Blood Lines Part 24

'Well, f.u.c.k me sideways, Brodie!' he shouted out and started to laugh, leaving me to regret my warmer thoughts about his empathy.

'Keep your voice down,' I whispered at him, now more unsure than ever of the ethics of touting this diary around town. He ignored me and started jumping around and punching his fist in the air, shouting, 'Ya beauty! Ya beauty!' I was desperate to know what it was that excited him in the heartbreaking diary.

'Well done, Brodie, you've only gone and brought me details of my f.u.c.king supply chain! Whatever poor Donna Diamond went through to keep this diary, at least in the last six months, he's sorry, she's detailed the comings and goings of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who's been muscling in on my line of dealers.'

'I've read it already, but it didn't make complete sense to me what does it mean?' I asked him once I had pulled him off me and dried my cheeks from his kisses.

'It means that whoever killed Donna killed her because of this.' He waved the diary in the air. 'We just have to find who's been stealing my customers and we find Donna's killer! Plus, we nail this b.a.s.t.a.r.d, then we get another go at nailing Bancho, and that's got to be good because we're doubling our chances of getting that b.a.s.t.a.r.d off our backs.' He was looking at the diary all the time he said this, and exclaimed, 'Bonus news for you, Brodie! Look ...' His black fingernail pointed to an entry dated the fourth of January: Alex Cattanach contacted me today as a client! Who would have thought? How the mighty are fallen. Enough drivel. Obviously, she knew that whatever she told me was bound by client confidentiality (the b.i.t.c.h it's such a juicy tidbit). Even so, she was pretty cagey. She came up with some story that two friends of hers were being blackmailed. Apparently there's a video of her 'friend 'and a.n. other engaged in what she called 'lesbian acts' (I'd like to see it). It gets better it's shot in a legal office and involves young female clients (better and better). Alex Cattanach is no better than she should be, yet she still had the b.l.o.o.d.y cheek to act holier than thou with me. On her way out she asked me if I intended to plead guilty to the fraud charge and save the Crown some money. Maybe if I find her blackmailer she'll get the charges dropped.

Now I was definitely walking in Donna's shoes. To prove my innocence I had to find the same people she was after and try to ignore what had happened to her when she had done so. I shuddered as I thought of my business card.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

'I've never seen this place looking so clean, Brodie well, not since ...'

Patch didn't finish his sentence. We didn't speak about Fishy, my ex-flatmate. He might have been handy for washing the dishes but he had a less useful side when he got in league with my stepmother and tried to kill me. Give me a sink full of crockery with mould on it any day.

'Thanks, Patch. I've got a new cleaner recommended to me by Bridget Nicholson no less. I've never met the lovely Agnes, but she's doing a great job. I might start asking her to fix the rest of my life up too.'

I handed Patch an exceptionally hygienic cup of tea.

'You see, Grandad, I can keep my enemies close,' I whispered as I handed him his porcelain cup with a saucer.

We were having a war-council meeting. Frank had phoned late in the afternoon to say that all the Crown production doc.u.ments and evidence were in. For once, I was delighted to suggest to the crew that they came over. I even asked Kailash, just so that I could show off my sparkling pad. Fresh as a daisy indeed, just as the cheesy advertising leaflets for the company said. I usually went into the office on a Sunday as it was so quiet and I could catch up on things, but today I was taking it easy. Not too much of a problem, given that we still weren't as busy as I would like. I had cooked a feast using a Madhur Jaffrey cooking book I'd got in a charity shop for one pound fifty. Normally, I would just have ordered the food in, having had to spend all my time making the place sanitary. Today, I enjoyed baking my own naan bread and puris and hoped they would be impressed.

Frank insisted that we worked first, then ate.

He opened his briefcase and took out the ten-by-eight black and white photographs of the productions. I felt myself go a bit woozy as I remembered the last time I had sat here looking at photographs pulled from an envelope. It didn't seem that long ago that a serial killer had been sending me pictures of friends with nooses around their necks, and images of butchered schoolgirls. This time Alex Cattanach stared up at me and my appet.i.te went out the window along with her vacant stare.

The knife marks on her face were particularly evident in the starkness of the picture. Spiral welds formed a grotesque pattern on her cheeks. It was expert knife work. Acid reflux came into my mouth as I looked at her, not helped by the smell of the lamb biryani that was burning on the stove.

