Last Will

by William McIntyre

  ‘And I’m her grandfather.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Well, I’m retired too. I have a nice wee cottage with a spare room and a decent police pension.’

  That remark woke me up quicker than my cold shower. ‘You’re going to apply for custody of Tina?’

  ‘Why not? Ex-polis, impeccable character . . . ’

  ‘High blood pressure and an over-fondness for the falling down water.’

  ‘You got a better idea?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Take me to Vikki’s.’

  ‘No.’

  I ducked into the kitchen and came out with the old newspaper. ‘I’ll tell you the answer to the crossword clue you’re stuck on if you do.’

  He said nothing, just took another drink of tea.

  ‘You know the one. HIJKLMNO,’ I said.

  My dad set the cup down on the saucer that was balanced on an arm of the sofa. He wiped his moustache with a finger. ‘You think you know the answer, do you?’

  I tapped my forehead. ‘The legally trained mind is an awesome weapon.’

  ‘I thought you were no good at crosswords?’

  ‘Do you want to know the answer or not?’

  ‘If I wanted to know the answers I’d look them up in the paper the next day. The whole point of a crossword is the satisfaction of beating the crossword-setter by myself. One to one. Getting help would be like turning up at a square go mob-handed. So you can just keep your legally trained mind to yourself.’

  Why did he have to make everything so difficult?

  ‘Am I getting a lift from you or not?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Water.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Water. HIJKLMNO. It’s H to O. Get it?’

  My dad clambered to his feet, upsetting the cup. It toppled, spilling tea into the saucer, over the arm of the sofa and onto his newspaper. ‘Don’t dare show your face at that party,’ he growled. ‘I mean it. If I so much as see one hair on your head, I’ll . . . I’ll . . . ’

  ‘You’ll what? Tell Tina that the reason she can’t see her dad is because he’s better at crossword puzzles than you?’

  He stood there glowering at me for a moment, then picked up his soggy newspaper, ripped it into pieces and threw it into the air.

  ‘You think you’re good at puzzles?’ he said. ‘Put that lot together again.’

  53

  Vikki wasn’t answering her phone. I left a message asking her to contact me urgently. Worst-case scenario I’d have to try and head her off at the pass on her way to the party. It was set to start around about four o’clock and she would be collecting Molly from the children’s home shortly before then. I could wait for her there. It wasn’t ideal, but I really wanted to give her the good news about Molly so that I could impart my own spin on it before Barry took all the credit.

  With nothing to do but drink coffee, watch Saturday morning TV and let my blood alcohol level fall below the legal limit, I turned my mind to the question of Deek Pudney. The dead guy I’d found on the table at Sunnybrae Farm must have been acting along with the Italian Jake had tried to turn into dog food. The two of them had murdered Daisy Adams. Deek had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and, too late to save Daisy, had acted in self-defence, killing one and injuring the other.

  Obviously, I’d have felt a lot happier if I had an idea why the Italians would want to kill Daisy. That was the part of the puzzle I couldn’t work out for the life of me. Still there was no doubt it was Deek’s best line of defence, and it depended on two things: securing the attendance of the living Italian as a hostile witness and confirming the presence of his DNA on the prongs of the fork.

  There was nothing for it. I picked up the phone again.

  ‘You? It’s Saturday morning, can you not give me peace?’ the voice on the other end of the line croaked, in response to my friendly good-morning.

  Some time before, Hugh Ogilvie had made the mistake of giving me his mobile number. Well, he didn’t actually give it to me, he phoned me about something and I’d saved his number for times such as these.

  I heard the sound of fumbling in the background as the PF reached for a watch or alarm clock. ‘It’s not even nine o’clock. What do you want?’

  ‘That Eyetie. How did his blood test results compare with the fork?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We spoke about it yesterday. The Italian the cops lifted for drink-driving. The one that was taken to hospital. I asked you to run blood tests on him and the garden fork that Scene of Crime took from Sunnybrae Farm.’

  ‘I’m ending this call,’ Ogilvie said. ‘Speak to me on Monday morning – if you can find me.’

