Footsteps in the corridor. I thought it might be Grace-Mary, stricken with guilt and back from the post office, but it wasn’t. It was Jake Turpie.
He looked at Joanna and Kaye in turn and then at me. ‘I’m out.’
‘Where’s Deek?’ I asked.
‘In.’
‘Kaye,’ I said, ‘you’d better make that just the one suspect.’
13
If I’d spoken to Jake in my office, afterwards I would have had to recount everything to Joanna and, no doubt, Kaye, before I could escape. My dad would be angry enough at the fact I’d been away this long, and so I decided it would be better if I took the conversation elsewhere. Joanna would be phoning me later and I could tell her the news then.
I suggested Sandy’s café. Jake had other ideas.
‘I’ve been choking for this,’ he said, after necking most of a pint in one go. Taking my half-pint, I followed him to the far end of the Red Corner Bar where the patrons dispersed upon our arrival, like a slick of greasy water meeting a couple of drops of washing-up liquid.
Jake finished his drink and had ordered another before I’d joined him on the next bar stool.
‘I’m glad to see all my work paid off,’ I said. It would have been remiss of me not to have taken full credit, even though I suspected my chats with Hugh Ogilvie and DI Fleming had not been the real reason for Jake’s release. I suspected the forces of darkness had other plans.
‘What about Deek? Could you not get him out too?’
‘One step at a time,’ I said, as though I had a game plan. ‘First thing is, you’ll need to watch yourself.’
Jake’s second pint arrived. He didn’t give it time to settle before downing half of it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They could be trying to give you some rope.’
‘What’s rope got to do with anything?’
I took a sip of lager shandy, the first alcohol to touch my lips in a long time. ‘Enough rope so that you’ll hang yourself.’
‘I’ll hang you if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about.’
‘The cops will be thinking that if you and Deek murdered those folk—’
‘What folk? I only saw one person and so did you.’
‘I know, but there were two. The guy on the table and also a woman in the front room. I think she’s the person you sold the car to. If she was in debt to you the cops will be thinking that gave you a motive.’
‘If I killed people who owed me money, how would I get it back?’ Jake sank the rest of the pint. ‘And I could have taken the car back any time I wanted. I always get a spare key cut just in case.’
Back to the rope. ‘They don’t have enough and so they probably think that if you are out and about you’ll maybe do something stupid.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, but they’ll definitely keep you under surveillance. Tap your phone calls, see who you meet up with, look for anything or anyone that might link you to the murder.’
Jake shouted up yet another drink. I’d barely drunk half of mine and that was enough. Being late home was one thing. If my dad smelt alcohol on my breath, there’d be hell to pay.
‘So why have they kept Deek in?’
‘There’s a couple of reasons. They might have some evidence against him that we don’t know about, or they’re lulling you into a false sense of security, expecting you to visit him in prison and then they’ll record your conversations. Or it could be they think that keeping you apart will stop you concocting a defence while they continue their enquiries.’
‘That’s three reasons,’ Jake said.
‘And there could be more. Dougie Fleming’s out to get you and he’s not a man to let a little thing like your innocence get in the way. Any minor slip up, any wee mistake, and he’ll find a way of using it against you.’
‘What am I supposed to do?’ Jake said, turning his attention to pint three.
‘Keep away from Deek. Don’t even book a visit. All it takes is for you to go see him and Fleming will plant a couple of undercover cops at the next table who’ll swear blind that they heard the two of you discussing the murders. Once the bizzies have it in their heads that you’re guilty, they don’t care. Anything underhand they do is justified in their eyes.’
Jake mulled that over with his next gulp of beer. ‘What if they do have other evidence against Deek?’
‘Is that likely?’
Jake didn’t answer, just wiped foam from his top lip with the back of his hand. ‘Let me know what you need for Deek’s legal aid. I can make up a wage slip or do a letter or something. Just tell me how much you want me to say I pay him.’
Did I want this? A murder case was interesting, but at legal aid rates a financial disaster. For one thing there would be tons of administration work that the Scottish Legal Aid Board wouldn’t pay me to do and, for another, the Board expected the interviewing of witnesses to be done by unqualified personnel at unqualified rates. The kind of people who would agree to carry out investigations for that kind of money were the kind of people who couldn’t be trusted to find their own backsides with the use of both hands and an Ordnance Survey map, far less find a defence to a murder charge.
With Jake Turpie breathing down my neck, the kind of work I’d be expected to put in to make sure his minder got off would be above and beyond. Add to that the fact that I was supposed to be on paternity leave and I could do without all the hassle.
‘I can’t take Deek’s case on,’ I said.
Jake looked at me, like he was a shrink examining his first nut-of-the-day. If drinking half-pints of lager shandy wasn’t bad enough, now I was turning down work.
‘I’ve got my daughter living with me. It’s temporary. They don’t think I can cope so I’ve taken a month’s holiday to prove them wrong. There’s a court-appointed lawyer checking up on me and doing a report. If it’s bad, Tina goes to live with her grandmother. I need to be around. I don’t have the time to spend on Deek’s case. He’ll need to find another lawyer.’
‘You were going to act for me, weren’t you?’
