Blood Lines (21 page)

I had to say something.

She paused and thought for a while.

‘Actually, I do. I have a really good cleaner. Give me your number and I’ll get the firm he works for to call you. I think they’re called Fresh as a Daisy, or something naff like that.’

I reached into my left pocket where I kept my business cards that had my mobile number on them. The business cards in my right pocket had Lavender’s number – only the inner circle got the former.

‘Bridget! Bridget!’

The sound burned me even before I turned to see three Dark Angels placed at the end of the corridor. This sight was a pain in the arse for two reasons. Firstly, Dark Angels don’t appear in court, at least not this frequently. It meant that Moses had lost Duncan Bancho’s protection, so he couldn’t act as a buffer for me. Secondly, the Dark Angels formed the basis of my practice. It was a sign, if one were needed, that I had been wounded very badly.

A brave face was needed.

‘How’s it going, boys?’

They were young enough to flush with embarrassment. Bringing up the rear was the Alchemist. On his arm was Blind Bruce, as he would forever after be called. His handicap hadn’t improved his temper.

‘You’re a bastard, Brodie McLennan. You saw what happened but you’re just like the rest of these wee gobshites – you’ll say nothing for fear of upsetting Moses fucking Tierney.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Bruce.’

The Alchemist tried to keep him in line. I was desperate to get away. I didn’t want Bridget to ask me what he was talking about. I didn’t think I could lie if she asked me directly what I had seen. Blind Bruce had applied for criminal injuries compensation, but no one was likely to be convicted, and, because of his criminal record, he was on a hiding to nothing.

‘Where are you going, Brodie?’ he went on. ‘Don’t you have time to see a fucking good lawyer in action?’

Bridget did not have the grace to look embarrassed. I hoped that I would be a bigger person in her situation, but I’d already forgotten that I’d felt quite friendly towards her a moment before. The mandate burned a hole in my pocket, but to give it to her now would look churlish. I still wanted to, though.

‘Bruce, will you take a telling?’ interrupted the Alchemist. ‘If you carry on like this, Moses will have you out on your arse – and then where will you be?’

Bruce managed to hold his tongue. Heavy bandages covered his empty eye sockets. Strangely to me, he still wore the Dark Angels’ uniform. His nails were painted black, and they were perfect. Someone was taking good care of him. Blind Bruce defined Moses completely: Moses as the two-faced god. He took away Bruce’s old life and yet gave him another. I couldn’t justify his behaviour, but Blind Bruce looked cleaner and better cared for than he would have in an NHS hospital.

The Tannoy system broke into everyone’s thoughts.

‘Bridget Nicholson to Court Nine.’

‘I have to go, Brodie,’ she said. ‘Thanks for your help.’

The Dark Angels turned to follow her, creating a stir as they walked. As their long leather coats flapped in the breeze, they made Bridget look like an alternative Pied Piper.

‘Brodie! I need to see you,’ the Alchemist called back. He was obviously trying to ingratiate himself with Moses.

I didn’t have time for him at the moment.

‘Call Lavender and arrange a time.’

They all walked too fast for Blind Bruce, and he was left behind. I stayed still, watching them all, watching him, but not wanting to engage him as he traversed the corridor. He stumbled like an old man, his cane clicking on the floor. I didn’t take my eyes from him, not even for a second. It was a form of self-flagellation, though I don’t know why I had to do it to myself, given that there was a fucking queue waiting to kick me.

The sunshine hit me as soon as I got out of court.

A good day’s work.

I’d lost a livelihood but hopefully gained a cleaner.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘Jesus, Brodie – that’s loud enough to wake the dead.’

I pulled the trike to a stop outside the coffee box at the top of Leith Walk. It was half past one and I had time to kill before getting to my next appointment. Thank God Lizzie was already brewing the espresso. It was making me feel perkier every step closer I took.

Lizzie leaned out of the small police box that had been turned into a coffee kiosk and threw her arms around me. I felt my neck snap as she pulled me forward in a bear hug.

‘Ow, Lizzie – your ring is caught in my hair. God, it’s not another engagement one, is it?’

She tried to extract her finger painlessly from the coils and twisting spirals that my hair had turned into. As Lizzie fought to be free, I noted that she wasn’t answering the engagement comment. She probably couldn’t keep track.

