‘Yer right there, sir,’ said the fat one to my left. I assumed this was Kerr. The senior one always speaks first. White, on my right, sniggered into his hand and took another drag on his fag.
‘Sit down, Brodie. Sit down.’ He pointed at the wooden chair in front of his desk. I parked myself in it and found it was a couple of inches shorter than Silver’s. He looked down at me and smiled, or rather he turned the corners of his mouth up. The rest of his face said, I hate your guts, boy. He introduced his minions. I’d guessed right about which was which.
‘You know me, Brodie? From the old days, eh? I heard you were a good copper. Could have gone far. Why didn’t you?’
‘King and Country and all that.’ I bit off the ‘sir’ that came so treacherously to my tongue.
‘That’s not what I heard. I heard you didn’t like our style, how we did business round here. I heard you were a bleeding heart, Brodie.’
‘Let’s say I preferred to look for evidence, not plant it.’
The smirks and smiles left their faces. Silver’s close-set eyes bulged.
‘So, they were right. Is that what you’re up to now, Brodie? That’s what your girlfriend tried to imply, and now you’re coming it too?’
‘All I’m trying to do is get at the truth. I’m sure that’s what you’re after as well… Chief Inspector.’
He sighed. ‘Truth, is it? Is that what they taught you at Glasgow University, then? Fair turns a man’s head, all that learning. Let me tell you what truth is, boy. Truth is here.’ He pointed at his chest. ‘I know the truth when I see it. I saw the truth in Donovan’s eyes. He told me truly that he killed that wean. That’s the truth the jury heard. And that truth will leave him swinging on a rope.’ His lads either side were nodding their toadying heads off by this time.
‘If we’re all so keen on the truth, why did your pals here give different stories at the trial?’
Kerr and White glanced at each other and then looked poisonously at me.
DS Kerr jumped in. ‘It was just a misunderstanding, so it was. That clever lassie was trying to trip us up. We didnae get a chance to explain it right.’
‘Well, explain it to me then. One of you said Donovan confessed before you took him to the coal cellar. The other said it was after. Which was it?’ I challenged.
They looked down at Silver for guidance. He shrugged. Kerr started up.
‘It’s simple, so it is. Donovan confessed, then we took him to the crime scene for corroboration. Is that no right, Davy?’
Davy White nearly shook his head off agreeing with him. ‘Aye, that’s it. I just got confused with all that bloody woman’s talk. You ken what women are like. Always twisting what you say.’
‘Did the court look at your notebooks? You still keep notebooks, don’t you? Showing times and incidents?’
Again the furtive looks between them, before Silver cut in. ‘Of course the officers kept notes. They referred to them at the trial. But you know how it is, Brodie. Sometimes their scribbles need a bit of interpretation. They’re not all as clever or educated as you.’
‘You mean they hadn’t bothered to collude on their notes before the trial? It was such a watertight case, you didn’t think anyone would care?’
‘I think we’ve given you enough of our time, Brodie.’
‘Were the notebooks submitted as evidence?’
A cold look came over Silver’s face. ‘There was no need. The court accepted my officers’ statements.’
‘The defence didn’t. Can I see the books now?’
A look of near panic flitted over DC White’s face. Kerr was quicker to fight back. ‘No you fucking can’t, Brodie! Who do you think you are coming in here and questioning us! We should fling you in one of cells for a couple of days. Kick some sense into your thick skull.’
‘Glad to see things haven’t changed, Kerr. When in doubt, bang ’em up and gi’e them a good hiding, eh?’
Silver seemed to be trying to suck off his moustache. ‘Shut up, sergeant,’ he said to Kerr. ‘Time’s up, Brodie.’
I sat still. ‘I have a couple more questions. If I don’t get answers, we’ll go to the appeal judge and see if he’ll do better.’
Silver lit another fag even though the last one was still polluting the air. ‘Ask.’
‘You found the boy’s body on the Tuesday. Next morning you were round at Donovan’s, mob-handed. A tip-off?’
Silver looked down at his two fags, chose one and sucked on it. ‘A member of the public, is all I’m prepared to say.’
‘Phone call?’
Silver nodded.
‘Did you know this mysterious public-minded citizen? Was he one of your grasses?’
‘I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you, Brodie.’
‘OK. Where was the boy held before his body was found?’
Kerr butted in. ‘In Donovan’s flat, of course. He had him hidden.’
I pounced. ‘In a single-end? It would be like hiding an elephant under your hat. Can I talk to the constable who first searched the flat?’
Silver raised his hand to head off DS Kerr. ‘PC Robertson. A good man. Based at the Cumberland Street shop. But I hear he’s on leave. Sick leave. Convalescing down south somewhere.’ The forced smile stole back round his mouth.
‘That’s convenient.’
‘Your next question is your last.’
I could see he meant it. I decided to ginger things up a bit.
‘What will you do if another child goes missing, Silver? How will you explain that to the press? While an innocent man is rotting in prison or dangling from a rope? What then?’
Frowns rolled down his minions’ faces. Silver didn’t blink but he started turning his fag packet over on the desk. He shook his head. ‘You’ll always get a copycat out there, trying to make his name. You know that, Brodie.’
My anger boiled up. ‘So you’d find some other innocent fella and hang him! You’d go on hanging them one after the other till eventually it stopped!’
‘If need be, Brodie. If need be. And that’s the truth. Now will you be so good as to fuck off. See him out, sergeant.’
Punching his lights out wasn’t an option. Not yet. The two oafs were smirking again as I walked to the door. But I turned and looked back at Silver. His expression had sagged, become introspective. I hope – but doubted – I’d caused him a sleepless night or two. As the door closed behind me, I heard the distinctive sound of a bottle clinking against a glass. Celebration or steadying of nerves?
SEVENTEEN
I looked at my watch. Half past three. I had time for one more visit. Tobago Street runs north to south towards the river. Walking south I crossed Canning Street with its double tram tracks and pressed on into Glasgow Green, scene of many a violent gang battle and less violent romantic encounter. Though I suspect neither activity had featured in the original design by the genteel Victorians.
I walked past the deserted bandstand and along the Clyde path to the St Andrew’s Suspension Bridge. It connects with the eastern side of the Gorbals. I paused in the middle and lit up. I had two addresses in the Gorbals. One was Hugh’s, the other Fiona’s. I hung over the balustrade and watched the brown water rush underneath. The symbolism didn’t escape me. It was half my lifetime ago that I’d last seen her. What was she like now? Was her hair still as long and black? Had she kept her figure? Was there still an ember? I took a last drag then pinged the end into the river.
A ten-minute stroll through the regimented grid of run-down Victorian tenements and I was in Florence Street. Hugh’s old close was no different to any other I’d passed. Four storeys high and one entry serving eight flats, or houses, as they called them. Outside, a group of girls in grubby frocks and bare feet were playing peevers. They’d marked out the grid on the broken paving slabs and were using an old boot polish can as their marker. For a while I watched their agile young limbs hopping round the grid. A tableau of normality to draw on, to balance things out. It’s what we fought for wasn’t it? But nobody told us the price. The terror-filled nights. The three-day headaches, vomiting till your body felt like a jellyfish. The flashbacks: the landing craft door crashing down into the water, the heavy calibre shells ricocheting round the open tin coffin making mincemeat of your pals before they’d even got a shot off. The sound of bullets smacking into flesh. Of hard men sobbing with fear as a barrage continued for two days and nights without pause. And now this, now another image to be added to the stinking pile: a small naked body, sheet-white and gashed, abandoned like trash on a midden…