The Papers of Tony Veitch

by William McIlvanney

  Danny felt a sudden anger in safety. He couldn’t remember much of his past but he could remember it had been there. Pride in who he had been made him want revenge.

  ‘Big guy!’ Danny whispered against the glass. ‘Ah’m glad there’s only fifteen matches in yer box.’

  22

  Dave McMaster was staring at the object again when he heard Lynsey coming back into the flat. In his head he referred to it as a ‘beady’. That was what Lynsey had called it. He watched it while the bubble-bath moved around the hardness of his body as if he was getting a fitting for velvet. Maybe it was because you could get it to throw up beads of water. At first he had thought it might be a toilet for dwarfs. He smiled at himself, remembering the old joke about the girl who was told to use toilet water and got a lump on the back of her head when the lavatory seat fell.

  Lynsey came in. Looking up at her, he did a mental double-take in disbelief that she was with him. She was wearing cords and boots and a striped shirt and her hair looked as if it had been mussed by Vidal Sassoon. He remembered that he was in a place he didn’t want to leave. The proof he was going to give her of his concern for Tony should help to keep him there. He tried to tell from her face if she had found out what they had to know. But in certain moods her face told you as much as a clock with no hands.

  She sat on the toilet with the lid down and looked at him. He liked the way the water would be outlining his torso like grease. He smiled but she didn’t respond. He tested.

  ‘Ye gonny get me a drink, Lynsey?’

  ‘At this time, Dave?’

  ‘Well, Ah’ve seen them doin’ it in the pictures. Drinkin’ in the bathrobe an’ that. Ah always fancied it.’

  He knew she liked the idea of the hard man who was really a waif at heart. It worked again.

  ‘Well, something civilised. Gin and tonic?’

  ‘Aye. Wi’ lemon and ice. Ye’ve got tae learn not tae pick yer nose an’ chew it sometime.’

  She went out. Having half-dried himself, he had a quick go at the beady. No wonder there were a lot of upper-class poofs. Drying himself and putting on the Paisley-pattern dressing-gown she had bought him, he thought about it. That was how things had been arranged. Everything was a kind of beady, to make you feel bad and realise you didn’t belong because you didn’t know how it worked. Well, he knew now, and he wasn’t impressed.

  When he came out, the drink was waiting for him. He sat at ease and sipped it. He wished he was as sure about how she worked. She was flicking the pages of a magazine in that way she had, as if the goings on of others were strange and she could never quite get interested in them. He realised that no matter what they got round to doing in bed, there was always a piece of herself stayed cordoned off, like the part of the stately home the punters just get filing past and the notice says ‘Private’.

  ‘Ye saw that wumman?’ he said.

  She nodded.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I know where Tony is.’ She looked up from her magazine. ‘I was tempted to go and see him.’

  ‘But ye didn’t?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  She told him where it was. He was surprised how close it was to where Tony had been.

  ‘Ye know what we’re gonny do?’ he said.

  ‘I’m just hoping you do.’

  He was going to tell her when the phone rang. He shook his hand at her, crossed, still holding his drink, and lifted the phone. His guess had been right. Mickey Ballater sounded as if he was trying to arrive through the earpiece.

  ‘Listen, you! Ma legs are tired goin’ the long road. All Ah’m findin’ out is that you two know more than ye’re sayin’. It’s talkin’ time.’

  As Ballater raved on, Dave held the phone out so that Lynsey could appreciate the reality of what they were up against. The voice raged faintly like a trapped wasp looking for something to sting.

  ‘We’ve been workin’ on it,’ Dave said, watching Lynsey. ‘We think we can find out the day. Ye’ll get a phone-call at that number o’ yours. Ye’ll be there?’

  The silence at the other end was Ballater’s anger communing with itself.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A few hours at the most.’

  ‘Ah’ll be there. If Ah don’t know where Veitch is by the night, ye can emigrate.’

  Dave had other plans. He put the phone down and sipped his drink.

  ‘Ah could get tae like that,’ he said. ‘It’s like drinkin’ shaddas in the summer.’

  He crossed and ruffled her hair.

  ‘Lynsey,’ he said. ‘Two choices for aul’ Tony. The polis or the Clyde. Ah think he’s better wi’ the polis. Fair enough?’

  She looked up at him.

  ‘He could get away.’