She squinted her eyes at me in the sunshine. ‘I saw you on TV last night.’

‘You always knew I’d be a star, Lizzie.’

Lizzie turned to finish making my coffee; she had made me a macchiato just the way I liked it.

‘Your gorgeous mother stopped by this morning,’ she informed me. ‘She was asking if I’d seen you. Apparently she’s worried about what direction your life is going in.’

‘That’s some bloody cheek she’s got.’

‘I don’t know why you’re like that – I think she’s fab.’

I was relieved to see the next barista walking up the cobbled pedestrian area in front of St Mary’s Cathedral. I turned away from the coffee box a bit and over to the large statue of the hand with the locust upon it and sat down, carefully avoiding the insect. The coffee was reconnecting my system; I felt as though I could think straight. Even a short trip on the bike usually helped; the journey to Castle Huntly would definitely do me good as long as Lizzie didn’t try to come with me.

In the sunshine, the trike looked like something from the builder bike-off competition. The copious amounts of chrome gleamed. The paintwork was more expensive than that of a Porsche. The petrol tank was shaped like a coffin; it was a bugger to fill. I hoped Joe hadn’t left me short.

There was something entrancing about the warm wind on my face, despite the fact that I was heading to an appointment I didn’t really want to have. Even the fact that I would look like the scarecrow from
The Wizard
of Oz
was of no consequence compared to the sheer, sensuous pleasure of driving through the Scottish countryside on a summer’s afternoon.

The trike was not fast, so the scent of the fields reached me. It wasn’t idyllic – I had to face the smell of shit, the real odour of the countryside, assaulting my nostrils. The roads to Castle Huntly were clear and I made good time in spite of the lack of speed.

It looked almost like Cinderella’s castle in Disneyworld. I understood why the tabloids made such a fuss about the place – it didn’t seem quite real. As I drove in, the trike attracted a great deal of attention from the drugs barons and crooked accountants alike who made up most of the inmates of this low-security prison.

‘Oi! Would you mind keeping your eye on my trike?’ I shouted to a trustee who was supervising gardening duties. He nodded quickly enough, but the lascivious look he gave the trike put me on my guard.

‘Where are you from?’ I asked him.

‘Edinburgh,’ he replied. I waited for a bit more information. ‘Muirhouse,’ he eventually said.

Bull’s eye.

‘That trike belongs to Glasgow Joe – do you know him? He has the Rag Doll.’

No explanation was really necessary beyond Joe’s name. I could have left the keys with the trike and it still would have been there when I got out. I went on my way knowing that Joe’s toy was safe.

‘It’s like a holiday camp in here,’ I said when McCoy came out to see me a few minutes later.

‘My condolences, my dear. You must have frequented many substandard establishments.’

McCoy was dressed in a blue and green Paisley-patterned silk smoking jacket; on his feet were poncey velvet slippers that he’d probably got from Harrods. An open-necked shirt and a cravat convinced me that I was about to interview Noël Coward. He carried
The Times
under his arm, and I wondered who had ironed it for him. McCoy’s hair was grey, beautifully cut and slicked back.

‘So what brings you here, Miss McLennan?’

‘You know who I am?’

‘I have the pleasure of being a friend of your mother … and I watch the news.’

‘Should I be calling you “Uncle”?’

‘I said I was a friend of your mother’s, my dear, not a client. If it will put your mind at rest, I met her through Malcolm.’

Now we both knew where we stood.

‘How is he, by the way?’ continued McCoy. ‘I heard the silly old bugger had gotten in tow with a rapidly ageing dancer.’

‘You heard right. At the moment he’s recovering from a nose job.’

‘Silly girl, when will he learn? By the way, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, my dear, but my acquaintance with your family has not always been a happy one. Your father? One of the last sentences he handed out was mine. I came back from South America because my lawyer had promised me the deal of the century – two to four years. Your father gave me ten.’

I thought I’d be on thin ice if I said that the sentence was the one thing my father had done that I approved of. Instead, I made an encouraging noise of condolence.

‘I suppose you want my help clearing your name, Miss McLennan? But, tell me this – why the hell should I?’

