Blood Lines (20 page)

Donna was staring too.

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ she began, talking directly to Joe. ‘But what conditioner do you use? Your hair looks so soft and silky.’

Joe shifted uncomfortably, his size-thirteen leather boots hopped, as if the floor had suddenly become red hot. Donna was out of her chair in a flash. In her heels she matched Joe inch for inch – in some departments.

‘What a lovely shine it has.’ Her hand reached out to touch it. I was sure Joe was going to back away, but he stood like a patient Labrador being stroked by a dangerous toddler. His eyes implored me to intervene, but I was enjoying myself too much.

‘Don’t worry, Joe – I’m not going to pounce on you. I didn’t have the surgery because I was gay, I had it because I knew I needed to be a woman,’ Donna assured him.

I couldn’t deny it, the thought had crossed my mind. Not only was I politically incorrect, I was also bloody confused.

Donna was seated at her desk again and I hoped she was ready to tell me the story of her run-in with Alex Cattanach. Sadly, she wasn’t. Donna was in the mood to talk and talk about anything except what I was there to hear.

‘After the op,’ she went on, ‘I found that I was gay. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Joe, but I’m more likely to jump on Brodie’s bones than yours.’

Now it was my turn to squirm.

‘What about traffic wardens?’ I hissed.

‘I can afford the fine.’ He smiled that slow, infuriating smile of his.

‘So, that’s another thing you have in common with Alex,’ I went on.

‘What’s that? You’ve lost me, Brodie.’

‘Well, you and Alex are lesbian rugby players.’

‘I’ve told you that when I became Donna I lost interest in masculine pursuits. I can’t even bear to watch it on television.’

‘What went wrong? If Alex was one of the few people who understood your predicament, how come you’re on petition?’

Donna took a long sip of tea. Was she deliberating on whether or not to tell me?

‘Marjorie! Marjorie, darling! Come in here for a moment.’

The thudding sound on the floor told me that the long-suffering Marjorie was obeying the command.

‘What is it, dear?’ The smile on Marjorie’s face told me that she would have liked to have stuffed the pen she was holding up Donna’s nose. That happens in the best of relationships.

‘Our conversation last night – remember we discussed changing lawyers?’

Marjorie nodded obediently.

‘Well, I’ve decided to use Brodie’s firm.’

I squirmed and forced a smile upon my face. Anything Donna now told me was subject to client confidentiality and I couldn’t use it in my defence. Knowing this, why did I agree? Perhaps because preparing a defence is like untying the Gordian knot – untangling the first knot would let me know it could be done. If Donna did tell me anything, I could find another way of using it. My gut was singing and I knew she was the key.

Marjorie left the room, consigned to her lonely spot in reception beside a phone that was unlikely to ring, unless it was her mother.

‘Have you got a copy of your petition?’ I asked.

Donna reached into the top drawer of her desk and handed me a rather thin file. I tried not to look disappointed.

‘Is this all there is?’

Her eyes shifted from side to side and I could easily tell she was lying.

‘Yes.’

I had to accept her answer for the moment.

‘I see you were formerly represented by Bridget Nicholson?’

Joe groaned so loudly that Donna looked at him sharply and asked, ‘Is that a problem?’

‘No, it’s not a problem – but you’ll have to sign a mandate.’

Thankfully there was a copy of the petition on file.

‘You embezzled thirty thousand pounds from the Royal Bank of Scotland. That’s a pitiable sum really, Donna – why so little? McCoy at least took ten million.’

‘I don’t regard myself as in the same category as Mr McCoy,’ she threw back sniffily.

‘At least his theft was worth it. Unless you’re going to tell me Cattanach’s made a mistake – and I think we both know that whatever failings Alex had, ineptitude wasn’t one of them – why so little?’

‘This surgery isn’t cheap,’ Donna informed me. ‘Especially when you get it done twice.’

I was looking at her ample bosom as she spoke. I wasn’t sure why I was being so cruel – but there was something about her that really annoyed me.

‘When I started out down this path, money was no object. I was naïve, I didn’t foresee the effect this would have on my business but I prided myself on being a good lawyer and I thought at least some of my clients would remain loyal.’

‘Big mistake,’ I said. ‘Clients are rarely loyal.’

