Hit and Run (6 page)

The whole length of Queen’s Drive was closed off. Billy stood at the top staring at the curve of road stretching down and round past the
Standard
offices, Dynamic Earth and the parliament. Police officers were congregating at various stages on the slope, milling about, swapping jokes and banter.

Billy stared at the police ROAD CLOSED sign. Cars approached the roundabout next to him, slowed as they took in the sign, then circled and headed back the way they had come.

He’d only passed out for a few seconds. Same as in the toilets. What was happening to him? He came round on the floor with Rose over him, her hefty cleavage in his line of sight, thick perfume filling his nose.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, before she’d had a chance to speak.

He tried to pick himself up as calmly as possible, managed to get to a chair, fingers tight on the blue plastic.

‘Must’ve had a dodgy pint last night,’ he said.

Rose stared at him, compassion in her eyes. ‘Go home and get some rest. Call me when you feel better.’

He hadn’t gone home. He needed fresh air, time and space to think.

He turned now and walked across the grass, away from the road, uphill then left to the bottom of a path. The start of the Radical Road. No name anywhere, just a red and white triangular sign warning of falling rocks. No tarmac, just gravel. Not a road at all. How had it got its name?

He started up the slope, his legs unsteady, feeling the stones in the path through the soles of his trainers. The sun was hammering down from a cloudless sky. What the hell was with this weather? He took his jacket off and pushed his sleeves up, felt sweat under his arms. The stink of gorse blossom everywhere. He imagined the pollen clogging his nose and throat. His tongue felt sticky. A few bees meandered in and out of bushes to his left. It was too early in the day for midges, thank God.

He passed another sign, a battered, metallic
Historic Scotland
plaque stuck to a boulder. ‘DANGER. Please Beware of Falling Rocks’. The path became grassy underfoot, ochre sandstone cliffs rising to his right, a steep yellow slope falling away on the other side. It didn’t take long before he was high up, more than a hundred feet, looking down at the police activity below.

Behind him the cliffs loomed, and in front the fall was equally dramatic. He stopped and looked around. He could see for miles, from the Pentlands to the Forth bridges and Fife. The light diffused to a vague haze in the distance, but the foreground was painfully sharp in the morning light. He could see down Rankeillor Street from here. He thought he spotted the Micra parked in the road, a smudge of red. He could see the police station, the newspaper office, the Holyrood. In the other direction, The Crags pub and Adele’s house. His whole world enclosed in a small turn of the head. And of course down below, the small cluster of trees on Queen’s Drive. There were no police there yet, they were all still standing around on the grass, waiting for instructions, sipping coffee from cardboard cups. He wondered if he would ever escape from this world. If he deserved to.

He reached out and touched a flower on the nearest gorse bush. He picked it, crushed the petals in his fingers and brought them to his nose. A smell like honey. He reached back out and grabbed a thorny branch in his fist. The thorns dug deep. His hand reacted instinctively to pull away but he forced it to remain, gripping tighter until the individual pinpricks of pain smeared into one, his whole hand on fire. He squeezed his fist in a slow pulse, feeling the thorns respond, digging deeper into his flesh. Eventually he pulled his hand away. More blood. More pain. Like the barbed wire. Like the nettle stings. All infusing into one.

He leaned over the edge. Long way down, almost a sheer slope, smothered in thick spiky bushes all the way. An easy way to die. You would get ripped to shreds on the way down. He leaned further out. His head throbbed and his mouth sweated. He forced himself to stand still, his eyes losing focus as he stared down to the bottom.

Eventually he stepped back and took a deep breath. Everything was normal. The bright sun, the faint drone of traffic in the distance, a thin breeze making the gorse quiver a little.

His phone rang. He pulled it out. Adele.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine. You?’

‘I’m stoned. Apparently you had a funny turn at the press conference.’

‘Hangover. It was too hot in there.’

Billy heard a lighter fizz into life, then a breath.

‘I want to see you,’ she said.

Billy looked at the distant hills, which seemed to be closing in on him. ‘Sure. When?’

‘Now. Come to my place.’

Billy looked in the direction of her house. It was mostly shrouded by trees, the grey roof peaking through.

‘The summerhouse again?’

‘No, just come to the house. I’m alone.’

She hung up. Billy looked down to the expanse of grass below. The police were slowly walking towards Queen’s Drive, ready to examine the road in detail.

His neck throbbed. He tried to crick it, but it just hurt more. He pulled out a pack of painkillers, took three and then made his way down the Radical Road.

