Hit and Run (7 page)

‘Busy for a Tuesday lunchtime.’ Rose looked around.

Billy followed her gaze. It took a moment for his eyes to get accustomed to the gloom after the bright sunshine outside. A builder with his hand wrapped in a red towel. A gang of schemies, two of them flat out on chairs, seemingly unconscious. Several old people holding elbows or stroking knees, looking worried.

They waited a few minutes till the receptionist was distracted by an ambulance pulling up outside, then they walked through double doors into a long corridor with treatment tables, some cordoned off by white plastic curtains. Rose had an assertive swagger as she approached each occupied treatment area and peaked round the gaps in the curtains. Billy lagged behind, watching her in awe. She was so confident, so sure of herself. He couldn’t imagine ever being like that.

They were halfway down the corridor when Billy spotted his brother. Billy had never seen him at work. He actually wore a white doctor’s coat and had a stethoscope round his neck, like he was playing a dressing-up game.

Charlie spotted them and approached, glancing round. ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Billy?’

Rose stuck out a hand. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Blackmore.’

Charlie switched on a smile. ‘Nice to see you, Rose.’

‘Likewise.’

Charlie took Billy’s arm and tried to turn him round. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

Rose interrupted. ‘We’d like to see a good friend of ours who has apparently been brought in. Jamie Mackie?’

Charlie ignored Rose and stared at Billy. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I just told you . . .’ Rose said.

‘I wasn’t fucking talking to you,’ Charlie said.

‘Can I quote you on that, Dr Blackmore?’

Charlie stared at her. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.’ He put an arm out to Rose’s shoulder, ushering her out of the treatment area. ‘You could get me into trouble.’

‘That’s the last thing we want to do. So maybe you could direct us to our friend Mr Mackie, and we’ll be out of your hair.’

Charlie smiled. ‘You can’t see him, he’s in surgery.’

‘Nothing too life-threatening, I hope?’

Charlie had succeeded in turning them round. Rose and Billy reluctantly allowed themselves to be pushed towards the exit. ‘I’m sure my brother has told you about Mr Mackie’s condition. There is no further information at this time. You would need to ask the surgeon about his condition once he comes out of theatre.’

‘And when do you think Mr Mackie will be out of surgery?’

‘Who knows?’ Charlie stared at Billy, who still hadn’t said a word.

Charlie stood with them at the door. Outside, paramedics helped an elderly woman out of an ambulance and into a wheelchair.

‘Now, please leave.’ Charlie turned to Billy. ‘I’ll speak to you later, little brother.’

Billy watched Charlie head back into the A&E ward. He seemed so grown up, dressed like a doctor.

‘Oh my God, this just gets better,’ Rose said under her breath.

Billy turned. Three hard-looking schemies – two guys and a girl – were striding towards them, the two guys smoking, the girl checking her phone.

Rose nudged Billy. ‘The one in the middle is Wayne Mackie. This should be good.’

The three of them pushed past Rose and Billy and up to reception.

‘Where the fuck is my brother?’ Wayne shouted.

The receptionist was middle-aged and sturdy, didn’t look as if she took any shit. She peered over bifocals at him.

 ‘It’s no smoking in here, sir.’

‘Never mine that, you fucking bint, I asked you a question.’

‘You’ll need to take your cigarette outside, sir.’

The calmness of her voice made Billy smile. Wayne was furious.

‘Are you fucking listening to me, ya hoor?’

‘If you continue to speak to me in that aggressive tone, I shall be forced to contact security and have you removed.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’ Wayne leaned over and grabbed the front of the woman’s blouse, pulling her towards him. ‘If you do that I’ll find out your address and wait till you’re asleep one night and come over and fucking torture you till you wished you were dead.’ He pointed his cigarette towards her like a dart, ash falling on to her blouse and smudging. ‘Now, if you don’t tell me where Jamie Mackie is right this second I’m going to stub this fucking thing out in your boss eye.’

The woman was beaten, Billy could see it, Wayne could see it.

‘Mr Mackie is in surgery at the moment,’ she said quietly, trying to retain dignity.

‘When will he be out?’

‘If you wait here, I’ll see what I can find out.’

Wayne let go. She straightened her blouse and walked away.