  ‘Do not hang up, Hugh. This is really important.’

  ‘Important to who? Your client? Having failed dismally with one defence, you’re now starting off on another, or is it another? You know, you should really write a book. You could call it the Robbie Munro Bumper Book of Really Shit Defences.’

  ‘Please, Hugh. All I’m asking is that the Crown does its job properly.’

  ‘I’m hanging up now.’

  ‘Do this for me and I’ll lose your number.’

  A sigh. ‘You said that the last time.’

  ‘Yeah, but I mean it this time. Just get forensics to speed up the testing on the garden fork. The cops will have fingerprinted and DNA’d the Italian when he was arrested.’

  ‘They didn’t. Because of his injuries he was taken straight to hospital.’

  ‘All the better.’

  ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’

  ‘Hugh, I’m trying to find out who murdered Daisy Adams. Who really murdered her, not just the first handy suspect that comes along that Dougie Fleming thinks will fit a frame. If the scene of crime officers took away that garden fork they must have placed some importance on it.’

  ‘The SOCOs took everything away from Sunnybrae Farm but the kitchen sink. In fact, for all I know, they took that too.’

  ‘Hugh, for once can you accept that I might know something you don’t? Do what I ask and you can take all the credit when you catch the real culprit. All you need to do is phone whoever it is that needs to be phoned and tell them to test the blood on the fork and compare it with the Italian’s. After that, you can go back to sleep and I’ll never phone you out of hours again. Simple, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ve got to say,’ Ogilvie said, yawning, ‘you do make it sound very tempting. Especially the part where you never phone me again, but, unfortunately, while we may still have the garden fork, we no longer have the Italian to go with it. You might say he’s forked off,’ Ogilvie sniggered. The man was as funny as he was handsome.

  ‘He’s escaped?’

  ‘Not exactly. It seems like he was a very fast healer and discharged himself yesterday afternoon with a prescription for paracetamol and a head injury advice sheet.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Because, though it may surprise you, I did ask for those tests to be run, if for no other reason than I thought it might stop you ambushing me during coffee breaks.’

  ‘But how could you just let him go? He must have broken more road traffic laws than Mad Max.’

  ‘None that we could prove,’ Ogilvie said. ‘It’s not easy pinning road traffic charges on a person who’s sitting bruised and battered in the passenger seat of a crashed car he doesn’t own, with the keys nowhere to be seen and his fingerprints missing from the steering wheel. Vandalism by bleeding on the upholstery, I suppose, but it seemed churlish, given his injuries.’

  Tam, Jake’s replacement minder. The big numpty had botched the fit-up. All he had to do was park the car at the side of the road and leave the Italian in the driver’s seat with the keys in his pocket while I made the anonymous call to the cops. Instead he’d wrecked a bus shelter and taken the keys away with him. No wonder Jake wanted Deek out and about. It seemed you just couldn’t get the help these days.

  By the time I’d stopped hitting m
yself over the head with the receiver, the PF was gone and the chances of him accepting any more calls from me were about the same as me finding the tattooed Italian walking down Linlithgow High Street. By now he’d probably be sitting in the shadow of the Trevi Fountain sucking down a Sambuca. My only hope was that the hospital had a sample of his blood and we could match it with the fork and find him on the Interpol database. None of that was going to happen quickly or without a series of court orders. I had a lot of work to do.

  To try and cheer myself up I phoned Tina. Her gran’s number rang out. Vera Reynolds had said something about going shopping for new clothes. I left a message to say I’d called, and spent the rest of the morning nursing my hangover and generally moping about. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, Malky arrived.

  ‘I’m in hiding,’ he said, before I could ask him why.

  ‘Can you not hide somewhere else?’

  ‘No, because I’m hiding from Dad. He’ll want to know all about last night and I know he’s fallen out with you, so this is the last place he’ll look.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, he’s already been and gone.’

