Cold Grave (31 page)

She couldn’t see Danny at first but then he stepped out from one of the building’s sepulchral shadows and through the throng towards her. There were people buzzing left, right and centre, shopping bags flying like weapons, but they simply bounced off Danny and on to their next victim as he strode forward to greet her with a hug.

‘Can you believe all these people?’ he asked. ‘Have they nothing better to do than shop, eat and drink?’

‘I don’t think they do. Come on, let’s walk down Byres Road.’

Narey slipped her arm through Danny’s and they turned back onto the west end’s main thoroughfare. Oran Mor meant ‘the great melody of life’ in Gaelic and it had often occurred to Narey that the phrase applied equally well to Byres Road. It was the heart of the west end and home to some of its best pubs and shops. It was largely void of the global conglomerates that homogenised the city centre and instead let local businesses flourish, producing a quirky mix you didn’t get anywhere else. The eclectic mix didn’t apply just to the shops; students, arty types, boiler suits, middle-class mums and flat caps all strolled together cheek by jowl down its length.

‘I don’t know how you can live here, Rachel,’ Danny muttered. ‘It would do my head in. Having a couple of thousand people constantly living on your doorstep isn’t my idea of fun.’

‘Don’t be such an old grouch,’ she laughed. ‘You’re sounding as bad as Tony. I love it. There’s always a buzz along here and you’re in the heart of it all. Sometimes I just stand at the window of my flat and watch them all going by. You see some sights.’

‘Aye, I bet you do. But if I wanted to see a circus, I’d buy a ticket. It’s not even as if these clowns are funny.’

‘Some of them are.’

‘Aye, okay,’ Danny’s grumpy expression as he eased her between oncoming bodies suggested he didn’t entirely agree. ‘So did you get anything from Greg Deans’ home computer?’

‘Not a lot. Sure enough, the email was there from Justice, identical to the one you found on Paton’s PC. The follow-up saying they had to pay was sent to them separately but the messages said much the same thing. There was an email back from Deans asking who was emailing him but strangely enough the blackmailer didn’t want to tell him. Deans, gutted that his brilliant plan to uncover the fraudster didn’t work, told him to go do one. Unbelievably, that didn’t work either.’

‘And they let these bloody eejits teach kids? Did you get anything else?’

‘Nope. Nothing incriminating at all but we’ve taken it away and the hunchbacks in forensics are going to go over it to see if he’s left any fingerprints deleting anything.’

‘Right, well I won’t pretend I’ve any idea what that means except I guess it backs up his story.’

‘It does. I’m still going to do him for something before this is finished though — assuming he lives that long. So what is it you’ve got?’

They were passing Hillhead station and a teenager was sitting on the ground in front of them, a folded newspaper keeping his bum from the snow, playing ‘Baker Street’ on the saxophone. He was very good but Danny still looked down at him as if he should be at school learning quadratic equations.

‘See what I mean,’ he told Narey. ‘Unfunny clowns.’

‘I’m not sure he was trying to be funny, Danny.’

‘Anyway, I’ve put out some feelers about Kyle Irving and got some feedback about the man’s finances.’

‘I’m not going to ask where you got this.’

‘No, you’re not. It seems that however many clients Irving has, it’s not paying the bills. That big old house in the south side comes with a hefty mortgage and he’s way behind on it. Losing the place is a definite possibility.’

They’d stopped at the lights opposite Tennents Bar, where Highburgh Road became University Avenue, officially the biggest pain in the bum set of traffic lights in the city. Narey’s flat was opposite Tennents but, despite the fluttering snow, she didn’t want to go inside yet.

‘Let’s keep going,’ she told Danny. ‘And you keep telling me about Irving. By the time these bloody lights let us cross I should know everything.’

‘Well, our man Irving isn’t exactly rolling in the ill-gotten gains of his psychobabble. He’s behind on his car too and that big Saab might be going back whence it came. If it does, then he’ll struggle to get much of a motor right now as his credit rating is shot to hell. From everything I’m being told, Irving is officially skint.’

‘No question of any of this being wrong, I take it?’

‘None whatsoever. Let’s just say that the info is so sound you could take it to the bank.’