‘Excuse me,’ Rose said. It was only then Billy realised he was standing with her next to Wayne and his two mates. When had they walked over? His head buzzed.

Wayne spun round. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Rose Brown from the
Evening Standard
. I was wondering how you felt about your brother being shot?’

Wayne snorted with mock laughter. ‘How the fuck do you think I feel? Fucking raging. I’m gonna kill those Whitehouse cunts.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You think I don’t know who fucking did this? That wee cunt, Frank’s brother. Thinks we had something to do with Frank’s death. But that was fuck all to do with us. Not saying I’m sorry Frank’s deid, likes, cos I’m not. Cunt was the bane of my life. But me and Jamie never had fuck all to do with Frank’s death. The Old Bill ken that as well, we’ve got an alibi, hunners of witnesses saw us at the Electric Circus that night, till closing. That midget cunt Dean Whitehouse needs to watch his back after this, and you can print that on the front fucking page of yer rag, ya dozy bitch.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

Rose turned and walked away. Billy tried to move his feet, but they wouldn’t budge. He stared at Wayne Mackie, at the shaving rash on his neck, his Yankees baseball cap, his pinched face. He thought about what it would be like to have your brother shot in broad daylight, or hit by a car in the street.

‘What the fuck are you looking at, you lanky streak of piss?’

*

‘OK, thanks for that. Speak to you later.’ Rose ended her call.

Billy was behind the wheel, heading into town along Old Dalkeith Road, stopping and starting at each set of lights. His legs trembled and his neck ached with every jerk of the car. It was so hot in here. He wound the window down, didn’t make any difference. He needed a cold drink.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘Drop me at the office and I’ll write it up. Oh boy, we’re the new Twitter, we’re so ahead of the game on this bloody story.’

‘And what about me?’

‘I want you to go to the Edinburgh Dog and Cat Home on Seafield, see if they’ve had a dog fitting the description of the Whitehouse mutt handed in.’

Billy braked hard, skidding to a stop at a pedestrian crossing. A worried mum with a buggy stepped out into the road, giving Billy the evil eye.

‘Fuck off.’ Billy felt sweat on his brow, and swiped at it.

‘Don’t use the language of the gutter with me, Scoop.’

‘This is my story and you’re sending me off on a fucking dog chase?’

‘Firstly, this is not your story, it’s ours, for the
Evening Standard
, got that?’

‘I got you Adele’s first interview, and the reaction from Wayne Mackie.’

‘And you did great, but you can’t do everything.’

He thought of Adele in the house with Dean and the other two men, capable of anything.

‘Fuck it, I’m going to the Whitehouse place, get a quote from Dean.’

Rose shook her head. ‘No point. He’s been taken in for questioning.’

‘What?’

Rose nodded at her mobile. ‘DI Price said. They have Dean, Adele and the two bodyguards in the station right now, checking their stories.’

A car horn blared behind them. They were still sitting at the pedestrian crossing, the light green. Billy crunched the car into gear in a fluster and jerked forward.

‘Take it easy with the gearbox.’ Rose patted the dashboard. ‘Us old dears take a bit of looking after, you know.’

He kept his eyes on the road as he churned through the gears. They headed up the hill towards the Pleasance.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m sure there will be plenty more opportunities for big stories here. But you need to learn how to do the donkeywork as well as the headline stuff, OK? If you find the dog, that’ll be big anyway. If we find out where it was found, that could help with the investigation. And imagine the kudos if the paper returns the mutt to the wee boy, eh? That human interest stuff will shift copies, believe me.’

They turned at the bottom of the Pleasance and headed for the office. Billy tried to relax his body behind the wheel, but his hand on the gearstick and his other on the steering wheel were vibrating with ten years’ worth of engine rattle, the growl of it echoing in his forehead and chest.

He pulled up and Rose got out.

‘Go find that dog.’

As he got out and locked the car door he was hit by the sharp tang of sea air, so familiar to him as a kid. He’d grown up only a few minutes along the road from here in a poky two-bedroom ex-council flat on Portobello High Street. He bristled with memories, the rubbery skin of a dead jellyfish on the beach, ice cream melting on his hand, his mum licking it off and laughing. Worrying as his and Charlie’s dinghy drifted away from land, his mum becoming a spot on the horizon, Charlie reassuring him they were fine, they would paddle back soon.

