The Stone Gallows (43 page)

‘It's not mine,' I told her.

‘Whose is it?'

‘A friend's.'

‘Whose?'

‘A woman called Becky Banks. She's the wife of my best friend.

She's the one that's picking up your bills in that Bed and Breakfast place.'

‘I'm very grateful. To both of you. I know you were just paid to find me. You don't have to help me.'

‘Don't worry about it.'

I felt her watching me and turned my head. She blushed. ‘You're so quiet. I feel like I'm talking to myself.'

‘It's been a long week.'

‘Do you do things like this often? Come to the rescue of damsels in distress?'

‘Not often, no.'

The truth was, I felt like I owed the world a favour. Now that the dust was beginning to settle, and I was able to be slightly more objective about the whole affair, I felt nothing but pity for Sophie Sloan. She may have been a fruit-loop, but it had been my mistake that had sent her spiralling out of control. It would be easy for me to hate her, a pathetic attempt on my part to dodge any responsibility I may have had by laying all the blame at her feet.

Too easy.

Naturally, that hadn't prevented Audrey from doing her share of shifting blame. As soon as Mark had been safely recovered, she had engaged the services of a lawyer and started to sue his primary school, claiming they had neglected their responsibilities by failing to supervise Mark properly and allowing him to be abducted by a woman with serious mental health issues. The school had responded by pointing out the number of times Mark had arrived late, or been left waiting at the school gates for her to collect him. Although they didn't come right out and say it, they implied that Audrey was a pretty disinterested mother who was attempting to cash in on what was an extremely unfortunate incident. The whole thing was a hair away from degenerating into an ugly slanging match.

Audrey's motives for suing were slightly unclear, but then, her life was changing as well. Arnold had kicked her out. In the course of their investigation into Mark's disappearance, the police had looked into everybody that may have had contact with him. One of the names that came up was a guy called Keith Mulligan, who happened to be boyfriend of the week for Audrey's sister, Lynne. The second his name was fed into the computer, it exploded in a cacophony of alarm bells and whistles; in ninety-one, Keith Mulligan had been arrested after he had sex with an underage girl.

Of course, this little titbit of information had caused the cops to have kittens, and a quick chat with Audrey's neighbours came up with the worrying fact that both Keith and his car had been spotted hanging about the street at odd times, almost as if he was watching the place.

Without further ado, poor Keith was huckled in for questioning.

He admitted that he was the same Keith Mulligan on the computer, but absolutely denied abducting Mark. When asked whether he had been staking out the house, he grew strangely reluctant to chat, leaving the police to dig through the dirt the hard way.

After a few hours, it turned out that things were not quite as sinister as they first appeared. In nineteen ninety-one, Keith Mulligan had been a young eighteen-year old, the girl had been a willing (and extremely mature) fifteen year-old who, unfortunately for Keith, also happened to be the daughter of a now-retired chief inspector. Since the incident, Keith had been a good citizen, building a reputable business as a painter and decorator. Reading between the lines, the whole business smelled of overkill, nothing more than a case of a well-connected father who, unhappy at his daughter's choice of boyfriend, had used his contacts to force a result on a case that had very little going for it in the first place.

It was eventually proved that Keith had a cast iron alibi for his whereabouts on the afternoon Mark had been abducted. However, in a final twist, it also turned out that not only had he been shagging Lynne (though, to be fair, so had half of Glasgow,) but he had also spent his afternoons entertaining Audrey as well, which explained why the neighbours had been so keen to point the finger. Like a particularly juicy episode of the Jerry Springer show, it all came out in the wash. Keith was released from custody and decided to come clean, immediately heading over to Lynne's and admitting the truth. Lynne lost no time in sharing the news with Arnold the Surgeon, who immediately suggested that it would be better if Audrey found somewhere else to live.

Ha ha.

I knew that it was wrong to gloat, but it was too much to resist, especially when you consider that Arnold was the one that paid for all of Audrey's legal fees. I laughed so much, I sent the poor guy a bottle of Laphroaig in the mail.

