Shadow of the Castle

by Matthew Macleod

  'No such thing as too nice Mark. You can't be too nice to people.'

  The simplicity of the statement matched the straightforward nature of the man. It was a nothing statement but to the two minds addled by too much smoking it felt profound. The mouth on the couch moved again.

  'How do you mean we're too nice anyway? What would you rather?'

  'I dunno. Be a bit more business like I guess?'

  'Check you out Mr. Economics. Giving it big licks with the business plan.'

  'You know what I mean. We end up baked, smoking with every guy who comes through the door.'

  'Yes. Yes, we do.'

  A smile cracked on the couch and Mark just gave up on the whole idea. It wasn't like leaving a goat to tend the cabbage after all. It was like they were both goats and Mark was trying to tell Deek that they shouldn't eat the cabbage despite the fact that they both wanted to. He finally reached up and swept the hair clear of his eyes. Or something like that.

  For the hundredth time since it had happened, Mark considered telling Deek at least a little bit about the mitigating circumstances surrounding their different luck when the cops had battered the door down. Deek had said time and time again that it wasn’t an issue and there was no way that Mark could have known. The element of untruth in that statement ate away inside his mind, sharpened to a needling feeling by the paranoia that seemed to be growing in his subconscious either with age or with an ever increasing intake level of hash. He watched his friend’s long frame draped over the couch and saw how peaceful his face seemed. For the hundredth time he decided that he would tell him at some point: just not now. The film they had both been watching had finished and was now looping the title menu over and over. Finding the remote with not a little difficulty, Mark pushed the hair out of his eyes again with one hand to get a clear look at it. After much deliberation, he realised that while it was beyond him at the moment to get up and change the disk, he was more than capable of pressing the OK button and starting the movie from the beginning. Holding the remote close to his face, he pressed firmly on the middle button and was rewarded with the opening credits. Behind him, Deek was starting to breathe deeper and he knew sleep would take them both soon. Finding a bag of crisps and the rolling set-up he positioned himself so that he was still on the floor but now with his back against the sofa where the ever deepening breathing led him to believe that Deek had finally given in to sleep. Whatever had been bugging him when he’d rushed out after the phone call was obviously not enough for him to lose any sleep over. Concentrating hard on rolling, Mark felt a hand touch his hair and ruffle it gently before being taken away. A sleepy voice accompanied the gentle gesture.

  ‘’Night Mark.’

  Mark paused his efforts at a point where he could safely hold the entire arrangement in one hand and reached behind him with the free one. Keeping his eyes focused on the task in hand he patted whichever bit of Deek his hand happened to land on.

  ‘Night dude.’

  The clock in the corner that neither had thought to check stated that the time was 00:45. The movie played out the opening scenes for a second time and Mark had one eye on the screen but took none of it in. After this film, he’d call it a day too. All of a sudden he realised that the paranoia had melted away and he felt entirely fine within his mind once more. After all, business never stops and they could well have another busy day tomorrow.

  The night was wearing on but there was no rest in sight for Luke. After he had gone over all the possible ways in and out of the building with Gav, he had taken a note of his personal number and left. As he began to walk back the way he had come, up George IV bridge and towards his flat he was too deep in thought to pay much attention to the people who were brushing against his shoulders as they staggered past and on with their night. All that awaited him back in his flat was cold, quiet and dark and in order to think clearly he wanted noise and company. The watch on his left wrist was another cheap plastic one that cost him next to nothing but had served him years and it informed him that the Bull would be long since closed since it didn't have a late licence. His best bet was somewhere open late that wasn't a club – as much as he required background action to focus his mind, there was no sane person in this world who went to a nightclub to try and piece together the pieces of a mystery that were being handed to them excruciatingly slowly.

  The chill was setting in for the evening and Luke found himself wishing that he had worn a cap: his hair was being blown all over the place and from long experience he knew that it would be scruffy looking even for him. Running a hand over his head in a futile attempt to bring it back under control he quickly decided to get inside a drinking establishment where he could sit with his notebook and try and put it all together. Whistlebinkies was a live music bar that stayed open until 3am and had the benefit of musicians (of varying abilities) playing all sorts until the wee hours. More to the point, it was a two-minute walk to North Bridge from where he was and only a five-minute walk (or ten-minute stumble) back to his flat from there once he was done.

  Walking past the top of his street he made the crest of the Royal Mile and turned to his right, heading down towards the warmth and noise. For the police, proof was everything – evidence and probable cause – but for him, an idea was enough to be getting on with. A skeleton went missing from a museum that Rab used to work at and a skeleton was found buried in a shallow grave just after Rab himself went missing. Coincidences were far more common than most people would admit, but for Luke Calvin they were his bread and butter out of necessity rather than choice. Once he was settled in the pub, he would read his notes again but he knew already where he had to start looking next – every other place that Rab had worked, no matter how briefly. It wasn't likely to be a small undertaking and he was thankful that he'd taken the time to copy by hand the emailed list Laura had sent him right back at the start. For the immediacy though., his hands and nose were freezing and he was sure that his hair alone would have earned him an audition to join the Jackson 5. Pub first, solutions later. Another unofficial mantra that had served him better than most would expect.

