Whoever came up with the saying ‘worse things happen at sea’ had the Scottish coast in mind at the time. There’s a spot in the north called Cape Wrath. Says it all. A name like that, you don’t need to see the pictures. Safe to say, it hasn’t made any holiday brochures.
Robert Louis Stevenson’s family fortune came from building lighthouses to warn against the harshness of the Scottish coast, he had the right idea nicking off to Samoa. As a teenager on a trip up north, he’d described the coastal town of Wick as ‘one of the meanest of man’s towns, and situated certainly on the baldest of God’s bays’.
As I looked out of Billy’s floor-to-ceiling windows I couldn’t find one word of praise for the view, said, ‘What were you thinking, Billy?’
‘What, what did you say?’
‘Nothing. Just admiring the view.’
Nadja looked at me as though I’d fallen into apoplexy.
‘Are you serious? It is like the end of the world.’
What do you say to that? I said nothing.
‘Can you hurry, please,’ said Nadja. ‘I don’t like it here.’
‘Why? Bad memories?’
‘I’ve never liked it here.’
She stood in the centre of the floor, arms folded. Her eyes darted from me to the door and back again. She looked cold. I expected to see her shiver, but then it dawned on me — it was a deeper cold, a visceral chill. She’d carry this cold with her wherever she went.
Coming back here I’d expected tears from her. At least, some stirring of emotion. Maybe pick up one of the pictures dotted about the place. Pictures of her and Billy in what looked to be happier times. But she seemed unmoved by the return visit. Worse than that, the place unsettled her.
I asked, ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why did you never like it here?’
She gave out a loud huff, moved away from me, propped herself on a bar stool.
‘Can you please get what you came for? I want to leave.’
The place had been turned over by Zalinskas’ goons, but I guessed it was a week since anyone had been there. A layer of silver dust covered the dining table and a stack of unopened mail sat on the mat.
‘Cleaning lady on holiday?’ I joked.
Saw a set of drawers turned out onto the floor, packs of cards, TV Times and Sainsbury’s coupons everywhere.
‘Billy clipped coupons?’ I said.
‘Ohh… that man!’
The DVD player lay smashed to bits on the floor. A set of size tens stomping on the casing will do that. A stack of empty shelves, left untouched, confused me. ‘Why are these shelves empty?’
Nadja shrugged her shoulders.
I got behind the DVD player, poked about on the floor, found an empty CD case and another empty CD rack.
‘They’ve taken all the disks.’
‘Yes, so what? Can we go now?’
I tramped through the debris to the kitchen, placed a hand on Nadja’s thigh. ‘You’ll have my full attention soon enough. Why don’t you make yourself a coffee?’
She rose, threw up her hands. ‘I am going to wait outside.’
‘No, I don’t think you are.’ I lowered my eyes and she went back to her seat.
‘Can you hurry — please.’
‘All in good time.’ I handed her the pile of unopened mail. ‘Here, look through that.’
In the bedroom, Billy’s clothes covered the floor. He had some expensive gear, but no taste. Ties that the guy off Channel 4 news wouldn’t give the nod to.
Inside his wardrobe more shelves had been removed, I say removed, torn out more like. But his shoes seemed untouched, lined up on the floor in two neat rows. Had a brainstorm to tip them out. Instantly, glad I did. A key for a mortise lock fell out of a Reebok runner.
I picked up the key. ‘Hello, what’s this?’
It seemed like an old key, rusted over. Certainly not well used. I called out to Nadja, ‘Hey, come in here, would you?’
No answer.
I stood up, went back through to the lounge.
‘Nadja,’ I called out. Then again, louder, ‘Nadja… Nadja.’
The place was empty. She’d run out on me.
56
I looked in the hall and out the window, but saw no sign of Nadja. She’d cut out with the pile of mail.
I paced the house looking for something that the key might fit. I spotted a couple of linen chests, a drawer on Billy’s desk, but the key I’d found fitted none of them. It looked like an old door key, probably for an exterior lock of some kind. I pocketed it and, on a hunch, decided to check the one room I’d left out so far, the bathroom.
Call it a cliche, but I reckoned the cistern was still a safe bet to find stuff people don’t want to put out on open display. Especially, I thought, if Billy was keeping something from Nadja — there was no way she’d risk breaking a nail poking about at the shitter.
I lifted the lid, depressed the ballcock. Nothing. The cistern held only water. I put back the lid, turned for the hall. On my way, a board beneath my feet creaked. I looked down, the floor was carpeted, but at the wall there seemed to be a few tacks missing.
It took some work but I managed to loosen the carpet, it was rubber-backed and moved freely once I’d taken out the grips holding it down.
‘Bingo!’
One of the boards had recently been lifted, nails removed, chips at the edges where it had been prised up.
I banged on the edge with the heel of my hand and the board shot up. Hidden beneath was a small Nike holdall. I reached in, pulled it out. Inside, I found Billy’s passport, bank books, a heap of unsigned credit cards and about twenty gees in used notes.
‘Planning a quick getaway, Billy Boy?’
I put the board down, stamped down the carpet and slung the bag on my back.
I tried to leave Billy’s apartment as I’d found it — think Hiroshima aftermath.
Outside I strolled along casually. Not an easy task when you’ve twenty large flung over your shoulder. I’d never been mugged in my life, I prayed it wouldn’t be my turn today. Not because I feared losing the cash, but because I still carried the Glock. Didn’t want to be caught warding off a hoodie with such a serious weapon, had a feeling the consequences might be disproportionate.
At the Wall, the same old faces were in residence. The gadgie spied me, got to his feet. If I’d no time for him when we last met, I’d less now, greeted him with, ‘Fuck off.’
His face, skin as patchy as kebab meat, failed to detect any hostility. He swayed about, looked far gone, then sat down again and drooled into his pint.
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Col. ‘That’s a customer you’re talking to.’
‘I’ve no time for pleasantries.’
A frown, shake of the head. ‘I know we’re hardly the Ritz, but a man deserves a bit of common courtesy.’
Felt in no mood to debate the fineries of Edinburgh’s carefully cultivated class system; I threw the holdall on the bar.
‘What’s this?’
‘Open it.’
Col tipped the bag on its side, struggled with the zip fastener on the pocket.
‘Here,’ I said, grabbing it off him, undoing the cord at the top, ‘have a look at that.’
Col peered in. ‘By the cringe, there must be-’
I put my hand on his mouth. Some of these people would do a lot worse than kill for half this amount.
‘Picked it up from Billy’s gaff.’
‘You went round?’ Col ferreted further into the bag, removed the passport. As he saw the page with Billy’s photo on he touched his lips.
‘Col, the place has been turned over. It seems Billy had got his hands on something that attracted a lot of interest.’
‘Like what?’ Col was genuinely confused. I wondered if this episode might be the one to tip him over the edge.
‘Something he shouldn’t have.’
Col’s features stiffened. He flared his nostrils then yanked the cord closed on the bag. ‘Here, take it.’
‘Uh-uh. If anyone’s due some of Billy’s earnings, I think it’s you.’