‘It was just lying there on the dirt, between the grass and the bushes.’
‘As long as it’s the only thing that was lying, you’ll be fine.’
He made his exit and stood in the corridor, arms folded. Several days now since the murder. If the knife used had been lying in plain view all that time, somebody would have found it prior to the kid. It had either been dislodged from a deeper hiding place or else it had been ditched more recently. If the latter, why? Had something spooked the killer? A sense of the net closing in? Had their conscience maybe played a role, the knife a continually gnawing reminder that they had committed an atrocity? In which case, Laidlaw and his colleagues were dealing not with a cold-blooded assassin but someone working at a deeper emotional level. Then again, why not ensure the knife was never found? The Clyde would have been a safer bet, or a rubbish bin somewhere. Yet bushes had been chosen rather than even the shallowest grave. That spoke of panic. And a panicked killer was easier to identify than one who remained cool-headed.
He heard a sneeze coming from behind a nearby door. Not the interview room the boy was in but the one next to it. He knocked and entered. A man in his mid twenties sat there alone. He was smoking his third or fourth cigarette and had scrunched up an empty plastic cup. He had lank hair and wore a black leather jacket beneath a faded denim waistcoat. Boots with steel toecaps and flared denims with the bottom three inches turned up.
‘Who are you?’ he asked Laidlaw.
‘DC Laidlaw. Everything all right here?’
‘That bastard Milligan’s forgotten about me. Five more minutes and I’m walking.’
‘You must be Malky Chisholm.’ When the man made no denial, Laidlaw drew out the chair across from him and sat down, lighting a cigarette for himself. ‘How’s business?’
‘What business?’
‘The gang business. Given any football hooligans a kicking lately? Scared any shopkeepers? How about graffiti — bit of spray-painting on the back wall of the Parlour?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about the forthcoming war and wondering which side you’ll be taking.’
‘Who says a war’s coming?’
‘It is, though. One of Colvin’s crew — and not just any old lackey, but a key player — executed and left on display on John Rhodes’s turf. It’s eye-for-an-eye stuff.’
‘So pull in John Rhodes.’
‘We need to know who put your team’s name on that wall. If it was one of you, and it dates back to before Bobby Carter drew his last agonised breath, we can let it rest. On the other hand, if you can swear that none of your lot put it there, that means maybe someone’s looking to maximise the potential mischief by adding you to the lengthening list of suspects.’
‘Any chance of getting that in English?’
Laidlaw gave a sigh that was only ninety per cent theatre. ‘That graffiti’s got DI Milligan thinking you might be involved. Could be that’s exactly what the killer wants. If Cam Colvin starts seeing it that way, too, he’ll come after you. Only course of action open to you then will be to go running to John Rhodes for protection.’
Chisholm considered this for the best part of a minute while he finished his cigarette.
‘It was probably one of my lot,’ he admitted. ‘I only heard about it after. Bit cheeky to plant it there, being Toi territory, but that was the whole point.’
‘Like staking your flag in the enemy camp?’ Laidlaw nodded his understanding. ‘And how long ago was this?’
‘Weeks. Maybe months, even. So can I go now? I’ve wasted half the day already.’
‘Answer me this first — who do you think killed Bobby Carter?’
‘Someone sending a message to his boss.’ Chisholm shrugged at the obviousness of the answer.
‘Who, though?’
‘Got to be John Rhodes, hasn’t it?’ Chisholm was getting to his feet.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘You said we were done.’
‘Maybe you and me, but you’re here until Milligan says otherwise.’
‘How long’s that going to take?’
‘The longer the better, as far as the law-abiding folk of your patch are concerned.’
Chisholm slumped back onto his chair. ‘Ever hear the saying, all coppers are bastards?’
Laidlaw paused with the door ajar. ‘At least I’m a bastard with a glimmer of self-awareness.’ He flicked the remains of his cigarette towards the table and made his exit.
15
Springburn Park was a sea of uniforms, their slow, linear progress watched by about half the local populace. Most of the doors knocked on, there’d been nobody home. They were either at work or the shops, or else they were gathered by the park railings to witness the spectacle.
‘Here’s hoping Cam Colvin appreciates the lengths we’re going to,’ Laidlaw said to Bob Lilley.
‘You don’t sound hopeful.’
‘That’s because I’m not. Even if it turns out to be the knife, what is all this telling us?’
‘It’s by the book, Jack.’
‘Aye, but the book’s in a foreign language and missing some pages. Do you think the killer lives locally?’
‘It’s not all church ministers and spinster librarians around here.’
‘You’re probably right, and if the killer hung on to the knife that means they’ll have bloodstains on their clothes.’ Laidlaw gestured towards the crowd of onlookers. ‘Maybe you should walk up and down the line looking for telltale signs.’
‘Except the clothes will have been tossed by now. Same goes for any bag they might have kept the knife in.’
‘They didn’t leave the knife with the body — that’s something to think about. And this place is too public to be the scene of the crime. So now we have three distinct geographical locations to keep us busy — this park, the lane behind the Parlour, and wherever the stabbing actually took place. It’s a few miles from here to the Calton. My guess would be that the third point of the triangle isn’t too near either of those.’
‘They’re covering their tracks, in other words?’ ‘Either that or they’re monumentally stupid. Speaking of which...’ Laidlaw was watching over Lilley’s shoulder as Milligan came bounding towards them in a cream-coloured terylene raincoat, its belt flapping. His face was more flushed even than usual.
‘One of the houses we tried, the wife was home but not the husband. Her name’s Mary Thomson and she wasn’t exactly cooperative. Officer asked at a neighbour’s, and guess who she’s married to — only Spanner Thomson.’
‘Isn’t he one of Colvin’s men?’ Lilley checked.
‘Bingo,’ Milligan said.
‘We’ve some news of our own,’ Laidlaw broke in. ‘Carter was seeing a young lassie called Jennifer Love. She’s the daughter of Archie Love.’
Milligan’s face creased in concentration. ‘The footballer?’
‘Though as far as we know, her father had no idea they were an item,’ Lilley added.
Laidlaw could see Milligan struggling to accept this new strand. He already had a pattern in mind and didn’t want it spoiled. He flapped a hand in front of him. ‘That’s for later,’ he decided. ‘For now, I want Spanner Thomson brought in.’
‘Interview rooms are already taken,’ Laidlaw reminded him.
‘The lad’s gone home.’
‘And Malky Chisholm?’
‘Can stew until I’m good and ready. Are you two okay to pick up Thomson?’
‘Is he likely to have his trademark about his person?’ Lilley enquired.
‘I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re being given the job,’ Laidlaw answered.
‘Just be careful, Bob,’ Milligan said. ‘DC Laidlaw’s usual ploy of talking the suspect into submission might not work where a pipe wrench is involved. I’ll see you back at the station. Either that or your hospital bed. Don’t expect grapes.’ He moved off again, readying to inspect his troops.