‘You met with him recently, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘I remember the last time you were at my office you said you were going to see him that morning.’
I confirmed her understanding was correct without going into detail.
‘Philip would like to know what you talked about. He’s hoping to meet up with you.’
Afar off in the distance my finder’s fee prospects slammed on the brakes and began reversing in my direction. ‘I think I could manage that. Needless to say, I’d have certain—’
‘Expenses? Naturally.’ I formed the distinct impression that Maggie had already organized everything including her own arrangement fee. ‘How are you placed tomorrow morning?’
‘Tomorrow? Yeah, that should—’
I looked up to see Joanna shaking her head and mouthing something.
‘Hold on, Maggie, I’ll just check my diary.’ I put my hand over the mouthpiece. ‘What is it?’
‘Tina. Disneyland.’
I’d totally forgotten. ‘Yes, thank you, Joanna, I’d not forgotten.’
‘Maggie, tomorrow morning’s out, I’m afraid.’
‘Out? How can it be out? This is Sir Philip Thorn. He’s not one of your heroin-infused clients. He won’t hang around waiting for an appointment.’
‘Well, he’s going to have to, if he wants to see me. Go back to him. Any other time would be okay, but not tomorrow.’
‘What’s so important?’ Joanna asked when I’d hung up.
‘Billy Paris is dead. They dredged him out of the canal earlier this morning.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Joanna said. ‘So, while I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly, up at the High Court one minute, down at the Sheriff the next, you’re faffing about with some conspiracy theory about a helicopter crash? Did you know I spent three hours at the police station on Sunday afternoon waiting to see a prisoner just because you can’t take on any new legal aid cases?’
‘First of all,’ I said, ‘I’m not faffing about. I am trying to earn a substantial private fee from Sir Philip Thorn who wants advice from me on how his son came to meet his death and, secondly, don’t blame me for your inexperience when it comes to dealing with police officers.’
Joanna squinted dangerously. ‘Inexperience? I was in the Fiscal Service for five years. I think I know how to deal with cops, thank you.’
‘No, you know how to order cops about. You can do that when you’re a fiscal. When you’re on the other side of the fence you have to use a bit of initiative.’
‘You think I lack initiative?’
‘I’m not being critical.’ I noticed Joanna’s grip on the stapler seemed to be tightening. ‘It’s just that there are certain protocols when dealing with cops that one learns through years of experience.’
‘Listen, Old Father Time, you’re thirty-seven, I’m coming on thirty—’
‘I’m just saying, you need to employ your best asset.’
Joanna slammed the stapler down on the desk. ‘Am I actually hearing this correctly? You want me to flirt with policemen? Throw myself at them in the hope I’ll get to see custody clients a bit quicker?’
I didn’t say it. It was corny to even think it, but Joanna was gorgeous when she was angry. ‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your more obvious, physical assets,’ I said, ‘but, when you’re dealing with cops...’ I tapped my head. ‘This is the best. I didn’t invent the weekend-police-station-visit kit for nothing.’
‘The what kit?’
‘Grace-Mary!’
My secretary sauntered through. ‘You yelled?’
‘Please tell Joanna what’s in the weekend-police-station visit kit.’
Grace-Mary rhymed them off. ‘Newspaper, family-size bag of crisps, bottle of fizzy juice. Robbie likes Irn Bru, but I don’t think it matters all that much.’
I could see by the look on Joanna’s face that she wasn’t getting it. I thought I’d better explain. ‘What happens when you go to the cop shop at the weekend? You’re told to have a seat and that someone will be right with you. But they aren’t right with you, are they? You have to keep going back and forward to remind them you’re still there, don’t you?’ Joanna could only agree. ‘And when they eventually show you through to an interview room, you have to wait for ages for the prisoner to be brought, correct?’ Again no objection from Joanna.
‘Don’t tell me, the newspaper is to stop me getting bored and the juice and crisps are to stave off hunger and dehydration,’ she said, wearily.