She was sitting on the back patio gazing at nothing when he emerged from the trees at the bottom of the garden. She wore a thin green blouse and tight jeans with a small rip in one knee. She was fingering the frayed edges of the ripped denim and smiled when she saw him.

‘You came over the back wall again.’

‘I wasn’t sure what the protocol was.’

‘You could’ve just rung the front doorbell.’ She looked at her watch, a delicate silver thing. ‘You were quick.’

‘Don’t like to keep a lady waiting.’

Billy rubbed a thumb across the palm of his hand and winced. The pain was muffled, but he was still acutely aware of it.

‘More trouble with the barbed wire?’

He stepped on to the patio. She didn’t get up. There was a stoned glaze in her eyes.

‘It’s fine.’

‘Let me see.’

He thought about it for a moment then held his hands out. She took them in hers.

‘Jesus, what a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.’

‘There’s no need.’ He didn’t pull his hands away.

She got up, still holding his hands, and led him into the kitchen like a little kid. She turned a tap on.

‘Run them under there for a bit.’

She rummaged in a cupboard, then came out with a first-aid kit. The kitchen was huge, a marble island in the middle, heavy copper pans hanging like fruit from a tree, Smeg fridge sulking in the corner, jars of pasta and rice on a shelf next to hardback cookbooks. It was like one of the rooms they always featured in Zoe’s magazine, full of expensive, unattainable shit. Zoe would love this place.

Adele handed him a tea towel. He rubbed at his hands. Small spots of blood appeared on the fabric.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Come here.’ She took his hands. ‘This might sting a little.’

She wiped them with something antiseptic. Her head was down, concentrating on what she was doing. Billy stared at the top of her head, the intricate swirls of hair, the infinite spread of follicles. He could smell her shampoo, coconut and some exotic fruit. He looked down and saw she wasn’t wearing a bra under the blouse. Rounded nipples and full breasts, larger than Zoe’s. His hands stung but he held them steady. She began spreading some kind of cream on the cuts, a slow circular motion across his palms that had him mesmerised.

‘It’s like you’re reading my fortune.’

She smiled and played along, putting on a fake-ominous voice.

‘You will have a long and happy life.’ She traced a crease in his skin with her finger. Billy noticed she wasn’t wearing any jewellery. No rings. Her nails were short but neat, glossy and deep red, same colour as her toes.

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes. You will marry a very beautiful woman and have six healthy children. You will become a rich and successful journalist.’

‘Sounds great.’

Adele frowned. ‘But what is this?’ She stroked a line that bent round the edge of his palm, touching the hairs on his wrist and making them tingle. ‘This is bad, very bad.’ She was trying to keep a straight face. ‘This line here means you will always carry a darkness within you, a terrible secret you can never tell to another living soul, one which will torment you to the grave.’

‘Ouch.’ He flinched.

She dropped the voice. ‘Sorry, did that hurt?’

He shrugged.

‘Well, I’m done anyway.’ She packed away the first-aid kit. ‘You should really get them bandaged, but I don’t have anything suitable here.’

‘My brother is a doctor, I’ll speak to him.’

‘You do that.’ She looked around the kitchen as if searching for something. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Why did you invite me here?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s rude to answer a question with a question.’

‘OK. Yes, please, I would like a drink. Thank you. Now, why am I here?’

She got gin from a cupboard and tonic from the fridge. Billy watched the denim stretch tight across her arse as she bent to reach things.

‘Don’t you like me?’ she said.

‘I hardly know you.’

‘We got on well enough last time.’

‘I was interviewing you, it’s my job to be nice to interviewees.’

‘But you said yesterday you hadn’t come to interview me.’

‘That’s true.’

‘So we did get on?’

‘I thought so.’

She was focusing on the drinks, chopping a lime, pushing ice out of a tray.

She turned, handed him a drink and held his gaze.

‘You don’t seem very upset by your husband’s death,’ Billy said.

‘Let’s not talk about him.’

‘But I’m a crime reporter, that’s my job.’

‘You’re not here on official business, are you?’

‘Not if you don’t want me to be.’

‘I don’t.’ She raised her glass. ‘Now drink with me.’

They both took large slugs. Mostly gin, just a ghost of tonic.

Billy made a show of looking round. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Magda has taken Ryan out for the day.’

‘Have you told him?’

Adele took a large drink. ‘I’ve tried. He doesn’t really get it. He’s more worried about Rebus, he misses that stupid dog like crazy.’

‘What about Dean? I get the impression he’s looking after you at the moment.’

‘He thinks he is.’

‘He’s been sticking to you pretty close. I’m surprised he let you out of his sight.’