  Malky strolled through to the kitchen to examine the contents of my fridge. An unedifying experience normally, but during Tina’s stay the appliance had become home to an array of strange foodstuffs. Having considered, and wisely rejected, the slices of Billy Bear cold meat and a packet of cheese-strings, he chose a carton of yoghurt, took a teaspoon from the drawer, came back through to the living room and flopped onto the sofa. ‘So I’m safe for the moment?’ He lifted a piece of the torn newspaper that was scattered about and let it fall to the floor. ‘I take it you saw my picture in the paper?’

  ‘According to the old man, it was all my fault.’

  My brother brightened somewhat at the news. ‘Did he?’ He peeled off the foil lid from the yoghurt carton and licked it. ‘How come?’

  ‘Because, Malky, everything you do wrong is somehow my fault. Like when you went hillwalking last year with what’s-her-name.’

  ‘Jenny. No, Jenna.’

  ‘Apparently the reason you got lost and had to be rescued was all down to me forgetting to let you borrow the compass that I’d forgotten I even had and you never asked for.’

  ‘She was all right, Gemma.’ Malky said, tipping some chocolate-covered raisins from the dry side of the carton into the wet. ‘Great legs. All that climbing, I suppose. Never saw the attraction in it, myself. It would be okay if they had a bar at the top, but when you actually get there it’s very much like the bottom, only a bit higher.’

  If only the human popsicles that littered the route to the summit of Everest had taken the time to have a word with my brother before setting off from base camp.

  ‘Any big plans today?’ he asked, stirring the yoghurt pot and setting about it.

  ‘I’m meeting someone.’

  ‘Not Ellie?’

  ‘No, not Ellie.’

  ‘Didn’t think so, but I did hear that you two sloped off together last night. How’d that go for you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He winked. ‘How fine?’

  ‘Not that fine.’

  ‘Did you get her number?’

  I’d had a lot to drink, but not so much as to forget to do that.

  ‘You tried calling it?’ Malky asked, giving me a big yoghurty grin.

  ‘Not yet. Why?’

  ‘Because I’m guessing all the right numbers will be there, just not necessarily in the right order.’

  I pulled out my phone. ‘Do you want me to put your theory to the test?’

  ‘Don’t embarrass yourself,’ he said. ‘Let me explain. Beauty-wise, on a scale of one to ten where would you put Ellie?’

  ‘Ten, I suppose.’

  ‘Probably nearer eleven. What about you?’ he asked, through a mouthful of yoghurt and chocolate raisins. ‘How do you rate yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . an eight?’

  Malky laughed at my self-assessment. ‘Six and a half, maybe seven with the light behind you. I’m probably only a solid nine myself.’

  ‘But you’ve got other good points,’ I said. ‘Like your modesty.’

  He dismissed the compliment with a wave of his teaspoon. ‘So there you go. Clattering into the first hurdle.’

  ‘How many hurdles are there?’

  ‘Two. And you hit them both bang on.’

  ‘What’s the second?’

  Malky stopped mining the bottom of the yoghurt carton to look at me as though I were some sort of imbecile. ‘Money, of course. Where women are concerned you either have to be better looking than them, a lot better looking in your case, or richer. Sorry,’ he said, shrugging and sucking the last of the yoghurt from the spoon. ‘I don’t make the rules.’ He rescued a chocolate raisin that had jumped overboard and landed on his shirt.

  I was casually stuffing my phone back in my pocket when it rang. Vikki.

  ‘You called and said it was urgent.’

  ‘It is. I’ve got some great news,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘About what?’

  ‘I’d rather tell you face-to-face.’

  ‘Robbie . . . ’

  ‘There’s no need to be suspicious. What are you doing for lunch?’

  ‘Getting my hair done.’

  ‘Getting your hair done as in getting your hair done, or getting your hair done as in I’m sorry I can’t go out with you, getting my hair done?’

  ‘It’s not an excuse. I booked the appointment weeks ago. Unlike a man, I can’t simply walk in off the street and ask for a gauge two all-over, so you’ll either have to tell me now or wait until the party tonight.’

