The Sin Bin (3 page)

'Calm down, man, all I want is a little
confirmation.'

'By the holy, it's my bollocks in a jar
yeer after! I'm certain of it.'

I let him settle, grab a hold of
himself, said, 'It's definitely the blue Micra ... the reg
'
ends in KLP?'

'Jeez, didn't I tell ye it was?' The
Jamieson we'd tanned over lunch was rising in him, brought out some more Irish,
'It is her and that's that ... why are ye doubting me?'

I could see the nurse by the car, she
was chatting with a young lad of about twenty, the blue shirt a giveaway that
he was also a member of staff.

'It's just I have her in my sights, and
well, we've already spoken and she was none too keen on filling me in.'

'Dury, I have no such qualms, I will
gladly come down there and fill ye the feck in if I hear one more word out of
ye. I cannot believe you would call ...'

I hung up.  

If this was our one, there was no
choice. I let her wave off her co-worker and headed for her car.

The Micra had central locking, I opened
the passenger door and got inside.

'Hello again.'

She looked, there's a phrase, shook. 'What
are you doing here?'

'Don't worry, I'm no mentaller. I want
to talk to you about Caroline Urquhart and don't play coy, I know you treated
her when she came to the Royal.'

'Get out of my car.'

'Look, lady, I don't care what you
think of me but that girl and her baby need help, now either you're going to be
the one to help her or we're relying on someone else out there being a very
good Samaritan.'

She fiddled with the keys in her hand.
She looked at me, in the eye, then averted her gaze back towards the hospital
car park. A sigh, 'I haven't seen her in weeks.'

'How many?'

'Two, three ... maybe a bit longer. She's
due, you realise.'

'What,
now
?'

'Very soon. I have to admit, I've been
a bit worried, she gave us an address for a place down in Leith and I went
there, twice now, but it's boarded up. I don't think anyone is living there.'

'Did she have any associates?'

The nurse's top lip twitched uneasily,
she looked out the window again, 'There was a boy, erm, he was a bit ... rough.'

'How do you mean?'

'Rough, rough. He was tattooed from
head to toe and I think he had beaten her.'

'Beaten?'

'There was a black eye once and a few
cuts on her face.'

'The baby?'

'Healthy. I think the child was fine,
it was just male dominance issues.'

'Backhanders.'

She nodded.

'This guy, you know anything about him?'

'No. I don't think he had a job. I
think he was wary of Caroline coming to the hospital. I know he had told her
that he thought we suspected he beat her and ... look, I really can't tell you
any more.'

I took out my notebook, 'Just let me
have the address and I'll be on my way.'

****

I grew up in Leith. Parts of the
place, now, I hardly recognised. There was chrome and glass eyesores springing
up every week it seemed. When my brother and I were young enough to go bikes we
played boneshaker over the cobbles. I couldn't see any kids nowadays doing
that, unless you can get it on the Nintendo Wii.

I found the address quickly. This part
of town, the developers had left well alone. Give them a few more months, there'll
be bulldozers in. Then the chrome and glass.

The stairwell was covered in graffiti.
Tagging, mainly. You get your school of thought that this kinda thing ruins an
area; me, I say, how much worse can they make it? Scrubbing it off
'
s only turd polishing.

The landing smelled of piss. Even with
all the windows panned in, the piss was still rank enough to make me want to
chuck. I stuck my face behind my jacket and waded through the detritus of
aerosols, needles and White Lightning bottles. The address was the last in the
line. I wondered if it was really the end of the road?

I could see why the nurse would think
nobody lived here. I pressed on the door's windowpane, there was no movement,
it wasn't opening up. I looked in the letter box, a blast of damp, but also, I
was sure, some movement.

I banged on the door.

Nothing.

Tried again.

A clang of, what was that, a door?

I hollered in the letterbox, 'Caroline,
is that you? My name's Gus, Gus Dury, your father asked me to find you.'

I put my ear to the slot.

No movement anymore.

I knew there was someone in there.
Toyed with the idea of putting my foot to the door when, suddenly, a whoosh of
stale air as the glass pane came through. I caught a set of wooden step ladders
in the mush.

I fell back. My back smacked off the
concrete landing just as I saw a blur of shaved head loom over me and cosh me
across the face with a heavy pot.

Next thing I saw was the dancing
canaries.

****

'Hello, can you hear me? Hello ...
hello.'

My head felt like Chewbacca had taken a
dump in there. I was still on my back as I opened my eyes to find a young girl
looming over me with dark panda eyes.

'Can you hear me?'

'Yeah. Just, maybe lower the volume.'

'I'm sorry. Are you okay? Can you move?'

I tried to steady myself, 'I think so.'

'Would you like to come inside?'

I got to my feet and my knees caved.
The girl, heavily pregnant, put an arm around me. 'Can you manage this?' I
said.

She smiled, a sweet smile, a real
heart-melter. I wondered why anyone with a smile like that needed to live in a
place like this.

She sat me on an old crate, an orange
velour cushion the only concession to comfort.

'You would be Caroline?'

She brought me a wet cloth, said, 'We've
no ice.'

'You've not much of anything.'

She gripped her palms, looked at the
floor.

'Caroline, your father ...'

She turned away, 'Don't. Don't say his
name to me.'

I tried to regain control of my
balance, stop the room swaying, 'Look, he's worried about you.'