‘I was, but I couldn’t have acted for you both. Deek would have had to go to another lawyer, anyway.’
‘And now he doesn’t.’
I could have offered Joanna’s services, but in the unlikely event that Jake thought a woman up to the job, I knew every time he couldn’t get hold of her he’d be straight on to me to find out what was happening. Much better if Deek’s case was dealt with by Paul Sharp, as previously planned.
‘I’ve already got someone lined up for him,’ I said.
‘Then un-line them up. That man saved your life once.’
I hadn’t forgotten. Or that on another occasion he’d tried to seriously damage me. ‘I just think it’s best all round if he goes to another lawyer. Someone who can give his case the attention it deserves. Obviously, I’ll still be a witness if the case goes to court.’
Jake wasn’t listening. ‘Deek’s important to me. He’s a good worker. Knows a lot of things about my business.’
I was sure he did. Like where the bodies were buried – literally.
I finished my half-pint and climbed down from the bar stool. ‘I’m sorry, Jake.’
‘How much?’
‘It’s not about money,’ I thought I heard myself say.
‘I own your office.’
‘Hold on a minute.’ We’d shaken hands on that deal years ago. As long as I wanted, Jake had said. Just so long as I kept paying the rent. I really hoped that Grace-Mary had sent that cheque.
‘You can have it,’ he said.
‘The office?’
‘That’s right. Legal aid and, if you get Deek off, the office is yours. I’ll sign it straight over to you.’
The monthly rent was my biggest overhead by far. With the money I saved, I could afford not only to tell Grace-Mary ‘good job’ now and again, and cope with any resulting pay rise, but take on a reasonable mortgage for a new house for me and Tina.
> ‘Let me think about it,’ I said, though in truth I’d already made my decision.
Jake seemed to know that too. He took another long pull from his pint glass, pushed the tumbler away and jumped down from the bar stool. ‘I’ll see you at court.’
14
Tina had only been living with me for a matter of a few days, but already her grandfather had discerned the unmistakable signs of genius.
The pair of them were in the hallway waiting for me when I arrived home. My dad pushed Tina forward. She stood there, unusually quiet, head bowed, hands behind her back. At first I thought she’d misbehaved in some way, but even if she had, my dad would never have squealed. His standard conduct report on Tina was, ‘as good as gold’.
‘Go on then,’ he said, giving Tina another gentle bump. ‘Show your dad what you’ve done.’
Tina remained standing there, shaking with excitement. One more nudge of encouragement and she whipped a piece of paper from behind her back. It was wet and wrinkly. Rivers of poster paint meandered southwards to a soggy edge and began to drip onto the hall carpet.
I took the painting from her, studied it carefully and after a suitable period of admiration, asked, ‘What is it?’
Tina had already mastered the hands on hips, head tilted to the side stance. ‘It’s you, silly.’
I looked at the picture again and came to the conclusion that I was the black square with an enormous pink blob balanced on top from which black spikes protruded. My arms and legs were sticks and my feet mostly toes.
‘It’s you putting all the baddies in jail!’ Tina yelled.
Clearly, my dad had been explaining his son’s role in the criminal justice system and putting his own slant on it.
‘It’s very nice,’ I said. ‘Let’s put it up in the kitchen with all the others.’
Tina frowned.
‘Look again,’ my dad said.
I did. What had I missed? ‘I’ve got lots of hair . . . ’ I said. But that wasn’t it. ‘And look at all my fingers and toes.’
Standing behind his increasingly impatient granddaughter, my dad was pointing his finger downwards and silently mouthing something.
What was the big deal? It was a painting. I had dozens of them, mainly houses with bright-yellow suns and flowers. Tina could knock one of those out in under five minutes and give herself a couple of coats of paint in the process.
‘Isn’t Tina really clever?’ my dad said, pointedly.
They both stared at me expectantly. What did they want? True, I’d seen worse in the Tate Modern and a lot worse at the Joan Miro in Barcelona, but what did they expect me to do? Alert the National Gallery?
Then I saw it. Bottom left. Four letters. My daughter’s name. Printing ‘Tina’ meant there was only one letter that could be transposed and she’d managed it. ‘You’ve written your name!’
‘Yes!’ Tina screamed. She grabbed the painting from me and looked at the scrawl as though she could hardly believe it herself. I picked her up and pressed my face against hers.
She wriggled in my arms. ‘You’re all jaggy.’
‘Writing her own name and she’s not even at school yet,’ my dad said.
I put Tina down. ‘Keep this up and by the time you do go to school they’ll want to make you the teacher.’
Tina looked worried. ‘I can’t do sums yet, though,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Maybe next time Gramps takes you for a special lemonade, afterwards he’ll take you to the special shop where they do sums about horses.’
Tina spun on her heel. ‘Can we go, Gramps? I like horses.’
He took Tina by the hand. ‘There’s no such shop. It’s just your dad being his usual hilarious self. Let’s go and pin this up on the wall and then I’ll make your tea. How does spaghetti on toast sound?’
Spaghetti it was, and off the two of them went, Tina yabbering excitedly about having written her name and my dad making it sound as though the Nobel Prize for Literature was waiting just around the corner.
