The Sirens - 02 (10 page)

Old Joe did indeed know the cops.

"The big chap is Jock McCall. He got transferred last month from Govan...rumor has it he was only arresting Celtic supporters as he's Rangers daft. Seems he got a wee bit overzealous and put two lads in the Southern General Hospital. They've moved him up here in the hope that he keeps out of trouble."

"He looks like the kind that trouble follows around," I said.

"I remember him when he was a boy," Joe said. "He was always getting into fights...and usually winning them. Then one day he nearly killed a boy...battered him to a bloody pulp. He was hauled in to the police station...and it put the fear of God into him. Next thing anybody knows, he's a policeman. He's been getting away with battering folk legally ever since."

"Aye, I don't want to get on his bad side."

"He disnae have any other side." Joe said, "But at least you know where you are with him."

Joe shifted his weight from the left foot to his right. I wondered how many times he'd done that over the years. He was looking over my shoulder, watching life go by in the street outside. I knew there wasn't much, if anything, that got past him. I threw him another tester, but he proved up to the challenge.

"So who's the woman?"

"Elizabeth Mulholland.
'Just call me Betty'
she says, but mostly folk just ignore her. She follows the big man around like his pet pup. They say she was only brought in to make up the numbers in Maryhill so there would be some women on the beat. "

He shifted his feet again.

"I've heard some talk that she's actually quite smart...for a policewoman. But most of the time she just follows in his wake. Around here they call the pair of them 'The Bear and the Spare'."

* * *

I was still chuckling at that as I climbed back up to the office. The door was open and I could hear Doug's voice.

"Oh no. That's far too much money."

"Nothing is too much money!" I shouted, thinking he was on the phone, but when I walked into the room I saw that old lady Malcolm was once again ensconced in the armchair. At least Doug hadn't brought out the whisky.

"The lady wants to give us five thousand pounds," Doug said.

"And we'll be happy to take it," I said, sitting down opposite her at my desk. "What do you have in mind?"

"I want you to take the boy back to Skye," she said.

"Ah." I said. "There'll be a catch?"

"With money there usually is," she said. "He took off after the funeral. And I don't think going back to Skye was on his mind. He..."

I stopped her before she got into her flow. I didn't need her talking too much...not in front of Doug.

"Where did you last see him?" I asked.

"At the gates of the cemetery after the funeral," she said. Her eyes went wet and she took a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at them. I knew then that I was in serious trouble.

"The service was beautiful, and there was a fine turnout...more than I had expected. Even Jeannie Todd turned up, and her and I have nae spoken for nearly ten years, not since she..."

"Ms. Malcolm," I said.

She looked at me as if I'd just slapped her.

"All right...I'm getting there. I've just buried my man, and here you are bullying me. You should be ashamed of yourself." Then the tears started to roll down her checks.

I bowed to the inevitable and got the whisky out of the drawer.

I'm sure I caught an extra glint in her eye as I poured, but she was too good to let it show. She sat back in her chair and sighed. I knew when I was defeated. I lit cigarettes for both of us and passed one to her.

"Doug," I said. "Ms. Malcolm and I have confidential matters to discuss. Make yourself scarce for an hour or so."

"I'll just go next door and watch telly for a bit," he said. I was about to say no when the old lady butted in.

"Just make sure you turn the volume up. I don't want you listening at the door."

A minute later we heard the television being switched on, and the sounds of a game show filtered through the door he'd closed behind him. Just after that Doug started shouting the right answers at the screen.

"That'll keep him happy for a while," I said.

The lady leaned forward, her voice serious.

"You need to keep an eye on your pal there," she said. "The flighty ones are always unpredictable."

Once more I marveled at her art of swallowing and holding smoke before she continued.

"I suppose you've only told him as much as he needs to know?"

I nodded.

"That's for the best," she said. "For I'm not sure he's ready to see what's happened to my boy."

The formalities were over...she was getting down to business.

"It happened when we were coming out of the cemetery. The night before, after you brought him home, I thought it was all going to be fine. He was quiet, but he always was, even as a lad. Last night we just talked, about his aunties, about his schooldays. And he stood beside me in the church and at the grave, which is all I wanted. But at the graveside he started to sweat and tremble. Jeannie Todd told me later she thought it was the D.T.'s, but I knew what it was. I held his hand tight, and he lasted as far as the cemetery gate. Then Jeannie's man put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and that was it...he was off like a frightened rabbit. It was nearly worth it to see Jeannie Todd's face."

