Shadow of the Castle

by Matthew Macleod

  As they slowly meandered into a small fenced off courtyard that contained the main way into the pub the two men on the door barely gave them a glance on the way past. Tam spoke to them anyway, gabbing about this and that. His sincerity and warmth never drew anything except favourable responses, even when he managed to get off on a tangent trying to remember what the name of the place was a few decades prior (probably before the other three men were even thought of). Eventually coaxing him into the place itself, Luke steered him by the elbow and towards a quiet table mercifully near the door. Once Tam had settled himself down, removed his coat and looked around appreciatively he let Luke slip away to the bar while he remonstrated with himself about the previous name of the pub.

  The place itself was adorned on the walls with paintings of various sports of Irish origin or that they at least excelled in. Unlike most other establishments of the same ilk, there was very little about the “Irish” part of this pub that was entirely manufactured. They had traditional music sessions throughout the week put on by whoever happened to turn up that evening with their instrument in tow. Admittedly a few of the regulars played songs from the Scottish traditions they were more familiar with but in terms of legitimate Celtic feel and habit, this was the place to be. The stout and the whiskey flowed freely and the boys on the door very seldom had need to sort out any issues as most were handled in house. Luke enjoyed it in here for the music and the proximity and waited patiently at the bar for his stout and a half with two nips to be prepared – this place above all understood the correct pouring procedure for a perfect pint of porter that was overlooked in favour of speed in many other places. Once he had all in possession he crossed back over to Tam bearing his payment and settled down across from him in their booth. The light in Tam's blue eyes never seemed to go out but it always increased when he had a drink almost within his grasp. Taking a small hit of the spirits and chasing it with a quick swallow of stout which left an additional moustache above his own he looked approvingly at Luke and settled himself more comfortably in his seat.

  'I've done yer job for ye again son.'

  'I'll decide.'

  Tam smirked at him over the glass and made a camp drawing motion with his free hand.

  'Better get your wee diary out.'

  Luke obliged and extracted it from his back pocket. Taking the pen and laying it on the table he waited for whatever big revelation had taken Tam all the way up town to see him in person.

  'I've been telt that yer boy's alive.'

  The statement failed to land with the impact he had expected. Luke raised an eyebrow at him and remained motionless.

  'Top drawer Tam. Really pulled it out the bag there. The guy’s not dead. Excellent. Well, I'll just phone up my man the now and tell him shall I? “Call off the search. Bring the troops home. Tam's told me that he isn't dead.”'

  The older man laughed and shook his head. He was still giggling as he took another sip from one glass then the next and expanded on his point.

  'Come on son. Ye really think I'd just have that for you? Nah, I ken he's no dead because I ken where he's been.'

  This time the statement did land. Despite his best attempt not to react there must have been a tell somewhere in Luke's face or demeanour because Tam's reaction was to laugh again and raise his glass.

  'Ah ha. My info is worthwhile again. Your gonnae hae to start puttin me on yer payroll at this rate son. I'm surprised you didn't snatch up yer wee pretty pen as soon as I opened my mouth.'

  For the briefest moment Luke entertained the idea and it was a bizarre image and thought indeed. Classic noir style - the two of them sitting in a smoky office; a weathered sign above the door and cheap bourbon on the desk. A pair of hard boiled detectives running the streets, or shuffling as fast as Tam’s legs would allow. Pulling Magnums on hoodlums in dark alleys while steam rose from the sewers and they made cutting remarks to each other about how they were cleaning up this dirty town. Luke could threaten the coldest of gangsters without violence, choosing instead to leave them in the interrogation room alone with Tam the Mouth, who would talk their ear off until they confessed to everything they’d ever done.

  Settling for taking a long draught of his pint, Luke eventually succumbed to the temptation and picked up his pen from the table much to the delight of the man opposite. Writing a heading and underlining it carefully he attempted to pay no mind to the sniggering that was purely for his benefit. Satisfied, he raised his head and met the eyes that were moist with glee.

  'Tell me what you know then.'

