DS Geddes was scribbling notes on a sheet of paper, his lips moving soundlessly as he read through them before the scribbling began again. Patrick, on the other hand, had abandoned the racing section of the Daily Record for a book. Whatever it was it certainly had his attention.
It was Pat I was looking for. Diane Kennedy had told me the truth – so far as it went. I didn’t fool myself it was all there was. Pat would get the whole story; it was his gift. I tapped him on the shoulder. He greeted me like I was a soldier returning from the Russian front. ‘Charlie!’
I nodded at his book. ‘Good, is it?’
He turned it over to let me see the title: World’s Best Quotations.
‘Fantastic. You’ve no idea how much stuff is in here. A gem on every page.’
‘A word, when you’ve got a minute.’
‘Absolutely. I’m free now.’
He followed me to a table near the back. NYB wasn’t busy; we had the place to ourselves. I didn’t dance around it. ‘Does the name Dennis Boyd mean anything to you?’
‘A blast from the past.’ He scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Killed the jeweller he was workin’ for, as I remember. Big news at the time.’
‘Find out everything you can about him.’
‘In the Big House, isn’t he?’
‘Not any more. He got out yesterday.’
‘Why the sudden interest? Must’ve been a dozen years ago now.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Any older and it’s an archaeologist you’d need. That it?’
‘No. I want to know about Joe Franks and his wife, Diane. Diane Kennedy now. And whatever you can find about her second husband.’
He got up. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult. Give me a couple of days. Start first thing in the morning, all right?’
‘Faster if you can. One more thing. At the trial, the testimony of three witnesses swung it in the prosecution’s favour. Whatever you turn up on them will be useful.’
‘Any idea where they are?’
‘One of them is in the morgue. Died last night in a car park. According to Diane, these guys were bribed, so the other two have got to be seriously sweating.’
Patrick’s reaction was understandable. ‘Didn’t let the grass grow, did he? Not too clever. Better if he’d held off, although maybe he thought fifteen years was long enough.’
‘It might not have been Dennis Boyd.’
‘Good luck convincin’ the procurator fiscal. Have the police caught him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Only a matter of time before they do. Hope it was worth it. Probably cost the rest of his life.’
‘Unless he didn’t do it.’
Pat Logue’s eyes searched my face as he began to see where we were headed. ‘That what this is about, Charlie? Because if it is, let me remind you the difference between you and your pal, Andrew, over there. He’s police. They pay him to solve crimes. You find missin’ people. You used to get that.’
‘Appreciate the concern, Patrick. Believe me. I’m not involved in anything.’
‘Yet.’
He knew me too well. My mobile vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and opened it. ‘Charlie Cameron.’
The deep male voice on the other end didn’t waste words. ‘Strathclyde Park. Tomorrow at four o’clock.’
Before I could speak, he hung up.
Pat Logue was the most tolerant person I’d ever known. Across the table, he didn’t disguise his disapproval. ‘One word from me and you do what you like, eh, Charlie? Thought you’d learned your lesson. Takin’ cases that would put you opposite Sean Rafferty is bad enough. Questions about fifteen-year-old murders and ten-second phone calls tell me you’re off and runnin’ again, aren’t you? Puttin’ your nose in where it doesn’t belong.’ He shook his head. ‘This isn’t you, Charlie. Findin’ people, that’s your game. And if you want to branch out, why the hell can’t you do bread and butter jobs? Domestic disharmony’s a lot less dangerous. Pay’s better, too.’
‘Not if you’re a man.’
I hadn’t noticed DS Andrew Geddes standing behind me, singing his usual song. Andrew had been on the wrong end of a bitter divorce and never missed an opportunity to bad-mouth the holy state of matrimony. Listening to him had worn thin. Somebody ought to tell him to put a sock in it, though it wouldn’t be me. My tactic was to ignore it and change the subject. ‘Andrew! Any progress on the promotion?’
‘Not so far. Have to produce evidence to prove leadership. Whole load of stuff like that. Just making some notes. Not so easy to write about yourself.’
