‘Get the fuck out. Who the fuck do you think you are barging in here?’
‘I’m glad you remember me, Lena,’ I smiled. ‘That night you saw me talking to Parks, I was working for Mr Sneddon. I’m here tonight because I’m working for Mr Sneddon.’
Her face changed. Real fear.
‘Listen… that… what you saw… I’m not trying to take business away from Mr Sneddon. It’s just I’ve got to eat…’
‘I noticed that when I came in,’ I said.
‘Look, I really don’t want you to tell Mr Sneddon. I’ll do anything…’ Lena took a step closer and opened her gown, pulling it clear of her breasts. I was being invited to play doctors and nurses.
‘Put your tools back in their box, Lena,’ I said. ‘I’m here on business. Mine, not yours. Sit down.’
She covered herself up and sat down. I handed her the photograph of Lillian Andrews.
‘Do you know her?’
‘Oh, aye. I know that wee fucking whore all right. That’s Sally Blane.’
‘Did Parks know her?’
‘I don’t think so, but he knew her sister. She used to work for him for a while.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said, lighting up. I didn’t offer Lena a cigarette: the Royal College of Nursing would have disapproved. ‘Sally Blane’s sister is Margot Taylor.’
‘Aye,’ said Lena. ‘But Arthur didn’t know Sally. Margot dyed her hair blonde. Other than that they looked quite like each other. I only met Sally through Margot. Margot wanted me to work with them. They had their own wee sideline going. But I got the idea Sally thought I was too fucking common for what they was planning.’
‘Heaven forfend,’ I said and drew on my cigarette.
‘Either that or she thought I was too old,’ continued Lena, undeterred. ‘Sally was a stuck-up wee bitch. Anyways, I wasn’t interested. Mr Sneddon wouldn’t have liked it. Arthur arranged for Margot to get a hiding because of it.’
I examined Lena. She was probably thirty. Again, she had that vaguely and disconcertingly aristocratic look: not quite beauty, but very attractive. She would have fitted in with a top-end call-girl operation. Until she opened her mouth.
‘Where was Sally working?’
‘Edinburgh. Some posh fuckhouse. Why d’you want to know?’
‘Have you ever heard the name Lillian Andrews? Specifically, do you remember Sally Blane ever calling herself that?’
‘Naw. I only met her that time. Once was fucking enough. You sure you’re not goin’ to tell Sneddon about me having punters here?’
‘That’s not what I’m interested in. Did you ever see Arthur Parks talk to either of the McGahern twins?’
‘No’ fuckin’ likely. Sneddon would have cut Arthur’s balls off if he’d had anything to do with the McGaherns.’
‘This operation Sally and Margot were involved in… did they tell you much about it?’
‘Naw, just that they was going to make three times what we made at the Circus. But Sally shut Margot up. I got the idea that she thought Margot had told me too much. Especially when it was fucking obvious that Sally didn’t want me to be part of it.’
‘I was told that it was run by a woman called Molly. Do you know if Sally or Margot ever called themselves that?’
‘That was what Sally called Margot… like it was short or something for Margot. Aye, I heard her call her Molly. But there’s no fucking way Margot was the boss.’ Lena looked thoughtful for a moment. Again, the illusion of refinement was captured, then lost again when she spoke. ‘There was something that they said to each other… about someone else involved. Shite, I can’t remember what they said, but I know it was something about a foreigner… another chippy. You know, a whore.’
‘And it was this foreigner who ran the operation?’
‘Dunno. Maybes. Or maybes it was Sally. She was always bossing. But this foreign tart was important somehow. Listen, I really don’t know anythin’. Like I says, Margot thought I’d fit in. Sally says no. So after that I hears nothin’ more about it until Margot’s out on her arse and Arthur gives her a hidin’.’
‘Did anyone see him give her a hiding?’
‘Naw. Well, aye… one of the boys on the door went with him. But waited in the car. Arthur went in with a barber’s strop. It was a few weeks after that that I heard she was dead. The car crash.’
I smoked a little for a moment. I was getting a picture. But it was a made-up scene. And I was pretty convinced it had been painted by Parks, Lillian and McGahern. But I was still looking from the wrong angle.
‘Do you have any idea who would have wanted to do that to Parks? Did anything happen in the days before he was killed?’
‘Naw. Business as usual. Nothin’ special I can remember.’
‘I got the feeling you were one of Parks’s star turns, Lena. After all, he offered me a free ticket on you. Did he do that with other special guests?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Anybody you can remember over the last few weeks?’
‘Naw. Nob’dy particular.’ She paused and frowned. ‘Wait, there was one guy. Fat ugly bastard. I got the feeling he was important. Arthur told me to pull all the stops out. You know what I mean?’
‘I can imagine. Can you remember his name?’
Lena laughed a drayman’s laugh. ‘You fuckin’ kiddin’? Nobody leaves their name and address. He was a punter looking for a shag, no’ a pen-pal. There was one thing about him though.’
‘What?’
‘He was foreign. His accent was like a German or something.’
‘Could he have been Dutch?’
‘I wouldn’t know. Dutch… where they from?’
‘Holland,’ I said. ‘The one with the windmills.’ Lena didn’t look enlightened. I got up and put my hat on.
‘You sure you’re no’ goin’ to tell Sneddon on me? I mean about my punter.’
‘Like I said… not my business.’ I made for the door.
Lena slipped her gown off. ‘You deserve a thank you,’ she said. ‘Hows about a wee free fuck?’
I looked at her body, naked except for the nurse’s hat, shrunken apron, suspenders and stockings. She sure was put together the right way. But, despite the alluring charm of her invitation, I didn’t fancy the idea of having to wash my dick with peroxide afterwards. And my ears, if she had talked.
‘No thanks,’ I said and left.
When I put my mind to it, I clean up pretty well. I had a role to play and I got up early the next morning, bathed, shaved and put on my best business blue. I dressed it up with a pale blue, barrel-cuffed silk shirt, a knitted silk tie in the same blue as the suit, placed a crisp white linen handkerchief in my breast pocket and set it all off with a tiepin and cufflinks in solid gold. I was also a little liberal with my most expensive cologne, which I’d bought from ’Pherson’s. I had an expensive gabardine trenchcoat that seldom saw the light and I draped it over my arm on the way out. Mrs White came out of her door just as I reached the bottom of the stairs and we exchanged our usual perfunctory morning greetings.
I smiled as I walked across to the car: Mrs White, despite herself, had cast an approving eye over me. I drove to the office and picked up a few business cards from my drawer. The business cards, however, did not have my name on them. Or my business.
Heading into the city centre, I parked outside the offices of Mason and Brodie in St Vincent Street. The brass plaque told me they were solicitors and estate agents and that they had premises in Ayr as well as Glasgow. Having a place in Ayr meant you had a presence in the nineteenth century.
Everything about Mason and Brodie’s offices spoke of Scottish Establishment: the solid oak panelling and sturdy desks, the aged document chests and the smell of pipe tobacco and beeswax that hung in the air, as if preserving the atmosphere of the past. The only thing that didn’t fit was the secretary who sat behind the desk nearest the door. She was about twenty and dark-haired with pretty blue eyes. She smiled as I entered and I asked if I could see Mr Brodie, whom I believed was handling the sale of a couple of properties I was interested in acquiring.