‘Too true – even my best friends took their business away. They acted as if transsexuality was a disease they would catch. Even to admit to having known me or been my friend would be tantamount to an admission of … well, homosexuality, really. They didn’t understand any of it.’

‘So, you had no money and you decided to steal it.’

‘I would have paid it back – but I didn’t get the chance. Alex came in on a routine inspection and noted the fraudulent loan application to the Royal Bank of Scotland.’

‘Was it worth it?’

‘Do you mean were the hours of electrolysis, the voice therapy, the hormone treatment worth it – or are you talking about the thirteen hours it took for a San Francisco surgeon to peel off my face, shave my brow bone, feminise my skull, shorten my chin and shave my Adam’s apple?’ she asked.

‘When you put it like that, Donna, getting your cock chopped off sounds easy.’ Joe smiled at her and broke the atmosphere.

‘I meant, was it worth losing your practising certificate?’ I brought the conversation back round again.

‘There was no choice. I had to do it.’

‘Did you attack Alex Cattanach?’ Unfortunately I already knew the answer I’d be given.

‘No – and if it hadn’t been for the routine inspection the loan would have been repaid. No one would have been any the wiser.’

‘So, Cattanach spoiled your plans?’

‘Unlike you, I’m not into revenge, Brodie.’

‘You think I attacked Alex Cattanach?’

‘If I did I wouldn’t be alone – but I’d say you probably have a lot of people on your little hate list; I don’t think you’d be the forgiving type exactly. Anyway, we all know that the firm’s in trouble and that you’re in the thick of it.’

She had a point, but it wasn’t one I wanted to listen to. Dragging Joe away from his newly found comfort zone, I left. None the wiser, and no closer to confirming my innocence.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Any little hope I might have had of finding Alex’s attacker and clearing my name quickly was extinguished after our visit to Donna. To ensure that the day wasn’t a complete write-off, I intended to pack a great deal in.

When you’ve a lot to accomplish, start with the one thing you don’t want to do. Which is why I found myself outside Edinburgh Sheriff Court at 11.30 a.m., waiting to go in and look for Bridget Nicholson.

‘Are you scared or something?’ asked Joe as he dropped me off. I wondered how quickly I could get rid of him. I didn’t need someone peering into my soul right now.

‘No – I was just thinking back to when I first qualified. I hung about here dreaming of shaping a successful career.’

He didn’t come back with the immediate reassurance I wanted. ‘Maybe you got it all too quickly, Brodie – in the past wee while you’ve hardly had time to draw breath.’

‘I’m a big girl now, Joe – if you ever actually thought I could take care of myself, you’d know that you can’t keep every bit of wind off my face. I’m okay. This is my turf. Why don’t you go? I’ll phone if something comes up.’

‘Well, if you’re sure you’re okay. The brewery’s delivering today and I want to be able to explain why we don’t need that much beer from them.’ The Rag Doll was always busy, but Joe could buy alcohol from the cash and carry cheaper than he could from the brewery. Naturally, the brewery didn’t like their profits going to someone else, so they tied publicans up in shitty contracts. A man like Joe had no qualms about breaching this; it was just sometimes he had to do some sweet-talking to get out of trouble.

‘Just go.’

‘I’ll leave you the trike. You give me the keys to the Fat Boy and I’ll fix the oil leak. How’s that?’ He handed me the keys with the beam of the Man Who Will Sort Things Out. I had a few men in my life who thought like that, but when push came to shove it was down to me to get my arse out of the fire. So I agreed with him, even though I hate driving the trike because it’s so conspicuous. Even worse, you don’t wear a helmet on one of those, and I was still trying to avoid seeing Duncan Bancho. The Sheriff Court was quiet. The hustle of the morning was over and all parties were settling into procedural matters. The security guards looked at me out of the corners of their eyes, probably afraid to say hello in case they had to arrest me later on. My bike boots thudded as I walked along the empty corridors. I may have been in trouble, but I didn’t want to announce my presence, so I tried to walk on my tiptoes, and that’s how Bridget Nicholson found me – creeping along the corridors like a thief in the night.

‘Brodie,’ she said calmly behind me.

I was caught short and had just enough time to force a smile onto my face as I turned. My cheeks hurt already.

‘Bridget – I was looking for you.’

‘That was nice, Brodie. I knew you’d understand that I needed to know about Alex.’