‘Rewind,’ I said. ‘I’ll be you, you be a cop. Good morning, officer, I’d like to see my client, Mr McBloggs.’
I wasn’t sure if it was my high-pitched impersonation of her voice or just a general reluctance to engage in role play, whichever, it took some persuasion before Joanna would step up to the mark and take her cue. ‘Hello, Miss Jordan,’ she said in a monotone voice. ‘Have a seat. Your client will be right with you.’
I took my tone down a pitch. ‘Thank you, officer.’ I pretended to flick open an imaginary newspaper. ‘And feel free to take your time. I’m getting paid two hundred an hour for being here.’ I don’t know why but I folded the imaginary newspaper again before tossing it aside. ‘Expect the arrival of your client inside five minutes. The cops hate the idea of you sitting there raking in that kind of money for reading the Sundays and eating snacks.’
Joanna saw a problem with that. ‘But we don’t get paid two hundred an hour, or anything like it.’
I was only too well aware of that. ‘You exaggerate.’
‘He means lie,’ Grace-Mary translated.
‘The cops don’t know what you’re earning. They think we’re all fat-cat lawyers.’
‘Not the ones who know I work for you,’ Joanna muttered. She packed up her satchel with the day’s files.
‘Joanna,’ I said. ‘It’s difficult just now. If it’s any consolation I really don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She allowed herself a faint smile and shrugged. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t complain. Better to be busy than not.’
I was glad she saw things that way. ‘Good, because they’re hoping to kick-off Keith Howie’s rape trial next Monday.’
Grace-Mary gave a warning growl.
‘But,’ I added hurriedly, ‘you’re not doing it. I am.’
‘You don’t know anything about the case,’ Joanna said.
‘When’s that ever stopped him?’ Grace-Mary asked.
I ignored my secretary’s latest interjection. ‘True, but I don’t know how to ski either and because it’ll be a lot quicker for me to read the brief than take lessons on how to slide down a hill on slats of wood, I think it’s best if you’re the one who goes to Serre Chevalier.’ Joanna hesitated. I ploughed on. ‘I know I said it was a stinker of a case, but sometimes a pair of fresh eyes can make all the difference. Maybe I can find a new angle. An alternative line of defence.’
‘He means: make something up.’ Grace-Mary’s translation services were beginning to get on my nerves.
‘Ever the optimist, eh, Robbie?’ Joanna patted my cheek. ‘No thanks. It’s my case and I’m going to see it through to the finish.’
‘Don’t be such a martyr,’ I said. ‘Let me do it. I’ve got an incentive to have Howie acquitted. He’s my only hope of getting Tina what she wants for Christmas.’
‘Pyxie Girl?’ Joanna laughed. ‘If you can find a way to have Keith Howie acquitted I’ll personally find you a Pyxie Girl for Christmas. No, I’m going to stay and do the trial.’ She turned to leave the room and then turned back. ‘But that doesn’t mean you should waste your time chasing conspiracy theories. If Tina’s poorly, go home. I know what you’re like when you get an idea in your head. Billy Paris is dead. Jeremy Thorn is dead. Let them go.’
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
26
‘I don’t conduct every autopsy in Scotland, Robbie.’ Professor Edward Bradley sounded breathless over the phone. ‘Can we make this quick? I’m in a hurry.’ For a doctor who
se patients were all dead he did a lot of rushing about.
‘Do you know if it’s been done yet?’
‘No idea.’
‘Can you even tell me where the body is? The details must be on a computer somewhere. He was dragged out of a canal in Falkirk yesterday.’
‘Then he’ll either be at the Forth Valley Hospital or on his way to the city morgue in Edinburgh. Most of the sudden deaths end up at the Cowgate. Look, Robbie, I really have to go.’
‘Then leave a note for whoever’s doing the job to give me a call, will you?’
‘About what? Man falls in canal and drowns. Was he a drinker?’ I confirmed he was, very much so. ‘Then make that: Drunk man falls in canal and drowns. Hold the front page.’