  'Mate of mine, Eric. You know Eric? Aye you do, old Eric? Fae the bowlie. Aye ye do son, we all played dominoes that one time. Anyway. Eric's moved out Niddrie way see, on account of his hip operation. Had it done a month ago and he's no been managing the stairs in his old bit. Ye ken the big flats in Muirhouse? The lift's always broken or full ae junkies and wee bams so the cooncil moved him to a ground floor bit. Makes sense ye see? Mind when I goat the walker first time and they punted me to a new bit? No too bad every now and then they council gadjes, treat the old boys alright.'

  The only responses that Luke had offered during this verbal barrage were nods and shakes of the head. Through many years of experience, he had come to the realisation that with even the slightest prodding, Tam would divert down a long and meandering side road of conversation that was a joy to listen to when they were sitting killing some time and beer but a real drag when there was information that he needed to hear. The difficulty was always in deciding exactly how much to allow as cutting him off felt rude but letting him talk unchecked could mean losing the rest of your days. So far all he had written down was “Eric?”. Tam had quenched his thirst and resumed his onslaught.

  'So Eric's out in his new bit and ye ken yersel that Niddrie isnae as bad as they say. Few folk spoiling it fer aw the rest, ken? I goes oot to see him the day, just to check in. He's no as young as mysel so ye've goat tae keep an eye.'

  Luke snorted into his pint and tried to turn it into a nod of agreement. Tam remained unperturbed.

  'He's orite oan his feet an that again, trying to get back to walking a fair bit every day. Likes his independence ken? So we're chatting a bit and takin a wander down tae Craigmillar. There's a boozer doon there he used to take a pint in years back when he lived oot that way with his Jeannie. Ye willnae have met Jeannie will ye son? Ah, she wis a gem. A real diamond. Must be gone aboot 15 year easy by now. Poor soul. Well, we get's to talking aboot this an that and aw the rest an I mentioned yer boy that you were after. See, always oan shift me. Tam's always keepin his one gid eye oot for his pal.'

  Reaching across and punching Luke's shoulder, he drank again. Now Luke was leaning towards him across the table. Far from being frustrated at the useless information that was being mixed in he found himself enjoying it. It seemed to make the build up to the final reveal all the more gratifying as he tried to mentally sift through the words being spat at him like a machine gun and catch only the pertinent. Tam seemed to have stalled at this stage in the story. Whether he was waiting on being questioned or caught up in some memory was impossible to tell.

  'So, I'm assuming Eric knew something then?'

  'Aye, aye.’ Tam was back on track. ‘Thing wi Eric is that he's good wi faces. It's uncanny, he'll clap eyes oan some radge from across the shop or the boozer and tell ye exactly who it is and aboot a hundred other bits and pieces that ye don't need tae know but that's how it is. He likes tae yap a bit an it's better just to let him.'

  It was taking a superhuman effort for Luke to keep his eyes down and pretend to write. At least he hadn't laughed out loud this time.

  'I showed him that wee picture ye left wi me from ma wallet and he tipples right off. Ken's the boy eh? Well, just to see like, but that's kind of the point. If a gadje is missing and no ones seen him, if ye ken the boy to see ye've cracked it eh?'

  'When had he seem him Tam? He's only been officially off the radar for about three days so unless it's been within that time t
hen...'

  'I'm no daft son. I'm auld and half blind but am no daft. Says he seen him just the day afore.'

  Writing steadily now, Luke completed the line he was on and kept the pen poised by the side of the page. He took another swallow of his pint and replaced it carefully on the beer mat.

  'I know you aren't daft Tam. If you're able to tell me everything you can remember about what he told you then there might be a chance of me making you my partner yet. This is the only bit of good info I've had since I've started all this nonsense'

  Tam was seeing off the last of his whiskey and then laboriously drained the stout before arranging both empties square on their respective mats.

  'I don't want tae show you up son. Keep me as an ootside contractor and pay me in booze. That'll suit us both lovely.'

