The pair of them turned to stare at me.
‘You know, a nice cup of tea?’ Doing the whole raised eyebrows thing as I mouthed, ‘Go away!’ at them.
Then the penny must have dropped, because they both stood and bustled out of the room. ‘Yes, good idea.’ ‘Everything’s better with a cup of tea.’ Leaving me and Bailey alone in his smelly teenager’s den.
Soon as the door shut he hissed out a breath and sagged, eyes wide. ‘Wow.’ Then up at me. ‘You work with her all the time? Detective Sergeant Franklin? She’s gorgeous! Could be on Love Island, or a porn star, or anything!’
The dining chair creaked as I settled into it. ‘Right, now the women aren’t here whipping up your hormonal porridge, you can tell me why you’re lying.’
That blush was back. ‘I’m not.’
‘Come on, Bailey, it’s just us in here. When David left your house, he went up to the graveyard. We both know it’s not on his way home.’
‘I...’ Bailey shrugged one shoulder. ‘He...’ Deep breath, staring down at his bitten fingernails. ‘He was really excited about meeting someone. Someone he fancied.’ The blush deepened. ‘David’s been...’ He cleared his throat. ‘David’s mum and dad think he’s like this straight-A student and totally normal and everything, but they don’t know he’s bi.’ Another lopsided shrug. ‘Bisexual. He told me last year.’ Bailey held up a hand. ‘I mean, I’m not, you know, gay or anything like that, I definitely like women, with boobs and stuff. But David fancies men and women.’
‘And that’s who he was going up to the graveyard to meet? A man?’
‘Didn’t say, but he had that... spark in his eyes, you know?’ Bailey raised his head and stared out of the bedroom window at the darkness beyond. ‘We’ve been best friends since primary two. We’re doing the same exams so we can go to Art School together. Study drama and filmmaking.’
‘I’m sorry.’
His shoulders curled forwards and he nodded. Wiped a hand across his eyes. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you? About David being bi? He never came out, because it’d kill his mum and dad.’
Poor wee sod.
Both of them.
David wouldn’t get to be himself, not even in death. And Bailey?
I levered myself out of the chair. ‘My best friend’s gay; he told me years before he finally came out and left his wife. It’s not easy, being responsible for someone else’s secrets.’ I gave Bailey’s hunched shoulder a squeeze. ‘You’ve been a good friend to David. Don’t let it eat you.’
Then let myself out.
32
‘... really love that song. Kar Stanton and “She Can”. Think that’s got a real chance of being Christmas number one, this year...’
The A90 thrummed beneath the pool car’s tyres, oncoming headlights gleaming in the darkness.
‘We’ve got the news and weather coming up in twenty minutes, but first here’s Closed for Refurbishment and “Whatever She Wants” brackets, “She Can’t Have”!’
We’d not long passed the sign for Glendoick Garden Centre when my phone pop-dinged again.
LEAH MACNEIL:
I’m sorry I can’t leave my phone on it sets
off the car speakers & grandad would no I
had it & he will punish me
I don’t want 2 end up like David
Pop-ding.
LEAH MACNEIL:
We’ve stopped somewhere I think its the
countryside coz there’s no lights we’ve
been driving 4 ever I have to do what he
says & behave or he will punish me
Pop-ding.
LEAH MACNEIL:
Tell granny I love her & I’m sorry I wasn’t
a better granddaughter but I was selfish &
stupid & she was always there for me
when she wasn’t in prison
Pop-ding.
LEAH MACNEIL:
I don’t think grandad will ever let me go
home
One day I’ll make him angry & he will cut
me in2 tiny bits like all the others
I’m sorry 4 everything
I picked out a reply.
We’ll find you before he can hurt you,
Leah. You have to hold on and not give
up.
We WILL find you.
SEND.
And, hopefully, she’d still be in one piece when we did.
The song on the radio crash-bang-walloped to a halt, then was replaced by something equally shouty. I turned it down and called Mother.
‘Have you kicked Watt’s backside into orbit yet?’
A pause. ‘Ash, how nice to hear from you. Again.’ Didn’t sound like it.
‘How did he manage to get a trace set up on the wrong bloody mobile?’
‘Is there a point to this call? Because I’ve already had words with John and he’s getting a new warrant sorted out.’
‘I even forwarded you Leah MacNeil’s texts! How could anyone not spot they weren’t from the same phone number?’
‘This isn’t helping. Now do you have anything constructive to add to the investigation, or can I get back to slowly working on a stress-related aneurism?’
‘Has anyone looked into Gordon Smith’s sexuality?’
Franklin overtook a Luton Transit van, with ‘SAMMY’S MIDNIGHT FLIT ~ YOU’D BE NUTS TO TRUST ANYONE ELSE!!!’ and a grinning thumbs-up squirrel on the side.
Then, finally, Mother was back, voice cold and clipped. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Probably not, but our latest victim: David Quinn. He was bisexual and excited about meeting someone the night he died, which turned out to be Gordon Smith. Of course, he also wanted to study drama and filmmaking at university, so that might be how Smith manipulated him into going to the scenery warehouse. But if you’re looking for a mentor, would you really set up a meeting, at night, in a graveyard?’
‘Gordon Smith’s sexuality is immaterial. You want to know what is material? Catching him. Now how about trying to do that instead of casting aspersions on the LGBTQI community!’ Then complete silence from the phone. She’d hung up.
Lovely.
I looked across the car at Franklin, partially lit by the dashboard’s glow, and partially by the oncoming headlights. ‘Did any of what I said sound homophobic to you?’
‘Wasn’t paying attention. Now any chance we can have the radio up again? It’s been a long couple of days and I’d rather not fall asleep at the wheel on the way home.’
Franklin pulled in to the kerb on Guild Street, spitting distance from Divisional Headquarters. Cracked a yawn that showed off loads of perfect teeth with only a couple of fillings at the back. Then blinked a few times and slumped in her seat. ‘Right: what time tomorrow?’
‘Nine. Mother owes us a long lie-in after all that.’
A hollow laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’
I climbed out and collected Henry from the back seat. ‘Go home, clamber into a hot bath, and get some sleep. Get out of the bath first, though, unless you fancy drowning.’
She rolled her eyes and I thumped the car door shut. Waved as Franklin performed a three-point turn and headed off towards the town centre.
Wind chased the wee lad and me as we ducked around the corner onto Doyle Lane, borrowed wellies going week-wonk as I limped past two closed charity shops and a chipper with a bored-looking man slumped behind the counter. Then in through the hallowed portal of The Tartan Bunnet Café.