‘All the same I’d like to know if there is anything unexpected or out of the ordinary found.’
‘Like what?’
I resisted the obvious reply that if I knew what to expect it wouldn’t meet the strict dictionary definition of unexpected. ‘I don’t know. Just anything not quite right.’
‘Steady, lad, don’t go getting all technical on me. Just let me make a note of that for my colleague. Please check cadaver for anything... what was it you said? Oh yes. Not quite right.’ With that and an exasperated, ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Prof. Bradley was gone. If I wanted more information, I’d have to try another source.
27
The football authorities could plough as much money as they wanted into centres of excellence and football academies. The fact was they could never repeat the success of the unfunded Boys Club system. Run by unpaid, dedicated volunteers, it had nurtured all Scotland’s past generations of football talent: greats such as Denis Law, Kenny Dalglish, Graeme Souness, even Malky Munro; and it was from these same grassroots that many expected the next batch of top players would also emerge. Every boys’ club coach had an ambition, and that was for one of his players to make the big-time. Which was why, at the mention of Malky being interested in young Darren, such legislative niceties as the Data Protection Act were ignored. With one phone call I had the address I was looking for.
I hadn’t quite figured out the association between Billy Paris and Maureen, the wee woman in the furry hood. I knew they’d met long enough for her to conceive a reasonably competent central defender, but as for how long their actual affair had lasted I had no idea. I guessed it must have been for some length of time because Billy still kept in touch with his son through football matches, and when I’d spoken to him, just the day before, he’d been confident of a reconciliation founded upon his belief in an imminent cash windfall.
‘It was on and off.’ Maureen was on the back green of her terraced house, taking advantage of a rare dry spell to hang out some washing. ‘When he was on the drink, I was right off him.’
I’d already offered her my condolences and they’d been received with a fairly dead-pan expression, like she’d always regarded Billy floating face-down in the canal as one in a range of possible outcomes for their relationship, such that it was.
‘How’s Darren taking things?’ I asked.
‘He’s thirteen. He’ll get over it. You don’t miss what you never had.’ She picked some pegs from the small plastic tub clipped onto the wash-line, put a few between her teeth and reached up to hang out a series of football tops.
‘I just came by to say how sorry I was, and—’
‘I know,’ she pulled the pegs out of her mouth. ‘Jimmy from Darren’s team called. Said your brother was interested. Jimmy said you weren’t lying. Your brother did play for the Rangers.’ She was a trusting soul. Or maybe she just had the same faith in the word of a lawyer as I did in that of a politician.
‘And Scotland,’ I said. It was all right to speak proudly of my brother’s achievements, so long as he wasn’t around to hear me. ‘Malky thinks your son is worth another look and maybe a referral onto a senior club for a trial.’
After the string of tops came a couple of towels, some shorts and a row of socks. Once Maureen had finished hanging them out and returned the peg-tub to her now empty wash basket, she said, ‘But that’s not why you’re here, is it?’ She picked up the basket. ‘My washing’s drier than Billy is and already I’ve had the law, twice, and now you at my door. I know why the polis were here, but there’s no way a lawyer is dropping by at eleven o’clock on a Thursday morning to tell me my son’s quite good at football.’
‘You’ve had the police here twice?’
Maureen stared into a sky that couldn’t make up its mind. Happy that she could leave her washing out for the time being, she turned to me again. ‘The first lot came yesterday to tell me about Billy. Some guy walking his dog found him. The second lot came today. They’re not long away.’
‘The second lot. Plain clothes? A tall Englishman with a beard and a wee angry guy?’
She nodded. ‘They were here before, about a week ago, asking if I knew where Billy was.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘I told them I didn’t know.’
‘What did they ask about today?’
