Two-Way Split (3 page)

"I'll give you another twenty-four hours," Pearce said. "But fifty pounds won't be enough." He rubbed a thick finger across his chin, enjoying the rasping sound it made. "You've defaulted on a payment. That's a ten pound fixed penalty. My time's another ten. Interest, that's another ten. And another twenty, say, for not breaking anything. What's that? A hundred?"

Cant looked up. He sniffed, propped himself on an elbow. "You're a nice guy," he said.

Pearce nodded, eying Cant's socks. They were grey, with red diamonds.

10:44 am

"Pish." Kennedy was holding a cup of coffee in each hand and his phone was ringing. Directly ahead of him, residue of Edinburgh's volcanic past, Salisbury Crags formed a jagged wall high enough to obscure the massive mound of Arthur's Seat. Just looking at it made him dizzy. He tried to find somewhere to deposit the paper cups. "Pish," he said again. If only the drinks dispenser hadn't been repossessed. He bent down and set the cups on the ground.

Expecting the caller to hang up just as he answered, he dug his mobile out of his pocket. "Kennedy," he said.

He was wrong. The caller said, "Where are you?"

The voice sounded familiar, even if it was strangely nasal. He asked, "That you, boss?"

"Course it's me. Where are you?"

"Across from the office."

"He should be leaving the building now."

"Who should? You developed a heavy cold since I went to get the coffee? Either that or you're wearing a nose-plug. Oh, God. You haven't taken up synchronised swimming, have you?"

"Shut up and listen."

"Since you asked so politely."

"About five ten, five eleven. Short dark-brown hair. Padded black jacket. See him?"

The grocers beneath the office had spawned a canopy when it changed owners a couple of months ago. Two wall-mounted heaters kept the crates of vegetables that littered the pavement from freezing. Today's special deal was on cabbages: two for the price of one. Kennedy couldn't manage to eat a single cabbage before it went off, let alone two. He had the same problem with bread. Even small sliced loaves were too big. In fact, half the food he bought went stale or rotted and ended up in the bin. If only you could buy individual bread slices. Or pairs, in case you wanted a sandwich. Maybe it was time he bought a freezer.

He'd have to get paid first, though. Or get a new job. He'd just about had enough of this one. God, he was bored.

His boss's voice again: "Do you see him?"

To the left of the grocers, six narrow steps led to a salmon pink door. It was shut. "No." As he spoke, the door opened. "Wait. Got him, I think. Dark green trousers?"

"Yeah. Don't hang up. Get in the car and follow him."

"What about your coffee?"

"Screw the coffee."

"I would, but I don't fancy the blisters."

"Not funny. Now move."

 Kennedy left the coffee on the pavement and crossed the road. "He's getting in his car. Want the registration?"

"Read it out."

He read it out. "Who is he?"

"Robin Greaves."

"Isn't he a client?"

"He was."

Robin Greaves's metallic green Renault Clio squealed away from the kerb.

"He's off. Speak to you in a minute." Kennedy dropped the phone onto the passenger seat. He let a couple of cars pass, then tucked in behind a silver Nissan Micra. Driving one-handed, he picked up the phone again and said, "Wasn't Greaves's wife involved in a bit of extra-marital?"

"Yeah." His boss sniffed. "I showed him the pictures."

"How did he take it?"

"He broke my nose."

"No shit?" Kennedy bit his lip and rocked with silent laughter. After a while he cleared his throat and said, "Broke it, eh?"

"No shit." After a pause, his boss said, "And your sympathy is duly noted."

He wanted sympathy? Kennedy said, "I'm very bloody sorry. Sir."

"Don't be an arsehole, Kennedy."

Neither man spoke for a while.

Kennedy's boss finally broke the silence. "When he gets where he's going, phone me."

 "Shouldn't you go to the hospital and get your nose fixed?"

"I'm staying right here. And, Kennedy? I don't need your bloody advice."

The line went dead.

Robin Greaves led Kennedy through light traffic towards town, then headed east down Leith Street. Construction work was underway at Greenside. The shell was now in place and already it was brown with rust. In yesterday's paper some journalist had suggested that the sixty screens offered by Edinburgh's eight existing cinemas ought to be enough for a city with a population of less than half-a-million. Building a new multiplex at Greenside, so claimed the writer, was a scandalous waste of money. Kennedy wouldn't have worded it quite as strongly, but he agreed that it did seem excessive. Bizarrely, though, the dickhead had gone on to complain about Edinburgh having twice as many bookshops as Glasgow. Which gave a new slant to the whole article. Kennedy chucked the paper in the bin, since the journalist was obviously from the west coast and therefore everything he said was unadulterated pish.

