Blood Lines (10 page)

I lingered for a long time at the front door. Long enough to become embarrassingly aware of the signs of neglect. The black gloss paint was starting to peel and the ornate brass door-knocker was tarnished. I ran my finger around the outsized lion’s head. It was an original Georgian feature. As I stared at it I expected it to speak to me, warn me to mend my ways.

The twitching of my neighbour’s curtains was all the encouragement I needed. I had entertained them enough for one day. I followed the smell of hot coffee and cigarette smoke into the drawing room. It was in darkness, the curtains still drawn from when I’d got up that morning after my night in the cells, lit by a single red tip. As my eyes adjusted, they followed the cigarette to the lips of Kailash.

Rather than open the curtains, I switched the main chandelier light on, hoping it would hurt her eyes or, at least, make her feel less at home.

‘How did you get in?’ I snapped at her.

‘Is that any way to speak to your mother?’ she shot back.

In the harsh light Kailash appeared shattered and, for the first time, I noticed the fine lines around her eyes. She was vulnerable. The disadvantage I had in being an only child was that I knew I had put that look in her eyes. Motherhood was a lot easier for Kailash to get into than it was for her to get out of. I could have kicked myself for even letting that thought into my mind, remembering too late that my mother had been repeatedly raped by a paedophile before giving birth to me and signing her own expected death sentence. I couldn’t deal with the guilt I felt – so I did what I always do when I am uncomfortable about facing emotions. I attack – the best form of defence.

‘You didn’t answer my question – how did you get in here?’

The tone of my voice cut into her. I thought I had never seen her so exposed.

‘Don’t be so bloody naïve, Brodie – your inexperience is hurting us all.’

Kailash stood up and stubbed out her cigarette. She had only taken a couple of draws on it and the long stem broke in half before she crushed it beneath her fingers. Leaning against the mantelpiece, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

Her tone changed slightly, becoming about a millionth of a degree warmer. ‘Brodie – when did you last change the locks on your front door? You don’t have a burglar alarm. How many people have had access to your keys since you moved in here? Do you know the lock on that front door was so loose I could have put my shoulder to it and it would have caved in?’

‘What is this? Twenty questions? I know we’ve missed a few Christmases together, Kailash, but …’

‘You think you’re invincible,’ she cut in. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you – you’re not. A life can be bought in this city for less than four grand.’

I didn’t want to ask how she knew.

‘How much do you think it would cost to get your hands on a set of keys for any flat? Within six degrees you know anyone in this world. It’s a whole lot less in Edinburgh. Everybody knows your business – especially if you’re not careful. And you, Brodie, you’re not careful one little bit.’

Kailash left me to think about what she had just said, and I was reluctantly forced to follow her out of the drawing room. Her scent lingered in the air; an expensive handmade perfume whose basis seemed to be attar of roses. Like Coco Chanel before her, my birth mother believed that without perfume a woman was not complete. The odour of bike oil was not, in her opinion, an adequate substitute.

A strange nasal sound was emanating from my kitchen. Undulating notes carried along the long hallway – I strained to make out the words. Jesus Christ, who was murdering Dolly Parton beside my kettle? I had gone right off the woman since finding an odd CD of her in Frank Pearson’s flat last year. What I eventually discovered inside back then was a damn sight more unnerving than an inflated blonde pygmy wearing cowboy boots. Mind you, Dolly herself couldn’t have looked more kitsch than the current singer of her song.

‘Tell me who did that to you, Malcolm, and we’ll set Glasgow Joe on him,’ I laughed.

‘Very funny, Brodie – it’s lovely to see you too.’ He self-consciously touched the cast over his nose that had appeared since I last saw him. Ever since he had taken up with a younger man, Malcolm had taken every opportunity to ‘freshen’ himself up. Derek was a dancer getting to the end of his performing career. I personally thought he viewed Malcolm as a meal ticket, but he was happy, so who was I to throw a bucket of cold water on his romance with vile Derek?

‘Derek’s down in Blackpool finishing out the summer season, so I thought why not? As you get older your nose doesn’t stop growing I don’t think – every time I looked in the mirror I saw bloody Pinocchio staring back at me. So enough was enough – after all, a girl’s got to take care of herself. Speaking of which, this place is a bloody disgrace. If you can’t clean it yourself, Brodie, get a woman in.’