It was hard not to stare; it was even harder not to want to cry with sympathy at the ruination of this once proud, intelligent woman. She wouldn't be starring in any naughty videos this side of Christmas, a horrid little voice in my head said. I was grateful that no one else could hear it. I must state in my defence that when people are faced with a dark situation the natural reflex is for them to laugh. I told myself it was natural, but not forgivable.

I didn't feel like laughing at the next picture.

'Would someone mind explaining this to me?' Grandad tapped his arthritic old finger against the grainy black and white photograph.

'I would have thought the picture explained itself, Lord MacGregor.'

Patch and Grandad had a thing going on too small to be called a feud, too big to be dismissed. I don't know how it started, I suspect it began in some court case, G.o.d knows how many decades ago, and I didn't know when it would end. Certainly not anytime soon, I thought, by the looks of them. Like two old rams, they were locked by the horns, neither one willing to back down, Grandad smarting at the implication that he was losing his marbles.

'Okay, calm down.' My voice sounded calmer than I felt. 'It's my name, Grandad, written on Alex Cattanach's wall, by her. The material she has used is her own blood and s.h.i.t.'

'Oh.'

'Is that all you have to say?'

'Well, regrettably, in this instance I am forced to agree with Professor Patterson. The photograph really does speak for itself, and I think we all have enough brain cells left to shudder at what any sane or reasonable jury might think of it.'

'I think we should serve the food now.' Kailash got up from the table and moved to the cooker. Her face was hidden from me and I feared she might have been crying.

I had set the places before they arrived and it looked lovely. My table was antique rosewood, chosen from a shop in Stockbridge. My only worry when I'd first bought it was that Moses seemed to recognise it. Even the gla.s.ses were old. Grandad had given me some of my unknown-Granny's dishes and gla.s.sware and his eyes shone with pleasure as he recognised them.

Tonight we were eating in the dining room because there were so many of us. I took particular care not to seat Jack Deans next to Glasgow Joe, then I also had to keep Grandad and Patch apart. I missed Moses because, remarkably, he was a great peacemaker and in this a.s.sorted group of my friends and family he would have worked wonders. Strangely, my grandad adored him and it was not unusual for me to find Moses up in Grandad's flat in Ramsay Gardens, as they chewed the cud together. Tonight, however, we had both agreed that it was more essential for Moses to get on with tracking down the blackmailer.

Kailash carried the basmati rice to the table in a huge Victorian soup tureen. The pattern on the china was blowsy and colourful rust marigold edged in gold with dark blue leaves not exactly true to nature, but a fabulous centrepiece to the table. A silver candelabra, with eight beeswax candles, showered us with a glow that the content of the evening didn't merit. The pakoras were superb, and although the lamb was burnt I hoped that none but the most discerning palate would notice. Frank wolfed his down, and Grandad and Kailash toyed with theirs, claiming lack of appet.i.te. Disappointed, I decided not to bring out the handmade mango ice cream, created from the gelateria that Joe had bought me for Christmas.

I cleared the dishes away quite quickly; the fun had gone out of the evening when the first photograph of Alex had appeared. It wasn't helped by the fact that I'd been distracted and then ruined some of the dishes, not just the lamb. I really take pride in my cooking and usually my guests are well satisfied eating in an untidy kitchen around a cramped table. Tonight, I had really wanted to pull it off it was the first time that I'd used my granny's dishes and I wanted to show Grandad that I could do something even if it was only to be the cook in Cornton Vale.

Now it was ruined.

Jack came into the kitchen laden down with dishes that I hadn't collected yet. He placed them on the thick wooden worktop, still overflowing with food. I was sc.r.a.ping it into the bin like pig-swill, too annoyed to save it to be reheated I preferred the grand gesture, as always. Jack came up behind me and pulled me close. He bent and kissed my neck; he knew my secret. Learn how to kiss my neck properly and I will hang around for life; or at least until I get bored.

I responded to him. I would have responded to anyone who kissed me there like that. But Joe didn't see it like that when he came into the kitchen he only saw Jack and I sneaking away from everyone to steal some moments together. Too large a presence to sneak out and conceal his hurt, he stomped out of the room.

We had been caught.

In that split second, I knew what I felt.

Knew what I wanted.

I had made up my mind about Joe and Jack without even having to spend too long thinking about it, but I wasn't in a position to tell Joe that. He had already headed off to the dining room and I was left with the one I knew to be the f.u.c.kwit. No matter how he might protest that he would change, that was what Jack Deans was.