I followed them. ‘Dad . . . do you think . . . I have to work tomorrow and . . . could you look after Tina? Just in the morning. Possibly into the afternoon. But not late.’
No answer. Had he heard me above Tina’s chatter?
On my return from a shower and change of clothes, Tina’s dinner was already on the kitchen table. Some of it was on the plate. A lot of it was around her face. It is said that the hoplites of ancient Sparta wore crimson cloaks to disguise the blood. My daughter’s red T-shirt was doing something similar with spaghetti-hoop sauce.
‘Dad . . . ?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He got up from his chair and took me aside. ‘Listen, Robbie. I’d spend all day, every day, with the bairn, you know that. But I’m just Grandpa. I’m supposed to flit in and out of her life, not be her dad.’
‘I know, but—’
‘But nothing. You need to spend more quality time with your daughter. If that Vikki shows up, what am I supposed to say this time? That you’ve gone to the shops? Again? You know what Tina is like, she’ll crack under questioning. How’s it going to look if you’re too busy to watch your daughter when you’re supposed to be on holiday, far less when you’re working?’
‘How did you manage?’
‘I had your Aunt Elsie helping me, and, anyway, it was different back then, there wasn’t a custody battle. I was the only show in town. Tina’s got Vera Reynolds waiting to pounce—’
‘I like Granny Vera,’ Tina said, through a mouthful of spaghetti and toast. ‘When are we going to see her?’
I ruffled her hair. ‘Soon.’ She swiped my hand away and continued munching. How much did she hear? More importantly, how much did she understand?
‘It’s only for the morning, Dad. I’ll be back for lunch.’
‘I’ve heard that line somewhere before.’
‘Today was different.’
‘And so will tomorrow be. I know you, Robbie.’
Tina finished the last mouthful, drank what was left of a glass of milk and jumped down from her seat. She took both our hands and looked up at us each in turn. ‘Now what are we doing?’
‘What do you want to do?’ I asked.
‘Paint more pictures.’
‘No, I’ve put all the painting stuff away. Why don’t we play a game of something instead,’ my dad said.
‘And then you’ll need to get ready for bed,’ I said. ‘Remember, you’ve got nursery in the morning.’
At the mention of bed, Tina let go of my hand and began to drag my dad through to the living room. ‘Don-i-moes.’
‘One morning, Dad. That’s all I’m asking,’ I said, as Tina emptied the box of dominoes onto the coffee table. ‘I’m seeing a man about getting a bigger house.’
‘No, you’re not. This is about Jake Turpie, isn’t it?’
The three of us turned the dominoes over face down and Tina swirled them around the table, occasionally knocking one or two over the edge.
‘In a way it is, but it’s also about me saving enough money for a house. Really.’
The old man didn’t reply, which I took as a good sign. We each selected our dominoes, my dad holding all seven in his hands while Tina and I stood ours up on the table like little black gravestones.
‘I know you don’t like Jake—’
‘Gramps said this one is the currant bun and it goes first.’ Tina said, holding up the double-six.
‘Jake Turpie’s a crook.’
‘I make my money from crooks, Dad.’
‘Is a crook the same as a baddie?’ Tina asked.
My dad nodded. ‘Yes, it is. And by the way you always seem to get the double-six, I think that you might be a wee crook too.’
He tried to tickle her. Tina pulled away from him. ‘Will you send me to the jail then, Dad?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘You’re not a crook and, anyway, wee girls don’t go to jail. Grandpa’s trying to be funny. He’s just n
ot very good at it, that’s all.’
‘He’s sometimes good at being funny,’ Tina said. She played the double-six. ‘He told me to tell Vikki that you were at the shop today. It was going to be a funny joke, but she didn’t come.’
‘See?’ my dad said. ‘You’ve even got the bairn prepared to tell lies for you.’ He played the six-five.
I didn’t have a six and only one five. I laid the five-two alongside. ‘You know what else would be funny?’ I said to Tina. ‘If somehow I had enough money to buy a big house so that we could each have a bedroom and I wouldn’t have to sleep in here on the camp bed.’
My dad was impervious. ‘It’s you to play, Tina.’
She thought about it for a while.
I took a peek at her hand. ‘Do you want some help?’
My dad curled an arm around Tina’s dominoes. ‘You’re the only one here in need of help,’ he said.
‘Come on, Dad. Just collect Toots from nursery, take her to your place for lunch and I’ll pick her up the back of one. Three o’clock at the latest.’
‘It’s not happening. You’ve got a chance of a new life. You need to learn to prioritise the important things.’
‘I’m trying to. Think what a difference it will make if I can tell the court that I’m moving to a bigger house.’
Tina played the double-two. ‘Granny Vera has got a really big house.’
I looked at my dad. He was studying his hand carefully. ‘See? Granny Vera’s got a really big house. What have I got? A one-bedroom flat with dodgy plumbing. Come on, it’s only for one morning.’
Eventually, he chose a domino. ‘I’m sorry, Robbie. I know you mean well, probably, but acting for men like Jake Turpie isn’t the way to go about it.’ He placed the two-six onto Tina’s double. ‘And, by the way, you’re chapping.’
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