'No he's not.'

'Sorry?'

The sweet demeanour vanished in a
second, she turned, rushed towards me but seemed suddenly cut down in her
tracks. She bent like a hinge and let out a loud gasp.

'Are you okay?'

Breathless, 'I think the baby's coming.'

'Oh, fuck.'

A shriek.

Pain.

'You'll have to help me.'

'What? I mean, how?'

Another shriek.

She fell to the floor, started to
scrunch up her eyes.

'Help me, please!'

****

At the hospital we went our separate
ways.

'Will she be okay?' I asked as they
wheeled Caroline away.

No answer.

Some bright spark put a wheelchair down
for me, motioned 'in'.

'No chance. I walk fine.'

I got two steps and my knees went
again. Had been running on my last reserves of adrenaline.

'Like I thought, that gash tells a
different story,' said the paramedic.

I touched my head, felt blood on my
fingertips. It had soaked all the way down my shirt and into my waistband.

'Looks like you took quite a clatter.'

I wanted to say, 'No shit, Sherlock.'
But went with, 'Yes, quite a clatter.'

They spent an hour or so patching me
up. I had stitches and a nice head bandage to complete the look. The blood was
soaking through the bandage in a red spot, smack-centre, making me look like a
kamikaze pilot.

Amy brought in the news: 'She had a
little girl.'

I tried to smile, but my head hurt too
much, even on the codeine, 'Great, she's okay?'

'Chirping away like a budgie.'

I sat up, 'Do tell.'

Amy had on her shit-stopping
seriousness look, 'It's not pretty.'

I motioned to my head, 'Do I look like
someone who needs sugar-coating?'

Amy stood up again, looked agitated.
She took off her coat and placed it over the chair by the bed. 'Well, I checked
out our minister ...'

'And?'

'Let's just say you were right to have
your suspicions. He's in line to be the Moderator of the Church of Scotland.'

'That's a big gig.'

'The biggest, comes with the Right
Reverend title ... you could see why he has Oscar night nerves.'

Amy put her arms round her slim waist,
hugged herself, 'Gus, I feel strange talking about this, but, Caroline said
some stuff when she, well after the birth, I think she was still under the
drugs, but ...'

I sat up in the bed and motioned her
closer, 'Look, if there's something I need to know, you better just spit it
out.'

Amy started to cry. She was a tough
girl and I'd never seen this before.

'Hey, what's the matter?'

She put her hand to her mouth, 'Caroline
says ... he's the father.'

I slumped, 'What?'

The dam had burst, 'She says he raped
her. She hates him, got into trouble at home and got into this neo-Nazi crowd
because she thought it was about as far away from what he stood for as she
could get ... Gus, it's too sad for words.'

I couldn't listen any more.

'Give me my phone over.'

'You can't use a phone in hospital.'

'Fuck it. Give me it.'

She passed me the mobi, it smelled of
fags, Bensons.

I dialled Urquhart, he answered on the
second ring, 'Hello, Minister, this is Gus Dury.'

'Oh, hello … have you uncovered
anything?'

'You better believe it.'

'Well, that's wonderful news.'

'Is it?'

'Well, yes, I-I ...'

'Not so fast. I have found your
daughter, but let's just say I've run into a few extra expenses along the way.'

'I don't understand.'

'Understand this, the price is now
two-thousand in cash by this afternoon.'

'
What
?' 

'You heard, Minister ... you ever want
to hear that Right Reverend bit upfront then you better be where I first met
you, on time.'

I cut the line.

****

I took Amy, not as back-up, or
decoration, but because she set the tone I wanted. She had edge.

Urquhart was sitting in the snug with a
bottle of Highland Spring. Still.

On our approach he stood up, eyes lit
on my bandaged head, then shifted, 'Who is this?'

Amy looked him up and down, she blew
out her Hubba Bubba, popped the bubble fast. She sat right up front. Urquhart
had a view of her cleavage most men would have paid money for, but it set his
nerves jangling.

'You don't ask any questions, Minister,'
I said.

I nodded to the barman, 'Rum and coke,
twice.'

There was silence around the table. Amy
eyed Urquhart with derision. Once in a while she'd blow out another bubble,
just to put the knife in him.

'Could you stop that, please?' said
Urquhart.

'Why?' said Amy.

He clammed up, mumbled, 'It's
vexatious.'

Amy fluttered her eyelashes, leaned
forward, close enough for the minister to scent the Hubba Bubba on her breath, 'If
someone says stop, do you always stop, Minister?'

'I beg your pardon?'

A smile, wide, white teeth, 'Never
mind.'

Our drinks came.

The barman left.

I spoke, 'Now, let's get down to brass
tacks. The cash.'

He ruffled, 'I think I shall have my
side of the agreement fully realised before I part with any ...'

I raised a hand, 'Hold it right there.'

Amy slurped rum and coke through a
straw.

The minister shuffled on his seat, 'I
have had quite enough of this performance, Mr Dury! Now I engaged your services
to locate my daughter and I demand to know what progress you have made towards
that end.'

'The money.'

Silence.

Amy leaned forward, yelled, 'The money!'
She slapped her hand on the table and yelled again, 'Now!'

It did the trick.

He produced a long manila envelope from
the inside pocket of his Barbour jacket.