  Luke took both the hint and the empty glasses and went back to the bar for a second round. If Tam had wanted a full bottle he'd have probably bought it for him at this stage. Looks like the old man was about to really come through for him after all.

  After he had all the details in his trusty notebook and had safely deposited Tam in a taxi with a twenty that would more than doubly cover the fare, Luke waved them off and began the short walk back to his flat. All he had to do was nip in to grab a few things and then he'd be straight back out. As he climbed the stairs he composed a text on his phone with both hands to give Grant a heads up on the developments. More and more he was feeling like he had done very little so far to justify his role as investigator in this case but he was sure that situation was about to remedy itself. Once the text message had gone, he replaced his phone, opened his front door and prepared himself to go to work for real and earn his money.

  Inside the Bull on Leith Walk, Claire was sitting at the bar and stirring a cocktail with a straw. The whole walk down she had been confident and retained purpose in her stride but now that she was sitting waiting on Grant to appear she wasn't entirely sure what had caused her to be so certain that this was the right idea. Every time the door opened, she turned to look over her shoulder and turned away again after seeing that it wasn't him. Her head was dropping lower towards the glass with each disappointment. She had finished the French Martini in front of her and was waiting on the second being mixed up when the door opened again but she didn't even turn around this time. To her right, she was aware of a weight on the bar but kept her eyes fixed on the bartender who was extravagantly straining her cocktail from a great height into the glass. Once he had finished he took the shaker away to clean and as she was reaching into her purse for money a voice beside her spoke.

  'I'll get that.'

  Grant had arrived. In that moment all the trepidation and worry evaporated and she felt a flush enter her face that she was sure was just alcohol. Turning in her seat to look up into his face she smiled and found her hand wandering once more to the bow in her hair to touch it slowly. He had worn a black button up shirt with jeans and some newish looking dark trainers. She could smell the slightest whiff of aftershave from him that certainly hadn't gone on trimming his stubble but could only conclude that he had, despite himself, made an effort.

  'No need for that Grant, let me get yours for you.'

  He dropped his right shoulder to lean on the bar with his elbow and looked at her. She had a grin across her face again and almost all the hardness inside him disappeared. The bartender was in the middle of pouring Grant's lager and watched both the combatants engaged in this war of manners with interest. After a prolonged moment of eye contact, the big man with the ink and scars gave way to the secretary with a polite shrug.

  'If you insist. I'm nothing if not a gentleman.'

  The giggle that escaped from her as she rummaged in her purse with a victorious air made his smile even wider. His cheery grin only faltered briefly when the barman also had a chuckle to himself at the idea. Grant's head snapped round and silenced the barman with a look that would have melted steel as he became furiously interested in polishing an already spotless glass. Reaching underneath himself, Grant extracted a stool that was leaning against the bar and lowered his massive frame down onto it. Once the transaction was complete his pint glass gently touched her Martini as they both nodded to each other in a display of mock manners that would have embarrassed the most pious of teachers at a finishing school. They sat beside each other listening to the music and looking around at the general clamour of the pub – it was fairly busy as always. Grant caught the eye of a few regulars and returned their head nods with the same. It was Claire who eventually spoke.

  'So. How's things?'

  It felt so formal and she instantly regretted it. She wasn't sure exactly what mood she was wanting to create for the evening but that had felt wrong.

  'Good aye. Yourself?'

  In place of a vocal response she just nodded and resumed stirring the colourful concoction in her glass with the straw. Once again they both looked round the pub and took it in, avoiding the other’s gaze. A couple of the older guys that had drank there since before it got renovated sat in the corner and gave Grant the subtlest wink they could muster in unison. Grant laughed to himself – there would be no end of ripping from them next time he was in. It was bad enough having them clock him in here on a date but there was no chance he'd give them the satisfaction of seeing him on one that looked like it had gone badly. Ignoring the fact that he himself wasn't even sure that this was even a date, he turned back towards her and poked her shoulder so that she stopped stirring and looked at him.

  'Here, got a bit of news off that Luke guy on the way here.'

  'Yeah?' Her excitement was real. 'Has he found him then?'

