‘Bobby understood the business in a way Spanner never could.’ Colvin was beginning to look slightly uncomfortable. ‘That’s what it comes down to and that’s all those drinks were ever about.’
Paterson nodded his agreement. ‘I’m just saying, Spanner would go to the scaffold for you.’
‘Lucky we’ve done away with hanging then, eh?’ Because Colvin was attempting to lighten the mood, there were wary chuckles at this. ‘I take your point, though, and it begs a question — did anyone give Spanner cause to feel that Bobby might need more than a talking-to? Maybe that he was dipping his hand in the till or playing a bit naughty?’ Colvin watched each man shake his head. Only Panda Paterson dared to make eye contact as he did so. ‘Because I did hear a rumour,’ Colvin continued, his words slowing almost to a crawl, ‘that Matt Mason was saying he had someone inside my shop whispering sweet nothings in his ear. I know what Mason’s like so I dismissed it as his usual bullshit, but now I’m starting to wonder.’
‘You’re sure it was Mason?’ Dod Menzies piped up.
‘Why?’ The question came like a bullet.
‘It’s just I’d have thought that’s the sort of sleekit tactic John Rhodes would use — get us all watching each other, not sure who to trust.’
‘You’re maybe right, so let me turn things on their head. Say Bobby not only heard those rumours but went and did a bit of investigating.’
Panda Paterson was shaking his head. ‘This isn’t doing us any good, boss. We all know the obvious candidates — John Rhodes and Matt Mason. But Mason’s been in hospital getting his leg seen to and he seems happy enough with the territory he owns. Rhodes is another matter entirely. He’s the one we should be putting the screws on. If he’s innocent, only way to get us off his back is to help us find whoever did do it. We make life difficult for him until he does right by us.’
‘You’re saying I can trust you — all of you, Spanner included?’
‘I’m saying you have to, or everything we’ve built falls apart.’
‘Trust’s a two-way street, though — how come you didn’t tell me about meeting Laidlaw at the Parlour?’
‘He sort of did send us packing,’ Dod Menzies said. ‘That’s why we kept our traps shut. You might say our professional pride took a dent.’
‘It’s your heads that’ll be taking a dent if you keep anything else back from me, understood?’
‘Yes, boss.’
Colvin had picked up his cards again without really looking at them. He tossed them onto the pile of discards. ‘Let’s start a new game then. Increase the stakes, take a few risks. Is everybody in?’
All three men agreed that they were.
17
The two women walked through the Necropolis at a pace that was stately, befitting their surroundings and purpose. Eleanor Love always brought them on a slightly circuitous route so that they would pass the statue of John Knox. As he frowned his disapproval down on them, so Eleanor Love scowled back. Despite the reason for their visit, this always made Jennifer Love smile. For the past several years she had been tasked with carrying the small posy of flowers. The grave itself was neat and tidy; her mother made sure of that on her regular visits. But today was Sam’s birthday and Jennifer always accompanied her, as she did, too, when commemorating the day Sam had died.
The name Sam had been Archie Love’s choice. My son Sam, Samson, you see? He had hoped to watch Sam become big and strong, had had the laddie kicking a ball almost before he could balance unaided on his plump and wobbly infant legs. Dead by the age of eight, two years older than Jennifer, who had taken some persuading that her big brother wouldn’t be coming back from playing in the courtyard behind his best pal’s tenement.
They had reached the graveside now, Jennifer handing over the flowers, her mother crouching to place them in the small vase, grown opaque from weathering. No words were spoken, and afterwards, as was now traditional, the two women stood in contemplation of their surroundings. The Necropolis was where the city’s great and good finally rubbed stone shoulders with everybody else. Eleanor Love reached out and gave her daughter’s hand a brief but tight squeeze.
‘Why does Dad never come?’ Jennifer asked. It was far from the first time the question had passed her lips.
Eleanor gave a slow exhalation. ‘He’s not a bad man, your dad. This here is why he’s always wanted what’s best for you.’
‘Sam fell off a wall, Mum. I don’t need wrapped in cotton wool because of that.’
‘I know. But look at the trouble you...’ She broke off, swallowing the rest of the sentence.
‘I’m not in trouble. I’ve never been in trouble. But everybody surely merits a bit of freedom.’
‘Your dad just wants—’
‘What’s best for me. So you keep saying. But does he ever wonder what I want?’ Jennifer dug a toe into the damp grass in front of her.
‘Your good shoes,’ her mother reminded her.
‘Why do we always end up talking about him anyway? I don’t mean Sam, I mean Dad. Maybe one day we’ll talk about us. Maybe we’ll talk about you.’
‘What about me?’
‘Anything. Everything. What were you like when you were my age? What did you want from life?’
Eleanor Love thought for a moment. ‘I was already pregnant,’ she said, her eyes on the headstone. Jennifer watched as those eyes began to fill with tears.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said, reaching into her bag for a paper handkerchief. But as she made to dab at her mother’s face, Eleanor’s hand clasped itself around her wrist.
‘Swear you don’t know anything, Jenni. Here in front of Sam. Promise me you don’t know what happened to him.’
‘You mean Bobby?’ Jennifer shook her head, not quite meeting her mother’s eyes. She could feel her fierce stare, though, as the hankie went to work. ‘Cross my heart,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
And it was true, mostly. She didn’t know anything, nothing that would stand up in court. But she had an inkling, maybe even more than an inkling.
‘Ready for that cup of tea now?’ she said. ‘The café’s keeping us the table by the window.’
Eleanor had released her grip on her daughter’s wrist. She gave a slow nod.
‘Has Dad said anything about Bobby?’ Jennifer enquired, trying to sound casual. ‘Since the news broke, I mean?’
‘He still doesn’t know. Best if it’s kept that way, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Thanks, Mum. I mean it.’ Jennifer gave her mother a hug, Eleanor closing her eyes the better to appreciate the warmth of it. Then Eleanor Love allowed herself to be led from the Necropolis, almost as if their roles had been reversed and she was now the child.
Laidlaw often thought of the Calton as ‘Little Rhodesia’. It had the feel of a separate state, John Rhodes having declared UDI. The Gay Laddie belied its name by being another unwelcoming slab of 1950s architecture, its windows high up and ungenerous, its walls rough-plastered, ripe for graffiti yet unsullied by it. Laidlaw knew the reason why: this was John Rhodes’s second home. To defile it would be to invite swift and definitive retribution. As he walked in, he was scrutinised by a line of drinkers at the bar who might as well have been wearing the uniforms of security guards. They saw him immediately for what he was, even though they couldn’t be sure who he was. He ignored them and waited for the barman to grace him with some attention.
‘I need a word with John,’ he explained, glancing in the direction of the snug.