by Chris Dolan
An hour later she and Louis were walking in the setting sun towards Finnieston.
Sitting in the Ox and Finch, having ordered food and chinked their first glass of champagne, the day delivered one last surprise. Dan McKillop phoned her mobile. They spoke briefly, and Maddy not only put her phone away, but turned it off. Let the rest of the night be just her’s and Louis’.
“Seems I’m not sacked,” she told him.
“Your institutions are more forgiving than ours. I’d have booted you out years ago.”
“Thanks, pal. But I’m being sidelined. Dan’s next in line for the big job. I’m out. Instead, they want to transfer me to the SFIU.”
“That some kind of psychiatric unit?”
“Thank you again. I so do look forward to your visits, Captain. The Scottish Procurator Fiscal’s Fatalities Investigation Unit.”
“Sounds like they’ve got the measure of you, my dear.”
“There’s even a case for me, starting next week. A woman, unidentified, found dead in the street, probably having fallen from a window. Well, I’ve got some recent experience of that at least. In her bag, twenty thousand pounds in notes that look like forgeries.”
Louis held his glass up for another toast. “Congratulations on your new job. How long have I got before it takes over your life?”
“Oh certainly not until tomorrow morning,” she smiled. “So we’d better use the time profitably.”
She was lying, of course. Work never stopped. Not inside Maddy Shannon’s head. As far as the police were concerned the Miller case had been solved. Two dodgy lawyers, a judge, and a construction boss had met their messy ends. One killer, just the way the system liked it. Maddy couldn’t help but think that that system had failed Morag Boyd badly. There could be no possibility of a plea of self-defence – she had killed, at least three times, and in cold blood. But to Maddy’s way of thinking it was indeed a form of self-defence, some kind of deeper justice she’d have to ponder sometime soon. As the waiter served her her squid and chorizo she decided that the four victims – five, including Morag – were not the real, at least not the final, culprits in all this. Petrus, and their subsidiaries had got off scot-free. JCG Miller had – quite literally – buried evidence, with the collusion of Forbes Nairne, to protect Fulton’s negligence and corner-cutting. Sealing the toxic waste would only have been partially down to the local construction company. The big international conglomerate were – clearly – above, or beyond the law.
Not in Maddy’s eyes. Petrus, she knew, was not out of her life yet.
“Penny for them,” Louis said, raising his glass, smiling benignly.
“I’m trying to decide how I’ll interfere with you later on.” And she would decide that. In a minute.
They tucked into their meals as Trendy new Finnieston came to a boil outside their window, on the first night of a Glasgow spring. Enjoy it while you can, guys, it’ll probably be pishing down this time tomorrow. Brightly lit bars built into crumbling old tenements. Posh folks out in shiny shoes and summer jackets, tough girls baring their midriffs, defiant. “Chimney tops and trumpets / The golden lights, the loving prayers…” The end of just another day, growing darker and brighter – like some fairy godmother was blackleading the sky, down on her spectral knees polishing the streets. Who was it said that everything connects? Maddy Shannon wasn’t sure that anything connected. Her and Louis, her parents, her job. A child orphaned by poverty and injustice. The big boys done it, and walked away, laughing.The guddle of lives in this town.
Above the rooftops a flight was coming in, from London or Paris. Everything’s up in the air. The whole country’s future is uncertain. And beneath your feet, the ground is shifting. You never really know where you stand.
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
Moira: It’ll all be worth it. Soon. Honest. No, really.
Emma and Daniel: Your entire student lives have been skint. And this is why. Enjoy.
PJR: Okay, I forgive you for buggering off halfway through (kinda). You more than made up for it throughout the rest of my life. Miss you every day, bro.
Allan C, Dana, and VV: Thanks for your continued faith. So long’s I don’t bring you all down with me.
Mark M: Don’t get me wrong, but I think about you – and Aliyyah – every time I go to the lavvy.
Mo Leven, Paul C, J David, D Hayman Sr, Mick M, and everyone else who read, advised, listened to my fretting, held my hand or bought me a pint. Cheers.
Louise W, Denise M, Ian R, Russel, Sandra, Linn A, and the entire Tartan Noir community – don’t tell the readers but you’re all rather cuddly and nice and generous.
Fergal D: You got the first line this time, bud. Same percentage deal as before though.
Eric C: Who saw the Maddy twinkle in my eye, so long ago.
Glasgow: “Sometimes loving and hating this city / amount to more or less the same thing.”
Copyright
© Chris Dolan 2016
First published in May 2016 by
Vagabond Voices Publishing Ltd.,
Glasgow,
Scotland.
Epub ISBN: 978–1–908251–73–2
Mobi ISBN: 978–1–908251–74–9
The author’s right to be identified as author of this book under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 has been asserted.
Printed and bound in Poland
Cover design by Mark Mechan
Typeset by Park Productions
The publisher acknowledges subsidy towards this publication from Creative Scotland
For further information on Vagabond Voices, see the website, www.vagabondvoices.co.uk