And it wasn't enough.

Maybe he was all I deserved, but I knew he wasn't all I needed.

It was hard to face Joe as I went through to the dining room. Logic told me it wasn't the case, but my heart felt as if I had betrayed him. Divorced or not. The ways that he had helped me over the years since the divorce had more than made up for any mistakes he'd made.

Joe was standing at the side of the fireplace away from everyone else, fastening his biker's jacket. He looked at me without any anger. I was desperate for an argument; that would have meant there was something I could try to fix. Being like this, so quiet, made me unsettled.

As we tried not to meet each other's eyes fully, Jack came up behind me.

'I think it's best if I go, Brodie,' he said. 'Give me a call and let me know what Frank's got.'

As soon as Jack said the words, Joe started to unzip his jacket whilst staring at him. Jack's words made me see Joe's point. I was unsure whether Jack wanted to know what the evidence was to help me, or whether he simply wanted to write good copy. He never pretended to be anything other than a drunken hack, even if I, for some reason, saw something different. My hormones had blinded me to Jack's rotten qualities and let me believe he was a better person than he really was. And I had willingly gone along with it all just for a quick one. Or two ...

I couldn't doubt that this was all hard for Joe, but the difference between the two men was that he stayed. He stayed in case I needed him.

I needed alcohol. Quickly. Lots of it.

'Does anyone want a drink?' I shouted.

They all started clamouring like fish on a farm at feeding time.

'Anybody would think your throats were cut!' Joe shouted. 'If this was in the Doll I'd be telling my staff to keep an eye on you lot, you greedy set of b.u.g.g.e.rs. Now, one at a time. Ladies first. Kailash?'

'I'll have a Hendrick's gin, with finely sliced cuc.u.mber and fresh borage.'

Would she now? Trust her anyone else would have a Gordon's gin with flat Schweppes and, if they were lucky, a slice of lemon that had a tiny bit of life left in it.

'I don't have that,' I snipped.

'Yes, you do, I brought my own. It's chilling in the fridge. Just bring a few leaves of borage I brought that as well.'

It felt like a relief to escape from the dining room, but Joe followed me.

'Don't worry, Brodie,' he began. 'I'm not going to make a scene. We both know that I've no right to.'

'That's right you divorced me.'

'I know, and maybe I've lived to regret that. But remember, I didn't sign those papers because I didn't want you. I signed them because I thought you'd have a better life without me. Mind you, looking at the c.o.c.k-up you're making of it, I think I was wrong there too.'

He walked out of the kitchen with Kailash's gla.s.s. I knew that all I had to do was call him back and we could start again. He had made a decision once that he was bad news for me; if I loved him, then I would have to say that I was bad luck for him too. I was facing a prison sentence for attempted murder at the very least, with possible fraud and murder charges hanging over me. By the time I got out of prison I would need an ovarian graft to have children.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and drank it straight from the bottle. I walked into the dining room in my leathers and tight white T-shirt. I had been so busy cooking I had forgotten to change. I knew there was a love bite on my neck and I didn't exactly look cla.s.sy. They all turned to look at me as I came in.

Frank was the first to talk. 'It's not as bad as we feared, Brodie. Not as bad as it could have been. There's no DNA evidence against you. The only evidence the police have is a motive for the a.s.sault. They have you in the vicinity when the attack occurred and they have a weapon.' Frank held up a photograph of a Stanley knife.

'What good is that to me? That's available in any and every DIY store in the country!'

'I know,' smiled Frank. 'It's good, isn't it?'

'Well, it's time to be thankful for small mercies I suppose,' I said, feeling that I needed to cheer Frank and everyone else up. For myself, the mercies in my life seemed so d.a.m.nably small, I couldn't even find them to be grateful over.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

'Darlin', you look terrific have you lost weight?'

I knew Tanya Hayder was lying but I smiled politely anyway. Moses had decided that we had to pay a visit to one of the 'premier escorts of the Flowers of Scotland website'. It was time to call in our markers. Tanya knew more than she had let on yet, and we needed that information now.

