“Steve!”
He was limping badly, but he made his way to the door.
“Hey, pal,” I said. He looked up, just for an instant, and I had him. Click! We always keep a camera behind the desk in case there’s trouble.
“I haven’t finished with you,” he said, pointing at me, jabbing the air with his finger. His other hand was cupped over his crotch.
“Oh, you’re a big scary man that’s holding his willie,” I said. If someone really goes for me, I always turn lippy. And it worked on this guy. He left without another word.
“Were you shouting?” said Steve. “I was in the loo.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said. “Listen, Steve, what exactly did Dot tell you happened yesterday?” Because someone had told that guy everything, down to the very words. So either Dot or Steve, whether deliberately or accidentally, had said far too much to someone.
“What I said,” said Steve. “Why?”
“Trust me,” I told him.
“Dot said the police thought you recognised the coat.”
“Did Dot say whether she thought I did too?”
“No,” said Steve.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Tell them what? What’s going on, Jessie?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I need to think. So if you didn’t mind looking out some twenty-eights, I’m going to slip away.”
There was an idea growing inside me, like some kind of toxic toadstool, but I couldn’t root it out. Dot had said something to me and when I called her on it, she’d toughed it out, counting on me not asking her to follow through. She’d slipped and she knew it. Then I shook myself. Dot? Dittery Dot? Dot lived in a bungalow in Thornhill with a Corgi. But still.
I took the camera with me. Round to Catherine Street, into the library. I didn’t have time to check for myself, so I went to the reference desk and asked the librarian there.
“Hi,” I said. “Listen, am I right in thinking that you keep press clippings?” He nodded. “So does that mean you go through the papers every day?” Another nod. “So if something had been in the news about Dumfries, you’d know, right?”
“If it was memorable enough,” he said. “I’m not the oracle.”
“Oh, you’d remember this,” I assured him. “Are there gangsters in town? Known gangsters?”
He laughed. He must have wondered why I couldn’t join him. “No, not that I can recall,” he said, clearing his throat.
“So there’s not been anything in the paper about real proper master gangsters?”
“Not in the Standard,” he told me. “Maybe the Marvel.” And he laughed again, at his own joke this time.
I thanked him and left, my head fizzing. However Dot knew about gangsters in town, it wasn’t from the paper like she’d said. She was in this. She had to be.
I hurried across the road to my flat. I’d told Kazek I’d be back in the evening, so I hoped I wouldn’t surprise him in the shower. But it was better to do it now. If the Timberland boot man was going to have me followed, he’d do it at four when the Project closed. This might be my last chance to drop in on Kazek safely, for a while anyway. Thinking that, I changed direction, went to the corner shop, and stocked up on milk, rolls, chocolate bars, big bags of crisps, some bacon and eggs. The girl behind the counter stared at me and couldn’t help her lip curling. I know, I know, I wanted to say. Only stoners buy bags and bags of junk food in corner shops in the middle of the day. But where would your business be without them?
Kazek was in the shower, but fully dressed, with the shower head in pieces on the floor of the bath. “Jessie-Pleasie?” he called.
“It’s me!” I called back.
“Broke. Fix,” said Kazek. “Come in.”
And then he explained very fast, with lots of pointing at the shower head, what I already knew: that the water only came out of one side and the hot and cold didn’t mix together properly. “Fix,” he said. He had my pathetic little collection of tools laid out on the slip mat. An adjustable spanner, a set of screwdrivers from out of a Christmas cracker, and a hammer and measuring tape in matching purple flowers that I’d got at work in the Secret Santa.
“Thank you,” I said. I held up the carrier bags and then went to the kitchen to put them away. He’d been busy in there too. The cheap cabinet doors that had slipped down on their hinges until they were all hanging crooked were all hanging straight again. And-was this even possible?-the wrinkles were gone from the vinyl flooring. I bent down and squinted along the length of it. There should have been ripples like in the mouth of a whale, but there was nothing.
“Fix,” he said, coming up behind me.
“How?” I asked him. He reached into the swing bin and pulled out a rolled-up strip of vinyl, then he showed me the line of tacks along the far end holding it down, screwing his face up in apology for the shoddy workmanship.
“I’ll let you off,” I said. “You lifted and relaid my lino?” I turned round and checked out the living room. “Haven’t hemmed the curtains yet, I see. Free-loader.” He caught my tone and smiled.
“Okayyyyyyy,” I said.
“Okayyyyyyy,” said Kazek.
I pulled the camera out of my bag, found the picture of the Timberland boot guy, and handed it over. I should have seen it coming. Kazek dropped it. Good hands though; he caught it before it hit the floor.
“Bad man,” he said. “Jamboree.”
“Let’s phone Ros’s sister.” I had to mime before he got me, but he got me in the end. I handed him the phone and watched while he punched in the number.
“Hello?” she said, when he passed the phone to me.
“Eva?” I said. “Hello. My name is Jessie Constable and I’m a friend of Kazek’s.”
“He told me,” she said. “He gave me a different number for you but no one answered, and then he called me yesterday. Thank you so much for taking care of him.”
“How do you know Kazek?” I asked, but she had her own priorities.
“Do you know where my sister is?”
“I don’t. I hoped you could tell me something that might help me find her. She left the place she was staying on Saturday.”
“She would never leave Kazek and Wojtek. Or worry me this way. Why has she not phoned me?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I really can’t say. But here’s a good thing. She took her stuff with her. Some of it anyway. She left deliberately. Packed and made plans.”
“She would not leave Kazek,” Eva repeated. “Why would she do that, eh?”
Now this was a problem. I didn’t know what her sister knew about Ros’s life, the possible Becky connection, the money, the kind of people Ros hung around with if Timberland Guy was one of them.
“Listen,” I said. “I showed Kazek a photo of someone,” I said. “I’m going to pass you over and I want you to ask the name. Okay? Ask who it is.” It only took a moment until I had her back again.
“Gary,” she said “Gang man. Does he know where Ros is?” Here she broke down into dry heaving sobs. I put my hand over the phone.
“Gary?” I said to Kazek, pointing at the camera. He nodded and crossed himself. “But who is he?” I said into the phone. Gary the Gangster? Didn’t seem likely. Thomas the Tank Engine. Larry the Lamb. And if Ros’s sister knew there was a gang mixed up in this, did she know about the money too?
“How does Ros know him?” I asked.
“She doesn’t,” the sister said. “Why would she know such a person?”
“Look,” I said, “I don’t want to worry you, but Wojtek is dead.” Her gasp made the line crackle. “And Kazek is terrified for his life. It’s true, even if he hasn’t told you. I can’t actually believe this is happening-and if you knew Dot, you’d know I’m not kidding-but Ros is involved somehow. A young woman killed herself. Not Ros, for God’s sake! Her friend Becky. So I really need to find Ros, because she’s the one who’s skipped and left all this behind her. She must know something.”