  As expected, one pint had turned into two and then three. Sitting in a corner seat underneath the stairs that led down from the street he had his notebook in his hand and was re-reading it for the hundredth time. On the stage, an old bearded man in a suit with guitar in hand was belting out country songs and absolutely nailing it. The brief smattering of applause that rippled around the room after each number was nowhere near doing the performance justice. Luke found himself putting the notebook down to clap along with them after each song. The guitar player looked well into his sixties with a pint of heavy sat within easy reach on the stage and a voice that spoke a lifetime of experiences. Luke believed every word that he sang and was becoming irate at the lacklustre reception from the relatively quiet room. Leaving his notebook on the table he brought his glass back to the bar and ordered one more and whatever the guitarist was drinking. He brought the heavy up to the stage just as the latest song was finished and placed it on the table and was rewarded with a broad wink.

  'Thanks son.'

  Returning to his own table he started a new page in his notebook and put his confusions down to paper. Assuming for a minute that Rab did actually nick the skeleton, why would he go to the hassle of burying it? Especially somewhere so obvious. Even if someone else had done it for him there was still the question of why – there was nothing to be gained from it that he could see. If he thought it wouldn't be found then it was a pointless gesture. If he thought it would then how long did he think it would take them to realise it wasn't the real deal? The main question was where was he now? According to Tam, Old Eric had seen him in Craigmillar or Niddrie and even spoken to him. As far as Luke was able to see, there was no logical reason for him to have been hiding out there. He had no connections there at all.... Luke paused with his glass halfway to his mouth and leafed back in his book to where he spoke to Grant in the Fluke. He had mentioned some hash p
eddlers out that way that he bought from. There it was, Grant had named them as Deek and Mark. Right below it though he had stated strongly that they were good guys and if Luke roughed them up he'd have to answer to him. Luke had dismissed the connection out of hand based on the triviality of it but now these minor points made a suggestion stronger than the sum of the two of them. He highly doubted they were harbouring him but he was almost certain that they would know more than he did.

  Writing again in his book, under where he was going to chase up the old jobs that Rab had invariably been fired from, he made an additional note to go and visit Deek and Mark. Closing his notebook, he heard the opening of The Wild Rover echoing out from the stage and settled back comfortably in his seat. Maybe it would be best to speak to Grant first and get the low-down but he had gone from having absolutely nothing to moving in a very definite direction. Tomorrow would be a busy day but his policy of pub first and solutions later had come through again. It was just gone two am and the place usually shut at three.... on the one hand he should probably be up early-ish tomorrow but on the other, a reward might be in order. Collecting his glass and returning to the bar he signalled the barman for one more and leant with his back against it to wait for his drink, watching the old man and feeling fairly content.

  ‘I don’t feel happy about this at all, that’s all I’m saying. Not that I won’t do it, but that I don’t feel happy about it.’

  Inside their patrol car, Dave and Steve were once again back on the nightshift and for all the action they’d seen they may as well have both been in their beds. Steve was behind the steering wheel staring straight at the road while Dave was turned sideways in his seat trying to speak to him.

  ‘It doesn’t seem like the right way to go about it from any angle. If there was no issue with it then why would we be doing it at this time in the morning?’

  ‘Dawn raids are practically Police tradition Dave. Much like racism and acts of wanton violence. Or was that the only part of the exam you failed?’

  The bait that had been dangled was promptly snatched up by the younger man against his better judgement and to his instant regret.

  ‘I never failed a thing during the whole process Steve. You know full well I didn’t.’

  Keeping his hands on the wheel and his eyes ahead, Steve couldn’t quite hold down the laugh that the explosive reaction had caused. Dave turned back to face the front and sat in haughty silence as the car prowled the streets past Niddrie and into Craigmillar. The streets were practically empty and there was almost no traffic. In short course they were pulling into the car park behind The Boat and parking up. Dave made a move to get out of the car but Steve stopped him. The door closed again and Steve spoke.

  ‘Believe it or not, I’m no happier about this than you are. I know the whole thing seems a bit crooked but the call was put out and it’s better that me and you take the job than some other random hero who has no sense and less loyalty. We can keep an eye on the boys and make sure nothing underhanded goes on. Make sure they get a fair shake of the stick. Know what I mean?’

  ‘I guess so.’ He sounded utterly dejected. ‘We’d better get going then. You know they’re going to freak out at someone showing up at half four right? Far less in uniform.’

  Steve laughed as he exited the car and spoke to his partner over the roof.

  ‘I know. I’d have offered to do it just to see that alone.’