Mark was fine. He seemed to have recovered from the whole incident remarkably well. Audrey still mumped and moaned about providing access, but she had moved back in with her mother, who somehow managed to defy the stereotype and be a much nicer person than her daughter. Now, when I went to collect Mark, I was being offered tea and biscuits and friendly conversation. The whole thing was weird, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Sophie Sloan was currently being tube fed in a high-dependency hospital ward. The bus plastered her over the front windshield like a bug, snapping her spine and causing extensive head injuries. Doctors thought she would live, although she would require continuous care.

Liz had made a few calls, and the general opinion was that Sophie was going to be a vegetable for the rest of her life. I wanted to go and see her, but I wasn't sure why, or even if it would be appropriate, so I had kept my distance.

I was told that I would face no charges. Nobody wanted to prosecute a father who had been acting out of concern for his son.

The guy whose bike I had stolen had turned out to be riding without insurance, and the owners whose cars I had damaged in my charge up the motorway slip road were being told to suck it up. It was a shame for them, but I really couldn't bring myself to care. Nor did I give a damn about the rest of the people I had stepped on in my hunt for Mark. Lee was a dope-smoking waste of space and Jason Campbell was a known paedophile; I wasn't proud of my behavior, but it certainly wasn't causing me any loss of sleep.

Liz was going to be discharged from hospital in the next three days.

She expected to be off work for another four weeks while her ankles healed, and had made it plain that she expected me to be at her beck and call. ‘I expect you to be available to attend to my every need,' she had told me. ‘Emotional, physical, nutritional, and sexual,' she had said. ‘But mainly sexual.'

I couldn't wait.

2.

That left only one loose end. Susan McPherson, and her pal, Rosie.

Which explained why, at just after midnight on a Thursday night, Susan and I were sitting in a car outside a brothel in the city's West End.

‘So what are we going to do?' she asked.

‘I haven't a clue.'

‘We can't sit here all night.'

I took a deep breath. ‘You're right. Come on.'

We got out of the car. The streets were cobbled, lined with the parked cars of local residents. Of the local residents themselves, nothing could be seen. They were probably all tucked up in bed, safe and sound, sleeping the sleep of the just. I wondered how they felt about having a knocking shop on the same street. No doubt the women pretended to be shocked and the men pretended not to care.

The door to the Champagne Angel Club was made of some kind of metal that had been treated to make it look like some kind of heavy wood. It looked strong enough to withstand a battering ram, and probably had done in the past. In the plastic box that people used to identify separate flats within the building, there was only one nameplate, reading PRIVATE CLUB. Very discreet. A closed circuit TV camera was fastened to the wall directly above the door. Susan reached out to press the buzzer, and I put up a hand to stop her. ‘Not yet.'

‘What?'

‘This is what will happen. You're only here because of Rosie.'

We'd discussed it in detail, and had both agreed that it would be less traumatic for the girl if there was somebody she knew and liked present. ‘So you concentrate on her and nothing else.

The second we find her, take her back to the car. Don't stop to get anything you don't need, don't stop to talk to anybody. Alright?'

‘Alright.'

I went and stood in the blind spot directly underneath the camera.

Unless they had somebody continually watching the attached monitor, then whoever answered the buzzer would have no idea that I was there, which suited me just fine.

As a point of fact, there were two tickets to Inverness in my wallet.

The plan was that Rosie would go with Susan. Susan claimed her parents wouldn't mind a houseguest. I was unconvinced – Rosie sounded like she needed more help than just a place to stay – but felt that anywhere was safer than where she was just now. They could sort out the fine print between them.

Susan waved a hand at the button. ‘Should I?'

Hell no
, I thought.
Let's get out of here. I'll buy you a Big Mac and
put you on the train alone, and stop sticking my nose in other people's
business before it gets broken
.

If only. ‘Let's do it.'

She pressed the button. A few seconds later, a female voice said,

‘Yes?'