  ‘It’s too long a story to tell over the phone and the party . . . well . . . it’s not looking too good.’

  ‘Your dad’s not changed his mind then?’

  ‘No, and I think I helped reinforce his decision during a discussion we had this morning.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘let’s meet up. I’m collecting Molly at half three and taking her to your dad’s for four. I suppose I could escape for half an hour. Why don’t we go for a coffee, have a chat and then we can gatecrash the party? Where would you recommend?’

  It wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined it, still . . . ‘Do you know Sandy’s, I mean, Bistro Alessandro on Linlithgow High Street?’

  ‘No, but I’ll find it. See you there about four thirty? And, Robbie, I’m bringing some good news with me too.’ She laughed. ‘The trouble is I think I may owe Barry Munn an apology.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Malky asked, after Vikki had rung off.

  ‘Vikki. I’m meeting her later.’

  ‘The Vikki that you tried to kiss?’

  ‘She’s going to smuggle me into the party at Dad’s so that I can see Tina.’

  ‘The party? Is that today? Listen, will you tell Tina from me, sorry I can’t make it, but . . . well, think of an excuse for me. That’s your job isn’t it – making up excuses for folk? Tell her I’ll drive down and see her at her gran’s next week.’ Malky flicked off his shoes, stretched out on the sofa and, finding the remote control down the side of one of the cushions, pointed it at the TV. ‘And this Vikki,’ he said. ‘If she’s more than a seven and you don’t want to be disappointed I’d lie about how much you earn before you try and kiss her again.’

  54

  I walked to Sandy’s, breathing in the cold fresh air and planning my upcoming meeting with Vikki. How could I salvage a good conduct report from the shambles of my childminding efforts, especially as it sounded like Barry Munn had spiked my guns and taken all the credit for Molly’s windfall? Even at a stroll, it took me less time than I’d thought and I was first to arrive. At twenty past four on a Saturday there was no trouble finding my usual seat in the far corner.

  ‘Pretty quiet in here, is it not?’ I said, when Sandy came over to give the surface a wipe.

  ‘Eye of the storm. It’s been going like a funfair all da
y,’ he replied. ‘Every shopper in Linlithgow has been in for coffee, there’s not a scone left in the place.’ He gave the table a last swish with his damp cloth and stood back to make sure he hadn’t missed a bit. ‘Then there was the usual stampede for paninis at lunchtime and—’

  ‘A coffee will do me just now,’ I said. Sandy seemed to be having difficulty distinguishing between an off-the-cuff greeting and a request for a blow-by-blow account of his business day. ‘I’ll probably be wanting some food later when my guest arrives.’

  ‘Guest? Robbie, you know I don’t like it when you meet your clients here. Can you not take them to the Red Corner Bar? I had Jake Turpie looking for you earlier. I had to keep the door open for half an hour after he’d left just to get rid of the diesel-stink.’

  Jake had probably been wanting an update on Deek’s defence. Something that his new minder had managed to demolish single-handedly. How difficult would it have been to lift the battered Italian into the driver’s seat and leave the keys behind?

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘it’s not a client. I’m meeting a woman.’

  Sandy smiled. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ He left me for a moment and came back with a small glass vase of plastic snowdrops that had been gathering dust on the windowsill. ‘I take it you’ve left Tina with her grand-père?’ he asked.

  ‘Grand-père’s French. You’re supposed to be Italian, remember?’

  ‘So what? I’m multilingual. I’m just saying that it’s nice of her . . . ’

  ‘Nonno?’

  ‘Gramps, to look after her while you go off to find her a new mum.’ He placed the vase in the middle of the table, turning it until he found its best position, giving me a nudge with his elbow at the same time.

  ‘It’s not like that. It’s business.’

  Sandy picked up the vase again, clearly not happy with it. ‘I think I’ll just give these a quick run under the tap.’

  While he was doing so, Vikki came in, dumped her handbag on the floor and sat down opposite me. It was only a couple of minutes past the half hour, but she apologised anyway. ‘Sorry if I’m late. I’ve been rushed off my feet today.’