  They put their caps back on their heads in unison and walked slowly across the car park towards the four storey block of flats on the opposite side from the pub. The façade was less than appealing but unlike a lot of the places around here, the fact that most of the windows seemed to still be intact was enough for it to be considered practically palatial. As they made the entrance, the decision about whether to ring the buzzer or not was taken out of their hands by the fact that the main door had been recently kicked in and hung loose on its hinges. The lobby, if you could bring yourself to apply that term to the place in which they now stood, was a mess of chipped tiles, smashed lights and unknown stains. The lift door was buckled badly and the light was out so they were pretty much forced to take the stairs – on the rare occasions that the lifts in these sorts of buildings actually worked they were invariably trashed and/or reeking of some sort of fluid that you were better off not identifying. They climbed the stairs slowly and single file in the half-light from one landing to the next as the intact bulbs flickered on and off sporadically. When Steve spoke from behind him, Dave nearly jumped a foot in the air.

  ‘It’s like the start of a bad horror movie this, isn’t it? Just need a couple of junkie zombies to come flying out of the next door and we’re all set for Hollywood.’

  ‘Aye very good Spielberg. If you’re needing a rest just say so old man.’

  Dave was not going to show his fear or trepidation in front of his older colleague. Even with his relatively poor attitude and lack of interest in the job, Steve was known to be hard as nails and his military background was not your usual run of the mill stuff. Despite respecting him immensely, he could be infuriating. Together they reached the fourth floor landing and paused outside the door, neither wanting to be the first one to make a move and knock. Steve leaned over his colleague in the end and thumped on the door with his fist and then they waited for it to be answered.

  Chapter 21

  As the night passed and began to slide into morning, the flow of traffic all around Edinburgh ebbed and flowed. The taxis and night buses shunted tirelessly through the dark, ferrying people back and forward from one place to the next or to their homes. Behind locked doors and drawn curtains, families, friends, lovers and partners slept soundly in doubles, kings, singles and on couches and floors. Every domestic situation imaginable was represented behind one door or another: all mixes of races, genders and family groups, all united in their slumber. The few that were not part of this unknowing collective were either excluded out of choice or necessity with the latter envying every quiet home they passed. All of them exercising the innate human need to belong, which drives people together and occasionally makes them stay long past the time the situation has ceased to bring them happiness.

  At the foot of the Scott Monument, crouched low on the grassy slope the hooded figure sat breathing out condensation into the night sky. These long, cold hours had meant nothing to them as they had first wandered the gardens in relative peace from the West End up as far as the Mound before navigating a tricky train tunnel passage that connected it to the Easterly side where the Monument stood. The tunnel smelt of damp and decay but they took their time, walking slowly and reading the “tags” that had been left previously. The council put less effort into cleaning these off as they weren’t even clearly visible from the train windows in the dark of the tunnel – the only people who would read them were workers and others, like him, who were merely passing through. Aside from the usual “mentions” and needlessly coarse statements were the occasional glimpses of some degree of self-awareness. The words “Question Everything” were daubed broadly in the middle of the tunnel and underneath, in black paint, was the one word – “Why?”.

  The sentiments were mainly of the disenchanted: those who felt disconnected from society or the normal way of life and had no other way to express it. One had written “Choose Life” the iconic statement that Renton had made in Trainspotting: – inspirational out of context, but in reality, a beautifully damning indictment of what people’s lives become. Underneath the hood the hours outside were starting to show as their nose ran freely and the regular sniffing wasn’t enough to keep it in check. The foot traffic they could see on the other side of the monument was still too heavy for them to head across and begin their nightly climb but it was getting close. Crouching and waiting, they wiped their nose on their sleeve and muttered “Hurry up” to the nameless and faceless people that were unknowingly hindering their plans.

  The lights inside the holding cells never went out. Sure, it was for the safety of both the person l
ocked inside and the officers who had to check on them through the peep-hole now and then, but it didn’t half make it hard to get some kip. Mark had tried lying on his right side with no success. He had tried his left side with the same result. Now, he was stretched out on his back on the small cold cot trying to position his hair over his eyes to block out some light. His feet were cold since they’d taken his shoes but no matter what his discomfort, he knew that Deek would be doubly uncomfortable with his awkward frame. Staring at the light in the ceiling through his makeshift mask he sighed and tried to get his mind to switch off to no avail. This was them for the high jump now – no doubt about it. Banged to rights. It was going to be the big house for him and no questions asked. Lying in the cell with no phone, no watch and worst of all no way to speak to his mate, all he could do was lie back and wait for the full weight of the law to crush him. He was unaware that Deek was already crashed out in the adjacent room.

  When the knock had come at the door he hadn’t checked the time. He hadn’t checked who it was. He’d just opened the door wide, blinked stupidly in the sudden light and lowered his head in defeat as Steve and Dave had entered the flat, politely removing their hats as they did so. Steve had patted his shoulder twice on the way past and motioned for him to come back through to the living room with him and Mark, still out of his box, had followed as meekly as a lamb. Deek had taken a while to rouse but when he eventually opened his eyes there was no shock or horror to be seen on his face. He sat up as best he could and swung his legs to the ground to make room on the couch and addressed his latest visitors.