‘Here’s your photograph back.’ He handed me an envelope. I had let him and McNab keep the picture of Joe Strachan or Henry Williamson or whoever the hell he was, but on the understanding that they copied it and gave me back the original. I had been relieved that they had not pushed too much to find out exactly how I’d come by it.
‘You get anything on the guy in the picture?’ I asked.
‘Nope. He remains a mystery man. But I have some good news — and I have to point out that I haven’t shared it with Superintendent McNab yet — I think I’ve tracked down someone who might be able to cast a little light on the matter.’
‘Oh … who?’
‘Stewart Provan.’
‘Wait a minute … I recognize that name …’ I scrabbled about in my drawer and found the sheet of paper the twins had sent me with the names that had been found on the note behind furniture. There it was, the fourth name on the list. ‘How did you find him?’
‘Pure chance. He’s living under the name Stewart Reid now. Changed his name by deed poll. But with ex-prisoners, we get notified of change of names and residence. I got the name from old Jimmy Duncan, who you met the other day. Told him I wanted to track down anyone who was suspected of being an associate of Joe Strachan. He came up with Stewart Provan, which led to Stewart Reid.’
‘Any form since the Thirties?’
‘None. Like Billy Dunbar, he’s gone straight.’
I nodded, not wanting to add that I could guarantee that Dunbar would never break the law again.
‘And you have an address for him?’ I asked.
Ferguson nodded indulgently and handed me a slip of paper with Provan’s details on them.
‘I appreciate this, Jock.’
Ferguson shrugged. ‘Just don’t let McNab know I’ve tipped you off. Having said that, what is it that’s going on between you and McNab? It’s almost like you’re on the payroll. You’re not, are you? I mean, he’s not paying you snout money?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Jock. Let’s just say the Superintendent has come to a greater appreciation of my finer qualities. Now, what do you reckon to this Home Guard connection? Do you really think that this Chief Superintendent Harrison tipped off whoever it was that came after me?’
‘I don’t know, Lennox, but you know that coincidences are pretty difficult things to believe in. But I can’t believe a senior officer in the City of Glasgow Police would knowingly be involved with this kind of nonsense.’
I raised an eyebrow so much that Archie would have been proud of me.
‘We’re not all on the take or corrupt,’ said Jock defensively.
‘Not all, I’m sure. Anyway, thanks for the address, Jock.’ I stood up. I wanted Ferguson to clear out. I had no idea how long the terrified Paul Downey would stay at the address Leonora Bryson had given me.
‘You’re welcome.’ I could tell from his tone that he was a little put out.
‘Sorry, Jock … it’s just I’ve got something to deal with. And it’s urgent.’
I saw him down the stairs and out onto the main street. I made my way around the corner to where I had parked the Atlantic and headed out to Bridgeton. I drove past the address three or four times, circling the block on either side, just to make sure there was no sign of the mob Bryson had set on Downey’s trail. I needed to get Downey safe and secure before I dealt with Fraser.
I had a more immediate problem.
The address was in a tenement block that was little more than a slum, as were the blocks around it. I couldn’t leave the Atlantic anywhere near. Mainly because, if I did, there would be little of it to come back to, but the other reason was it would stick out a mile in this part of the city and I had as much chance of getting to Downey unseen as if I approached waving a banner and beating a drum. I drove out for a half mile until I found the rail station and dumped the Atlantic in the car park, hoofing it back to the tenement. The exact numbers were difficult to sort out and I decided against knocking on doors and asking if anyone knew Downey. Even as it was, I thought I could hear the rhythm of jungle drums as I strolled past the tenements.
I could have staked the place out, of course, but it might have been hours before the spooked Downey would venture out. Or maybe he had already moved on. I stood at the corner, smoking and watching shoeless kids sail newspaper boats on the iridescently oily surface of rain puddles.
I had just decided to risk knocking some doors when I saw Downey at the far end of the street, carrying a large brown paper bag of groceries. He hadn’t seen me and I ducked around the corner and waited for him to reach me.
I really did feel sorry for the guy. When he turned the corner, he looked as if he had walked straight into the Grim Reaper himself, which was pretty much who he thought I was. He started as if he was about to make a run for it but I grabbed his arm and hauled him up against the wall. He dropped the grocery bag on the cobbles.
‘You killed him!’ he shouted. ‘You killed Frank! You’re going to kill me!’
The kids playing in the gutter stopped playing and watched us, but with a dull curiosity that suggested they had seen it all before.
‘Stop shouting, Paul,’ I said in a calm, even voice, ‘or I’m going to have to slug you, and I really don’t want to do that. I’m not going to hurt you and I didn’t hurt Frank.’ I frowned. ‘Well … okay … I did hurt Frank, but it wasn’t me who killed him. And I’m not connected to the people who did. Got that?’
He nodded furiously, but in that I’m-too-scared-to-listen way.
‘Paul …’ I said patiently. ‘You need to understand what I’m saying. I’m not here to hurt you. Believe it or not, I’m here to help you. To make sure you stay safe. Do you understand?’
He nodded again, but it had sunk in this time. Now his expression clouded with suspicion. I let him go.
‘I want to help you, Paul … to put an end to all this mayhem and fix things so that you can stop running. But first of all I need to talk to you so that I can try to understand what’s going on better. Can we go up to your place?’
‘I’m staying with a friend. We can’t talk there.’ Again his look and his tone were laced with suspicion.
‘Okay …’ I picked up the groceries and handed them to him. My car’s parked at the station. We can talk as we walk …’
I had given Downey his groceries to carry as an encumbrance, or at least an early warning, if suddenly dropped, that he was going to make a run for it. But as we walked he listened to everything I told him, including how my involvement had been simply to retrieve the photographs and negatives of John Macready. I lied by telling him that I suspected Frank had been killed by people working either on Macready’s behalf or on behalf of the Duke to protect his son. The truth, of course, was that I knew damned well that it had been Leonora Bryson and the lawyer Fraser who had organized the killing.
We got back to the car and I told him to get in, which he did, but only after casting an anxious eye around us. I did a bit of casting myself and got in after him. He sat there, small and slight and clutching his now crumpled grocery bag, more child than man.
‘Why did you get into all of this business, Paul?’ I asked. ‘You’re just not cut out for it.’
‘It was Frank’s idea to start with. Then Iain came up with this plan to fleece Macready. I never thought people would start getting killed. I never knew that Frank …’
He broke off and started to cry. I looked the other way, out of the window, embarrassed. And trying to avoid getting angry with him because he had embarrassed me. He stopped after a while.
‘Listen, Paul,’ I said. ‘I don’t think this is all just about the Macready photos, either. I think you ended up in possession of something valuable and dangerous and you didn’t even know it was valuable and dangerous.’ I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope Ferguson had given me. I took out the photograph and handed it to Downey.