Two-Way Split (18 page)

10:40 am

Rows of elegant Georgian town houses, or tenements masquerading as town houses, built to a gridiron plan, the New Town lay in the shade of the Old Town to the north of Princes Street Gardens. You'd think you couldn't get lost, but the first time Pearce had tried to find South Broughton Place he ended up having to phone Cooper for directions. The street was missing from his city centre map.

"It's kind of an extension of Union Street," he remembered Cooper saying. "Should rename it Cooper Street, really. I own three-fifths of it. Not a big street, I suppose. But still. Sixty percent of even a small street, property prices in the New Town being what they are, that's a fair wee whack of dosh." He paused, waiting for Pearce to request specifics. Since Pearce had no interest in the loan shark's personal fortune, he said nothing. Undaunted, Cooper said, "Millions, if you must know, son. Millions."

Pearce came to the bottom of the hill. It levelled out and the road widened. South Broughton Place was on the left. The doors were numbered one to five.

An elderly man, armed with a pair of shears, stood at the end of his garden and nodded as Pearce walked by. Two doors along, Pearce opened the gate, strolled past a weed-choked flowerbed and approached a silver-grey sandstone building.  He checked Thompson's cash was still in his pocket before pressing the buzzer.

The money was an excuse. What he'd really come for was information.

Cooper's voice said, "What?"

"Pearce."

A pause. "Can't say I expected to see you. But come on up."

The door buzzed. Pearce shoved it open and walked inside.

Cooper lived at the rear of the ground floor. The silver nameplate on his door was the size of a laptop computer. Pearce was about to knock when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it fully open, poked his head inside and said, "Hello." When nobody answered, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He looked along the corridor. Somewhere in the flat someone was singing. A kid's song. Tuneful enough, if a bit throaty. He said, "Mr Cooper." No reply. He headed towards the singing and found the loan shark in a child's bedroom. Pearce tapped on the door.

Cooper looked up and his mouth snapped shut.

"The door was open," Pearce said.

"Left it for you." Cooper's hair was tousled and stubble peppered his chin. A baby nestled in the crook of his arm, its eyes closed. He saw Pearce looking at the baby and said, "Sally's out."

Pearce had never heard of Sally. "Sorry I missed her."

"You know her?"

"Never had the pleasure."

"Probably the only bloke who hasn't." Cooper muttered something that Pearce didn't catch.

"What was that?"

"Sixteen." Cooper dragged his slippered feet across the carpet. "Wee slag." He sat down on the end of the bed. "Thinks she knows it all." His eyes lit up. "Suppose we all do at that age, eh?"

Pearce leaned his shoulder against a mahogany wardrobe. "I never realised you had a daughter."

"I don't." Cooper scowled. "Sally is this little bastard's mother." He inclined the baby slightly towards Pearce. "My son." He rocked his son in his arms. "Gary."

"I kind of put my foot in it there."

Cooper screwed his face up and made a dismissive gesture with one of his hands. "Who gives a shit? You ever feel old, Pearce?"

Pearce rubbed the back of his hand over his cheek. "Sometimes."

"You ever banged a sixteen year old?"

"Not since I was fifteen."

"Skin's tight as a drum. Amazing. And that's not all that's tight. Different now she's had him, though."

"Is that right?"

"You want my advice? It isn't worth it. Makes you feel ancient."

"Thanks for the tip."

"Skin's like—"

"How old's Gary?"

"Huh?" Cooper's forehead creased. "Nearly four months."

"He's quiet." Pearce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, moved his shoulder away from the wardrobe and leaned back against the wall.

"He's asleep now." Cooper shuffled towards the crib snuggled in the corner of the room. He pulled the blanket over his son and tucked in the baby's arms. "I want the best for him. That's why I gave him a famous name." He kissed Gary's forehead. "Gary Cooper. Give him a head start, eh?"

Pearce said, "You never mentioned him before."

"Don't like to publicise it." Cooper moved towards the door. "Fatherhood's for pansies, isn't it?"

Pearce didn't comment. You couldn't argue with that kind of reasoning. He followed Cooper down the corridor and into the sitting room.

Cooper said, "Drink?"

Pearce shook his head.

"What can I do for you?" Cooper pointed to a huge settee wrapped in several lurid throws.

Pearce assumed the extended finger was an invitation to sit down. He took the roll of notes out of his back pocket and sat down. "Got some money for you."