The bitter old queen. I was sure he knew something, even if I didn’t know exactly what it was. If he wouldn’t talk, would it matter? He had been banged up for years, maybe he was out of the loop. I wasn’t sure but my intuition told me that he knew something.

‘I don’t know why you should help me – maybe because Malcolm and Kailash would like you to? Is there anything you want from me?’ I was willing to trade. ‘I’m not helping you escape,’ I added hastily.

‘My dear – even the most senior prison officers cannot put an exact number on the amount of inmates who escape from open prison, but they are prepared to admit that the number is in excess of seven hundred each year. You give me no credit if you think I could not get out of here if I so wished.’

I needed to get back on track.

‘You employed Robert Girvan?’

‘Yes, almost exclusively on a full-time basis, but now he’s working with Bridget Nicholson. She’s offered him a partnership, I believe.’

Fleetingly, a dark look crossed his eyes, then disappeared so quickly I wondered if it was my imagination.

‘If I share some information with you, we’re both agreed that you are in my debt?’ he asked.

‘You have my word,’ I quickly replied.

‘My dear, the word of a MacGregor may not be worth as much as you might hope. But give me your word as Kailash’s daughter and I will tell you what you need to know.’

I reached out and shook his hand. I refrained from spitting on it.

‘You know, of course, that Alex Cattanach is a lesbian? You may not know that she was once an alcoholic. She had great difficulty coming to terms with her sexuality. Alex is very together professionally, an absolute machine. I like to pride myself that no one else could have sent me down.’

‘Everyone knows Alex is a lesbian now, so she can’t have been getting blackmailed,’ I pointed out.

‘Correct, my dear – but what if she was the blackmailer?’

‘Upright, poker-up-her-arse Alex Cattanach would never be into that sort of thing.’

‘An unfortunate turn of phrase, my dear. She never utilised a poker in her private life, as far as I am aware, but she did have certain video evidence that was damaging to certain parties.’

‘Video?’

‘Pre-DVD. It’s an old, old scandal but still hot enough to have blown the parties’ lives apart.’

‘I know what a video is – could this one be hot enough to kill for?’

‘Most certainly,’ McCoy replied.

‘You know who it is, don’t you?’

He nodded.

‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’

He shook his head this time.

‘If you are as good as you think you are, you’ll find out, and if you’re not, then you’re safe,’ he told me.

‘Safe? You know better than anyone that I face a jail sentence and what that would be like.’

‘It’s better than Alex Cattanach’s life.’

‘True. You don’t have to tell me who it is in the video – just give me a few more details.’

‘You’re pushy, aren’t you?’ McCoy mused. ‘Still, you wouldn’t be Kailash’s daughter if you weren’t. The video was filmed several years ago in a solicitor’s office. It involves one of the “stars” in sexual acts with clients. The video was kept in a drawer in the solicitor’s office. Alex Cattanach found it and, as far as I know, threatened to act upon her information.’

McCoy stared at me, smiled, then turned and walked out. I was left flabbergasted – and extremely pissed off. That bastard could pick up the phone and clear my name right now.

But he wouldn’t, and he was clearly revelling in that.

McCoy may have claimed to be a friend of my mother, but, as he left, it was the continuing influence of my dead father that left me wondering.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘Don’t hog the whole bed, Brodie – shift over.’

I ignored what I thought was someone else’s voice, the remainder of a dream that I couldn’t pull from its edges. My bedroom was completely dark, thanks to the blackout blinds. I turned in my sleep, pulling more than half the duvet with me. I felt safe and cocooned. Lately, I hadn’t been sleeping well. I thought it might have something to do with the amount of booze I had been consuming, but I’d still rather blame the light nights or a lumpy mattress. Anyway, tonight I had resisted the temptation to drink myself a little way into slumber – and it must have worked. I had obviously fallen into a deep sleep because my dreams were certainly vivid.

I couldn’t get the dream back, but reality was kicking in.

I had gone to bed alone and now it definitely felt as if there was a man there.

‘I told you to shift over.’

Jack Deans prodded me none too gently, almost pushing me over the edge of the bed. I hung there precari ously whilst he settled himself. He had definitely not practised abstinence, the smell of whisky ran round my heart.