Blackstone's Pursuits (9 page)

We ate ours with HP sauce for extra body, washing them down with orange juice. Then we showered and dressed for the day. I suggested showering together to save energy, but Prim offered me a pound coin for the meter.

Afterwards, we sat upstairs on the sofa in the loft, Primavera in my dressing gown and me in a sort of towelling kilt thing with a Velcro fastening that an ex had given me one Christmas and which I found buried in a heap at the foot of the wardrobe. The doors were open, and Wallace lay somnolent on the terrace, looking back at us, occasionally and disdainfully. Wallace lives for three things, sunshine, sleep and sustenance. The last of these takes many forms, most of them crunchy.

On our first morning together we drank honey-sweetened tea, settling into our new situation. I punched her shoulder lightly. ‘Hey, Springtime. If I get that job we were talking about how about bringing the rest of your stuff down here?’

She looked at me, seriously for once, just a bit guarded. My stomach twitched.

‘It’s fine where it is just now. First things first. I’ve been putting off the evil hour, but I’ve got to find out what’s happened to my sister.

‘I don’t believe for a second that Dawn killed that poor wee man; but she has disappeared. Before we think about what we do with that fiver, I’ve got to know where Dawn is, and to be sure she’s all right. Oz, you’re the detective. I need your help.’

I squeezed her hand. ‘I told you love, I’m an enquiry agent, not a private eye. Different jobs, different people. But for you and Dawn, I’ll help all I can.’

I sat silent for a while, trying to think not just about facts, but about the conclusions which they suggest. All my working life, I’ve trained myself not to use my imagination, or to encourage in any way embroidery by witnesses. All of a sudden I found that putting my mind to work, as well as my listening, interviewing and literacy skills, was a stimulating prospect.

‘Okay then. What we have to do is to think of the options, and discount them if we can.

‘One, and let me finish. Are you wrong, and did Dawn bump off Mighty Mouse? Did she encourage him to embezzle the money, and set up the bank account, with the intention of killing him when the time came?’ Prim frowned at me, and shook her head.

‘Think of how we found Kane. He died having sex, or at the very least in an aroused state. The police lab will know by now which it was. Whichever, he was Dawn’s lover, so that seems to put her at the scene. Did she get him excited, get on top of him and at the right moment produce that knife from under the bedclothes and summon up the strength to shove it up under his chin? That’s Option One.’

‘And I don’t believe it, not for one bloody minute!’ said Prim, vehemently.

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I don’t either, but it’s the easy option, and that’s the one the police will go for, unless we can show them different.

‘Option Two. Dawn has another man, an accomplice. They found Kane, set him up by the oldest means known to mankind, then the other bloke killed him. That paints a nasty picture, and I don’t buy that either, but again, when they know the whole story, the police would. They could even find a second suspect without too much trouble.’

She looked at me, puzzled. ‘Who?’

‘Raymond Archer. He knew everything about that firm. He could have done everything that he told me Kane did, if he’d had Dawn to help him. Sending me along to find the body could just have been part of it.’

‘Okay,’ said Primavera. ‘So what’s Option Three?’

‘Someone else knows about the fraud, and about the bank account. He breaks into the flat, and kills Kane. He tried to make Dawn give him the fiver, but she persuades him she doesn’t know where it is. He leaves and takes her with him.

‘Again, that someone else could just be Archer.’

I squeezed her hand again and turned her face towards me. ‘Those are all the possibilities I can see. I prefer the third one, for a very good reason. If either one or two was right, the banknote wouldn’t still have been there for the police to find and you to pick up. My best guess is that Dawn’s been taken, and that she’s safe. Without her, the guy has a slim chance of getting his hands on that fiver.’

She looked me in the eye, earnestly. ‘Thanks Oz, but there is a fourth choice. Maybe Dawn wasn’t there at all. Maybe the story I spun the police was true. Maybe it was someone else.’

‘Yes, Prim, and maybe Willie Kane, the poor, innocent, browbeaten, middle-aged, infatuated stockbroker with the wee body and the huge cock, wasn’t just two-timing his wife, but your sister as well, in your flat. Because he sure was diddling her. She wrote and told you all about him. Nijinsky, remember?’
That was what I thought. But what I said was, ‘Okay love, let’s check that out. She was with a theatre company, yes?’

