Poisoned Cherries (25 page)

I sprinted across the street, and stopped on the other side, turning to glare over my shoulder at a taxi-driver who had blown his horn at me.
 
As I did so, I caught a figure at the edge of my vision, turning away from me.
 
Of itself, there was nothing unusual in it, but something clicked in my head, all the same.

I looked after the bloke, but he was heading briskly off towards Charing Cross .. . yes, Glasgow has one of them too.
 
Paranoia, Blackstone; not everyone is out to get you.
 
I forgot about it and opened my Scotsman.
 
The death was worth a paragraph on page one, and a longer story on page three.
 
That told me that the police had launched a full-scale murder investigation after the body of a twenty-five-year-old woman had been found in the new headquarters building of the Torrent group.
 
The victim, Anna Chin, a doctor’s daughter from Barnton .. . If she had been a waiter’s daughter from Leith, would they have mentioned that?
 
I wondered .. . was in the habit of working late on Fridays to take week-end returns from the field sales team.
 
Detectives were working on the theory that she had disturbed an intruder.

Fine, I thought.
 
Ricky s put them off the trail, for now at least.
 
I knew that it was a matter of time before they tumbled to the David Capperauld connection, but hopefully by that time there would be nothing that would tie Alison to the scene.

I took out my mobile and called Ricky on his, ship to ship, as a pal of mine used to say.
 
“How is she?”
 
I asked him.

“Okay,” he replied, in a quiet voice.
 
There was a pause: I guessed he was still with Alison and that he might be going somewhere she couldn’t hear him.
 
Knowing her better by now than I ever had before, I guessed that he was probably getting out of bed.

I heard the sound of a closing door; Ricky was probably in the toilet.

“She’s calm now,” he said, more clearly.

“Did she tell you anything else?”

“Only what we guessed; someone called her and told her that Torrent wanted to see her at the office.”

“Who?”

“She doesn’t have a clue.
 
She said that the voice wasn’t clear; the caller said he was passing on a message from Natalie Morgan, that Torrent wanted a quick meeting that evening.”

“What about Torrent?
 
Do we know where he was?”

“The records in his office showed that he signed out at three, with Natalie.
 
The police tried to get hold of him last night; eventually they found them both at a dinner at Gleneagles Hotel.
 
I called someone I know there afterwards.
 
They checked in at four-fifteen.”

“Separate suites?”

“Of course, she’s his niece.”

I couldn’t help laughing; there are some things that coppers can’t contemplate.
 
“Cynical bastard, Blackstone,” he muttered.
 
“Even if they were, they still wouldn’t just take one suite.”

He had a point; I wasn’t as smart as I thought.
 
No need to let him know that, though.
 
“It could still have been Natalie who made the call,” I pointed out.

“Sure.
 
I’m betting it was.”

“She couldn’t have killed Anna, though,” I said.
 
“She must have been alive when the last person signed out.”

“She could.
 
She could have checked in, driven back, done the girl and been up there again for dinner.”

“And why would she want to do that?”

“That’s a question I’d love to ask her, but I can’t risk it.”

“Then get one of your tame policemen to ask.”

“I can’t do that either; they’re off chasing intruders, remember.”

Yes, I remembered.
 
We were boxed in, good and proper.
 
Or at least, Ricky was; I had to remind myself that this investigation had nothing to do with me.

I had almost put it out of my mind by the time I got back home to the family.
 
I had got the best of the deal all round; Susie’s a much better breakfast cook than me, and she always uses olive oil when she’s frying.
 
I’ll use anything.

We stuffed the four rolls with fillet steak and egg .. . decadent, eh ... and ate them in front of the telly.
 
The tasty bird with the tattoo on her bum had finished, and we were into previews from around the grounds.

“That’s enough of that,” said Susie, once we were finished.
 
She grabbed the remote and switched off.
 
“We are taking our daughter out for an airing.”

“Where?”

“I thought that Kelvingrove would be nice.
 
We could walk there.”

That sounded good to me.
 
“Okay,” I agreed, ‘if I can do the Transport Museum as well.”

Susie got the baby dressed for the outdoors, we did the same, and we headed out into the bright autumn day.
 
We walked Janet, in her pram ... a sort of multi-purpose vehicle for kids .. . down Elderslie Street, and turned into Sauchiehall Street, the most famous thoroughfare in Glasgow, if not the nicest.
 
We strolled along at no great pace, but it didn’t take us long to come to the old Kelvin Hall, which houses the city’s museum of transport.
 
When I had lived in Glasgow, before, and Jonny and Colin, my nephews, came to visit, they always made me take them there.
 
I took no persuading; I love those old Glasgow trams and I’d love to have ridden on one for real.
 
My Dad did, on a visit to Glasgow as a child, and he still talks about it.
 
The city was all the poorer when they were replaced by giant electric trolley buses Whispering Death, they became known as, as they came rolling silently up behind a number of unwary Glaswegian drunks who had chosen exactly the wrong moment to step off the pavement.

Wee Janet was a bit young for the trams, and Susie’s an unromantic Weegie, so we didn’t stay there long.
 
We had just left the building and turned into Argyle Street, heading for the crossing to Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery, when I saw a man step swiftly back into Blantyre Street, on the far side of Kelvin Hall.
 
He was in my line of vision for less than a second, but I was dead certain that it was the same bloke I’d seen earlier, in Woodlands Road.
 
I saw a little bit of face this time, or at least a flash of beard, and the glint of the sun reflected from dark glasses.

For a moment, I almost set off after him, but that would have alarmed Susie, so I held myself back.
 
Instead, we crossed the road and, carrying the pram, mounted the steps to the entrance to the big, baroque building.