  ‘Tony? Tony couldny negotiate an adventure playground. You know ’im, Lynsey. What chance has he got? Cam Colvin’ll kill him. Very easily and very painfully. That’s what’ll happen if we don’t help.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Two things. Help Tony and keep ourselves in the clear.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Macey. First, we find Macey. He’s in far more trouble than we’re in. Or Ah can put ’im there. If ye’re lookin’ for a favour, always find somebody that needs wan.’

  ‘Dave. Will this work?’

  ‘By tonight Tony’ll be in the nick.’ He winked at her. ‘Protective custody, they call it.’

  23

  I have called this extraordinary meeting of the Society of the Friends of Eck Adamson . . .’ Eddie Devlin said.

  ‘The venue’s extraordinary enough, anyway,’ Laidlaw said, and adjusted his collar.

  The strange method of calling the meeting was perhaps appropriate to the strangeness of its setting. Danny McLeod had phoned Eddie Devlin, having kept Eddie’s card as carefully as if it had been American Express since the time Eddie had been involved in the series about down-and-outs. Eddie had phoned Laidlaw to see if he was interested. Laidlaw was. Laidlaw had phoned Harkness to make sure he was available. Harkness was. Eddie had phoned back Laidlaw to tell him where they would meet. Laidlaw had told Harkness.

  They had all come together on a bench of the Kibble Palace in the Botanic Gardens. The choice was Danny’s, who was perhaps training for the Foreign Office. They sat in a row among exotic vegetation. Laidlaw felt like an extra in a script Danny was reconstructing from some jungle film he had seen.

  ‘When does the native bearer stagger out?’ Laidlaw asked. ‘Gaspin’, “Drums say no go on, B’wana”.’

  Eddie said, ‘One thing, Jack. Whatever Danny tells you, it’s got to be hot.’

  Laidlaw winced.

  ‘Know what we should do?’ Harkness said. ‘We should all hide behind plants. And communicate in bird-song. That way the security’s really tight.’

  He cupped his hands over his mouth and demonstrated quietly.

  ‘Well,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Is that the warm-up act over? Any chance we get to hear the star?’

  ‘Jack. I remember once you almost relaxed.’ Eddie winked along at Harkness. ‘Anyway. Danny phoned me. He’s got something to tell you. The right. The honourable. The Danny McLeod.’

  ‘Ah’ve asked youse boys here,’ Danny said, ‘’cause this is quiet. Ah’m runnin’ risks here. There’s people could be after me. Bad people. So what? Ah’ll take ma chances. Like, Ah wis in the merchant navy. Ah’ve been around. That’s one of the reasons Ah like tae come here. Reminds me. The world’s a big place. It’s not just Glesca. Not at all. That’s why Ah’m not worried about hard-men. Ah’ve rounded the Horn often enough tae get tae keep it. When ye’ve faced the wrath of God, whit’s a hard man? Ye know whit Ah mean?’

  Harkness was loving it. He was at one end of the bench with Eddie at the other. They were exchanging reactions. Between them, Danny and Laidlaw were an interesting free show. Danny was determined to play his fragment of information as if it was the theory of relativity. Laidlaw was studying plant life like the first man on the planet. It occurred
to Harkness that for such a fearless man Danny had found it necessary to sup a fair amount of the liquid vine.

  ‘Well, Daniel,’ Laidlaw said. ‘You’re good at the Bernard Shaw prefaces. But I hope you can write a better play.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Danny. Going to tell us? As you say, we’re quiet. You’re safe here. Unless they’ve bugged the greenfly. What is it you have to tell us, Danny?’

  ‘Well. That’s really why Ah asked ye here. Ah had a wee visit the day. Ye see, Ah’ve got a wee business in Paddy’s Market. Not a great turnover. But it keeps me workin’. So the day. Here’s what happened. Ye see, Ah’ve a special line. From Peru. Lima in Peru. That’s the capital. It’s like. Well, it’s not pure gold, certainly. But it’s like matchbox-holders. All different designs. Some of the boys brought them back from the World Cup an’ Ah sell them. 50p a time. It’s a bargain.’

  ‘It’s a fair comment on what Scotland got out of that World Cup,’ Eddie said. ‘Matchbox-holders at 50p a whip.’

  ‘Aye,’ Harkness said. ‘Some caper that. A B-picture remake of the Darien Scheme.’

