded like something you might need an operation to do properly.
"Is there anything else you can tell me about Durban, or his partner."
Her face screwed up in concentration, and suddenly she reminded me of Liz. She shook her head.
"That's it. And I've never seen a partner-only Mr. Durban."
Maybe I should have got Doug to check up on the antique shop for me. There might be something there. I made a mental note to ask him later, then immediately forgot it.
"Well, thanks for your time," I said to the girl. I took a twenty-pound note from my wallet and passed it across the table.
"I get off at six," she said as she took it. "I could let you buy me a drink?"
But Liz was too big in my head. Eileen must have seen something in my eyes. She shrugged and left the table.
"Your loss," she said as she left. "I might not be able to blow smoke rings, but I've got other tricks."
"I'm sure you have, darling," I muttered after her, but she either didn't hear me, or chose to ignore me.
I ordered another coffee, but it was a different waitress who brought it.
Another chance gone. Over the years there had been a few, and each time Liz stopped me doing anything about it. Wee Jimmy was always berating me, and trying to goad me with details of his, probably fictitious, sex life. But I just wasn't ready. I might never be ready.
* * *
For the next two hours I nursed a cold coffee and watched the shop. I hoped they had a high profit margin on their items, for in all the time I'd sat there, they had only three customers. The lights went out at five-fifteen and Durban left the shop.
I rose and looked around for Eileen, but she wasn't around. I was almost tempted to hang around until six and let the case take care of itself. But I was getting paid, and I'd just feel guilty if I let my personal life interfere-at least so early in the case.
I left the cafe and followed Durban at a safe distance. He wasn't hard to tail. His height, his bald head, and the distinctive grey suit made him an easy target. I followed along about twenty yards behind until we reached Queen Street station.
He walked straight onto a train, and I had a bad moment when I thought I'd lost him, but when I boarded I spotted him further down the carriage. I took a seat where I could watch the back of his head, and settled in.
By the time the train left ten minutes later, it was standing room only. I realized I didn't even know where the train was headed. The conductor helped me out with that, announcing stops at Stirling, Dunblane, Gleneagles, Perth, Dundee, Stonehaven and Aberdeen. When the guard came round to collect tickets I cut my losses and bought a single to Perth. I was pretty sure Durban wouldn't commute any further than that.
I got worried when he didn't disembark at Stirling, but at least the crowd had thinned. When he got out at Dunblane I slipped out a safe distance behind him.
I'd been in the town before, some ten years previously. A train from Dundee broke down, and a group of us had decamped for two hours in the pub opposite the station. That was the limit of my local knowledge. I hoped he didn't live too far from the station-I might have some trouble finding my way back.
By the time we got down to the Station Hotel there was nobody between us, and I had to drop back further as we walked up the High Street towards the Cathedral. It was getting dark, and I almost lost him again when he turned into the driveway of one of the small cottages in the Cathedral Square. I walked past his door, and saw him moving around in the front room, putting on lights and checking his mail. It looked like he was home.
I checked out the area, looking for somewhere I could lurk without drawing too much attention to myself. I noticed that there was a pub, The Tappit Hen, across the square with outside seats, and decided to mix business with pleasure.
I had to enter the bar to buy a pint, and I got strange looks from the locals as I ran in, ordered a beer, and rushed out with it again. Durban was still in his front room, settled in front of a huge television set. I settled down for a wait.
He kept watching television, and I did the rushing trick in the bar again before, about nine o'clock, he finally moved. A light came on in the garage at the side of the house and he drove a large sliver 1960's Rover out onto his small drive. He parked it outside the house, and my heart sank as he waved across to me.
"Goodnight, Mr. Adams!" I heard him shout. "With all that coffee, and now the beer, you must need some relief, so I thought I'd let you know I'm off to bed now."
His laugh echoed around the square as he went back indoors, and I put my head in my hands. Some detective I turned out to be. I went back to the bar, slowly this time, and ordered another pint. At least the beer was good. The only other good thing to come out of the debacle w
as that I was now sure that Durban had something to hide.
When I finished my beer I walked over to his car. It was a thing of beauty; a forty-year-old classic in mint condition. The leather on the seats gleamed as new, as did the vast expanse of woodwork on the dashboard. There was a suitcase on the back seat, but I didn't think I'd get away with breaking in to the car to find out what was in it.
I heard the noise of feet on gravel and looked up.
"Can I give you a lift to the station, Mr. Adams?" Durban said from just outside his doorway. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on the way home."
"Are you sure you can't tell me anything about the amulet?" I asked. I had to have one more try-he knew I was onto him, so it couldn't hurt.
"As I've said, I have no information that would be of any use to you. Nothing you would understand, anyway," Durban said. "I would go home and get some sleep, Mr. Adams. If you want to find Johnson's amulet you're going to have a busy day tomorrow."
He was enjoying himself, and his laugh followed me as I turned away.
I made my way back to the railway station with my tail firmly between my legs. On my way I passed an off-license. I went in and bought a good bottle of malt and put it on my credit card. It was beginning to look like the case was going nowhere, so I figured I'd make the most of the money while I could.
I had a half-hour wait for the ten-thirty train, and had a hard time fighting off the call of the bottle. Things got worse on the train when the guard wouldn't recompense me for the unused part of my Perth ticket.
"How do I know you haven't been to Perth?" he asked.
"How do any of us now anything?" I asked, but he wasn't in the mood for philosophy. I had to stump up for another single back to Glasgow, on the credit card again.
* * *
By the time I got back to Queen Street station, it was raining, and I couldn't get a cab until I'd walked nearly halfway home. It was almost midnight as I paid the cabby and turned towards my door, only to be confronted by two of the people I had least wanted to meet.
"Mr. Adams," the taller, heavier, one said. "Can we have a wee word?"
"It won't take much of your time," the thinner one said.
Of all the people I didn't want to meet, these two were on top of the list. Detective Inspector Hardy, the fat one, and Detective Sergeant Newman, the thin one, "Stan and Ollie" on the street, were cops. Hard-nosed, no-nonsense cops who believed their own publicity. I let them into my office and hoped I wasn't in too much trouble.
The Amulet Page 5