She looked at me gratefully. ‘Yes, the Lyceum, usually.’

‘Right, we’ll go there this morning. I’ve got a couple of quick interviews. I can do them both by ten-thirty, and type them up later, after we’ve been to the theatre and after we give our statements to Dylan.

‘Meantime, let’s see what the papers say.’ We had picked up a
Scotsman and a Daily Record at Ali’s.
With little to go on, each paper gave the story inside-page treatment, reporting that the police were still trying to identify a man found stabbed to death in a flat in Ebeneezer Street. He was described as around forty, portly, and around five feet four inches in height.

It struck me, idly, that if we handed the fiver to Archer, and sold our story to the
Record,
we would make more than the ten per cent cut on offer. It came to me also, forcefully, through the enshrouding mist of love, that as well we would stand to do at least six months each for wasting police time, withholding information, stealing evidence, and anything else the Clever Bastards chose to chuck at us.

I gulped, and looked down at Prim, her head resting happily against my chest, her hand lying innocently on the outside of my thigh. I decided that I would keep the dangers of our tightrope walk across the chasm of uncertainty strictly to myself.

‘The things you do for love, Oz,’ I whispered. She heard me and smiled up, quizzically. As she did, her hand moved fractionally on my thigh. I stood up quickly, before she found out, before she was ready, that it’s true what they say about us Scots guys, even when our kilts are made of towelling.

In which we meet a camp follower and learn of Dawn’s big break.

I’m not exactly a regular theatregoer. Every so often I’ve been persuaded by a lady to take her to one of the big musicals they put on for long runs at the Playhouse, but live events are not really my thing. That said, on the few occasions when I have been lured along there, the Lyceum has always struck me as a nice wee hall. It’s got a friendly feel about it; it isn’t grandiose like the Festival Theatre, or such a big barn of a place that the sound bends into funny shapes if you’re sat up in the Gods.

When we parked in Grindlay Street, I jumped out of the car and headed off towards the glazed foyer. I thought that Prim had fallen in behind me, but she stopped me with a whistle.
‘Wow, she can even whistle,’
I thought.

‘Not there,’ she said, ‘the offices are across the street.’ So instead, I followed her, watching her skirt swish from side to side with the delicious movement of her explosive hips.

The administration and rehearsal rooms of the Lyceum were up a close, and behind an anonymous door. There was no obvious reception area and so we wandered along a corridor, looking for signs of life. The corridor ended in a double door. I looked at Prim, shrugged my shoulders and opened it, gently and slowly.

We stepped into a big room with a few chairs and other odds and ends of furniture scattered haphazardly around. In its centre, a man sat, with his back to us. He hadn’t heard us come in and stayed in his seat, bent over as if reading something in his lap.

I felt that a theatrical cough was appropriate. The bloke straightened up with a start, then twisted in his chair to peer over his shoulder at us. He wore glasses and had a long nose. The way he stared, I formed the distinct impression that he was looking down it at us. And I didn’t like that much. ‘Yeasss?’ he said, in a voice that rang with luwieness. ‘Are we lost, little people?’

I don’t like being patronised at the best of times, and especially not by a tall, disjointed pillock with limp wrists, long, highlighted hair, a shirt with a frayed collar and a sweater that looked like an insect colony. ‘No, chum,’ I said, trying my best to sound like a private eye, ‘we’re not. But we’re looking for someone who could be.’

He stood up. His jeans were even scruffier than his shirt and sweater. ‘Indeed. And who might that be?’

Prim stepped forward, smiling her sweetest. ‘My sister actually, Dawn Phillips. I’m Primavera. I’ve just got back from Africa and I’ve no idea where she is.’ She waved a hand vaguely at me. ‘This is Oz Blackstone, my boyfriend.’ My heart swelled with pride, knowing that today it was pretty close to the truth.

‘Ah,’ said the thespian, ‘once more, the fragile Dawn. I don’t know if I’ll be of much help to you, but I’ll do my best.’ His tone was different. It’s funny, but Prim is one of those people that it’s just impossible to patronise, as Dylan had discovered, the hard way.

