The bins next to where the body had lain had been emptied, their contents taken away to be sifted by specialists with more patience than Laidlaw. They probably enjoyed jigsaws of a rainy Sunday afternoon, too. A single bunch of flowers, shop-bought, sat in the gap between the bins. There was no note. As Laidlaw stood there contemplating, a gawker arrived, a man in a trench coat and NHS glasses, thin hair slicked back, wife a few steps behind him, happy to have her hero lead the way.
‘Fuck right off,’ Laidlaw warned them both, as the man produced a cheap camera from his pocket.
‘No harm in it,’ the man blurted out. But he had the decency to look ashamed as he turned and gave his wife a little shove. Laidlaw escorted them as far as the pavement, then, having waited a few moments, pushed open the door to the Parlour and headed in.
What greeted him was a frozen tableau, a moment captured for posterity. No one seated at any of the tables, four men standing at the bar, one having reached across to grab the landlord by his shirt front. All eyes were on Laidlaw as he entered. The shirt was released, the men adjusting their expressions.
‘Thought you’d locked that,’ one growled softly to another.
‘This the University Challenge audition?’ Laidlaw enquired, approaching the bar. Then, to Conn Feeney specifically: ‘Bamber Gascoigne couldn’t make it?’
One of the men jabbed a stubby finger towards him. ‘You leave here now, if you know what’s good for you, pal.’
‘He’s CID,’ another of the group piped up. ‘I can smell it from here.’
Laidlaw took his time getting a cigarette lit. ‘You’ll be Cam Colvin’s boys,’ he commented. ‘If memory serves, that probably means one of you is called Panda.’
‘That’s me,’ stated the one who’d smelled police on him.
‘Yours is the only name I remember. That’s how worried my lot are about you and your boss. You’re barely specks of dust floating over a buckled tin ashtray.’ Laidlaw made show of tapping a finger against the ashtray in front of him. ‘Tin rather than glass because it’s a lot less use in a fight. Ineffectual, you might even say. Look the word up when you get home — which is where I advise you to go right this second, before you start to really annoy me.’
‘This your idea of investigating a murder?’ the one called Panda said. ‘Stopping off for a few free drinks and a smoke? We all know you won’t be losing much sleep over Bobby, or breaking any sweat over the case.’
‘Problem is too many suspects,’ Laidlaw said. ‘I’d be as well opening the phone book and working my way through from the A’s. What I don’t need, however, is the likes of you doing my job for me, with threats and intimidation in place of a warrant card.’
Panda didn’t bother answering. He had become de facto leader, and his job now was to lead his men out of the pub with dignity intact.
‘You’ll be seeing us again,’ he shot towards the landlord. ‘Don’t think you won’t. Same goes for you, copper.’
‘The name’s Laidlaw. Make sure that gets back to your boss. Write it down if you have to.’
He watched them leave in silence. They walked in single file, repairing their swagger before facing the outside world. Feeney was jamming a glass under the nearest optic.
‘You’ll take one.’ It was more a demand than a question.
‘I prefer Antiquary to the council stuff.’
Feeney obliged, pouring liberally from a bottle. He added a splash of water to his own, Laidlaw nodding to indicate that he’d have the same.
‘Thanks for that,’ the landlord said.
‘For what? They’ll be back, just like they said. All the same, they’ve not managed to shake you up too much. I’m guessing that’s because you’ve some Belfast blood in you.’
‘Born and bred.’
‘Lived through enough scares before you landed here?’
‘A few.’ Feeney had already finished his drink but seemed in no hurry for another. He rinsed his glass and lit a cigarette of his own. ‘They’re not exactly amateurs but they’re not the worst I’ve seen.’
‘How about their boss?’
‘Only known to me by reputation.’
‘And Bobby Carter?’
Feeney examined Laidlaw through the haze of smoke between them, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Okay, you’ve done me a good turn, so here’s all I’m saying — he came in here once.’
‘Bobby Carter?’
‘The same.’
‘You knew who he was?’
‘Not at the time. After he left, one of my regulars enlightened me.’
‘That’s why you recognised him in the alley.’ Laidlaw nodded his understanding. ‘So what was he doing here, the time he dropped in?’
‘Waiting for someone to join him who never arrived.’
‘And you’ve no idea who?’
Feeney shook his head.
‘He hadn’t been in before?’
‘No.’
‘So the pub was probably the other person’s idea.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Meaning maybe someone you do know. Nobody ever asked if they’d missed him? Nobody arrived looking for him after he left?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘How long ago did all this happen?’
‘Three or four weeks back.’
‘You should have told us.’
‘I’m telling you now. Don’t make me regret it.’
Laidlaw finished his drink and stubbed out the cigarette. He wrote the number of the Burleigh on a spare McEwan’s coaster. ‘If you think of anything else,’ he said, sliding it across to Feeney. ‘Or if Colvin’s men turn nasty.’
‘I can handle myself.’
‘Thing is, you probably have limits, boundaries you won’t cross because your conscience won’t allow it. These men don’t. You’d be wise to bear that in mind.’
Laidlaw walked to the door, hauled it open and stepped outside, coming face to face with two men, one of them John Rhodes. Rhodes was tall and fair-haired, not overly heavy in build. His face was pockmarked and had been since borstal days, though no one ever commented on the fact. His eyes were blue and often had a smile playing around them, as now. The man at his shoulder had a heavily scarred face and what looked like a permanent scowl, his eyes as animated as mortar shells.
‘Jack Laidlaw,’ Rhodes said, sliding his hands into his pockets as if getting comfortable.
‘Hello, John. Whatever in the world brings you here?’
‘I like to know what’s happening in my neck of the woods.’
‘You just missed some of Cam Colvin’s men.’
‘Well isn’t that lucky for them?’ He glanced past Laidlaw towards the bar. ‘Any damage?’
‘Landlord seemed to be coping.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘Is this one of your properties?’ Laidlaw watched Rhodes shake his head. ‘Your visit here might suggest otherwise to Colvin.’
‘If I was going to take out Colvin’s consigliere, I’d hardly have dumped him on my own patch. Not even your colleagues could be that dense — unless of course Milligan’s in charge.’ Rhodes’s smile widened when he saw Laidlaw’s face tighten a fraction. ‘He is, though? Wonderful...’
‘What did you mean by consigliere?’
‘Have you not seen The Godfather yet? Get your arse to a picture house while it’s still playing. It’s a name for a right-hand man, the kind with a brain worth listening to. Now that Carter’s been written off, Colvin’s short of ready replacements.’
‘So someone took Carter out to knock the foundations from under Colvin? That would be a smart move, the kind a man like John Rhodes might make.’
‘Aye, or Matt Mason, or one of half a dozen other names we could bandy about all afternoon.’