‘Why did they want to talk to Jack Collins?’ I asked eventually.
‘About Dad’s business. If there could be a connection with his death. He knew all kinds. Like you do.’
I let the dig go.
‘Do they suspect Collins of being involved in any of this?’
She shrugged a loose, drunken shrug. ‘I dunno. Jack wouldn’t have anything to do with anything like that. Jack’s a good boy…’
I wasn’t going to get much sense out of her so I guided her upstairs to her bedroom. I laid her down on the bed and she grabbed my jacket by the lapels, pulling my face close to hers. She reached her mouth to mine. I gently eased her back onto the bed.
‘Stay with me, Lennox. Sleep here tonight…’
‘Okay,’ I said. It was a reflex action, like kicking your leg when a doctor hits your knee with that little rubber hammer.
It was Maggie MacFarlane who woke me up. I looked up at her, blinking. There was just too much sun streaming into the room for my bruised noggin to cope with.
‘You look terrible,’ she said. No smile. Just a hard, cold stare.
I eased myself up into a sitting position on the sofa. We were in the living room. That irritating chivalrous streak had shown itself again and I’d camped out on the sofa. To get my gallantry into perspective, I don’t think either Lorna or I had had it in us to perform a horizontal tango. So here I was on the sofa: cramped, aching and in a foul mood. I looked at my suit trousers: they had more wrinkles than a Nepalese octogenarian and I congratulated myself on the smart move of changing clothes before I came over.
‘Where have you been?’ I asked, stretching.
‘What the hell is that to do with you?’
‘I came over last night and found Lorna completely plastered. She could have done with a little step-maternal support. You know that they’ve arrested a traveller for Small Change’s murder?’
‘Of course.’ Maggie remained frosty, which was far from her usual demeanour. ‘The police told me. So it was robbery after all.’
‘Did anyone suggest it wasn’t?’ I asked.
‘I think I should go up and see Lorna,’ said Maggie, dodging the question.
‘I’ll go,’ I said, removing my restraining hand from her forearm when she looked at it as if I had been a leper. With Blackwater Fever. And a Celtic supporter. ‘I promised I’d look after her.’ Walking to the door, I added over my shoulder: ‘And how is your stepson? Or half-stepson? I get confused.’
‘What are you talking about?’ It was there in her voice: something tight and a little unsure of itself. I turned to face her.
‘Young Jack Collins, the debonair gad-about-town. I’m guessing that’s who you were with last night? I know he’s Small Change’s illegitimate son.’
‘I think you should mind your own business and stay out of other people’s,’ said Maggie. The words were hard but the tone was softening. Like an expert sailor changing tack, she had worked out she needed to approach this breeze carefully. ‘Listen, Jack’s a good kid and he treated Small Change…’
‘Like a father?’ I helped out.
‘Well, yes. There’s nothing improper going on.’
‘If you say so,’ I said. I didn’t have time for this. ‘I better see Lorna.’
It wasn’t a pretty sight. She had thrown up in her sleep onto the bed sheets and I had to help her to her feet and into the bathroom while I stripped the bed. It took me an hour to get her straightened out before I could leave. She cried a lot: the shame of the unaccustomed drunk. You didn’t see it much in Glasgow.
I got back to my digs about ten a.m. The day was off to a great start: as I walked up the path Fiona White came out of the main door. She eyed me up and down, taking in my creased suit and probably sickly-looking face. It would have done no good to explain that I was actually concussed rather than hung over and I raised my hat to her as she walked past without uttering a word.
Once I was freshened up again I drove up to Blanefield and knocked on Kirkcaldy’s door. There was no one home so I came back into town to the Maryhill address I had for his gym. It was in an old building in Bantaskin Street: a much bigger, less sophisticated and sweatier affair than the set-up he had in the basement of his house. Old Uncle Bert was there too; he showed a fidelity to his nephew that would have made Blackfriar’s Bobby look like a fly-by-night. Kirkcaldy was sparring with a padded-helmeted partner in the ring. Bert came over to me and was the most amenable I had seen him. Which still was on the hostile side of chilly.
‘We saw what happened to yon laddie of yours,’ he said through his nose. ‘That was bad. Bobby’s upset that the boy was looking out for him when he got the beating.’
‘I appreciate it,’ I said. ‘And I appreciate Bobby taking the time to call into the hospital to see him. Were you there when Bobby found him?’
‘Aye, we were both on the way back from here. The lad was lying by the car, all battered to fuck. Somebody must have belted his coupon from behind then kicked the shite out of him.’
‘You reckon?’
‘That’s what it looked like, poor kid. You want to talk to Bobby? He can’t really tell you any more than I can but you’re welcome to wait.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s okay. Tell him I called by to say thanks.’
‘I’ll do that.’
It was turning into an unproductive morning. I called around at Jimmy Costello’s. His two goons, Skelly and Young, were sitting at the bar when I went in and eyed me contemptuously, a look I was getting used to. Skelly was still wearing the marks of our recent tango. I asked Jimmy Costello if he had heard from Paul. He told me he hadn’t and I could see that he was telling the truth.
‘Why you asking?’ he said. ‘You got a lead?’
‘No, I’ve got a bump on the back of my head and I’m pretty sure it was your son who gave it to me. I tracked down Sammy Pollock but left my rear exposed, to coin an expression.’
‘Why would Paul do that?’
‘Maybe he’s not convinced that I really am just interested in tracking down Sammy. Do you know anything about a stolen jade statuette? Of some kind of oriental dragon or demon?’
‘No…’ I guessed that this was Costello’s automatic response to being asked about stolen goods so I pushed him. ‘Listen, Jimmy, it’s important. I think Paul and Sammy Pollock have bitten off more than they can chew. Now, do you really not know anything about a stolen jade figure?’
‘I swear, Lennox. If Paul knows anything about it then he’s never said fuck all to me. Not that that surprises me. We don’t talk much.’
I talked to Costello for another half hour and just went around in the same old circles. As I was leaving, I saw Skelly shoot me another filthy look. The bump on my head gave another, bigger throb and it crossed my mind that it maybe hadn’t been Paul Costello who had bushwhacked me. I crossed the bar and pulled Skelly clean off his stool. His loyal pal backed away from me.
‘You got a problem with me, shitface?’ I chose the route of diplomacy.
‘I’m not the one with the problem,’ said Skelly, pulling the tailoring from my grasp. ‘And I don’t want any trouble.’
‘So I have a problem… is that what you’re saying.’
‘I’m not saying anything. Like I said, I don’t want any trouble.’
‘Then just watch your manners when you’re around your betters, Sonny.’
He turned a sullen back on me. There was no fight in him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t handy enough with a sap in dim light and from behind.
I left him to his sulk and ignored Jimmy Costello’s impatient glare. I was pushing my luck, I knew it, but I had a sore head and was in a bad mood and everyone I dealt with seemed to be either lying to me or hiding something.
A promise is a promise. I called in to see Davey at the lunchtime visiting hour. He was pleased to see me but I could tell he hurt like hell. I wasn’t far behind him. We talked and I joked with him and all the time I felt that old dark fury kindle itself deep in my gut.