The Edinburgh Dog and Cat Home was a functional pebble-dashed block, worn by salty winds. He went inside. The air was thick with the stench of animals and urine, cooking in the sunlight. Yelps and barks, hissing and scuffling paws created a chaotic swarm in his head.

Their mum had never let them have a dog, claimed she was allergic. Billy sneezed thinking about it, imagining cat hair floating in the yellow air around him.

A skinny girl with blonde frizzy hair and braces on her teeth greeted him at reception.
Morna
on her nametag, pinned to a boyish uniform. Billy explained why he was there, asked if they’d had any collies found recently that might fit the description. This was stupid, there was no way the dog would’ve been handed in. What were the chances? He should’ve done this over the phone.

‘There was a collie brought in yesterday,’ Morna said. She had that distinctive posh Edinburgh accent, like Zoe’s. When had he last seen Zoe? He wondered how she was.

‘Really?’

‘I can show you if you like?’

‘That would be great.’

As they walked through to a corridor full of kennels, noise erupted, yowls and growls on all sides, the rattle of metal cages scraped by claws. Morna took him towards the far end, where a small black and white dog with a scruffy coat was huddled in a corner. It looked up at him and its tail thumped half-heartedly against the concrete floor.

It wasn’t the Whitehouse dog. No white patch on its face. It looked as if it had been longer on the loose than a couple of days as well, ribs showing under the fur, a hungry, hunted look on its face. The dog stared at him but didn’t get up.

‘Rebus?’ he said.

‘What?’ Morna said.

‘It’s the dog’s name, apparently it’s called Rebus.’

‘Like the policeman?’

‘Yes, like the policeman.’ He turned to the kennel again and made a clicking noise. ‘Rebus, here boy.’

‘It’s a girl.’

The dog didn’t move. What was Billy doing? He knew it wasn’t Rebus, no white patch and the wrong sex. But he wanted it to be the Whitehouse dog. He didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.

He stroked a finger down the metal ribs of the cage. ‘Here, girl.’

The dog came over to sniff his hand, tail wagging. She looked a little disappointed that there was no food on offer.

‘Sorry, little lady, I don’t have anything for you.’

‘She’s a good-tempered bitch,’ Morna said. ‘Better than some of the poor, mistreated souls we get in here.’

‘And you’ve no idea who the owner is?’

‘No chip, no collar. Even in this day and age, we still get plenty like that.’

‘What’ll happen if no one claims her?’

‘We’ll try to rehome her. Shouldn’t be too tricky, collies are very popular.’ Morna looked along the corridor at a string of dogs pacing and pawing. ‘It’s the Rotties and Staffies we have trouble with. They’re much more aggressive, less suitable for families.’

‘Do you ever have to put them down?’

‘Occasionally, but only the ones with serious temperament problems.’

Billy looked at the dog in the kennel. She licked his hand, the tongue rough and ticklish against the wounds on his palm. He stood up.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking of getting a dog for a long time myself.’

Morna frowned at him. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Maybe I could take this one?’

‘It’s not as simple as that, there’s a lot to consider. Do you have time to spend with a pet? Money for vet’s bills and food? Does your lifestyle have room for a demanding animal?’

‘I’ve thought about all that. I said I’d been considering it for a while.’

Morna looked uncertain. ‘Collies need a lot of exercise and mental stimulation, they’re very energetic and intelligent dogs.’

‘Sounds perfect. Just what I’m after.’

‘There are procedures to go through. You’ll need to speak to one of the senior staff.’

‘Fine.’ Billy shrugged. ‘Let’s do that.’

Half an hour later he was driving up Portobello Road with the dog in the passenger seat, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted and looked round.

Billy reached over and rubbed her flank.

‘Who’s a good girl?’

She responded by licking the back of his hand. It felt good.

The car stopped at the lights at Jock’s Lodge. He looked to his right. Fingertips massage. The last place Frank was seen alive by anyone. Except Billy. The lights changed and he chugged forward. He took a left at Meadowbank towards the east end of Holyrood Park. Road still closed. He slowed and went round the roundabout, peering into the distance, but from this end you couldn’t see the section of road where it happened. Had they found anything yet?

He drove back the way he had come, stroking the dog’s back and feeling her ribs bumpy under her skin and fur.