The Castle was a very upmarket rehab set in the Scottish Borders. The psychotherapist was from California, and had written several books consequently, celebrities flocked from all over to pay homage at his feet. I had read one of his tomes, What Cheerful People Know. It had impressed me so much that I had even tried some of the strategies. Basically, he said we were hot-wired by our genes to be scared all the time so we had to have courage even when we didn't feel brave at all. When I drank or Tanya chased the dragon, we were just giving in to our reptilian impulses. It cost me 7.99 to follow his advice for a fortnight; here, it was costing the state 1,000 a day. I would lay good money on the truism that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Unfortunately, sitting in the sumptuous common room of The Castle, Tanya looked like a very old dog.

'Not like you, Tanya,' said Moses as he pulled a straight-backed dining chair out of the corner of the room, ignoring the fact that she was all skin and bones. 'You've put on some weight there your cheeks are filling out again.' Moses didn't slump in chairs, but rode them like horses, giving you the impression that he was on the starting line in a race, ready to bolt at any moment. Watching him in the bright sunshine, I easily imagined him grabbing the chair and smacking it off Tanya's head if he didn't get the answers he wanted. I think Tanya felt it too.

'So, darlin,' Moses continued, 'I think you know that we're not here to measure each other's waistlines. I've been good to you in the past, and so has my friend Brodie.'

He didn't say 'too good to you', but that was to be understood. Tanya shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and, although I was fond of her, she reminded me of a sewer rat. By that I mean a tremendous survivor although, as I looked at her in the harsh sunlight streaming through the full-size bay windows, even her mannerisms were reminiscent of the creature. Heroin had robbed her of her humanity.

It was fascinating how she twitched. Her small beady eyes darted between our faces, summing us up, guessing which one of us was the softest touch.

'Brodie,' she began.

I guess I lost in the poker-face stakes.

'You and I go way back.'

Her head was nodding, trying to get me to agree with her. I knew as soon as I did that, then the truth was lost. I remained still. She reached out and touched me with her skinny claw-hand. I fought the urge to pull back. Using every available vein for junk destroys your circulation. Her wasted arm was mottled with purple blotches, as if she had sat by a fireside for too long.

'See, darlin', we understand each other.'

She patted my leg in a manner that was meant to soothe but just set my teeth on edge. Her arm twisted just enough to show me the pale underside. Barely healed puncture marks were visible.

'What the f.u.c.k!'

Moses grabbed the same arm so hard that I thought he had broken it. The patient who was sitting quietly in the corner scurried out of the room, sensing the trouble before it had even fully begun.

Alone now, Moses squeezed Tanya's arm so hard it brought tears to her eyes. She was an excellent actress, but Moses wasn't falling for any of it. As soon as she knew that the victim role wouldn't work, she became angry, spitting like a cat trying to bite him. Moses jumped back and slammed her head into the wall. He wasn't dealing with someone that he thought would understand anything but the language of violence Tanya was just an Edinburgh junkie. 'Shut the door, Brodie. If we want anything out of this b.i.t.c.h we're going to have to make her talk. And I, for one, am looking forward to it.'

My feet sunk into the thick carpet. I couldn't stop to think of the rights and wrongs of this situation. Could I plead the Nuremberg Defence? Who would believe that I would take orders from a barely literate boy? Moses knew best how to handle this situation there were too many people depending on me for squeamishness to come into it.

'We can do this the easy way, Tanya,' said Moses, 'or we can do it the hard way. I know you've got a stash. If you don't want me to gra.s.s you up to the people who run this place then you'd better start talking.'

All the fight left Tanya. She returned to her chair, deflated. There was no pretence at niceness, no camaraderie or talking of old times. Maybe it was the first time that I truly understood that when you're dealing with a junkie, they have no soul to negotiate with.

'I'm not going to ask you how you got the smack it's not my business. It's enough for you to know that I know, and I won't hesitate to get you thrown out of here and straight into the poky.'

She flicked her matted stringy hair out of her face.

'What do you want to know, you little s.h.i.t?'

Moses handed her the diary.

'You a tranny boy these days?' she said, flicking through it.

Moses didn't rise to her insults. Despite appearances, he generally abhorred gratuitous violence.

'Keep your smart comments to yourself, waster, and tell me about these ships.'

'What am I? A f.u.c.king sailor?'

'No, but you've s.h.a.gged enough of them to make a stab at it now, tell me about those boats.'

Tanya started squirming again. I wondered if she had p.i.s.sed herself; it wouldn't be the first time a client had done that. I checked under the chair but the carpet was still in pristine condition.

'You might be scared of whoever you think you're protecting, but I can't see any of them around. Me? I'm here and I'm seriously annoyed.'