Unsure of what to do next, Adam and Colin did what they normally do—filled their bellies and hoped the sheer amount of greasy breakfast food would lend them some inspiration.
It didn’t.
All it did was make them sluggish.
Colin sat back in his chair and wished he could undo a button on his trousers.
‘Do you think we just sack it all off?’ Adam asked. ‘It feels like it’s going nowhere.’
‘It does feel like that,’ he agreed. ‘But we’ve never given up on any of the others. Why this one?’
‘With the others, it was clear that there was definitely a crime. With this… I don’t know. Maybe he did just slip.’
‘Maybe. But what about the footprints? They must count for something.’
‘The footprints are the only thing stopping me from throwing the towel in, however much I want to.’ Adam went to scoop a mouthful of beans into his mouth, but stopped halfway, setting the fork down again.
‘We’ve been through the suspects again, but no one stands out. Maybe we go and have a look at the spot where you found him?’
‘Could do. Won’t the police have been through his stuff?’
‘Not if they are as dim-witted as they usually are. If they were convinced what happened to him was an accident, I reckon they’ll have left his bedding and stuff like that.’
‘Worth a look,’ Adam said.
They got up and paid at the till, before waddling out of the shop and heading towards the alley. On the way, Adam told Colin about Lauren’s availability and, at first, Colin berated him for mentioning his name. However, the more Colin ruminated on that little nugget, the more he started to smile.
Kyle’s PA was beautiful, and Adam said she seemed a bit of a laugh, too.
He apologised to Adam for going off on one, and asked for more details, of which there weren’t many.
‘Except,’ Adam said, ‘I got her number for you.’
He pulled out his phone and read the number aloud, while Colin typed the digits into his phonebook and saved it. He’d text her later, once he’d had time to think about what he was going to say.
The simple “hey” of yesteryear was seen as lazy. You needed a USP, at least in the world of online dating.
‘What should I say?’ he asked.
‘Just ask her out for a drink or something,’ Adam replied. ‘Keep it simple.’
If he’d known ten years ago that Adam Whyte would be giving him dating advice, Colin might have ended it all there and then.
Still, he was thankful that his friend was being a good wingman. He thanked him again as they turned into the alley where Adam had almost stumbled over the body of Gerald Agnew.
The alley looked different in the cold light of day.
Of course, that was, in large part, down to the fact that there was no body now. But there were other differences, too. The snow had melted, exposing the ground and the graffiti looked less urban and cool than it did at night; now it looked like the deranged scrawling of a talentless lunatic.
Adam and Colin walked up the narrow alley and stood by the pole. The blood had been washed off, but that wasn’t what Adam was looking at—he was studying the ground.
Small metal studs surrounded the pole, driven into the ground. Adam had seen these before in areas where slippage might occur, and knew they were there to create friction with your shoe.
The snow that night had just fallen. It was fluffy and soft, so was in no way a slipping hazard. Adam pointed out the little metallic domes and explained his thinking. Colin nodded along.
‘Let’s have a look at where he was sleeping.’
They walked a few more steps down the alley and looked into the little nook where Gerald had been calling home.
There was a nervous looking old man in there, his earthly belongings scattered around a frayed and filthy sleeping bag. He appraised them with bloodshot, worried eyes and began to stammer.
‘Don’t make me move, officers. It’s cosy and…’
Adam cut him off.
‘We’re not police. You’re safe. We’re just looking for Gerald’s stuff.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re looking into his death.’
‘That’s good of you boys,’ he said. ‘Gerald was a pal, and I know he’d be happy with me taking his place.’
‘Isn’t it Marty’s place?’
‘In a matter of speaking, but he won big at the poker and is treating himself to a couple of nights in a guest house. Said I could have his spot in exchange for a few ciggies. Nice for some, isn’t it?’
‘Has anyone been to look through Gerald’s things? Police?’
‘Nah, no one. And I’m an honest gentleman, you understand? I’ve not touched anything, except the fags, ‘cos he’s not going to need them where he’s gone. Everything else is there as he left it.’
‘What’s your name?’
The man swept a hand through his thick mane and seemed to consider whether the question was a trick one. Seemingly, he didn’t think so, though he still appeared cagey when he told them he was called Mick.
‘Nice to meet you, Mick,’ Adam said, as he began poking through the remnants of Gerald’s life, which didn’t amount to much.
There was a busking hat and a guitar with all but one of the strings missing. An old, tattered sleeping bag and an ancient MP3 player that had been drained of battery many moons ago. A heavy winter coat that the paramedics must’ve thought another homeless person could make use of, so tossed it back on his pile before they’d carted him off.
Adam peeled back the sleeping bag, and found a number of small bags of weed. Or what looked like weed, at least. It could well have been tea, going on Gerald’s past form.
‘Were there any more of these?’ he asked.
‘What are you trying to say?’ Mick said, looking affronted.
‘I’m not accusing you of anything, man. I’m only asking if these were all the drugs Gerald had.’
‘As far as I know. I’ve been here constantly, pretty much since he died, and no one has touched anything, and I’ve certainly not. Marty wasn’t even interested. He’s into the harder stuff.’
‘Haven’t you considered selling it?’
‘And have Stu Finnegan all over me? No thank you, sir. I’d rather keep my face the way it is.’
‘Did he have words with Gerald, do you know?’
‘Aye, he had words alright, but that was that, in fairness. Or so I was told. When we saw him coming down the road, we all scarpered. Gerald stood firm, and I think Stu could see that he wasn’t going to need a duffing. That he was a reasonable man. That this was his turf.’
‘And that was that?’
‘Aye.’
‘Do you know who Gerald was selling to?’
‘He wasn’t at it for very long. His heart wasn’t in it, to be fair. Who is going to buy drugs off a tramp? He did sell some to a couple of the wee uni lads and did the dirty on them. Paid the price for that with a black eye and a couple of sore ribs.’
‘And they left him after that?’
‘Aye. That old man who used to be Santa came down a couple of times, but Gerald refused to sell to him. Thought ‘cos he had taken his Baldwin’s gig that the old Santa was trying to buy drugs and then get him in trouble, so he told the guy where to go.’
Adam thought about that for a while. They’d spoken to Tom and he’d never mentioned anything about visiting Gerald with the intention of buying drugs. Maybe they should speak to him again.
They thanked Mick for his help, and turned to leave.
‘It’s a shame poor Gerald has passed on. He seemed excited about the future, you know? Said he had irons in the fire and that, with any luck, he’d be off the streets by new year.’
‘What did he mean?’ Adam asked.
‘Beats me,’ Mick replied, cracking open a bottle of cheap cider.
They figured the fizz of the Frosty Jack’s signalled the end of Mick’s helpfulness, and left him to it.