‘Dad? Dad, are you still there?’
Another silence filled the line. This time it didn’t end. Rachel put down the phone.
CHAPTER 41
The snow was flaking gently onto the steeple of the converted church that was Oran Mor when Narey hustled along from Hillhead subway station. Lunchtime groups were filing into the restaurants inside, some obviously dressed up for office Christmas lunches, and she could only wonder at the state the same well-attired people would be in later when Oran Mor’s neon halo lit the night sky.
She couldn’t see Danny at first but then he stepped out from one of the building’s sepulchral shadows and through the throng towards her. There were people buzzing left, right and centre, shopping bags flying like weapons, but they simply bounced off Danny and on to their next victim as he strode forward to greet her with a hug.
‘Can you believe all these people?’ he asked. ‘Have they nothing better to do than shop, eat and drink?’
‘I don’t think they do. Come on, let’s walk down Byres Road.’
Narey slipped her arm through Danny’s and they turned back onto the west end’s main thoroughfare. Oran Mor meant ‘the great melody of life’ in Gaelic and it had often occurred to Narey that the phrase applied equally well to Byres Road. It was the heart of the west end and home to some of its best pubs and shops. It was largely void of the global conglomerates that homogenised the city centre and instead let local businesses flourish, producing a quirky mix you didn’t get anywhere else. The eclectic mix didn’t apply just to the shops; students, arty types, boiler suits, middle-class mums and flat caps all strolled together cheek by jowl down its length.
‘I don’t know how you can live here, Rachel,’ Danny muttered. ‘It would do my head in. Having a couple of thousand people constantly living on your doorstep isn’t my idea of fun.’
‘Don’t be such an old grouch,’ she laughed. ‘You’re sounding as bad as Tony. I love it. There’s always a buzz along here and you’re in the heart of it all. Sometimes I just stand at the window of my flat and watch them all going by. You see some sights.’
‘Aye, I bet you do. But if I wanted to see a circus, I’d buy a ticket. It’s not even as if these clowns are funny.’
‘Some of them are.’
‘Aye, okay,’ Danny’s grumpy expression as he eased her between oncoming bodies suggested he didn’t entirely agree. ‘So did you get anything from Greg Deans’ home computer?’
‘Not a lot. Sure enough, the email was there from Justice, identical to the one you found on Paton’s PC. The follow-up saying they had to pay was sent to them separately but the messages said much the same thing. There was an email back from Deans asking who was emailing him but strangely enough the blackmailer didn’t want to tell him. Deans, gutted that his brilliant plan to uncover the fraudster didn’t work, told him to go do one. Unbelievably, that didn’t work either.’
‘And they let these bloody eejits teach kids? Did you get anything else?’
‘Nope. Nothing incriminating at all but we’ve taken it away and the hunchbacks in forensics are going to go over it to see if he’s left any fingerprints deleting anything.’
‘Right, well I won’t pretend I’ve any idea what that means except I guess it backs up his story.’
‘It does. I’m still going to do him for something before this is finished though — assuming he lives that long. So what is it you’ve got?’
They were passing Hillhead station and a teenager was sitting on the ground in front of them, a folded newspaper keeping his bum from the snow, playing ‘Baker Street’ on the saxophone. He was very good but Danny still looked down at him as if he should be at school learning quadratic equations.
‘See what I mean,’ he told Narey. ‘Unfunny clowns.’
‘I’m not sure he was trying to be funny, Danny.’
‘Anyway, I’ve put out some feelers about Kyle Irving and got some feedback about the man’s finances.’
‘I’m not going to ask where you got this.’
‘No, you’re not. It seems that however many clients Irving has, it’s not paying the bills. That big old house in the south side comes with a hefty mortgage and he’s way behind on it. Losing the place is a definite possibility.’
They’d stopped at the lights opposite Tennents Bar, where Highburgh Road became University Avenue, officially the biggest pain in the bum set of traffic lights in the city. Narey’s flat was opposite Tennents but, despite the fluttering snow, she didn’t want to go inside yet.
‘Let’s keep going,’ she told Danny. ‘And you keep telling me about Irving. By the time these bloody lights let us cross I should know everything.’
‘Well, our man Irving isn’t exactly rolling in the ill-gotten gains of his psychobabble. He’s behind on his car too and that big Saab might be going back whence it came. If it does, then he’ll struggle to get much of a motor right now as his credit rating is shot to hell. From everything I’m being told, Irving is officially skint.’
‘No question of any of this being wrong, I take it?’
‘None whatsoever. Let’s just say that the info is so sound you could take it to the bank.’
‘Right… It fits with the vibe I got when I went to his house. I definitely got a sense of financial struggles when I was at his place. He barely had any heating on, even though it was below freezing outside.’
The green man had appeared at last and they crossed further down Byres Road, Narey just avoiding a cyclist who was apparently colour blind or just didn’t give a toss. There were a few people sitting at a table outside the Blind Pig despite the fact that it was cold enough to make brass monkeys distinctly uncomfortable. No weather seemed to be too cold to stop smokers from freezing their own balls off.
‘So any suggestions as to why Irving is broke?’ she asked Danny.
He shrugged. ‘My guess is the ex-wife has rooked him but I don’t know for sure. I also had someone tell me Irving likes a bet, lots of bets. I don’t suppose it matters — bottom line is the guy has no money.’
‘Having no money makes people desperate.’
‘It certainly can do.’
They walked in silence past the Western, Narey still hanging onto Danny’s arm. Thoughts of Deans being patched up in A&E after being thrown down the stairs at The Rock flooded through her head but she still couldn’t dredge up any sympathy for him no matter how hard she tried.
‘So how’s your dad doing?’
‘He won’t get any better, Danny.’
‘Let me put it another way. How are you doing?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Rachel, you’re a lot better at asking questions than you are at answering them. I asked how you were.’
‘I heard you.’
‘Christ, you’re hard work. No wonder Tony’s so bloody miserable all the time.’
‘Hey,’ she laughed. ‘And he’s not miserable all the time.’
‘No, he’s a barrel of laughs, our Tony. Listen, love, I know better than anyone how hard it hit him when his mum and dad died but he should be past that by now. It’s not healthy for him to be so bloody morose. He should have been an undertaker rather than a photographer.’
Narey punched him on the arm.
‘Leave him alone, Danny. Like you said, you know better than anyone that he’s not had things easy. Okay, so he deals with it in his own way but I think it’s… cute.’
‘Cute? Did you think Saddam Hussein was a wee bit cheeky or Fred West was adorable in a homicidal kind of way?’
She arched her eyebrows at him reproachfully. ‘Out of order, Danny, even as a joke.’
‘I love the boy, Rachel. You know that. He’s like a son to me. He can photograph every dead body from here to Timbuktu if he wants — as long as he’s happy in his miserableness. And I reckon you make him happy.’