‘They wanted to know if Billy had said anything about a helicopter crash.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘I told them what I knew.’ She began to walk down the path to the back door, wash-basket on her hip. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? What difference does it make now?’ I followed her into the house and a small kitchen. The remains of breakfast were either on the table or on the floor. She kicked a crust of toast in the general direction of an overflowing plastic bin and set the clothes-basket on the kitchen table. ‘Your brother really going to get Darren a trial with the Rangers?’
‘There’s nothing definite,’ I said, and received a grunt of derision in response. ‘But I promise I’ll do what I can.’
She pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. ‘Billy told me the police would come looking for him. He said he needed time to sort something out. He said he’d been to see you and that everything would be all right this time.’
‘When I saw Billy on Tuesday he told me he’d had a bit of good luck and that he was going to be coming into money. Do you know anything about that?’
‘Aye, he said the same thing to me. I thought he was just trying to sweet-talk me into letting him move back in here.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That he had information. It was valuable, he said, and he was making a few final checks and then cashing it in. He said we’d be set for life. I’d heard all his crap before. The man was all arse and parsley.’
‘Was it information about the helicopter accident?’
She nodded.
‘When did he tell you this?’
‘The day before yesterday. He breenged in here about teatime. He’d been drinking. Said he’d been at the police station with you and that he was in the clear and that everything was sorted. He wanted me to go down to the Concord Bar with him for more drink. I told him no chance. He’d had enough and, anyways, I can’t stand that place. Nothing but whores and comic singers in there. He left and that was the last time I saw him.’ A sudden smatter of rain hit the kitchen window. Maureen got up from her chair to look out. Satisfied that it was a false alarm, she went over to the cooker. Beside it there was a wooden chopping board covered by a red-checked tea towel. She whipped it off to reveal diced potatoes and onions, and tipped the lot into a big pot. Over at the sink she filled the basin with water and emptied in a bag of carrots, letting them float there like a snowman cemetery while she raked about in a drawer. ‘Darren’s away to the school the day. He’s in a Christmas play or something and I didn’t want him to miss out just because of that big eejit.’
She sniffed and wiped an eye with the back of her hand. It was probably the onions. Eventually she found what she’d been hunting for in the drawer and brought out a rusty blade, orange string coiled around its black wooden handle. She used it to set about the carrots.
‘I’ll make Darren a nice big plate of soup, she said. ‘
That and a half loaf and he’ll be happy.’
‘Did Billy say what the valuable information was?’ I asked.
Maureen stopped scraping. ‘Oh, aye. According to him he knew who’d sabotaged that helicopter killing those folk.’
I wasn’t any further forward. Billy had told me much the same thing. I also knew he’d intended to sell the information he had to Philip Thorn. Thorn would be willing to pay for the name of the person who’d killed his child. What father wouldn’t? I tried to imagine how I’d feel if someone murdered Tina. No wonder Thorn had wanted to find Billy.
‘I don’t suppose Billy told you who did it?’ I asked.
Wee Maureen shook her head. ‘He just kept saying he knew who it was and could prove it and that he would sell the information to the highest bidder.’
‘He said that? He actually said that he had the evidence?’
‘No.’ Wee Maureen took her vegetable-peeler and set about the tub of carrots again. ‘He said he had left it with you.’
28
It had to be in the cardboard box. Where else could it be? Billy Paris had been in my office three times in the past two years and the only things he’d given me during that period were a couple of prosecutions to defend and most recently a cardboard box that he’d been willing to pay hard cash for me to keep safe for him. The proof of who’d sabotaged Jeremy Thorn’s helicopter had to be in there.
‘But it’s not,’ Joanna reminded me. Thursday night she’d come to say ‘bon voyage’ to Tina who was all set to fly out to Paris the next day. We were sitting on the living room couch in front of the TV with Tina between us wrapped in a large pink fleecy dressing gown, so that, according to her grandfather, she wouldn’t catch a chill. She was more likely to suffer heatstroke.
Joanna pressed home her argument. ‘We were both there when the police emptied the box. There was nothing but socks, a book, some tools...’
Present Tense Page 13