She stopped just long enough to finish her whisky. She didn't ask for more, just cradled the glass in her lap.

"God forgive me. I should have let him stay on Skye. Those Masons might be bastards, but they know what they're doing."

"And what is that?" I asked, pouring her a large measure.

"He told you the story," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"Aye. But I've no idea where the Mason brothers fit in."

She downed the whisky in one. If I'd done it I'd have been coughing for a week.

"It's a long story. Maybe you'll get it from me, and maybe you'll get it from somewhere else, but it's a tale too long to tell here. It'll have to wait."

She climbed out of the armchair and got a check from her bag.

"Same as before. Half now, half when you get him back to Skye."

"Maybe he'll make his own way back," I said.

She shook her head.

"He's not going to be making many decisions for himself. "

"And Doug was right," I said, "It's too much money."

"I can afford it. And I've got a feeling you're going to be earning it."

She handed me the check.

"Just promise me you won't involve your pal next door," she said as she left. "Please? I've seen too many nervous boys get into trouble over my mistakes."

And then she surprised me. She pulled me into a tight hug and kissed me on the cheek. She still smelled of lavender and mothballs, but suddenly she reminded me of my grandmother.

"God bless, son. You're one of the good guys."

And, big sap that I am, I had tears in my eyes as she turned and left.

* * *

Doug was still shouting at the television.

"1970, you idiot! World Cups are every four years,"

I lit a cigarette and phoned Skye. She answered on the second ring.

"The Auld Kelpie, Irene speaking, how can I help you?"

"It's Derek Adams. John's done a runner."

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

"How long ago?" she finally asked.

"At least three hours. I need to know where he's likely to go...where I should look for him."

"In the city? I wouldn't know. He won't go far from water. And if he's lucid, he might even seek you out. Or his mother. Beyond that, I can't tell...he's too far."

"Too far from the Source you mean?"

That got me another sharp intake of breath.

"If you find him, bring him here," she said. "We can take care of him."

"Aye. I've already got the idea," I replied. "I'll be in touch. And there's another thing. That reporter whose nuts you crunched...he's pressing charges. You can expect a visit from the Glasgow Police."

"I've heard already," she said. "Don't worry. I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can." I said, but she'd already hung up on me.

Her words rang in my ears.

He might even seek you out.

I heard Doug shout at the television again.

"No. The sun is not a planet...where do they get these people?"

I suddenly knew two things...I couldn't go out and leave Doug alone...and I was probably going to have to tell him what was going on...but not yet.

I poked my head round the door.

"You can come out now. The scary wee woman has gone."

He switched off the television.

"Can you believe there are people in this world who, given a choice of whether Australia is north or south of the equator would say 'north'?" he said in disgust.

"You mean it's not?"

He threw a pillow at me. The big smile on his face blew away any notion I had of telling him about the case.

"So want did she want?" Doug said, sitting at his desk.

"The boy has gone on a bender, and she wants me to find him, and take him back to Skye," I said. "She needs him out of Glasgow."

"And you're taking five grand off her for that? Derek...you should be ashamed of yourself."

I tried to look suitably ashamed, but it's not an emotion I'm used to.

"There's more to it. I think he's in trouble," I said by way of mitigation.

"Must be a lot if it's worth five thou," he said.

"Just leave it to me," I said. "I know what I'm doing."

He sat at the computer and put on his headphones...a sure sign he was displeased with me.

I sat back and did what I do best...I blew smoke rings and let the case coalesce around me.

I still wasn't happy. The case was just too far from my comfort zone...five thousand pounds or not. Too many people were hiding things from me...John Mason, his mother, the trio of hulks back in Portree...hell, even Jim Morton, for all I knew. The money was welcome...sure it was. But if this turned out to be another gig like the Amulet case then the obituary desk on the Star was going to start looking awfully tempting again.

My biggest stumbling block was the secret that was held in Portree...
what was 'The Source'...and how did it control what John Mason was becoming?

Until I knew that, the case wouldn't be over for me.

I did know how to do one thing, though...I knew how to stir things up. I rang Johnny Brown, news editor on the Star.

"Johnny, it's Derek Adams," I said when he answered.

"Ah, the Dark Avenger," he said with a laugh. "Are you still putting the world to rights, son?"