‘I am Rawdon Brooks,’ he said, with the briefest of courtly bows.
‘What
a
prat!’
I thought. ‘I am the Artistic Director of this humble repertory. Normally, Primavera — what a wonderful name — you would find Dawn here or close by, but not today, I’m afraid.

‘We have a visiting company in the Lyceum at the moment. We don’t go into rehearsal for another ten days. During that time, your sister should be making her big breakthrough into moviedom. Far from being lost, you could say she’s been discovered.

‘There are some Americans around, making one of these awful kilt and claymore things.
Son of Rob Roy
or some such nonsense. Dawn has a small part in it, but she’ll get billing for it. She’s playing a camp follower...’
‘A bit like you then,’
I almost said. ‘... or something, dressed up in a scanty plaid, I should imagine, and being ravished by the fearful Redcoats.’

‘Billy Butlin’s got a lot to answer for,’ I muttered, but Brooks was in full declaiming mode.

‘The trouble with these operations is that they shoot to a tight schedule, moving around all over the place. One day here, next day there, the day after, God knows where. So, while I am sure that she will be somewhere north of Perth — if she has scenes today, that is — I have no idea exactly where that would be.’

As you may have gathered, I’m the sort of guy who’s big on first impressions, and this man had triggered off a creeping dislike in me. I did my best to suppress it. ‘When did this gig begin? How long has she been away?’

‘Since the beginning of last week.’

‘So she’s been out of town for the last ten days or so?’ said Prim, questioning.

‘That’s possible, my dear, but she could have been back, then off again. As I said she has but a small part. It’s unlikely she’d be shooting every day, and in Scotland — fearful place that it is — the wilderness is only a couple of hours away.’

I’m no rabid nationalist, but that was too much for me. ‘Come on, pal. Wilderness! Ever heard of Moss Side?’

He looked at me, down that long nose again. ‘Mmm. A touchy Jock, is he? Your wilderness is earning your country millions of dollars, my dear boy. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.’

‘I’m not. But this “fearful” place is feeding you right now, so maybe you should show it more respect. And I warn you, if you say anything smart about pearls and swine, I shall kick you sharply in the balls ... my dear.’

Brooks laughed and threw up his long flapping hands. ‘Pax! Pax! I must stop provoking you chaps, or I really will get into trouble. The fellow yesterday was just as upset as you, but he was a policeman, so I got away with it.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. You’d better be careful where you park your car. What policeman was this, then?’

‘He called here yesterday. He said he was CID, and he was asking questions about Dawn, too. I hope the child is all right. She’s your sister,’ he said to Prim, ‘so you’ll know how sensitive she can be. Just lately she’s been very emotional. Every so often a spontaneous weep, other times unnaturally cheerful. I asked her if she had something on her mind, but she wouldn’t say.’

‘This copper,’ I asked. ‘Was he alone?’

‘Yes, quite.’

‘What time did he call?’

Brooks scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Just after I got in. Must have been around ten-fifteen.’

‘What was his name?’

‘You know, he didn’t say.’

‘Did he show you ID?’

‘I didn’t think to ask. It upsets them, you know. One doesn’t like to provoke.’

‘Can you describe him then?’

The actor laughed again. ‘My dear boy, I have always assumed that policemen are called pigs because they all look exactly alike. He was just another aggressive chap in a raincoat, that’s all.

‘But tell me, why do you ask?’

Before I could conjure up a half-decent lie, Prim jumped in. ‘Dawn was involved with a policeman for a while. He didn’t like it when she chucked him, and he gave her a hard time.’

‘Then she should complain to his superiors, surely.’

‘That could be asking for even more trouble,’ she said. ‘You can’t think of any quick way for us to trace Dawn, then, other than driving around the Highlands looking for movie lights?’

Brooks paused for a second or two. ‘There’s a company called Celtic Scenery, based down in Leith somewhere. They maintain a database of potential film sites. Visiting companies use them for advance work, choosing locations to suit story-lines, making sure that there are no electricity pylons in the background of the highland heroes, that sort of thing.’ I smiled briefly to myself, remembering jet trails in the sky in a B-MOVIE Western that I’d seen on TV as a kid. ‘If they’ve been involved, they might have a copy of the shooting schedule.