Though, as she had already indicated, he deserved extra marks for neither.
‘Are you stopping here tonight?’ Ena asked. She was standing in the doorway, suds on her hands.
‘I’ve got another early start.’
‘There’s an alarm clock, Jack.’
In the end, he offered the nodded acceptance that the situation seemed to require.
‘Fine then,’ his wife said, turning away from him again.
‘I’ll just go up and check on the kids,’ he said, conscious that she had stopped listening. On the staircase, his legs felt simultaneously heavier and lighter with each step he climbed.
Four in the morning. That was the Faron Young song, wasn’t it? Four in the morning and... something about the dawning. Not dawn yet in Glasgow, though, as the passenger climbed out of the car. The driver stayed, ready to give warning, engine ticking over. The fence was high, the gates secured by a heavy chain and padlock. He hoisted the bolt-cutters but froze as a man in a stained car coat appeared around the corner, looking almost concussed. Either one of the local prozzies had given him a doing, or he’d passed out from the night’s bevvy and dozed on the pavement until the chill shook him awake. The passer-by saw the bolt-cutters a moment before raising his eyes to the figure who was releasing them. That figure now reached into a pocket, producing a combat knife, which came with a serrated edge and a nasty-looking tip.
‘Keep walking and you’ll keep breathing. Open your mouth about this and you’ll find it widened by a fair few inches when I catch up with you — got that, or would a few wee nicks maybe help you file it away?’
The pedestrian didn’t need telling, his eyes fixed on the knife that was being flexed in front of him.
‘None of my business, son, God’s honest truth.’ The man began stumbling away. The driver was watching his colleague intently. A shake of the head as the knife was tucked back into pocket said no further action need be taken. Not this time. He bent down and retrieved the bolt-cutters.
Four in the morning: how did the tune go again? He’d maybe get them to play it in Whiskies. It was a bit mournful, but who was going to stop him? And if anyone could dance to it, that wee ride Jenni could...
Day Five
26
‘Explains why I had trouble getting a taxi,’ Laidlaw said to Lilley.
They were standing on the pavement next to a high mesh fence topped with strands of barbed wire. The padlock on the gates had been cut and lay on the ground. Inside the compound sat a dozen black cabs, their tyres slashed and windshields smashed. Laidlaw examined the surrounding buildings — disused warehouses and single-storey factory units.
‘Only likely witnesses that time of night would be tarts and their clients,’ Lilley commented, ‘judging by the johnnies strewn along the gutters.’
‘You paint a compelling picture, Bob.’
Crime-scene officers were dusting for prints and shooting roll upon roll of film. Laidlaw dislodged a sliver of bacon from between his teeth and flicked it towards the ground.
‘Hotel again last night?’ Lilley enquired. He watched Laidlaw shake his head. ‘Thanks for the meal, by the way.’
‘Don’t feel under any compunction to invite us round to yours too soon.’
‘Understood.’
‘I hope Cam Colvin’s premiums are up to date. Who fronts the place for him?’
‘Betty Fraser.’ Lilley watched one of Laidlaw’s eyebrows rise a fraction. ‘A rare enough commodity, I know, but she’s driven cabs for twenty years, knows her stuff, and her drivers are loyal to her.’
‘Meaning they don’t skim too much off each fare? Was the business always hers?’
Lilley nodded. ‘Colvin came in as a sleeping partner three or four years back. Seems he made her an offer she—’
‘I get the picture, Bob.’ The two detectives were walking around the inner perimeter of the compound, so as not to get in the way.
‘Tit for tat, isn’t it?’ Lilley commented.
‘And if the damage is covered by insurance, the only thing hurt is Colvin’s pride.’
‘You reckon John Rhodes is good for it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Just maybe?’
‘Just maybe,’ Laidlaw echoed.
‘So what does Colvin do now?’
‘He either sits on his hands or he escalates.’
‘Would it do any good to put the two of them in a room together?’
‘Only if you run a funeral business.’ Laidlaw was lighting a cigarette. There were only two left in the packet, and he needed new flints for his lighter. ‘Any chance I can hitch a lift?’
Lilley checked his watch. ‘We could grab a cuppa first — there’s another forty minutes before the morning briefing.’
‘I’m not going to the morning briefing, Bob.’
‘How far do you think you can push Milligan before the top of his head comes off?’
‘It’s an ongoing experiment.’
‘So where am I giving you a lift to?’
‘First stop’s a tobacconist, Bearsden after that.’
‘You’re going to see the widow?’
Laidlaw shook his head. ‘I thought I’d drop in on a convalescing friend.’
Lilley worked it out in a matter of seconds. ‘Matt Mason’s out of hospital?’
‘The very man,’ Laidlaw said.
‘Am I invited?’
‘Not really.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘It’s for your own good. If Milligan gets to hear that I’m freelancing, best that you can deny all knowledge.’
‘Except that I’m supposed to be babysitting you — and that’s the Commander’s orders rather than Ernie Milligan’s.’
‘You really think I need babysitting, Bob?’
‘What you need, Jack, is nothing short of a guardian bloody angel.’
Matt Mason’s home was an unassuming bungalow on a quiet street of well-kept flower beds and windows shielded by net curtains. Unassuming or no, it would be worth north of ten thousand pounds in this part of town. A Ford Escort RS1600 was parked on the road outside, while the driveway itself was empty. It was a conspicuous car, and intended to be so. Laidlaw tapped on the driver’s-side window and waited while the scowling figure within deigned to wind it down.
‘The name’s Detective Constable Laidlaw. Just here for a word with your boss, no dramatics needed.’
‘I’m waiting to pick up a pal.’
‘Of course you are, and so is the bulge under your armpit. It better fire nothing more deadly than caps, or I might need to haul you out of there and into a Black Maria.’ While he waited for his words to sink in, he looked up and down the empty street. ‘Any reason for Matt to feel the need for more firepower than usual? This thing you’re sat in is about as subtle as a tricolour at Ibrox.’ The driver wasn’t about to answer, so Laidlaw turned away, passed through the wrought-iron gate and rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered wore a floral apron and was wiping her hands on a dish towel.
‘Mrs Mason? I’m here to see Matt.’
‘Is he expecting you?’
‘I was hoping for the element of surprise.’ Laidlaw held up his warrant card and she dropped the impersonation of suburban housewife, her face becoming stony, eyes as cold as any mugger’s.
‘He’s just out of hospital.’
‘Which is why I’m here and not there.’
‘Have you got a search warrant?’
‘I’m only after a talk with the man, unless you think there’s something more serious I should be exploring?’
She half turned, as if to assure herself nothing incriminating was within view.