Blood Lines (32 page)

I walked out of the shadows and Joe introduced us to each other.

‘We’d better get going, Mike,’ he said as soon as the formalities were out of the way. ‘If anyone shows up, I don’t want it to be awkward for you. Just tell them that you gave it to us and let me worry about them.’

Reverend Campbell handed a white padded envelope over to Joe, who placed it under his arm. I noticed that it was unopened; the Reverend had kept his word to Tanya. Lucky for him, I thought, as we went out the back gate to the graveyard. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Duncan Bancho and Peggy Malone walking up the path towards the minister. Unseen, Joe and I ran as if the devil himself were after us. We knew that the Rag Doll was too obvious; there was only one person to go to.

Moses.

Hillside Crescent is a much underrated part of Edinburgh. Formerly, it was classed to be at the top of Leith Walk or Easter Road. In reality the architecture is much more akin to Carlton Crescent across the road. The houses there cost well over a million and have done for much longer than the current property boom. Moses bought his for a song when he was sixteen. I never did know where the finance came from, but now I suspect my grandad had a hand in it somewhere.

The flat – or lair – of the Dark Angels was unique. It resembled a film set. In a large drawing room to the front of the flat, the walls were lined with bunk-beds like the catacombs in Rome. The place was spotless. Moses was a neat freak and I’m sure that many teenage runaways who sought refuge with the Dark Angels found it easier to live on the streets than with Moses’ commandments.

The original Georgian door had been painted glossy black, and had a shiny brass door-knocker. For once I didn’t feel ashamed of my housewifery skills in comparison; whatever else Bobby, or Agnes, was, he was a damned good cleaner. After our meeting yesterday, Moses had brought him back to the lair so that we could decide what to do with him. Whoever the much-insulted Mr Big actually was, we knew that he was capable of a level of violence that few could match. I couldn’t even gut a dead fish, so that was me out of the picture. But I like to think smart. The attack on Alex Cattanach had given me an idea. I had asked Moses to get some sodium pentathol, which I intended to use in conjunction with hypnosis. I figured that Bobby would tell me all I needed to know without him suffering so much as a bleeding nose, as long as Kailash came good on her claim to be adept at putting people under. That was my hope anyway. However, that had to be put on the backburner for the time being, so that I could watch Tanya’s final present for me.

The Alchemist opened the door to me and Joe.

‘My trial’s up on Friday,’ he said without pleasantries. ‘I hope you’ve not been too busy trying to save your own arse to look after mine. The gear you asked Moses to get is in the fridge. Tell me if you’re taking it today. Moses makes me keep tabs on all the drugs I have on account of the Angels – sometimes the temptation is too much.’

We followed him into the large hallway. The black and white tiles were newly polished; not only did they shine but they were extremely slippery. I followed Joe to the shoe cupboard; we knew by now that Moses would expect us to take off our shoes. There were some plastic slipperettes available for guests but I refused to use them, even though Moses said the acid from my feet would stink his rugs. It was a point of principle. The slipperettes didn’t fit Joe’s feet, but I doubt that Moses would have the audacity to suggest he wore them, even if they did.

Bobby Burns sat in the corner and waved a hello as we walked in. That seemed very friendly, given our last meeting.

‘Valium,’ explained Kailash, who sat in the best seat in the house, a red velvet chaise longue.

‘He was being a right pain in the arse, shouting about kidnapping and everything. I’ve got enough problems with the neighbours without him adding to them,’ said Moses.

I nodded as if his behaviour was the most natural thing in the world. Moses abhorred chaos and violence in his home. Mozart played softly in the background, as he had read somewhere that listening to the composer increased your intelligence. ‘Easier than reading books,’ he said when I questioned him about his choice of music. Although he was trying – and succeeding – to educate himself, it was because he had been so badly let down by the state system that he was lacking in the first place. He hated having any obvious chink in his armour. My grandad was teaching him philosophy and he had taken to Nietzsche in particular. ‘That which does not kill us makes us stronger’ was written in gold italic script in his bedroom, the first thing he saw every morning when he awoke.

‘I had a helluva job getting my hands on a video, Brodie, everyone has DVD players now.’