  ‘Danny,’ Laidlaw said. ‘No offence. But are you going to tell us, before I melt in this place, what happened to-fucking-day?’

  ‘Oh aye, certainly. Certainly. Anyway. This big yin comes up to buy. He buys one o’ these, right? Gives me a quid for it, actually. Fair enough. He’s not the loser. But then. Aha. Then. He asks me about Eck Adamson.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Laidlaw asked.

  ‘He asks me how Eck’s gettin’ on.’

  ‘Not well,’ Eddie said.

  ‘And what else?’ Laidlaw said.

  ‘Well. Ah twig this could be bother. So Ah’ve just arrived, haven’t Ah? Ah’ve still got the hives. Ah don’t know what he’s talkin’ about, do Ah? But he follows me. Duffs me up a bit.’

  ‘So what did you tell him?’

  ‘As little as possible. About that lassie wi’ the shop. An’ Eck bein’ deid. But it’s whit Ah didny tell ’em. An’ Ah’m gonny tell you.’

  ‘Before you do, Danny,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Who was this man? Your visitor.’

  ‘Ah don’t know ’im. He’s Glasgow right enough. But not livin’ here any more. Up on a visit, he says.’

  ‘But what was he like?’

  ‘Big fella.’

  ‘That could be a coupla people, Danny. Nothing else?’

  ‘A bastard.’

  ‘Christ, you’ve widened the net. There must be three of them in Glasgow at least. Think, Danny. Think. Going baldy? Purple hair? Anything!’

  ‘He had a wee toatty birth-mark on his left cheek.’

  Laidlaw put his memory on it like a scanner. There was a troublesome bleep somewhere but he couldn’t locate it.

  ‘He was at the Vicky on Friday night,’ Eddie said.

  ‘So who is he?’ Laidlaw asked.

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. A big man. Looks like Burt Lancaster with the flu. I didn’t know him. One of Cam’s barnacles. Panda Paterson was another one.’

  ‘Panda’s not one of Cam’s,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Sounds like a scrubbers’ reunion to see Paddy off. Mind you, who else would want to see Paddy off? If decency was food, Paddy would’ve died of malnutrition years ago.’

  A boy of about two had stumbled stiff-legged towards them, like John Wayne running downhill. He was dressed in a way that only somebody who had no say in it would be dressed. He had those aggressive eyes of childhood, as if the world had just been waiting for him to look at it and, all right, he was doing it the favour. He stopped in front of Laidlaw and said something that sounded like Sanskrit passing through a scrambler. He seemed waiting for an answer. Laidlaw pointed his finger in the boy’s face.

  ‘Make your move any time,’ Laidlaw said. ‘I’m a killer. I’ll wipe you out in a oner.’

  The boy started to slap Laidlaw’s legs ferociously, making high-pitched noises that seemed to imply pleasure.

  ‘Hell,’ Laidlaw muttered. ‘That’s supposed to work.’

  Having made sure her son had had plenty of time to get out of hand, his mother timed her arrival. She wasn’t pretty but she didn’t have to be. She wasn’t touting anybody’s responses. She was deliciously full of her own life. She shook her head at her son for their benefit.

  ‘He’s an awfy handful,’ she said.

  ‘See that?’ Laidlaw said to her, smiling. ‘One word from me and they do as they like.’

  Everybody except Danny watched her shepherd the boy away, wondering what it must be like, for a moment, to be the boy’s father.

  ‘Mammies is great,’ Laidlaw said. ‘She’ll have ten stories to tell about him by the time she gets him home. Danny. You were going to tell us something else.’

  ‘Ah saw Eck no’ long before he died,’ Danny said.

  With one sentence Danny had effectively shifted the mood of their meeting. He no longer seemed such a comic figure. His air of self-importance was something they were taking seriously.

  ‘How soon before he died?’ Harkness asked.

  ‘Well, we don’t know, do we? But Ah’d say it musta been one o’ the last times he wis out an’ about. He wis doon at the Market. See, Ah’d given ’im a message before that. Fae Paddy Collins.’

  ‘You knew Paddy Collins?’ Laidlaw said.

  ‘Well, Ah knew who he wis, all right. An’ a lot o’ people knew Eck an’ me wis friends. An’ Paddy Collins asked me tae tell Eck somethin’.’