Malcolm turned his attention to my bin and started furiously scrubbing the tomato sauce off the lid. Tutting all the whilst under his breath, satisfied that he could see his face in the stainless steel, he peeled off his novelty rubber gloves.

‘Aren’t they divine?’ he asked me as he saw me staring. ‘An early birthday present from Derek.’

He lovingly placed the deep pink gloves with black marabou trim around the wrist and a fake diamond ring onto the countertop. Switching on the kettle he trilled, ‘Anyone for tea?’ Malcolm in love was a sight to behold. Then again, weren’t we all?

I nodded at his offer of a cuppa. At last, someone to make me a cup. In that instance I envied the relationship between Kailash and Malcolm – not even vile Derek could stop Malcolm’s love for her.

The kitchen was sparkling. Thankfully Malcolm had brought his own cleaning products, presumably when he had decided to come with Kailash to the tip I called home, and hadn’t had to rely on the unopened tub of ancient scourer that lurked beneath the dishcloths. He’d done a great job – and the unexpected bonus was that it was easier to talk to Kailash’s reflection in the window than the real thing.

Her black hair hung like a waterfall to her shoulders and a pale cream jersey dress sheathed her body, showing exactly why she had made so much money in her chosen profession. I stared at her face, hoping to find some resemblance in the tilt of her ears or the shape of her mouth, but all I could focus on was Sheriff Harrison’s words that I resembled my father.

‘Why are you here?’ I asked, hoping she would simply say she wanted to see me, to check that I was all right.

‘Moses asked me to bring the money for the Alchemist’s trial.’ She reached into her chilli-red Gucci handbag and threw five thousand pounds in well-used, grubby notes onto the table. Malcolm pushed aside the money and placed two china cups and saucers there.

I looked at them wistfully. ‘I’d forgotten I had them.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ replied Malcolm. ‘They were buried at the back of the press.’

I fingered the cup lovingly.

‘They belonged to my mother; she only used them on special occasions. They were far too good for us, so she kept them for visitors.’

I could never understand that aspect of Mary McLennan. The woman had raised me and worked herself to death for me. I used to tell her she would be the best-dressed corpse in the cemetery because at last she would be wearing the clothes she kept for best. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Malcolm reach across and touch Kailash’s forearm.

She pointed to the money on the table.

‘Aren’t you going to count it?’ she snapped.

‘For Christ’s sake, Kailash, if I can’t trust you, who can I trust?’ Malcolm made a grand cup of tea and I slurped it greedily, uncomfortably aware that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

‘No one, Brodie. You can trust no one. But that …’ she pointed to the cash again, ‘you haven’t even given me a receipt for it – and that’s not trust, it’s laziness. No wonder Cattanach was investigating you.’

I gulped down the last of the tea before tackling her.

‘Since you know everything, you tell me why Cattanach is so keen to bust me. I know I’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, I think Cattanach has been put up to it by Bridget Nicholson.’

‘Alex Cattanach was honourable – get it into your head that Cattanach’s principles could not be bought and sold. So what if Alex made a mistake? It was a mistake based on something tangible.’

‘Like what?’

Kailash paused before she began speaking again. ‘Tymar Productions. What does that mean to you?’

‘Nothing, I’ve never heard of it.’

Kailash stared at me.

‘Really. I’ve no idea.’

I was telling the truth, but I also had a knot in my stomach which suggested that it was memory lagging behind rather than being completely ignorant. Something was niggling, I just didn’t know what.

‘Well, if you read the papers you’d know that Cattanach was looking for details of that company to link you to money laundering. You know as well as I do that Cattanach believed a partner in a law firm isn’t tempted by client funds when the bank balance is healthy, but if it’s over-extended at the bank and it’s difficult for lawyers to meet the standard of living they have become used to …’

‘Like Lothian and St Clair?’

‘Exactly – like Lothian and St Clair. Remember, Alex Cattanach had seen your books. The rest of the fools in the Edinburgh Bar think you’re making a fortune.’

‘So Cattanach thinks I fit the profile for a crooked lawyer?’