The battered VCR looked out of place underneath the sixty-inch high-definition LCD screen that Moses had imported from the States. Three seats were arranged around it, as if for film magnates at a private screening.

‘What about him?’ I asked, nodding towards Bobby.

‘He’ll have to stay – he’s freaking out Angelina and she won’t have him anywhere near her,’ Moses answered.

Angelina ruled the roost. A plump girl of eighteen, she mothered them all. She had won her place by virtue of her cooking skills; we often swapped recipes and she had taught me techniques such as how to make a perfect soufflé. Moses had, at her request, sent her on a cookery course. I wondered what Nick Nairn and his middle-class cooks had made of her – if they had seen past the lip ring, black lipstick and spider tattoo, I’m sure that she would have bowled them over as much as she did us. I hoped Moses had the sense to shack up with her one day; although, somehow, I suspected it wouldn’t happen as the light of unrequited love burned in Angelina’s eyes every time she looked at him. All she had to do was drop three stones and he’d be eating out of her hand.

Angelina walked in carrying a large tray laden with freshly baked goods. Her shortbread was to die for. My hand shot out to grab some before she had even put the tray down. Angelina smiled; Moses and Joe looked askance.

‘It’s organic, fresh out of the oven, Brodie,’ she told me with pride as I took my first bite.

‘You have got to teach me how you get it so crisp.’

‘Don’t you dare, Angelina,’ interrupted Moses as we chatted without concern for what was really going on around us. ‘She’ll be like the side of a house before you know it. Unable to get into her leathers and then always late for court.’

Moses spoke for me. If Angelina was bothered by his remarks I couldn’t say, for she turned and left the room as silently as she had come in. Kailash surveyed her as she departed.

‘I’d keep that girl happy if I were you, Moses. She could be very useful – curves like that are always in demand, and I’d be happy to give her employment if you don’t watch your step.’

Through the closed door Angelina shouted: ‘Make sure that creepy bastard stays with you, Moses.’

Bobby smiled formlessly, unaware of what was going on. He had been hastily dressed before he left his flat in what looked like his mother’s trousers – navy blue polyester with a seam sewn in and an elasticated waist. Moses followed my eyes and answered my unspoken question.

‘I wasn’t wasting my time squeezing him into those skinny jeans.’

Joe, who had been fixing the video, nodded that it was ready. Moses stood up and pressed a remote control. The heavy gold-edged black curtains swung shut and the room became dark. Every cough and snuffle was amplified. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the pit of my stomach heaved and rolled as though I was on a trawler in a force ten gale. Moses interrupted the mood.

‘Before we start, I want to get this clear in my head. Angus McCoy said that Alex Cattanach was blackmailing the people in this video. Donna Diamond thought that Alex Cattanach was in the video and being blackmailed because of it. Then we have Tanya Hayder who has a copy of the video, she starred in it and admits she was going to blackmail people but hadn’t gotten around to it. What the fuck is going on?’

‘That’s what we want to find out, Moses,’ I answered, ‘So if you sit down and shut up Joe can switch it on.’

Joe pressed the button and ran back to his seat.

‘Is it on?’ a woman’s voice shouted from the screen. I recognised it. The knowledge of the name evaded me. It was on the tip of my tongue, irritating like a small piece of grit in my eye. I knew it was there but I could not put my finger on it. Which one of them was it?

The camera panned out around the room. A large desk occupied the centre of it. I could see the certificates on the wall but couldn’t read the names. Law books filled the shelves, but there was nothing so far that I could identify. A photograph on the desk; all we could see was the back of it. The cameraman was teasing us.

Tanya came into view, even prettier than when I had first known her. Pain stopped my heart. What a waste. She was dressed like the schoolgirl she was. The uniform certainly wasn’t that of her alma mater.

‘Get in beside Tanya,’ spoke a harsh voice, a voice that expected to be obeyed. Moira Campbell came creeping onto the screen, looking skinny and undernourished. Head bowed, her hair was cut in a plain schoolgirl bob. Every inch a minister’s daughter. The uniform she wore probably belonged to her.

Problems had already toughened Tanya. Her defences seemed so much stronger than Moira’s.

‘Wipe your nose – there’s snot dripping from it.’

