Part 28 (1/2)

The cheap plywood door swung open as if battery-operated. Bobby had scurried away to the living quarters, presumably after seeing Joe through the spyhole. The hall was dark and narrow, carpeted with dark brown nylon with golden onion swirls, the height of fas.h.i.+on in 1976. The house was clean. Burns lived there with his mother. Bobby or Agnes as I knew him was seated in the middle of the room on a dining-room chair covered with pink velour. Above the unlit gas fire there was a painting of a blue Chinese lady. I seemed to remember lots of my mum's friends having them and a story that they had been given away free if you bought a fire from British Gas.

'How's it going then?' asked Moses as he came out of the kitchen. I knew now why Bobby had let us in with ease Moses had paved the way and told him who was about to arrive. He had made himself a cup of tea and helped himself to a Penguin biscuit. Waving the tea and biscuits at me, he spoke with his mouth full.

'There's plenty more where that came from do you want some, Brodie?'

I shook my head; a wee snack was the last thing on my mind. Moses settled himself down and put his feet up on the tiled coffee table.

'You'd better not have made a mess in there or my ma will go mad,' said Bobby Agnes or whoever the h.e.l.l it was. I felt as if I was back in confused Donna Diamond land again.

'I'd have thought that the state or otherwise of your ma's kitchen should be the last thing on your mind.'

The boy squirmed on his seat as Moses chastised him; G.o.d knows how long Moses had kept him there. His skinny legs were encased in tight drainpipe jeans, and now that I got a good look at him, I saw he wasn't in the first flush of youth. Sallow skin was stretched like parchment over his cheeks and mousy brown hair hung lankly to his shoulders. This Bobby Burns had been caught without his shoes on; no doubt his mother forbade the wearing of them on the front-room carpet. His well-worn socks scrunched the s.h.a.g up and down as Joe stood on Bobby's toes, and then Bobby cried, 'What did you want to go and do that for?'

Joe was wearing metal-studded bike boots and I could see a tiny droplet of blood form on Bobby's cotton sock.

Joe got off his foot and paced back and forth in front of him. He reached into his boot and pulled out a knife that made the whinger look like a penknife. He ran his finger up the blade. Even I winced as droplets of blood formed a line along the imprint where the blade had been. Joe's hair was hanging free around his shoulders and he looked like a savage, a side of him that I knew he'd tried to suppress and make amends for. How many times had he told Moses that it was a mug's game? I had drawn him back into the mire. Guilt pressed my back into the wall.

He moved fast.

One tap from Joe's size-twelve boot and the chair fell over.

Two flicks from his knife and Bobby's jeans lay like cheese strings around him. Joe's movement slowed down as he went for the boy's cheap cotton boxers, but the skinny b.u.g.g.e.r held on to them and crouched down on the rug.

'You're a mad b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Glasgow Joe. You f.u.c.king leave my knackers alone.'

His hands were cupped over his b.a.l.l.s. Joe ignored his words and pushed him over with his foot. He placed his boot none too gently on his neck and bent over his victim like a gamekeeper gralloching a deer. When Bobby felt the coldness of the blade move down and land on his groin, he started to cry.

Joe reached down and grabbed him by the scalp. Yelping, Bobby was dragged to his feet. Dancing on his tiptoes, a grotesque marionette, Joe sneered into his face.

'Start talking,' he snarled. 'You KNOW what I'm after.' Joe's knee connected with the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es. Bobby crashed to the ground again. Rolling in the foetal position, he vomited on his mum's s.h.a.g-pile carpet.

'Let's start with the easy questions who gave you the order?' Joe asked. 'Bridget Nicholson?'

'f.u.c.k off, Joe! I thought you knew the score but you know nothing.'

Joe's foot attached itself to his face; he wouldn't be entering a beauty pageant anytime soon.

'If you want to know so much, get your b.i.t.c.h to ask Tanya Hayder.'

It was a good idea.

If Tanya thought we had Bobby on the defensive, she might be a bit more forthcoming with what she had kept from us. I flipped open my mobile and called The Castle. The fact that it was more like a hotel than rehab meant I could call any time and get who I wanted.

'Can I speak to Tanya Hayder, please?'

I used my best telephone voice and informed them I was her lawyer.

I was asked to hold on whilst they went for her.

When the female voice came back on the line, it was obviously not Tanya. 'I believe you are asking for Miss Tanya Hayder?' the woman enquired.

I agreed, with my posh voice still working, giving her details of who I was.

More silence.

'Please wait one moment whilst I speak to my superior,' la-di-da told me.

G.o.d did they know I hadn't exactly played ball on my last visit? Was Tanya a gra.s.s now amongst everything else?

The man who came on the line was certainly succinct and none too friendly.

'I'm sorry, Miss McLennan Miss Hayder is no longer a guest here.'

s.h.i.+t.

She'd bolted.

'When did she leave?' I asked.

The man breathed heavily as he considered my question. He had probably been told all about me by Duncan Bancho, I'd imagine.

'I have checked your name out, Miss McLennan, and am aware that you and Miss Hayder were professionally connected. In a legal capacity,' he quickly added.

'Yes,' I layered it on, 'I'm sure you have. I wouldn't doubt that you'd be very professional and I do appreciate it. One can't be too careful.' I tried not to look at Joe standing beside Bobby Burns as I said it.

'May I fax you confirmation that I represent Miss Hayder?'

I was praying he'd say 'no'.

'Not any more you don't,' he informed me.

I swore under my breath. I really couldn't blame Tanya for mandating, but I really didn't want it to be for Bridget Nicholson.

'Who's representing Miss Hayder now?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

'Unfortunately, where Miss Hayder has gone she won't be needing a lawyer,' slime-man told me. 'As her ex-lawyer you need to know, I'd imagine. Miss Hayder met with a rather nasty accident in the showers. I would ask you to be discreet about this, Miss McLennan we haven't informed her relatives yet, and we don't want the papers to hear about it. It would cause panic, and many of our clients are paranoid enough as it is.'

'An accident?' I parroted. 'How bad is it?'

'Oh, rather bad. Rather bad. About as bad as it gets, unfortunately.'

There was nothing more to say.

I ended the call.

'Tanya Hayder's dead,' I told the threesome watching me.