"Trying my best, Johnny, trying my best. I'm phoning about Jim Morton. I presume he's been spinning you a line about kidnap and extortion on Skye, with a bit of howling at the moon thrown in."

"Aye. We're running it tomorrow. He's out just now interviewing that boy you brought back."

I doubted that.

"A word from the wise," I said. "Would a kidnap victim hire somebody to take him back?"

I found out that wee Jim wasn't the only one who knew how to curse.

"I think your man got a wee bit over-keen after yon lassie crushed his bollocks. Maybe used a bit too much artistic license?" I said, trying to keep a smirk out of my voice.

"I hope you don't want your obituary desk job back," he said. "Because Morton is going to be sitting there until hell freezes over."

When I put the phone down Doug took his headphones off.

"What are you smiling about?" he said.

"I just got the equalizer against Jim Morton."

"Aye?" he said. "Well you just scored an own goal against me."

He unplugged his headphones from the computer and pushed a key. I heard, tinny but clear, my conversation with old lady Malcolm playing back to me. Some of the sentences seemed to stand out louder, but maybe that was just my conscience amplifying them.

"You need to keep an eye on your pal there."

"God forgive me, I should have let him stay in Skye."

"Just don't involve your pal next door."

The recording moved on, and I heard my side of my conversation with Irene.

"Too far from the Source."
I heard myself say.

Doug leaned over and pushed another button on the keyboard and the playback stopped. He came over and stood in front of my desk, almost shouting. "So. 'Don't involve your pal, she said'. What's so important? And what's The Source? Sounds like it might be weird stuff. Eh, Derek...does it sound kosher to you?"

I opened my mouth to spout the lie, to quell his fear, then I realized it wasn't fear...it was anger. Tears of rage swelled in his eye, and his knuckles were white over clenched fists.

"How could you shut me out. I nearly died for you...I...Oh, fuck it."

He leaned over and took the whisky bottle, chugging it straight. He slammed it down hard on the desk.

"And now you're sitting there, thinking you're protecting me. Bastard!"

He took one of my cigarettes, lit it with a flourish, then spoilt the effect by having a coughing fit.

"Don't...you...dare...laugh," he said between coughs, and that did it. I guffawed, he sniggered and five seconds later we were collapsed like a pair of giggling schoolboys.

"Okay," I said when we'd recovered. "I'll call your bluff. We've got a client, and we've been paid. What do you say...are you up for a jaunt?"

He went from beet root red to white as the blood drained from his face, but he didn't back down.

"Get your jacket. I'll drive, you can talk," he said.

"Who said anything about driving?" I said, but even as I said it I knew where I would be headed...back to Govan, to the block of flats.

* * *

We caught the end of the rush hour traffic, and I had the mistake of directing Doug to the Kingston Bridge instead of the tunnel. Half an hour in stationary traffic gave me ample time to bring Doug up to speed. And far from being afraid, he was excited...the same way he'd been when I'd got involved in the Amulet Case.

"Mer-women! Cool," he said. "Did anybody say whether they had big tits or not? They were supposed to have enormous ones."

He was over-compensating. I knew it, and he knew it, and it was all that was stopping him from running away screaming.

"I've never heard that Loki story before," he said. "But that's not surprising...there's thousands of tales about the trickster."

"A bad boy?" I asked.

"One of the worst. He was a son of Odin, but he had a thing for giants. He fathered three children on one; Hel, a hag who ends up ruling the underworld; Jormungand, the serpent that circles the world; and Fenrir, the wolf that eats the moon at Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods. I haven't heard about any other 'Sons of Loki'. But John Mason was right about Loki being a shapechanger...there's stories of him as a fox, a salmon, a crow, even a fly!"

"So how does that work?"

"Buggered if I know," he said. "It's not physics that matters in the old stories...its magic. Now, if I had a wireless laptop, I could find out right now..."

"And how much is one of them when it's at home?" I asked.

"Oh, about half of what the old lady is paying us," he replied, smiling.

Never mind my own goal, I figured the score was now two-nil to him.

The traffic eventually got moving, and we headed out to the wilds of Govan.

"When we get back, I can get you all sorts of stuff on Loki," Doug said. "And I'll see if we can get some background on the 'The Source'. We don't want you taking any chances if you have to go back to Portree."

"
When
I go back, you mean. You're forgetting that your half of the payment is the second half."

I was back in the game.

* * *