  Danny paused. Attention is a drug. The only point of it is to savour the high, for the withdrawal symptoms are on their way.

  ‘What was that?’ Laidlaw asked.

  ‘Well. Ah’ll tell ye. Ah’m at the Paddy’s, right? Okey dokey. Paddy Collins comes up. He knows that Ah know Eck. So he wants me to pass on a message. He wants tae meet Eck an’ talk about somethin’.’

  ‘Did he say what?’ Even Eddie was involved.

  ‘Did he say what?’ Danny said it as if he didn’t know the answer himself. He was enjoying the suspense so much he was identifying with it. ‘Well. No. He never said. But he wis one keen fella. As anxious as a cloakin’ hen. Ah don’t know whit he wis hatchin’ out. But he wis sittin’ on eggs. Ah know that. Ah know people. See that Sigmund Fraud? Ah coulda learned him about people. Anyway. So Ah give Eck the message. An’ the next thing . . .’

  ‘Danny,’ Laidlaw said. ‘Where did Paddy Collins ask to meet Eck?’

  ‘Well. He asked me tae help him there. Well, Ah know Eck, don’t Ah? Whit wid be a good place to meet Eck. That’s what he’s askin’ me. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Eck wis a South Side man. For years. He’d come over the river at times. Of course, he would. Like, his sister’s north o’ the river. And . . .’

  ‘His sister?’ Laidlaw looked like a small boy who has discovered yet another wondrous fact about the world, like the existence of giraffe-necked ladies. ‘Eck’s got a sister alive? He never mentioned her to me.’

  ‘He wouldn’t, would he? Eck wis a decent man, ye know. He knew he wis an affront to his sister. So he never talked about her. Out of respect. But we wis close. So he’s mentioned her tae me. Eck loved his sister.’

  ‘D’you know where she lives?’

  ‘It’s Anderston. The new buildin’s. That’s all Ah know.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Jinty.’

  ‘But her second name.’

  ‘Well. She never married. Must be Adamson.’

  Laidlaw looked at Harkness, shook his head and smiled.

  ‘That’s great. We’ll find her. Danny. You’re like an albatross on land. Beauty in the mask of the commonplace. Oh, pray continue.’

  ‘Aye. Fair enough. Well, anyway. Ye know?’ Danny was fumbling slightly for a road out of his embarrassment. ‘Well. He arranges to meet Eck in the park. The Queen’s Park. So Ah tells Eck. But in the evenin’. He’s gonny meet ’im.’

  ‘The Vicky,’ Eddie said. ‘That’s the obvious place to be taken to from there.’

  ‘That’s right,’
Harkness said. ‘Paddy Collins was found outside the park. Don’t tell me Eck did him in.’

  ‘But that was the second last meeting you had with Eck?’ Laidlaw expressed it as a question but he didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You saw him after that. Wait a minute. What did Eck say about that meeting? Before he went, I mean. When you told him about Paddy’s offer. Can you remember?’

  ‘Eck wis worried. Who wouldn’t be? Paddy Collins? Who wants a date wi’ a disease? An’ Eck says to me. He’s gonny take out insurance. That’s what he says. Ah remember it. He’s gonny take out insurance. That’s all he says.’

  ‘But with what company?’ Laidlaw said. ‘That’s all we need to know. Who Eck’s company was that night. What about the last time you saw Eck, Danny?’

  ‘Happy as Larry. As if he’d come into a fortune. Money on ’im an’ more to come, he said. He gave me two quid. The boat wis in.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Well, Ah think Ah know whit it wis.’

  The others couldn’t have been more attentive if an angel had descended through the domed glass roof. Danny gave them time to appreciate the splendour of his presence.

  ‘He saw who did in Paddy Collins. Wis a witness. An’ ye know who Ah think that wis? That boy Veitch.’

  Laidlaw was considering it solemnly, staring ahead. Harkness was nodding. Eddie was watching the two of them.

  ‘He’s got the money,’ Harkness said. ‘We know that. Who could better afford to buy people off?’

  ‘This Tony Veitch is well off?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘He got a lot of loot in his mother’s will,’ Laidlaw said. ‘But come on, Brian. Who couldn’t afford to buy off a witness to a murder you’ve committed? You’d print the money if you had to. That doesn’t prove too much.’

  ‘But he had a reason.’