I pushed the mandate I had for her back into my pocket.

‘Yeah – well, I knew that you two were close.’

She held my eye steadily.

‘That woman was the love of my life for over two years. I seriously thought she was the one. We even talked about a civil partnership early next year.’

Well, that was one wedding I wouldn’t have been invited to. However, it was still interesting that Bridget knew enough to make her certain that the partnership would never happen. What did she need to know from me if she already had information about the state of Alex?

‘I would have phoned you, Bridget, but I wasn’t sure what reception I would get – you know, with the TV coverage.’

She stared at me before adding, ‘And the fact that the police have charged you with the attack.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘I know we haven’t always gotten along in the past, Brodie, but, actually, I don’t think you are anywhere near capable of attacking Alex like that.’

Bridget started to walk along the corridor as she finished her words. I had difficulty keeping up with her. I got the feeling she was running for cover and I wasn’t objecting. I didn’t want anyone else witnessing our little tête-à-tête. We stopped on the top corridor outside the agents’ room, staring out over the rooftops of Edinburgh. It never ceases to amaze me how many trees can grow in guttering.

‘My love for Alex was almost like a sickness, Brodie. Have you ever felt like that?’ Thankfully, Bridget didn’t actually want an answer. She wouldn’t have got one anyway. ‘She was everything I wanted, and she just dropped me.’

A large blob of snot dripped from her nose. She was too upset to do anything about it but I watched it dangle up and down as she breathed. I raked in my pockets and found my usual stock of grubby paper hankies. She wasn’t so upset that she didn’t notice that the one I offered her was rank.

‘Don’t worry, it’s clean,’ I assured her.

‘I just feel so guilty – there was such a bond between us and I can’t bear to see her like that. When I saw the television clips, the newspaper – do you think she’ll be upset? Can she feel upset? Did she mention me? Did she give you any message? Any sign?’

Bridget was beside herself, pulling at me for answers. If she was putting on a show, as I strongly suspected, she was doing bloody well.

‘Look, I don’t know what anyone has told you, Bridget, so I don’t really know what to say.’

‘Nothing – they’ve told me nothing because I’m not family. I am the only family she had! Her father’s dead and her mother is in a nursing home and thinks she’s seventeen. I need to know, Brodie. I need to know. I can’t pick up scraps from the media. I need to know.’

Why did she need to know? Because she had loved her? Because she still loved her? Or because she needed to know what clues, what evidence, Alex Cattanach was spewing out?

I had to tell her something.

Best to keep it to a something that I couldn’t be tripped up on at a later date.

‘I’m not an expert, Bridget, but it’s bad. It looked pretty bad to me.’ There was no point sugar-coating the little I did know.

‘Alex has Cotard’s Syndrome. It’s very rare. If you went to see her, she’d probably just think you were a ghost. The facial scarring she has? She looks as if she has been attacked by some really evil bastard. It’s dire – even worse than on telly. It really is much more serious than a simple nervous breakdown – they can’t give her tablets because they don’t work, not with Cotard’s. The doctor – Doctor MacPherson – told me they would start electric-shock treatment because sometimes that’s helpful.’

Bridget looked stunned.

I didn’t think she was acting this time, but I guessed, even if she was the perpetrator, the facts would still seem cold and shocking.

‘Thanks for telling me, Brodie – I know it wasn’t easy. I’ve got to pull myself together. I’m starting a trial in ten minutes.’

A silence fell between us. I felt a slight niggle of guilt over the fact that I hadn’t told her the complete truth about Alex self-harming and writing my name with her bodily fluids. I was just so pleased Bridget was being nice to me, that she thought I was innocent. Pathetic, I know; but sometimes we all yearn to be liked.

‘I’m sorry that we’ve been at loggerheads recently,’ I said rather pitifully.

‘It was my fault as much as yours,’ she graciously admitted. ‘Maybe I was just tetchy over the Alex situ ation. It doesn’t matter now; my star is rising.’

And yours is falling
. It was unsaid, but it lay between us like a brick wall.

‘I’m grateful for your help, Brodie – is there anything I can do for you?’

I shoved the mandate from Donna Diamond further back into my pocket. Why spoil a good thing? I searched around for something noncommittal to say. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve the name of a good cleaner?’