— You’re lucky the kissing worked, Jim said, deadpan. — You don’t know what I was going to do next.
Then he and Melanie drove down to Goleta Point, looking out to the sea, where he explained about the Telford College first-aid course they’d sent him on years ago. It was related to a job that his probation officer had set up, working in a box-manufacturing factory. It was a shit gig and he’d only taken the course as it meant eight Mondays at college instead of the monotony of the assembly line. — Thank fuck for the Scottish penal system, he laughed.
Ralph had suffered a serious heart attack, due to an undetected congenital defect, but this could be corrected by a procedure. Jim had certainly saved his life, and his long-term prognosis following the surgery was good. — He’ll soon be able to salsa again, Melanie smiled.
— Good on him, Jim said, picking up a large rock crab that was stranded in a pool. He placed it on the sand, watching it scuttle sideways towards the sea.
— What were you thinking when you were doing that first aid on Ralph, saving his life? Melanie asked.
— I was thinking, Jim went, — with a Leith voice in my head: so this is what the fuckin salsa leads tae!
Their laughter echoed out down the beach and up to the clifftops.
The music being pumped into the limo isn’t salsa, but bland, easy-listening rock. It’s a cheesy ballad called ‘I’d Love You to Want Me’ and Melanie can’t recall who the artist is. The large man sitting next to her, driving the car, seems to know the words, mouthing them softly under his breath. David ‘Tyrone’ Power had introduced himself as a friend of her husband. He’d told Melanie that he’d been concerned about Frank, and had a mutual acquaintance call by at Elspeth’s. They had just missed Melanie, but heard that she was planning to head down to Leith and look for him, just as he himself had decided to do. — I’ve been working my way up the Walk and Junction Street.
Power explains that he has the boys out searching, and invites her to come round to his place. He tells her there is a good chance that Frank will be heading there, as he had given him a set of keys. Melanie agrees, as she knows Power by reputation, and that he and Frank go way back. In the absence of anyone else, who is there to rely on?
The ballad eases into another, ‘When You’re in Love with a Beautiful Woman’. Again, the performer’s name escapes her, though David Power is once more lip-syncing enthusiastically. Melanie asks him if he knows where Larry Wylie lives. — Unfortunately no. But that’s a gey colourful pairing. . Tyrone grins. — . . that’s an old Scots word, gey, means ‘very’. Has Frank ever used that word with you?
— No.
Tyrone seems disappointed, but fights through it. — Well, my point is, if they’ve gone out together drinking, we can’t rule out the possibility that they might get into a little mischief.
Melanie clenches her teeth, shaking her head vigorously. — Frank stopped drinking alcohol years ago.
— And good on him. But he’s under a lot of stress, and getting together with some of the old team. . well, you never know. He bumped into Nelly the other day, an old friend, who assured me, David Power grins at her, — that Frank’s patter is still as sharp as ever.
Melanie thinks about this all the way back to Power’s house, that big red sandstone villa that really has to be classed as a mansion. If she found it impressive from the outside, when she goes indoors to her eye it is all wealth, with a complete absence of taste. It brings to her mind a Vegas hotel; it is as if Power has gone once to Paris and Venice, and then said to a designer: make it like that. He seemed to merely desire the most expensive of everything, with little thought as to how it would hang together stylistically.
Now he is trying to show Melanie the paintings that festoon the walls. — Are you interested in the Pre-Raphaelites?
— All I’m interested in at present, Mr Power, is Frank.
— Of course, of course, Power stresses. — And it’s David. I’ve been trying to help him, Melanie — is it okay to call you Melanie?
— Yes, of course it is, she nods. — Where do you think he could be?
— Probably one of his old stomping grounds, Power declares, ushering Melanie to sit down on the couch, as he collapses into the armchair opposite. — Basically where we were; Leith Walk, Junction Street, Duke Street, Easter Road, perhaps Abbeyhill. But my people are out there looking for him, and we’ll find him, Power boldly exclaims. — Hopefully he’ll be on his way here. His phone is going to voicemail, but he’s not great at having it switched on.
Melanie nods in acquiescence. He does know Frank well.
— I’ve been trying to help him, Melanie. Power suddenly spreads his big hands in appeal. — This city has changed a lot since his day, and there are some dodgy characters around now.
— I think perhaps there always were, Melanie replies, her eye contact steady and her voice low and firm.
— Good point, Tyrone smiles. — But you can’t just keep barking up the wrong trees and not expect to elicit a reaction, and Frank, well, don’t get me wrong, he’s a salt-of-the-earth guy, and we go back a long way, but he can be a wee bitty single-minded.
Melanie can say little to dispute this contention. — You mentioned dodgy characters. . this Larry. .
— Oh, Larry Wylie was a nasty piece of work back in the day, but he’s harmless now. Quite sickly, I hear. But I’m thinking specifically about a young guy called Anton Miller. I can’t prove it yet, Tyrone slams his fist into his palm, — but I’m almost certain that young Sean was skimming from him. . drug money. . so Miller made an example of him. Sean had that ‘I’m Frank Begbie’s boy so I’m untouchable’ thing going on. . an unfortunate conceit of youth. . so I believe that Anton Miller wanted to make a statement.
— And Frank. .
— Well, quite understandably, Tyrone further volunteers, — I think it’s more than likely that Frank’s gone after Miller looking for some answers.
— Frank’s changed. . Melanie says, feeling the conviction ebb from her voice. — He wouldn’t do anything that would. .
Tyrone fixes her in a gaze of intent. — However much he loves you and your daughters, his son has been murdered. He tilts his head slowly. — That could send anybody crazy, and he ogles the tight swell of panic in her eyes as she starts to take this in. — I know they werenae close, but it’s still his firstborn child.
— Oh my God, we need to call the p— As the word police forms on her lips, Melanie thinks of Harry, and immediately halts.
— I don’t think the police are going to be much help, Tyrone shrugs. — They don’t. . well, let’s just say that we have a bit of a reputation in this town, Frank and I, and they’ve never been particularly well disposed towards us.
Melanie frowns, grinding her teeth together. — I just want to find him and get him home.
— Of course you do. And as I’ve said, we’re out looking for him. We’ll find him, unless. . Tyrone’s tone is deep and grave, — well, we have to acknowledge the possibility that Miller could get there first.
— I can’t sit here. Melanie patently exhales. — I’m sick with worry.
— Well, go back to your hotel if you wish, and I’ll call you as soon as I get any news. I guarantee that I will be the very first to hear, he says, his tone smug and assured, — and you’ll be the next, seconds after.
— In that case, I’d like to stay a while longer.
— Certainly. A text buzzes through on Tyrone’s phone. — Excuse me. He rises, pacing across the room, obviously not recognising the number. She watches as the back of his neck glows red.