‘Will your detective inspector be involved?’
‘Of course, Barr will be asked for his input so I’m not holding my breath.’
‘Surely he wouldn’t stand in your way?’
Andrew looked at me as if I’d come down with yesterday’s rain and put a friendly hand on my shoulder. ‘Sometimes I wonder how you’ve managed to get through life, Charlie. Your innocence is touching. DI Adam Barr wouldn’t give me a kick in the head to bring me out of a fit. I’m everything he’s not, starting with professional. Wouldn’t stand in my way? Yeah, right. After what happened with Tony Daly, he’d have me on traffic duty.’
‘But you were right about the councillor case.’
‘And he was wrong. Not likely to forget it, is he? Can only hope he moves on sooner rather than later because, until he does, I’ll be staying a detective sergeant.’
Pat Logue said, ‘It’s a hard world,’ and cleared his throat. I knew what was coming. Hoped I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong. He said, ‘“If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same.” Rudyard Kipling.’
Geddes glared at him.
Alex Gilby coming through the door broke the tension. Alex was around sixty and had been on the Glasgow hospitality scene longer than almost anyone, in his time, operating some of the best-known restaurants and café bars in the city. The clothes he wore were expensive, yet he always looked as if he’d dressed in the dark. Today, it was jeans, a jacket and a white open-necked shirt. He grinned at us and put an avuncular hand on the shoulder of the blonde with him.
‘This is my niece, Michelle. She’s coming to work here.’
Michelle smiled at everyone and no one. I guessed she was in her mid-twenties: bright-eyed and eager. Alex explained her to us. ‘Michelle isn’t sure what she wants to do with her life. My sister suggested I give her a start in hospitality. See how she takes to it.’
He was the boss. He could do what he liked. At least, that was the theory. His next statement set off alarm bells in my head. ‘Jackie’s going to show her the ropes.’
I wondered if he’d talked to Jackie. For his sake, I hoped so, otherwise – boss or no boss – a shitload of trouble was about to fall on his head.
‘Is she in her office? I’ll go and speak to her.’
With Alex gone, Pat Logue straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, ready to go into his Mr Charm routine. Patrick had a thing for barmaids. Considering how much of his life he spent in their company, it was hardly a surprise. What he was building up to – to borrow one of his many sporting phrases – was called ‘playing away from home’.
Andrew Geddes stared righteously at the floor. Pat moved beside Michelle and whispered something we couldn’t hear; she laughed. Geddes shot a disapproving glance at me and shook his head. ‘How in God’s name do you put up with him, Charlie? Man’s no better than a rutting animal.’
‘No, he’s just a middle-aged guy trying to prove he’s still got it.’
‘Wish I had your tolerance.’
‘So do I, Andrew.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jackie marching towards the bar with a red-faced Alex trailing behind her. She put out her hand to the new-start. ‘Jackie. I hear you’re joining us. Welcome to NYB.’
To anyone who didn’t know better, it sounded genuine. I knew better. Jackie Mallon made the decisions in New York Blue, especially the hiring and firing. Having the owner give somebody a job – a relative, of all people – without squaring it with her first wasn’t on. Jackie guarded her territory like a lioness protecting her young, the reason my office was in Cochrane Street now and not upstairs. Any threat would be met and matched, even if it came from the owner. Through no fault of her own, Gilby’s niece was in for a difficult time. Michelle was too unworldly to realise that, thanks to her uncle, she’d unwittingly become part of a power struggle. I didn’t envy her.
Gilby hovered in the background, smiling like an idiot, willing things to go well. Pity he hadn’t thought about it earlier. An old hand had made an amateur’s mistake and was already regretting it.
Jackie’s smile was frozen in place. ‘So, when can you start?’
‘When would you like me to start?’
She led Michelle behind the bar. ‘What’s wrong with right now? Let’s see you pour a pint.’
‘A pint of what?’
‘Something easy. Make it a pint of Guinness.’