At the top, I glanced over my shoulder, quickly, while Susie was looking the other way, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Inside, seats were laid out in rows, and a man was playing the big pipe organ, above the central hall.
 
“Sit there for a minute,” I told Susie, as wee Janet stirred in her MPV pram.
 
“I’m going to the gents.”
 
I found a sign showing the two matchstick people, one legs apart, the other legs together..
 
. Shouldn’t they be the other way around?
 
Ah, never mind .. . and followed it.

I wasn’t sure I’d get a mobile signal in the toilet, in the great sandstone building, but I did.
 
When Ricky answered, I could hear the unmistakeable sound of domesticity in the background.
 
“Have you got someone following me?”
 
I asked him.

He hesitated.
 
“Yes.”
 
he admitted at last.
 
“Alan Graham’s looking out for you.
 
I had to, Oz, it’s in the contract.
 
If you have an emergency, someone has to be on hand to respond.
 
You shouldn’t have seen him though; I warned him not to disturb you.”

“This isn’t him; this is someone else.”
 
I told him about the man I had now seen twice in a few hours.
 
“Tell Alan to stop looking out for me, and concentrate on him.
 
I want to know who this guy is and what he wants.
 
If he comes near Susie and the baby, I’ll bloody well kill him, and I’m not joking.”
 
I must have been shouting, because a guy standing at a urinal looked over his shoulder at me, with a degree of alarm.
 
I glared at him and he went about his business.

“Okay, Oz, calm down,” said Ricky, in his reassuring voice.
 
“I’m on to it.
 
If I have to I’ll send someone else through as back-up, plus I’ll leave Alan on Susie when you come back to Edinburgh, at least until this man is identified and eliminated as a threat, if he is one.
 
Give me a description.”

“Tallish, long hair, dark beard, age ... I didn’t get a good enough look to tell; wearing jeans and a bomber jacket, and shades.”

“Okay, that’ll do; I’ll get after him.
 
But please, and I mean this; if he does confront you, do not touch him yourself, leave him to my people.
 
When you said that just now, I really did believe you.”

Thirty-Six.

There were no more sightings of the stalker, if such he was.
 
A couple of times people tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was me, then asked for my autograph, but they didn’t bother me.
 
I had a hunch that the watcher knew bloody well who I was.

Susie hadn’t a clue what was going on, of course, so she sat and listened happily to the organ recital for a while, then she and I walked around the museum .. . the art gallery side is without a highlight now, since they moved the Dali.

I tried to stay a pace behind her all the time, because it was easier than keeping up an unconcerned appearance.
 
It didn’t fool her, though, even if she did get the wrong idea.

We were hardly back in the flat, and I had hardly finished changing wee Jan ... it was my turn ... before Susie punched me lightly in the ribs.
 
“Go on,” she said.
 
“Away you go back to your movie.
 
You’ve been like a cat on hot bricks all afternoon.”

She really did take me by surprise; I thought I’d been pretty cool about the thing.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes you have.”

“Well, okay, maybe I have; but I get a bit jumpy in public places, especially today, when I was trying to have a normal family day out.”

She laughed.
 
“All you wanted to see were your trams.
 
You couldn’t wait to get home after that.”

She was right, even if she didn’t know why.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said.
 
“Why don’t we take hospitality boxes at Ibrox and Celtic Park?
 
We could go to each one on alternate Saturdays, and teach our daughter true ecumenicism.”

Susie frowned.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
I’ve got boxes at Celtic and Rangers, through the company.
 
My managers use them every week for clients and suppliers.
 
You can go any time you like.
 
You’re a director, remember?
 
Just don’t expect me to join in, and don’t expect to expose our daughter to the sort of language those crowds use.”

She tugged my sleeve gently, drawing me towards her on the couch.
 
I was holding the baby, so I sat down carefully.
 
“Speaking of religion, loosely,” she said, ‘how do you feel about having the baby christened?”

Belief was a subject I’d never discussed with Susie; it’s a subject I don’t discuss with anyone as a rule.
 
I was an atheist pure and simple until my mother died, then things changed, but I’ve never gone in for denominations or such stuff.
 
As far as I’m concerned they’re only another excuse for people to fight.

“I feel she should make up her own mind, when she’s old enough.”

“So do I. Let’s just try to set her a good example, okay.”

I leaned across and kissed her; not a let’s-go-to-bed kiss, just a simple show of affection.
 
Then I picked up the remote and switched on Gillette Soccer Saturday on Sky Sports.
 
“Yes,” I said, ‘let’s.”

We watched as the pundits described the games from television monitors, and as the final scores began to appear on a ribbon at the foot of the screen.
 
Eventually the East life score came up, a four-nil home gubbing by East Stirlingshire, and my Saturday afternoon was over.

While Susie fed the baby again I made supper for the two of us.
 
I found all the ingredients for a very nice stir-fry; onions, chillies, shitake mushrooms, bean sprouts and chicken breast.
 
I cooked them all up in a mix of olive oil, soy sauce and Lea and Perrins, and right at the end, I cracked in a couple of large eggs and beat them in firmly, to help bind the lot together.

Nobody taught me to do that, but ever since I heard a dodgy comedian claim on telly that whatever blokes cooked, no matter what they called it, it was always bloody stew, I’ve made a point of being able to do other things.
 
Who knows?
 
Maybe if I’d liked that comedian, rather than being annoyed by the smug sod, the world would have lost a great stir-fry chef.

“This is great,” said Susie, as she tucked into a small mountain of the stuff.
 
She looked at me, appraisingly, across the table.
 
“I think you’re hired.”

I couldn’t think of something to say, so I just shrugged my shoulders.
 
The thing was, I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure that I’d applied for the job.