‘Right… It fits with the vibe I got when I went to his house. I definitely got a sense of financial struggles when I was at his place. He barely had any heating on, even though it was below freezing outside.’

The green man had appeared at last and they crossed further down Byres Road, Narey just avoiding a cyclist who was apparently colour blind or just didn’t give a toss. There were a few people sitting at a table outside the Blind Pig despite the fact that it was cold enough to make brass monkeys distinctly uncomfortable. No weather seemed to be too cold to stop smokers from freezing their own balls off.

‘So any suggestions as to why Irving is broke?’ she asked Danny.

He shrugged. ‘My guess is the ex-wife has rooked him but I don’t know for sure. I also had someone tell me Irving likes a bet, lots of bets. I don’t suppose it matters — bottom line is the guy has no money.’

‘Having no money makes people desperate.’

‘It certainly can do.’

They walked in silence past the Western, Narey still hanging onto Danny’s arm. Thoughts of Deans being patched up in A&E after being thrown down the stairs at The Rock flooded through her head but she still couldn’t dredge up any sympathy for him no matter how hard she tried.

‘So how’s your dad doing?’

‘He won’t get any better, Danny.’

‘Let me put it another way. How are you doing?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Rachel, you’re a lot better at asking questions than you are at answering them. I asked how you were.’

‘I heard you.’

‘Christ, you’re hard work. No wonder Tony’s so bloody miserable all the time.’

‘Hey,’ she laughed. ‘And he’s not miserable all the time.’

‘No, he’s a barrel of laughs, our Tony. Listen, love, I know better than anyone how hard it hit him when his mum and dad died but he should be past that by now. It’s not healthy for him to be so bloody morose. He should have been an undertaker rather than a photographer.’

Narey punched him on the arm.

‘Leave him alone, Danny. Like you said, you know better than anyone that he’s not had things easy. Okay, so he deals with it in his own way but I think it’s… cute.’

‘Cute? Did you think Saddam Hussein was a wee bit cheeky or Fred West was adorable in a homicidal kind of way?’

She arched her eyebrows at him reproachfully. ‘Out of order, Danny, even as a joke.’

‘I love the boy, Rachel. You know that. He’s like a son to me. He can photograph every dead body from here to Timbuktu if he wants — as long as he’s happy in his miserableness. And I reckon you make him happy.’

Narey said nothing, just looked at her feet as they kicked through the dirty snow. There weren’t as many people down at the far end of the street; fewer shops equalled fewer crowds. She glanced across the road at the University Café and contemplated the benefits of a cup of tea, a plate of homemade lasagne and a chocolate snowball. She tugged on Danny’s arm and, seeing no traffic, dragged him across the road.

The University Café was one of her favourite places in the city, virtually unchanged from when it had opened nearly a hundred years before and owned by the same family, the Verrecchias, from day one. As soon as they pushed through the doors, they were assaulted with heat and steam and the smell of food on the go. It was a mostly studenty crowd that was in and Narey smiled to herself at Danny’s mock dis approval. There was space in the corner at one of the narrow Formica tables and she sat at one of the flip-down red vinyl seats and patted the one next to her, knowing full well that he’d pretend to be put out.

She opted for the lasagne and Danny ordered a fish supper on her recommendation. The students on the table next to them seemed to think it was still morning — maybe for them it was; fry-ups and breakfast rolls were the order of the day.

‘So does he make you happy as well?’ Danny asked her as if the previous conversation had never ended.

‘Can I ask you something, Danny?’ she replied.

‘Sure.’

‘Our neighbour there,’ she nodded towards the student nearest them, ‘has a morning roll with a sausage in it, right? So in the west of Scotland vernacular that is obviously a “roll ’n’ sausage”. My question to you is: does that mean a “roll and sausage”, a “roll on sausage” or a “roll in sausage”? I’ve never been sure.’

Danny shook his head at her.

‘That is one of those questions to which there is no definitive answer, like “Is there life on Mars?” or “Why do women talk so much shite?”. The sausage is in the roll not on it so it has to be a “roll and sausage”. But stop avoiding the question: does Tony make you happy?’

