VIVIENNE ARMSTRONG was standing alone at the bar of Sigurds. Darian had walked down the narrow lane in the fading gray of early morning and pushed the door, expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. The bar was directly ahead, running off to the side, with round tables against the front windows on either side. It was dark in there. What light survived the brave fight through the clouds struggled to then find a route to Caol Lane, four-story buildings on either side of the cobbles. Darian stepped inside and let the door close, the noise enough to alert Vivienne. She didn’t turn round.
She stood straight, wearing dark, tight trousers and a black coat, her black ponytail over the back of the large collar. She was about five feet eight, slender, and when Darian stepped beside her he could see her narrow face and thin lips, small bags under her eyes. She was pale in a way that her dark hair made look unhealthy and her makeup didn’t hide it. Darian didn’t know how old she was, but he was indiscreet enough to guess at mid-thirties. There was nothing in her general appearance that told you what sort of person she was, but when she glanced back at Darian her look suggested violence was a friend she cherished.
“Morning, Miss Armstrong.”
She looked across again, raised a thin eyebrow and said nothing.
“My name’s Darian Ross, I’m Sorley’s brother. I wanted to talk to you about a man called Randle Cummins. I heard he owed you a lot of money and I heard he was good enough to pay you back.”
“You’re Sorley’s brother?”
“Yes, his younger brother.”
“Sorley, Darian and Catriona. Ha, your parents didn’t want to give you much of a chance.”
Darian threw her a look that was supposed to be silencing.
Vivienne scoffed. “Don’t get precious about insults toward your parents. You’re on the east side. Go take a walk in any direction from here and you’ll find a bunch of kids with greater tales of woe than you have. One parent dead and another in jail? They don’t hand out awards for that round here; too common.”
“I’m not here to talk about my family; I’m here to talk about my work.”
“Aren’t you some sort of cop?”
“No, I work for a research company, but we do investigations into some people’s finances. This is nothing to do with you, though, just Cummins.”
“You probably know a lot of cops, don’t you, Sorley’s brother?”
There was a sneer in her voice and he had to chase it out fast or lose the conversation. “This will help you. I’m not doing it to help you, that’s a side effect, but I’m giving you a warning. DI Corey has arrested Cummins and he’s going to charge him with murdering Moses Guerra. Cummins is linked to you through money, through his motive, which means you might find yourself in a courtroom.”
This time her silence was contemplative, not dismissive. This was bad news and it was taking its time to go down. There was a glass of whisky on the bar in front of her, a few drips left. She picked it up and emptied it, put the glass back down.
“Corey’s been looking for an angle to take my scalp for months. He has a particular objection to women.”
“His unit doesn’t cover what you do.”
She looked at Darian and smiled. This time it was mocking and perhaps rather pitying. “You might be Sorley’s brother, but you don’t know the world like he does. Corey’s unit covers whatever Corey wants it to cover, and he wants it to cover me so tight I can’t breathe.”
“So, Cummins?”
“He paid us back. He owed eighteen and a half thousand, and he had time to pay. We leaned on him a little, not a lot. Not for the whole lot, just a part of it. Suddenly he returns every penny.”
Vivienne stopped because the barman had emerged from the back. He moved toward her, saw the look she gave him and turned like a gale had blown him sideways. He marched back to wherever he had come from.
She went on, “He paid in cash. As far as we were concerned that was the end of the matter. The debt was on the books, a registered lender. If he’s putting the word around that I, or anyone else, forced him to get the money or suggested he steal it or kill for it then he’s a lying little shit with a short lifespan.”
Darian said, “He’s not saying that. He’s denying he had anything to do with it, but it doesn’t look clever for him. The evidence says he killed Moses Guerra to get the money to pay you off.”
“Evidence has a habit of saying what you want other people to hear. Your family should know that.”
“But he paid you the money in cash?”
“He did, and it would have been a day or two after Guerra last breathed out as well.”
“You should expect a visit from DI Corey then.”
“I will. You were right to deliver the warning, but don’t think this means I owe you a favor. Say hello to your brother, and tell him to remember what I said to him the last time we parted.”
Darian didn’t ask what that was; the tone suggested Sorley should remember and if he didn’t he was in trouble. It was enough to make him pause and ask, “Did you ever work with Moses Guerra?”
“No, and I better not hear you repeating the suggestion that I have.”
Darian turned and walked out of Sigurds. The door banged shut behind him and he was on the uneven cobbles of Caol Lane again, no brighter than when he had gone in but as sunny as it was going to get all day. He walked back to Mormaer Station and took the train to work.