"You astonish me."

Pearce fanned the money. "Why?"

"Your mother passed away last night and yet here you are with my money," Cooper said. "That's professionalism. I admire that."

"You heard, then?"

"I hear everything. You know that." The olive-green leather chair hissed when he sat down. "Get much?"

 "It's not all for you."

"Never is. Sad fact of life, that."

Pearce counted three hundred and laid the bills on the glass coffee table in front of him. "Ailsa Lillie. Paid in full." He thought of the old man with the socks. The old man his mum had once fancied. "Cant," he said. He counted out Cant's debt. "Paid in full." He still had plenty left to pay Joe-Bob for the ammo. Cooper hadn't moved. Pearce said, "You want to count it?"

"You think I don't trust you?" Cooper arched his leg over the arm of the chair. His slipper dangled from his foot. "You did a good day's work."

"Don't forget my commission."

"What's that? A hundred and sixty? You've still got a way to go."

"I'll pay it all back." Pearce slid what was left of the money back in his pocket.

"I don't doubt it."

"Mr Cooper." Pearce made a fist with his right hand and squeezed. "I need to ask a favour."

Cooper grinned. "You want to borrow some more?"

"Nothing like that."

"Well, what?"

"I know you keep your ear to the ground." Pearce swallowed. "Nothing much happens that you don't know about." He squeezed his fist tighter. "Have you heard anything, anything at all, about who might have killed my mum?"

"I wish." Cooper looked at the ceiling. "I really wish I could help. But you might as well ask me for the Queen's bra size." Cooper lowered his gaze again. "Tell you what I think?"

Pearce didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded.

"It's a new outfit. This gang hasn't worked in Edinburgh before. At least, not before the current pair of robberies." His foot made circling motions, then started bobbing up and down. "It hasn't worked in Glasgow, Liverpool, Manchester or Newcastle either. If it had, I'd know. None of the gang socialises with any of my acquaintances." His foot stopped moving. "Even the police don't have a clue where to start looking."

Pearce plucked some red fluff off one of the throws. "What are you saying?"

"You won't find him."

Pearce rolled the fluff between his fingers. "Will you at least let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course," Cooper said. "Tell you what, why don't you take a few days off, eh?" He moved his leg from the arm of the chair and planted it on the carpet. "You're probably a bit upset. And there'll be the funeral and all that." He stood. "What do you say, son?"

For a moment Pearce studied the ball of fluff balanced on his index finger. He flicked it into the air with his thumb. It landed on the other side of the table. "That's kind of you." He got to his feet.

"Sure you won't stay for a quick drink?"

Pearce said, "I have an appointment at a massage parlour."

10:42 am

"He's inside." From his car, Kennedy had watched Robin Greaves cross the road and walk up the path to the red door. Edward Soutar had left through the same door a couple of minutes ago. "Want me to wait?"

"Yeah. Phone me again when he—"

"Hang on. We need to talk."

Kennedy could hear his boss clearing his throat. "What about?"

"You know."

"If I knew I wouldn't ask."

"Pish." Kennedy made a smacking sound with his lips. "Right. I'll start. Why haven't we contacted the police?"

Kennedy's boss said nothing for a while. "Should we be having this conversation over the phone?"

Kennedy tapped the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel. "Want me to return to the office?"

"Stay where you are."

"Answer my question."

"Look, it's none of your business."

"You've made it yours, though."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You gave that bloke – what's his name? – the one whose mother got knifed?"

"How would I know?"

"It was in the paper. Pears? Preece?"

"Pearce."

"That's right. Gordon Pearce. Coming back to you now?"

"I'm busy, Kennedy. Where are you going with this?"

"You gave him your card."

"So what?"

"What reason could you possibly have for giving him your card?"

"I don't have to answer this."

"So it's okay with you if I call the police and tell them that we have some excellent information on the post office robbery gang?"

"They won't thank you. Anyway, it has nothing to do with you."

"Then what am I doing tailing Robin Greaves? Why am I watching Soutar's flat? And why did you give Pearce your card?"

"I don't pay you to ask questions."

"You don't pay me at all. When was the last time? Let's see. Two months ago."

"I pay you to follow orders."

"You can take your orders, wrap them in shiny reindeer Christmas paper and shove them up your hairy—"

"You're so close to getting fired. You don't know how close, Kennedy, but if you were any closer you'd be—"