THERE ARE a few streets in Earmam shabbier than Mòine Road, but the list is short. The whole area had once been dominated by factories, built in the nineteenth century and spewing out dirt nonstop until the post-war period. Then they became useless and unnecessary and were mostly pulled down to make way for cheap housing, like the flats Dillan Howard lived in. A few streets away, closer to the loch side, there were old factory buildings that had been converted and actually looked rather good, classic buildings allowed to age. These post-war shortcuts were ugly, and even the reasonable effort the occupants made to keep the area neat made no dent in the unsightliness.
It had taken them two hours to find Dillan Howard’s address. Sholto parked the car across the road from the entrance to the flats, set back from the road. The council had laid some grass down where the floors of the sprawling factories would once have been. All sorts of stuff had been handled there back in the day: tobacco, whale oil, textiles and anything else the city could lay its grasping hands on.
Darian looked at Sholto and said, “You want me to handle this one?”
“No, no, I can do it. Better I do, try to make sure none of this gets back to Kotkell. A Sutherland executive getting upset with us. Can you imagine what that’ll do for business?”
They got out of the car and went across the road to Howard’s flat. It was on the ground floor, and Sholto knocked. The door was opened by a young man, tall and handsome, dark brown hair, and not nearly as unhinged looking as Ally had led them to expect. He had light stubble over the sort of face you could tell would age well, only early twenties now.
The man nodded and said, “Yes?”
Sholto said “Dillan Howard?”
“That’s me unless you’re trouble or wanting money.”
“My name’s Sholto Douglas, this is my colleague Darian Ross, we work for an investigations company and we’re looking into an assault in the city three nights ago. Could we chat?”
Sholto asked as though he hoped to be refused, but Howard was happy to disappoint him and held the door open. He led them through to a sparse kitchen where they sat at a small, round table. There wasn’t much of anything to look at in the kitchen. It was small, with a window looking out at the side of the building next door, and a gap where a washing machine would go.
Dillan said, “Would you like a cup of tea or something?”
They both said, “No thanks.”
“What’s this about? Private investigation, so you’re not cops?”
Sholto said, “No, we’re not, so you don’t have to answer anything if you don’t want to. We’re here about Uisdean Kotkell. You’ll have heard he was beaten up outside Himinn the other night?”
“I heard.”
“And what do you think about that?”
“What do I…? I think it’s very sad, that’s what I think. I was going to go and see him in the hospital today but I heard he’s out, back home with his parents. It was a shame what happened to him, he’s a good guy.”
“And do you happen to know anything about why this great shame happened to this good guy?”
Dillan leaned back in his chair, his face getting harder and taking on the look of a man hanging onto the end of his short fuse. He said, “How would I know anything about it?”
“Well, what do you think happened to him?”
“I suppose he must have got jumped, someone got pissed and wanted to be a hardman, or thought they could mug him and make a bit of money. No shortage of young men getting pissed and violent in this city. Surely your investigations have taught you that?”
“So you and him didn’t have a big falling out, he didn’t dump you? You weren’t the one who got pissed and violent, waiting for him outside the club so you could give him a little bit of relationship counseling?”
Howard was smiling dismissively. He looked almost childish when he did. He said, “Do you think I got in a fight with him, or do you just wish I did so you could pin it on me, get an easy bad guy to point the finger at? That would make it nice and easy for you, go back to Uisdean’s father with my head on a pike, because that’s who you’re working for, isn’t it? Private investigation. The police would never be good enough for him; he would always want special treatment for his family and he could pay any price for it. He’s a dangerous man, Uisdean’s father. All that power. I hope you realize what his reaction would be if you tell him something he doesn’t like.”
“I can’t tell you who we’re working for.”
Dillan laughed at the stiff delivery. “Oh, you are playing with fire if you’re playing with that man.”
This was going round in a circle so Darian interrupted and said, “Were you and Uisdean in a relationship?”
“A relationship? No. I’ve known him about a year, we partied together a bit, had some fun, but there was nothing more than that. Neither of us could have dumped the other. If you want a scapegoat you’ll have to go look in another field.”
“Do you know anyone who might have had it in for Uisdean?”
“He isn’t the sort of guy that goes round making enemies. He’s not flash, not a troublemaker, so don’t try to blame what happened on him. Some drunk, I don’t know, a random attack. I’m sure you’ll find a way of wrapping it up without catching anyone and without embarrassing his father.”
Sholto, with surprising force, said, “We will not wrap it up, we will not. A crime has been committed and we will investigate it fully.”
There was a slightly stunned silence for a few seconds before Darian hurdled over it, saying, “You hadn’t heard anything about someone threatening him, maybe trying to get money off him?”
“No, the only person Uisdean ever complained about was his father and by the time he was done whinging about him there was no time left for anyone else.”
“All right, we’ll leave it there.”
They left the building and went back to the car. Sholto looked annoyed by a spiked dead end, no solution but a reminder of the danger that upsetting Durell Kotkell posed. He slammed the car door shut behind him. Darian gave him a look.
“Waste of bloody time, and he didn’t need to get that chippy either, as if we’re the bad guys.”
He was flushed, looked unsure of himself. For Darian it brought back the memory of Corey in their office, telling them they were hiding there, that Sholto didn’t have the guts for real police work and its dangers. He’d lost one verbal battle that didn’t matter a damn and he was losing the rag about it. Maybe Corey had a point.
Darian said, “So what now?”
“We’ll try to get the boy on his own, without the father or mother there. He’s the last person left who knows more than he’s told us.”
They drove back to the office.