 Greaves turned off Leith Walk, Kennedy following two cars behind. Greaves parked in Iona Street, got out of his car and entered a block of flats in a tenement where scaffolding had spread in rectangles like ivy with an instinct for geometry. Kennedy was impressed. The scaffolders had done a hell of a job. Kennedy had no head for heights. When he painted his ceiling last month, he'd almost fallen off the stepladder.

He found a place to park and called his boss. "How's the nose?"

"Where is he?"

Kennedy peered through the scaffolding and read the number off the door.

"Ah, he's returned to the nest," his boss said.

"Probably could have worked that out for myself. The set of keys gave it away." There was no reply. "What do you want me to do?"

His boss said, "I'm thinking."

With the phone still held to his ear Kennedy got out of the car and crossed to the doorway where Greaves had disappeared. "You still there?" he said into the phone.

"Yeah."

On the left of the doorway a row of buzzers ran down the wall, and opposite each buzzer, protected by a clear plastic cover, was a name. Sixth from the top, beneath Hewitt and above Law, was Greaves. Kennedy said, "Looks like our man lives on the second floor. Want me to pop up and say hello?"

"Keep out of sight for the moment. And keep an eye on him until I tell you otherwise."

"If he leaves his flat?"

"Follow him."

10:57 am

Pearce had been living in his mum's spare room for the last two months. It didn't amount to much, but it was home, and it was a big improvement on what he'd been used to for the last ten years.

One night, relaxing with a can of Tennants, listening to his mum's Burt Bacharach CD, he'd told her about Julie. It took a lot of nerve.

She said, "How can you have been so stupid?"

"Stop it, Mum." He looked at her and his shoulders slumped and he said no more.

She released a big fat sigh. She said, "Come here, you great pillock. It's so good to have you back."

He had known Julie for two weeks. Retrospectively, it might have been too soon to get engaged and, certainly, his mum thought so. But, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. How gullible could you get? He had never had any luck with women.
You want to get engaged, Pearce?
Nothing better to do on a Saturday morning.
Yeah, Julie, but what's the catch?
Julie wanted a diamond ring and she'd seen one she liked in Jenners. If he could put up the money she'd pay him back when the banks opened on Monday.

"I won't let you pay for your own ring," he said.

"I want to. In fact, I insist. Besides, you can't afford it."

He thought about it for no time at all. "You're right," he said. "I don't have that kind of money."

"What about your friend, Cooper?"

"Cooper isn't a friend. I don't want any favours from him."

"You scared of him?" She touched his bare arm.

Pearce went to see Cooper, borrowed a grand and bought Julie's ring. They parted after lunch, at one thirteen, and that was the last time he saw her. They'd arranged to meet later that evening but she didn't show up. When he dialled her mobile it was switched off. He left a message. Soon afterwards, he visited the address she'd given him, a semi-detached in Gilmerton. When he got there the owner claimed he'd never heard of her. Pearce described her: tiny, slim, fragile, dark-haired, pale. The owner shook his head. Pearce checked he had the correct address and the owner said yes and closed the door. Pearce tried her mobile again and left another message.

On Sunday he went back. This time the owner wasn't so helpful. He refused Pearce's request to have a look around, so Pearce shoved him out of the way and started hunting for Julie. The television blared in the sitting room. Otherwise it was empty. In the kitchen, a pot of soup simmered on the cooker. Upstairs, he glanced inside both bedrooms. No Julie. He already felt foolish enough, otherwise he'd have checked under the beds. One last place to look. He knocked on the bathroom door and, when no one answered, he walked in. He pulled back the shower curtain, just in case she was hiding in the bath. She wasn't.

He apologised to the owner for his intrusion and promised he wouldn't be back again.

He postponed seeing Cooper for a week. By that time any last hopes of his fiancé's miraculous reappearance had vanished as surely as the thousand pound engagement ring. If he waited any longer he knew Cooper would send someone to look for him, so he went to Cooper's house and told him what had happened.

"Stitched up," Cooper said. "By a wee girl, eh?" He shook his head. "Lost it, did you, Pearce? Inside?" He pursed his lips. "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought, maybe, I could work off the debt."

"Let me think about it." Cooper showed him the door.

Two days later Pearce got a call. Cooper said, "Here's the deal. Your debt currently stands at two grand."

"Twelve hundred's what we agreed."

"We're discussing a compromise here. You want to argue with me or do you want to hear how you might be able to keep your legs?"

Pearce said, "Go on."

 "You've already missed your deadline and you're telling me the girl, your security, has done a bunk with the ring, which was your sole asset. Therefore, your financial situation has changed. Accordingly I have reviewed our initial arrangement, the consequence of which is that you now owe me two grand. However, I'm prepared to let you work it off. Isn't that good of me?"

"How much are you going to pay?"

"What?"