"I think you should go back downstairs," Erica said. "Sit down. Calm yourself. And please don't jump to conclusions."
"Yes." Mrs Wilson cupped her hands over her nose. "Okay. I think I need a drink."
4
Outside, I called Dutton on my Airwave handset. I hated those bloody clunky things and would have much rather used a mobile phone.
"There's no sign of any activity round here," I said. Still no patrol car, no uniforms talking to neighbours in a doorway. "What's going on?"
"They're spreading out," Dutton said. "Kid's still missing."
"What do you want us to do?"
"School's closed and everybody's gone home for the day. Bruce's teacher, name of…" there was a pause "… Mrs Grace Lennox, lives about five minutes away. She hasn't been interviewed yet. Pay her a visit."
He gave me the address. I mentioned the boyfriend and Dutton said he'd get Uniform to go round to check out Mr Les Green and make sure Bruce wasn't there. "By the way," I said, "did anybody get a photo of the kid?"
"Why wouldn't they?"
I told him what Mrs Wilson had said.
"She must be upset," he said. "Uniform got a photo no problem. I'll see if I can get you a copy."
"And what about the car crash? Her husband's death?"
"What about it?"
"You didn't tell me," I said.
"I didn't? Must have slipped my mind."
And before I could reply he was gone.
5
In a couple of minutes, we were outside Bruce's teacher's flat. She lived in an end tenement block with its construction date chiselled into the sandstone above the door. 1881. It was a nice enough area without being as leafy as the one we'd just left.
"Kiddie fiddler lives a couple of doors down," Erica said. "Real sicko."
"Once they're out, they have to live somewhere," I said.
"He was never locked up. The dirty sod walked."
"Lack of evidence?" I asked.
"Yeah, and he was smart. Wouldn't talk. Right from the off, all he ever said was, 'No comment'."
"You think there's a chance he might have followed Bruce's teacher to school?"
"Now that you mention it." Erica nodded slowly. "Maybe we should pay him a visit."
"Right after we've spoken to Mrs Lennox." I pressed the buzzer and a man's voice answered. "Police," I said. I always enjoyed saying that.
6
Upstairs, Mr Lennox was waiting for us in his doorway. "How can I help?" he asked. He wore heavy-looking black-framed glasses and he couldn't stop smiling.
He didn't seem nervous, though. More likely he was just eager to please. Which happened more often than you'd think. Sometimes people made up all sorts of stuff with the best of intentions. I once had an old dear describe a burglar in great detail, all the way down to his ginger beard and nose ring and Hibs top. Turned out she never saw the guy. She'd just wanted to help and imagined that's what a burglar would look like.
"Could we speak to your wife, sir?" Erica said to Mr Lennox.
"She just popped out for some milk," he said. "But she has her phone with her. I can give her a call." His eyebrows raised in a question.
"Please do," Erica said. "Tell her we'll meet her outside."
We trotted down the stairs and back out into the street. The late afternoon sun still had some fight left in it. Shadows dappled the roof of the pool car.
We waited on the pavement.
A couple of minutes later, a heavy woman came jogging up the road. She wasn't dressed for running. And she was carrying a carton of milk.
"I think this is our girl," I said.
We started walking towards her.
"Mrs Lennox," I said.
"Officers." She put her hand on her ample chest and breathed hard through her open mouth. Her eyebrows were over-plucked and made her look slightly startled. "How can I help?"
"It's one of your pupils," Erica said.
"Oh. Who's been up to what?"
"It's about Bruce Wilson."
Mrs Lennox laughed like a smoker.
"Why is that funny?" I asked.
"You're having me on."
"I can assure you, Mrs Lennox, that this is extremely serious."
She coughed twice and stared at us. "Call me Grace, please," she said. "Otherwise it feels like I'm at school and we don't want that. I'd have to ask you both to put your hands up before you ask another question."
"Grace," I said. "We've just spoken to Bruce's mother. Is there anything you can tell us?"
"I didn't need to run after all."
"Can you explain what you mean by that?" Erica asked.
Mrs Lennox nodded. "You'd better come on up."
7
The sitting room was full of family photos. On the walls, on the mantelpiece, on the furniture.
I sat down and Erica sat beside me.
"Okay." Mrs Lennox took a rattling breath and hitched her hair out of her face. "It's like this."
And she told us about Bruce Wilson.
8
"You in on this too?" I asked Erica once we were outside.
"In on what?"
"Dutton knows," I said. "He set me up."
"If that's true, then that shithead set me up too." She clenched her teeth, then said, "Maybe the teacher's lying?"
But we both knew that wasn't the case.
I punched Dutton's number into my Airwave handset.
"The hell are you playing at?" I asked when he answered.
"Found wee Bruce yet?" He chuckled. "Sorry. I couldn't find that photo after all."
"Dutton," I said. "You're an utter disgrace."
"Any decent detective would have found out about the kid long before now."
I hung up. "I'm going to kick his head in," I said to Erica.
"Not if I get to him first," she said.
"Where are we going?" Erica asked me a couple of minutes later in the car.
"To talk to Mrs Wilson," I said.
"What about Dutton?"
"I need to calm down." I gripped the steering wheel. "He can wait."
10
"Don't go stomping all over this," Erica said as we stood at Mrs Wilson's front door.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Be gentle with her."
I banged my fist on the door. Repeatedly. There was a bell, but screw that. I liked the pounding noise. "Mrs Wilson?" I shouted. "Mrs Wilson!"
"Collins!" Erica grabbed my arm.
I clamped my jaw shut, pulled my wrist from her grasp and pounded on the door some more. Eventually Mrs Wilson opened it.
I stared at her, wondering what the hell went on inside her head. I said, "Can we come in?" I could smell the drink off her.
She walked ahead of us. Slowly. As if she was afraid she might fall over. In the sitting room, she asked if we'd like a cup of tea.
Erica said no.
"Coffee?"
"Nothing to drink, Mrs Wilson," I said.
"We're fine," Erica told her. "Thanks."
Mrs Wilson picked up some bottles off the table. Whisky, vodka, something else. All looked empty. She held the bottles there for a moment and then put them back down again in the very same spot.
I glanced at Erica, hoping she'd say something. I didn't know where to begin. But Erica just raised her eyebrows at me.
Mrs Wilson crossed her arms over her chest in the shape of an X. Her voice was steady, no trace of slurring. "Is it bad news?"
"To tell the truth," I said, "it was a bit of an eye-opener." I couldn't read her expression. "We spoke to Mrs Lennox."
No reaction.
Erica said, "She told us about the accident, Clare."
Clare. Not Mrs Wilson. For crying out loud, Erica.
"An accident?" Mrs Wilson whispered. "Bruce has been in an accident?"