27
It was a ten-minute walk to Bobby Carter’s street. Laidlaw stopped outside the house opposite and, there being no obvious bell, thumped on the door with his fist. When no one answered, he peered through first the letter box and then the living room window. It was obvious no one was home. He turned his collar up as he prepared for the walk to the nearest bus stop, but then saw a figure emerging from Carter’s home. It was Ernie Milligan. Milligan did a double take and a scowl replaced the more relaxed look he’d been sporting. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets as he crossed the road and confronted Laidlaw.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he snarled.
‘I was just thinking the same thing — keeping the widow to yourself, eh?’
‘I was merely providing an update.’
‘Including Jennifer Love?’
‘Monica’s got enough on her plate as it is.’
‘First names now, Ernie? How’s everything on the home front — Lucille happy and well?’
Milligan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re one to talk. I hear you spend more time in hotel beds than your own.’
Laidlaw was looking over Milligan’s shoulder towards the Carter house. ‘She’s a fine-looking woman, though, and with money coming to her. Can’t say I’d blame you for trying, though I doubt you’ve a cat in hell’s chance, not when the competition includes Cam Colvin.’
Blood was creeping up Milligan’s neck. ‘I don’t want you bothering that family.’
‘Perish the thought.’
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘Just following up the door-to-doors, double-checking what light the neighbours can shed.’
‘I don’t remember that being something I asked for.’
‘Working on my own initiative, DI Milligan.’
‘You were at the taxi pound this morning, weren’t you? Looks like John Rhodes is preparing for war. Bob Lilley reckons I should try to broker peace.’
‘Is that right?’
‘You don’t think I’m up to it?’
‘I’m not convinced Gandhi himself would be up to it, but if Bob thinks it’s worth a try...’ Laidlaw gave a shrug.
Milligan was looking past him to where an unmarked Ford Cortina was entering the street, driven by one of the faces from Central. ‘My lift’s here,’ he stated.
‘Room for one in the back?’ Laidlaw enquired.
Milligan waited until the car had pulled to a halt before shaking his head with obvious relish. He closed the passenger-side door after him and the car started moving off again, the driver offering an apologetic look in Laidlaw’s direction.
‘Fuck you too, pal,’ Laidlaw muttered.
Laidlaw hadn’t quite reached the end of the street when he heard a door bang shut behind him. He paused as if to light a cigarette and watched as a young woman approached, chin tucked into the tartan scarf around her neck. She was in her late teens and sported long, straight dark hair, the fringe of which stopped just short of her eyes. He searched for her name: Stella, that was it.
‘Stella Carter?’ he said as she made to give him a wide berth.
‘Which paper are you?’
‘I’m police. My colleague DI Milligan just paid you a visit.’
‘Prove it.’
Laidlaw handed her his warrant card. She took her time before returning it.
‘He wasn’t visiting me,’ she eventually confided.
‘Your mum then. Can I just say how sorry I am about your dad?’
‘Stepdad,’ she corrected him. She had commenced walking again, Laidlaw falling into step beside her.
‘Where are you off to?’ he asked.
‘The shop.’ After a dozen more steps, she stopped, half turning to stare at him with dark, tired-looking eyes. ‘What do you want?’
‘Twenty Embassy, if you’re offering.’
She decided to reward him with a fleeting smile. When she recommenced her walk, he stayed with her.
‘I didn’t know your mum had been married before.’
‘It didn’t last long.’
‘Long enough to produce you, though.’
‘I’m the reason for the wedding.’
‘Some good came of it, then.’
‘Are you allowed to be chatting me up?’
‘Trust me, that’s not what I’m doing. Are you in college or anything?’
‘Compassionate leave.’
Laidlaw nodded his understanding. ‘What are you studying?’
‘Accountancy.’
‘Your choice or your stepdad’s?’ When she looked at him, he gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I went through much the same — literature wasn’t going to get me a job, according to my mum and dad. They wanted a doctor, dentist, lawyer, as if the working classes are only allowed higher education as a road towards a trade.’
‘But you did it anyway? English, I mean?’
‘Gave up after a year.’
‘Drama’s what I really wanted to do,’ she confessed, her tone almost wistful for a moment before she remembered who she was with and the circumstances that had brought them together.
‘What was DI Milligan talking to your mum about?’ Laidlaw asked into the silence.
‘How he’s working like a Trojan, not letting up for a second.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘He also offered to help move the wall units back now the decorating’s finished. Is that part of your normal service?’
‘No,’ Laidlaw conceded. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘He just likes my mum — no surprise there.’
‘I’d say Cam Colvin likes your mum, too.’
Stella stared at him and looked suddenly chastened. ‘Bobby drilled it into us: don’t talk to the police. They’re not your friends.’
‘And yet here we are.’ Laidlaw could see the shop. It was on the next corner, a sandwich board outside tempting customers with offers of cut-price lager and vodka. Time, he knew, was limited. A woman in her seventies had just exited, carrying a string bag containing not much more than a box of loose tea and a bottle of gin.
‘Hello there, Stella,’ she said as she passed them.
‘Mrs Jamieson,’ Stella replied, the greeting half-hearted at best.
‘Cam Colvin does still look in on your mum, though?’ Laidlaw asked once they were past.
‘He phones mostly. He’s arranging the funeral, wants a big show.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think he was happy when he turned up the same time as Roy.’
‘Roy?’
‘My dad.’
‘So your mum and him are still close?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘That’s because I’m nosy.’
‘He takes me out once a fortnight, maybe the pictures or Rothesay or just shopping.’
‘What does he do for a living?’
‘Painter and decorator — thinking of offering him some work?’
‘Not a bad idea. My wife’s been nagging me for months.’
He waited for another smile, but none was being offered.
‘You think they might get together again?’ he pressed on. ‘Your mum and dad?’
Stella gave a snort. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘Stranger things have happened.’ They had reached the shop’s doorway. She pushed her way inside, leaving him standing there. Peering through the glass, he saw her produce a string bag of her own from a pocket, along with a shopping list. Weighing up his options, he turned and headed back the way he’d just come, catching up with Mrs Jamieson before long, aided by the fact that she seemed to be X-raying every dwelling she passed.
‘Carry your bag for you?’ he offered.
‘No thank you.’ Her eyes were piercing. ‘You’re the police? I saw you the other day.’
Laidlaw nodded. ‘Not much gets past you,’ he said. ‘Must be a shock for the whole street, what happened to Mr Carter.’