‘Let’s not fool ourselves, Brodie. You do. Your connection with me doesn’t help – and by the way you are the only person still talking about Cattanach in the present tense. The murder investigation is hotting up. It’s on
Crimewatch UK
this week, and the police won’t want to be shown slacking after that.’

Kailash began to clear the money off the table and back into her bag. I stifled a protest.

‘You need help, Brodie. You didn’t give me a receipt, you didn’t even think of it. How would you have explained five thousand in cash to the Law Society? You haven’t followed a single one of their accounting rules.’

I desperately needed another cup of tea. The cup Malcolm had given me, though pretty, was just too damned small, as I was used to huge mugs that satisfied my caffeine requirement. I reached out for it anyway but Malcolm was fiddling with it. He had it turned upside down and was twisting it round three times in an anti-clockwise direction. Picking it up, he held it to the light and peered into it. I got up and stood behind his shoulder. All I saw was a jumble of tea leaves.

‘There are six powerful men in your life – like snakes all messed up and writhing to get out on top,’ he intoned.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Malcolm, but there are two and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s two too many.’

‘Your cup definitely shows six, Brodie. They’re not all your friends. You need to beware – especially of the friends acting in your best interest but making mistakes. That could cost you dear.’

‘Have you been encouraging Lavender?’ I asked.

‘I have indeed. She told me you were a sceptic, which is nothing I didn’t already know. Stop trying to change the subject and listen. God knows, by the look of this cup you need all the help you can get. Your danger doesn’t truly come from the men in your life, but the women. I see two who are troublesome to you.’

I looked over to my mother. ‘Does that include Kailash?’

‘I don’t know details, Brodie – I just see that there are two women who are problematic.’

If Kailash was hurt, she concealed it well. I resolved to learn that lesson from her.

‘Enough of tea leaves,’ she declared. ‘Take this.’

It was a cheque for five thousand pounds drawn on a company bank account for The Rijks Property Company. My surprise at the name must have shown in my face. The poker countenance obviously required a bit of work.

Kailash took a deep breath as she looked at me. Her gaze then turned away to Malcolm, who immediately came forward to hold her hand as she spoke.

‘After you were born, Brodie, I escaped to Amsterdam. Your grandfather had taken me to Newcastle originally, but he was the father of the bastard who had raped me for years – how could I trust him? I stole away and hitchhiked on a lorry doing the ferry crossing. I had to pay – I didn’t have any money, but I knew the currency men traded in. I didn’t know then that your grandfather was watching me from a safe distance – but safety wasn’t exactly what I found myself in. Thirteen and living by my wits? It wasn’t easy.’

That was some understatement. I knew that Kailash had been whoring herself out since then – the only difference now being that she was in charge. When Malcolm first met her she was one of the many skinny wee things he was employed to patch up and send out onto the streets again. When Kailash left, Malcolm did too.

It made my troubles seem petty.

Kailash looked uncomfortable with her confession, or maybe I was, and we didn’t make eye contact. Anyway, it was less painful to look at her feet. She wore Jimmy Choos, as always. Maybe her love of luxury wasn’t so indulgent after all. As usual, her foot tapped a restless rhythm, as if it would be dangerous to stay in the one spot too long. She cleared her throat and brought me out of my daydream.

‘There wasn’t a lot of beauty in my life then, and I found a nicer class of client basked in the company of Rembrandt. For turning my life around, I will always be grateful to the Rijksmuseum.’

‘Hence the name?’

Kailash didn’t add anything. I felt even guiltier that she had wanted to share her story with me, but I didn’t feel ready to deal with the burden of her pain. The atmosphere lay heavily between us.

Malcolm made mutterings of disappointment as he collected their coats and held the front door open for her. If he’d expected an emotional reunion with me calling her ‘Mummy’ he would have to leave dissatisfied.

Kailash turned to face me just before she left.

‘Why won’t you do it, Brodie? Why won’t you ask for my help?’

I gave her a look that Mary McLennan used to describe as silent insolence. I didn’t see her hand move but I felt it when it slapped my cheek. Tears of frustration ran down her face.

‘There is no need for any of this,’ she hissed. ‘You know I would give you the money to pay off Roddie Buchanan’s debts, to get you out of anything.’