  'No, nothing quite like that just yet but he's making some headway.' He drank briefly before launching into the explanation. 'There's an old dude that stays round my bit. Used to be a bit of a handful in his day apparently but now he just goes around the boozers chatting with folk and knocking down more sauce than you'd think was possible. Tam knows everything about anyone or at least where to ask and Luke reckons the old boy's come through for him.'

  Her straw was poised motionless above the glass and her full attention was on him. Grant couldn't stop looking from her eyes to her lips and back again – it was throwing him off his game somewhat. Making a deliberate effort to focus on the pint in front of him instead, he continued.

  'Well, he reckons someone's seen him kicking about Niddrie and Craigmillar. Nothing more than that the now but I'd be surprised if he wasn't following it up himself in the near future. Said he had one or two other things to look into first. Not exactly concrete but it's something. Reckon the Magistrate would be interested in knowing?'

  The straw began to slowly circle the glass rim again and Claire's brow furrowed in thought. Grant was left wondering if there was anything she could do that wouldn't cause him to stare like a slack jawed idiot. The straw paused just above the surface of the liquid and she brought it up slowly to her mouth and licked the residue from it. Reinserting it into the glass she kept her eyes on it as she replied.

  'It would probably make him worry a bit less. He's been totally losing his head over this.'

  Grant snorted before he responded. 'Let him lose his head for all I care. In whatever sense you choose to take that.'

  Claire shrugged with a smile. He was fairly sure that she too had imagined the portly man in the expensive shoes decapitated and it hadn't exactly been an unpleasant thought. There was no love lost between Geoffrey Reid and pretty much anyone he seemed to encounter. The poison of his character eventually got to everyone. Even Claire found herself being dragged down by his brashness and arrogance. She offered a timid compromise to her glass.

  'I guess I could let him know. What do you reckon?'

  She had turned to face him again with the last statement and he quickly turned back to the bar as if she had caught him looking. He pondered for a bit before replying.

  'I say let him stew. Whatever this is, it’s all of his own making. Rab's no angel but no one deserves the
disdain that that waste of skin piles on him. He'll find out soon enough, you know how he is. Pudgy fingers in every pie.'

  'OK by me.'

  They brought their glasses together and revelled in their concrete alliance against the scourge in both their lives. The agreement brought a new camaraderie between them and the awkwardness slowly slipped away. They sat facing each other. They sat closer. The drinks kept coming and as dusk spread into evening Grant Ferguson couldn't stop smiling. He found himself even hoping that she would try and hug him again. She laughed and touched the bow in her hair and hoped that her makeup was still in place. When she put her hand on his in the midst of a particularly wild bout of laughter he didn't pull it away and she left it there, hoping that he would want to kiss her before they left.

  Chapter 19

  By the time Luke Calvin left his flat again, it was approaching 10pm. The street lights were on and the evening crowd were now out in full force, lairy and loud, walking the pavements. Mercifully his first stop was relatively close by, just up the street in fact. As he crested Victoria Street and turned right he was on George IV bridge which happened to have the unusual attribute of not looking like a bridge at all when you were walking across it. Unless you stopped and looked right and left at exactly the correct moment you would be forgiven in thinking that it was simply a quaintly named street. The bars and pubs on both sides of the street were sounding lively and the different music that spilled out into the street created a bizarre cacophony of all styles and genres that sounded like a radio being retuned from station to station as he made his way past them.

  His first port of call was going to be the natural history museum where he knew Rab had worked for close to a year previously. A visibly drunk student type accosted him en route and asked for a light which Luke provided happily, lighting up himself at the same time. Continuing on his way, he went over his plan in his head – as rudimentary as it seemed. Since there was now definite confirmation that his man was in fact alive and kicking there was only the small issue of getting a hold of him to provide his “doting” father with some measure of proof that employing Luke’s services had not been a waste of time. Or money. It was already too late to head out to speak to old Eric tonight but much like the young, happy and drunk crowd that thronged around him, Luke had the unshakable feeling that the best was still to come.