‘Me too.’ Adele frowned. ‘He’s virtually moved in here. He seems to presume that because I was Frank’s wife, that somehow possession of me is just going to pass over to him or something.’

‘So where is he?’

‘He took off with his two stooges after the press conference. Said to wait here, not go out and not speak to anyone. Very charming. I have a feeling he’s about to stir up a lot of trouble.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I think he’s looking for the Mackie boys. He believes they killed Frank.’

‘What’s he planning to do if he finds them?’

‘It won’t be pretty.’

‘Is he as nasty as he looks?’

‘Nastier.’ Adele touched her bruised eye.

‘He did that to you?’

She turned away. ‘Things are complicated.’

‘I don’t give a shit how complicated they are, it’s no excuse.’

‘It’s nice of you to care.’

She put her drink down on the worktop and moved closer to him, pressing against him. He could see her nipples through the blouse. She placed a hand lightly on his chest.

He heard a noise. Voices. Men’s voices. The sound of a key in a lock and the front door opening.

‘Dean, fuck.’ Adele was already pushing him towards the patio doors. ‘Get out.’ She pushed him through the doors and pulled them closed with a click.

The large spread of lawn seemed too exposed. He crouched against the back wall, breath hammering in his lungs, trying to calm down. He could hear conversation inside.

‘Where have you been?’ Adele sounded calm, annoyed almost.

‘Why, did you miss me, darling?’ Dean’s voice.

There was laughter – gruff, male. Dean’s goons.

‘Hardly. Just hope you didn’t get into any trouble.’

‘We’re not the ones in trouble, eh, lads?’

More laughter.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about. Just remember, me and the lads have been here with you the whole time since the press conference, OK? Understand? It’s important you don’t fuck this up.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing, darling.’ Dean laughed. ‘I told you, we’ve been here all day.’

His voice receded as he left the kitchen. ‘Now, fetch me a beer, there’s a good girl.’

Billy launched into a crouching run, heading for the bottom of the garden, his heart thumping, not daring to look back.

*

His phone rang as he tried to keep his legs steady up Dalkeith Road. Charlie.

‘Hey, Bro, what are you up to?’

Billy glanced behind him at the Whitehouses’ back wall and The Crags’ car park. ‘Just walking.’

‘Does the name Jamie Mackie mean anything to you?’

‘One of the Mackie boys.’

‘Cunt’s just been hauled into A&E with suspected shotgun wounds. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little vendetta going on.’

‘Christ.’

‘Exactly.’

‘How is he?’

‘Hard as fuck, by the looks. Took a hit to the leg and one to the arm, but has been sitting swearing his head off the whole time. He’ll be fine once he’s patched up.’

‘God.’

‘Might work out nicely for us, though.’

‘How do you figure that?’

‘Takes the heat off. Two big criminal gangs in the city taking potshots at each other. Tends to overshadow the original incident. Don’t you think?’

‘I can’t believe you’re talking like this.’

‘How should I be talking?’

‘You’re a cold bastard, Charlie.’

‘Cold doesn’t come into it. Just looking out for my little brother in his moment of need.’

‘Spare me.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do. Spare you any more grief. Did you manage to get Rose to move you off the story?’

Billy thought about Adele’s hand on his chest. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Shame. Right, I’d better dash, lives to save and all that.’

Charlie ended the call. Billy stared at the phone in his hand. He flicked through the address book and called Rose.

‘Hey, Scoop. Thought I told you to get some rest.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘It doesn’t look too clever, my protégé collapsing at a bloody police press conference.’

‘It was the heat. And the hangover.’ He forced a laugh. ‘I really want to get back to work.’

‘Well, I suppose you could cover something else. There’s a safe cycling initiative being launched in Granton later.’

‘Come on, Rose, don’t be stupid. This is my story, I got the interview with the widow.’

‘Haven’t been round there again recently, have you? Could do with another exclusive.’

Billy raised a hand and stroked the bump on his temple. ‘No, but I have got something for you.’

‘What?’

‘Jamie Mackie has just turned up in A&E with gunshot wounds to his leg and arm. Not sure if the police even know about it yet.’

Rose chuckled. ‘Holy shit, Scoop, why didn’t you lead with that? How do you know?’

‘My brother just called.’

‘Good God, you’re on fire at the moment.’

‘Thanks.’ Billy wondered where he was going with this, what he was doing. How long could it all go on? ‘So, what’s our next move?’

‘Come pick me up at the office.’ Rose sounded excited. ‘We’ve got a hospital to visit.’