She leaned in to speak to the microphone. ‘It's me. Susan. Can I come in?'

‘Hold on.'

We waited for thirty seconds before the door lock clicked. I pushed it open slowly. If Kenny the bouncer was there, I was going to take him down hard and fast. There was nobody; just a dimly lit staircase that led up to the first floor. I motioned to Susan. ‘They're expecting you, so you better lead the way.'

The two of us made our way up the stairs, our footsteps swallowed up by the heavy carpet. We found our way into the reception area. It hadn't changed any since the last time I had been there. Red carpet, red-panelled walls. Only the receptionist was different. She was a woman in her late forties. Her hair was a glorious shade of orange, her face a carefully applied mask. She spotted me, and fingernails like talons drummed the wooden surface of the desk.

‘Who's your friend?'

‘Beverley, this is Cameron.'

The woman looked at me closely. I gave her the fish-eye back, and eventually she turned her attention back to Susan. ‘You can't work looking like that.'

‘I'm not planning to. I'm leaving.'

‘You can't leave.'

‘I'm leaving.'

‘You can't leave unless I say you can leave.'

Susan's voice shook with fear. ‘I'm taking Rosie with me.'

The woman called Beverley stood up and walked around the desk.

Underneath the make up, her face was hard and calculating. My guess was that she either owned the business, or was a close friend of the person who did. Probably an ex-hooker, she had hard eyes and a sullen face that made me think she been in the business for a long time. If I was a betting man, then I would have placed money that Kenny had been acting under her instructions when he beat the crap out of Susan.

Beverley examined me more closely, trying to figure out what role I had in our little play. She smiled. ‘Let me guess. This little bitch comes here and gives me an ultimatum and you're the muscle that's meant to make me go all scared?'

I smiled back. ‘That was the general idea, yeah.'

‘So what's the deal?' She nodded in Susan's direction. ‘Is she fucking you for free? Are you Richard Gere come to save Julia Roberts here from a life of sin and debauchery?'

‘Something like that. I'm afraid I don't have a limo.'

‘By the time I'm done with you, you'll need a hearse.'

‘Now, there's no need to be unpleasant.'

She stepped even closer so that our faces were less than six inches apart, me looking down on her. ‘You think you're big,' she said. ‘But you're skinny. I've got a man that will eat you for breakfast.'

‘I've met him,' I said. ‘Charming fellow. Good with his hands, if I remember correctly. He is big, but he's not exactly. . . sophisticated.

He's like a badly trained pit-bull.'

‘No need for sophistication in his job.'

‘Or in yours.'

Beverley nodded at the desk. There was a panic button on the side. Red, naturally. ‘All I need to do is press it and he'll come running.'

‘Let's hope he doesn't catch his knuckles on the door-frame.'

Beverley spoke to Susan. ‘I'll tell you what. You're not much to look at, and you always were a bit of a snotty cow. I'll let you walk away.

You and your friend here can skedaddle off into the sunset and never be seen again. How's that for a happy ending?'

Susan was shaking now, but when she spoke, the resolve in her voice made me proud. ‘I'm taking Rosie with me.'

‘No chance.'

‘I'm taking her with me.'

Beverley threw her head back and laughed, one hand clutching at my arm. ‘Oh, that's rich. You really are a Samaritan, aren't you?'

‘She shouldn't be here. She doesn't know what's going on. For Christ's sake, she's got learning problems.'

‘Tell me about it. She's in one of the few jobs where being a retard is actually an advantage. She never complains, she never whines. She just wipes herself down and moves on to the next cock.' Beverley said.

‘I wish you were all like her.'

I was disgusted. ‘Look, we don't want to cause trouble. Just let us take her and we'll be on our merry.'

‘You don't get it, do you? She's not yours to take.'

‘She's not yours either,' Susan said. ‘She doesn't belong to you.'

Beverley ignored her. ‘Of course she does. We paid good money to bring her over here. You think I'm going to let her go?'