I wondered why the voice didn’t tell Moira to wipe her tears? Were those part of the enjoyment? Tanya was stripping, as if for games. Moira stood still, head bent, shoulders stooped, holding her own hand. We could hear her crying. I knew without looking at him that Moses wouldn’t be able to watch this, it was too real to him, too much like the life he had known.

‘Get in there and help,’ the voice behind the camera shouted.

Bridget Nicholson, naked except for a schoolteacher’s gown, walked on set. My head reeled back as if I had been punched. Moses sat up and took interest. Bridget Nicholson proceeded to strip the crying girl, ignoring her tears. Tanya, now almost naked, eager to be the teacher’s pet, desperate to please, asked: ‘Do you want me to keep my socks on, or shall I take them off?’

‘Keep your socks on,’ the woman’s voice replied. I still didn’t know her. Was it Alex Cattanach? Donna Diamond said it was.

Had she been killed for that belief?

Chapter Forty-One

‘I know what you’re up to, Brodie McLennan!’ Joe shouted after me. ‘You don’t even know if she’s in,’ he continued.

‘Well, then, I’ll find her wherever she is.’

I was almost at the front door now. It was a very large impressive entrance. Stone urns stood to attention at either side, filled to overflowing with flowers in bloom.

‘Are you here to protect your girlfriend?’ I snarled as I rang the doorbell.

‘What the hell are you on about?’ He was a good liar; he actually sounded surprised.

‘It’s not the first time you’ve been here – I saw you. Moses and I saw you in her kitchen window. At least Bridget had the decency to wave.’

He grabbed me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him. I looked up at the windows to see if any neighbours were watching but the only sound was that damned birdsong. How had I ever found it enchanting? I rang the doorbell again, this time keeping my finger on it. I knew how irritating it was from my encounter with Duncan Bancho. I heard a rustling on the upper landing – someone was in and it sounded as if they were going to answer the door. Bridget obviously hadn’t seen it was me, or maybe the thought of Glasgow Joe was exciting enough to overcome the obvious drawback of my presence.

‘Where’s the bloody fire – I’m coming.’

Bridget was out of breath. I wondered what she had been up to. The question was answered soon enough. She opened the door wearing nothing but a towel, and I sniffed some middle-aged woman’s perfume – Shalimar or something equally unimaginative.

‘Haven’t you heard of making an appointment?’ she asked me.

She left the door open and walked back into her hallway. I took this as an invitation to enter. The wide oak floorboards were smooth and golden. She didn’t demand that I remove my shoes, unlike Moses. Joe followed closely behind me.

In spite of myself, I was excited that I was entering a house on Ann Street. Another childish goal achieved. However, I didn’t like the fact that Joe was with me, given that he was the only other living soul who knew of my obsession with this street. He watched me closely. I suspect he had more than one reason to.

Bridget walked up the curving staircase. It was elegant, reminiscent of
Gone with the Wind
, only smaller and more tasteful. A runner of red carpet went up the centre of each stair. On either side of the carpet was pristine white paint.

‘Agnes does a good job of your place,’ I shouted up to her. She ignored me but Joe shot me a warning look. My voice seemed to echo around the high hallway as a glass cupola showered light in. The atmosphere was peaceful elegance; no wonder Joe liked it.

Bridget walked into the kitchen. Opening the well-stocked stainless-steel American fridge, she pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne and filled three glasses. Additionally, she placed fat strawberries in a cut-glass bowl and offered me one alongside my champagne.

‘It adds to the flavour,’ she added helpfully, as if I’d never had champagne before.

Bridget’s blonde hair hung about her shoulders. Newly washed, it shone, and I could not in all honesty say that it looked like a skanky mane, even though I wanted to as usual. The thick white towel showed off her light golden tan, no doubt obtained from a tanning salon in Stockbridge. Her toenails were also professionally pedicured. What was this with me and women’s feet, was I becoming a foot fetishist? I was pleased to note the gnarly blue varicose veins that marred her otherwise attractive legs. At least I didn’t have those, and, if Kailash was anything to go by, I wouldn’t.

I sniffed the strawberry; it was deliciously ripe. Bridget hadn’t made the mistake of sticking them in the fridge and spoiling their flavour.