She let her head fall back against the wood-panelled wall, narrowly avoiding one of the tall jars of old-fashioned sweets that were dotted around.

‘Yes, I think.’

‘Good, I think. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I’d suggest you remember that with all this crap that’s going on. And before you bite my head off, there’s something else you should remember.’

‘I do mind but okay. What else should I remember?’

‘You.’

She made a face but Danny ploughed on regardless.

‘I ask how your dad is and you say he won’t get better. I ask how you are and you say you’ll be fine, as if you don’t matter, as if it’s all about your dad. Is that right?’

‘Listen, Danny…’

‘No,
you
listen. I’ll answer the question for you: it’s not right. It isn’t right at all. And I know that because I’ve got a better idea of how your dad would feel about it than you have. Do you really think he’d agree that you don’t matter?’

A waitress slipped a steaming plate in front of each of them. Rachel smiled her thanks and waited for the girl to leave.

‘Gimme peace, Danny. And stop trying to psychoanalyse me. I’ll deal with my dad in my own way and my own time.’

‘And how is that going to affect you and Tony?’

‘Pass the salt.’

‘Okay, two final things. First, your dad wouldn’t thank you for doing anything that would make you unhappy. Secondly, you really need to use less salt. It’ll fuck up your arteries.’

Narey sprinkled more salt on her lasagne, paused to stick two fingers up to Danny, then sprinkled on some more.

This time when Winter and Danny drove back into Bridgend Caravan Park, they knew just where to head. Danny parked outside Tommy Baillie’s home, recognising the bashed car that sat beside it. The snow piled on top suggested that neither it nor Baillie had gone anywhere for days.

Their exit from their own car attracted the attention of a yelping dog, a brown and white mongrel that seemed unperturbed by the cold or the snow. The barking brought the wary head of Tommy Baillie to the caravan window and he nodded to his visitors before opening the door to greet them.

‘Come away in,’ he told the two men. ‘Far too cold to be standing
avri
on a doorstep. The chill’s going right through my old bones. Not seen weather like this in years.’

They followed Baillie inside, immediately grateful for the warmth of the caravan, and accepted his invitation to take a seat. The old man had a pipe on the go, puffing it contentedly as he waited for his guests to settle themselves.

‘So you have some news of young Sam, I hope, gentlemen.’

‘We have,’ Danny agreed. ‘But it’s not…’

Before Danny could go any further, he was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door and, the stocky figure of Jered Dunbar walked in without waiting for an answer. Closing the door behind him, he stood and glared at the visitors in his usual sullen and threatening fashion.

‘Uncle,’ he nodded at Baillie.

‘Relax, Jered,’ Baillie told him. ‘Gentlemen have just come to let us know what they learned about cousin Sam and his activities in Glasgow.’

Jered stood grudgingly by the door, accepting the old man’s counsel to relax but still obviously on edge.

‘And to get some information in return,’ Danny reminded Baillie. ‘This arrangement was to benefit both parties, Mr Baillie.’

A flicker of a smile crossed the man’s mouth as he nodded in agreement.

‘Ah, yes, your long-lost girl. A proper sadness that was and all. I think it is only right we help each other after such a terrible thing, Mr Neilson.’

Danny levelled Baillie with a hard stare.

‘Yes, except the help you were offering us was a load of old bollocks.’

Jered immediately took a step forward, anger blazing in his dark eyes, but Danny wasn’t fazed for a second.

‘Cool your jets, son,’ he growled dismissively. ‘The grown-ups are talking. Listen and you might learn something.’

Jered looked towards Baillie, who nodded quietly, and the younger man fell back against the caravan door, still bristling with resentment.

‘I think Jered was a bit perturbed by your rudeness, Mr Neilson. He’s not used to guests talking in such a manner. Explain yourself, please.’

‘My pleasure. We’ve gone out of our way to find out what your boy Sam has been up to. And what we’ve discovered is very interesting indeed.’

Danny saw the looks that flashed between Baillie and Jered.

‘And it was our intention to pass this information on to you,’ he continued. ‘But now we learn you aren’t going to be keeping your side of the bargain — because you can’t. The girl who died wasn’t a runaway gypsy bride and there wasn’t any sort of honour killing.’