‘The boy’s weary,’ one of the assistants offered by way of excuse.
‘Too many copies of Mayfair hidden in his bedroom,’ the other agreed. ‘Right arm’s getting more exercise than the rest of him put together.’
‘You’d know all about that, Jimmy,’ Love complained, ‘seeing how you’re the source of most of those mags.’
‘Man has to make a living, Archie.’
‘Mr Love?’
All three turned at the sound of Laidlaw’s voice.
‘Sorry to drag you away from an enthralling encounter, but could I have a minute of your time?’
Love checked his wristwatch. ‘Forty-five’s nearly up anyway.’ There was a tin whistle hanging around his neck. He puckered his lips around it and blew. There were groans of relief as the players started making for the touchline.
‘Sort them out,’ Love commanded before heading in the direction of the trees and the footpath beyond. He was about six inches shorter than Laidlaw, and he’d added maybe a stone and a half in weight since his playing days. The thick head of hair was turning silver, his tan showing that he still treated himself to overseas holidays.
‘What’s this about?’ he asked, unwrapping a stick of gum and readying to place it in his mouth. He changed his mind, however, when Laidlaw produced a pack of cigarettes. ‘Give me one of those, will you?’ Laidlaw obliged and the uneaten gum was tossed onto the grass. Both men smoked in silence for a moment.
‘I’m a detective, Mr Love.’
‘I didn’t think you were a scout from Inter Milan, son.’
‘I did play a bit in my younger days. A few folk said I was good enough to stick at it.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I decided not to waste my life playing games. Speaking of scouting, though, you do a bit yourself, I hear.’
‘Good young players are rarer than a convent with the toilet seat up. I sometimes steer one towards a deal that’s going to be right for him, then I’m left to watch as most of them piss it all away. Talent and brains is the rarest combination of all.’ Love studied Laidlaw above the cigarette in his mouth, having offered him all he was going to get by way of casual conversation.
‘Do you know a man called Matt Mason, Mr Love?’
‘By reputation.’
‘You’ve never done any work for him.’
‘That’s a pretty wild allegation to be making. How about telling me your name, for when I make my complaint?’
‘It’s Detective Constable Laidlaw. You’ll find me at Central Division, where I’m investigating the murder of Bobby Carter. I don’t suppose you knew him?’
‘Bobby Carter?’ Love shook his head and checked his watch. Some of the players were stretched out on the edge of the playing field, as if a soft bed couldn’t come soon enough. Love blew on the whistle, gesturing for his assistants to get them back on their feet.
‘I’m not doing too well here, am I?’ Laidlaw said. ‘Let’s try one final name — Chick McAllister.’
‘He’s a friend of my daughter’s.’
‘Her boyfriend, in fact, at one time.’
Love gave a shrug.
‘Were you aware that he works for John Rhodes?’
‘The laddie seemed fine, very respectful.’
‘But not exactly son-in-law material?’
‘My Jennifer’s too young for any of that.’
‘That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? She’s not going to remain yours for much longer. She’s got her own life to lead and decisions she’ll want to make without any interference from you and her mum.’ Laidlaw paused as the man’s face grew taut. ‘I speak as a parent myself.’
‘What exactly are you doing here?’
‘How do you feel about the fact that Jennifer works as a dancer?’
‘How would you feel?’ ‘I imagine I’d be a bit fearful. Mine are a good bit younger, so there are a few more cotton-wool years left.’
‘Dancing’s all she does, you know. She knows better than to go with any of the lowlifes who stand there staring at her.’
‘You’ve watched her, then?’
A momentary discomfort passed across Love’s face, as though he’d been found out. ‘What kind of father wouldn’t want to check out the place where his daughter works?’
‘Most of them, I’d say.’
‘Maybe you’ll find out some day, when yours have grown.’
‘You sound far from happy about her chosen career, Mr Love. And as for her not hanging out with the punters...’
‘What?’
Laidlaw hadn’t known until this point that he was about to say anything. Later, he would wonder why he had, knowing it was bound to cause an angry scene in the Love household. He suspected it was because he had taken an immediate and visceral dislike to the man. It was to do with his attitude, the way his living room was focused on him — his chair, his memorabilia. He didn’t doubt that Love’s wife had been ground down by years spent under his control. Meantime, Laidlaw had a knife of sorts, and he couldn’t help but twist it.
‘Jenni was seeing Bobby Carter, Mr Love,’ he revealed. ‘This was after she broke up with McAllister. Carter worked for Cam Colvin, McAllister belongs to John Rhodes, and I hear whispers Matt Mason has you tucked in his breast pocket like one of those fake cardboard pocket-chiefs you can buy at the Barras.’ Examining the effect of his words, Laidlaw reached the swift conclusion that Carter was coming as news to Jenni’s father, so much so that there wasn’t room in his head for a denial of his links to Mason.
‘I would have known,’ he said quietly.
‘Would you, though? Is that the sort of relationship you’ve fostered with your daughter, Mr Love? Or is it more likely your family hide things from you to stop you taking off like a Saturn rocket?’
A cry came from the touchline, one of the assistants tapping his wrist.
‘Lucky for you I have to go,’ Love growled.
‘You can swear to me you didn’t know about Jenni and Bobby Carter? If you had, what would you have done?’
‘All depends, doesn’t it?’
‘You’d have had words at the very least, though? Maybe at a rendezvous like the Parlour?’
‘The Parlour’s a John Rhodes pub.’
‘As Matt Mason’s man, you wouldn’t have been comfortable there?’
‘I’m my own man and nobody else’s.’ Love showed his teeth as he spoke. Laidlaw was shaking his head slowly.
‘You’re bought and sold for a gangster’s shilling,’ he corrected him. ‘In my book that gives you all the integrity of a back-street hoor at chucking-out time.’
He watched as the man squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. One appraising look at his opponent, however, was enough to change Love’s mind. Instead, he began to trudge back towards his other family. Laidlaw wondered if he really deserved either of them, but then the world both men inhabited was seldom equitable that way.
25
‘Well,’ Bob Lilley said, ‘what did you make of that?’
Margaret went up through the gears. It was her turn to drive. She’d had just the one glass of warmish white. Bob had enjoyed a lot more, as well as a large post-prandial helping of Antiquary.
‘Lovely kids,’ Margaret answered. ‘Shame they’re living on a battlefield.’
‘That’s a bit over the top.’
‘Maybe. They’re good people, but there’s so much tension in that house. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it?’
‘I became progressively more inoculated.’
Margaret enjoyed driving at this time of night, when the city dozed and the only hindrance was the occasional red light or tipsy pedestrian. She had never told Bob this, however. It would only have given him the excuse to avoid his turn at the wheel — and she enjoyed a drop of wine as much as she enjoyed being in the driver’s seat.