Blood Lines Part 26

'So he knows we both went to see Tanya?'

'Ach, that's nothing. Brodie, you're her lawyer you have to go and see her.'

He had a fair point with only one snag. Moses had no reason for his visit. The two of us together could only mean that we had gone to pump her for information.

'I'll tell you something that freaked me out.'

'If it's s.e.xual, Moses, I don't want to know.'

He kicked me on the backside as I climbed back onto Awesome. Although my darling bike was hurt, he started first time.

'Bancho doesn't know who Mr Big is either,' continued Moses. 'And that is f.u.c.king scary, because if he doesn't know who his paymaster is who does?'

'Don't let nerves make this harder than it is, Moses everything we know points to Duncan Bancho. He's setting me up, for Christ's sake I've been arrested twice because of him.'

'Are you sure? Because my gut's telling me he's not our ring-leader. He's no f.u.c.king Snow White I've paid him off in the past and I've no doubt that he's bent, but he didn't know about the video.'

'Are you sure?'

'Just because you don't want to hear it, Brodie, doesn't make it a lie I saw it in the man's eyes.'

Moses was used to making life or death decisions based on what he saw in someone's eyes.

'Well, if he's not involved, why is he pursuing me?'

'Has anyone ever told you that you are very irritating, Brodie McLennan?'

I sat in silence for the rest of the journey, pondering what he'd said. Traffic, as usual, was busy, but unusually it was flowing quite well and gave me plenty of time to think. Moses was also obviously deep in thought or he would have complained that I was taking the long route back to dropping him off at the Dark Angels' headquarters.

I drove down my favourite street in Edinburgh. When I was a little girl I used to badger Mary McLennan to take me there, after I had been to St Bernard's Well. Ann Street, named after the painter Henry Raeburn's wife, hasn't changed since it was built in 1817. The road is narrow and cobbled and it is tapered in even further by the fact that cars are allowed to park on both sides. The houses look as if they have been designed by Enid Blyton. If a child has to live in a city, then how blessed they would be to live in one like this. Each house has a long front lawn, intended for games of cricket on hot summer afternoons, so there is plenty of birdsong. I used to think that the children who lived behind these walls were the luckiest kids alive. The strange thing was I never actually ever saw a child playing in the grounds.

Awesome didn't like cobbles, and the noise from his exhaust disturbed the peace of the street. The Georgian windows reached from the floor to the ceiling, offering the casual pa.s.ser-by an excellent chance to snoop.

The owner of number 189 looked out and watched, as did many of her neighbours. But, unlike them, she waved h.e.l.lo at me. Her guest didn't. Moses almost fell off the back of the bike and it wasn't because of my driving.

'Slow down, Brodie! Let's go back there a minute. I can't believe what I just saw!'

I ignored Moses completely and opened up the accelerator faster than a greyhound out of a trap.

Unfortunately, I could still hear him wittering behind me.

'Christ, Brodie, who would have thought it? Glasgow Joe s.h.a.gging Bridget Nicholson?'

'They were hardly s.h.a.gging, Moses,' I snapped. 'He was in her kitchen having a gla.s.s of wine and some supper.' I couldn't keep the snippiness out of my voice.

'No such thing as a free lunch or supper,' he replied in his version of a posh voice. 'I thought she was supposed to be a lesbian? Do you think big Joe's enough of a man to turn any maiden's head, eh? Well, almost anyone.'

Moses was enjoying my discomfiture. I wasn't going to make him stop by telling him about the reality of the past I'd had with Joe.

'Don't worry,' he went on, 'my loyalties won't be divided. I don't want to s.h.a.g either of you.'

He jumped off the bike, laughing at his own wit, and blew me a kiss whilst swaggering up the road in his own unique fashion.

I was left a bit annoyed, a bit afraid and a lot alone.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

From: Frank Pearson Sent: Tuesday 23 August 2005, 2.30 p.m.

To: Brodie McLennan Subject: Are we f.u.c.ked?

Can you hear my screams from here? Have just come in from court and plain brown paper envelope was on desk. Had a really bad feeling about it as soon as I saw it please tell me am wrong. Open the attachment and email me immediately. I'm in Crown Office have feeling am being watched. Don't phone me.

Frank x.x.x

I stared at the screen. The time had pa.s.sed slowly since Bancho had hara.s.sed me and I had seen Joe cavorting with that cow. Nothing of particular interest had happened, apart from my heart breaking and my bowels going h.e.l.l for leather. Now, I wanted more of nothing.

I was reluctant to open the attachment but knew that if Frank was not at his desk waiting on my email, then he was in the toilet being sick. I felt like joining him. Frank was definitely not a drama queen like myself, so whatever had spooked him was sure to send me running to the ladies.

'Lavender do you remember the vodka that was left over from Harry's retirement do? Any of it still left in the office?' I shouted through to Lavender in the next room.

'You're out of luck we finished that lot off when the jury decision came in on the McTavish case and you'd won.'

Unconsciously I rubbed my head. I remembered that night vaguely. A police officer, Julie McTavish, had been wrongly accused of a crime because her fingerprint was at the scene we had taken on the ScotCrime Fingerprint Bureau and had identified several anomalies in the way they carried out fingerprinting techniques.

Julie McTavish was a fine police officer. Not only was her career saved but I got lots of good publicity over my courtroom skills. This was the only type of press I relished.

Lavender's mention of Julie reminded me that she owed me a favour, a big one. And one that I needed to call in against Duncan Bancho. Now.

'Lavender? Call Julie McTavish for me and arrange a lunch, will you?' I was still shouting to her through the open door I wasn't sure I could trust my bowels when I got up.

'You sound as if you need this more than we do.'

Eddie Gibb came into my room with a screw-top bottle of wine, already open. The gla.s.s in his left hand didn't look too clean but I was past caring. I clicked the mouse and opened up the attachment. As I'd hoped, Eddie sat down beside me on the arm of my chair.

'You in trouble?' he asked, without adding 'again'.

'I'm just about to find out.'

We sat and watched the screen as the pixelated photograph materialised. It was like watching paint dry. The first bit came through and then it seemed to get stuck whilst Eddie and I held our breaths. A dangerous thing to do, considering how long it was taking.

'This is a crown production? I thought you had seen all the crown productions in your case?'

As we sat there, I started to feel embarra.s.sed. I had instructed Robert Girvan, a man I didn't get on with, to represent me. It was a real slap in the face to Eddie.

'Eddie, I'm ...'

'It's no big deal, Brodie. I just want you to get off who else would employ Lavender and me if you weren't here? I hope Robert Girvan's up to the job.'

I took a deep breath; it sounded strangulated. Eddie instinctively put his arm around me. Lavender came round the back of my chair and we all stared at the screen. Lavender knew what she was looking at; she grabbed my gla.s.s and took an enormous swig.

'Holy s.h.i.t!' she said through pursed lips so that it almost sounded like a whistle.

'Frank's waiting for a reply, Lav. What can I say?'

My fingers flew across the keyboard; I'm not sure whether it was wine or adrenalin that increased their speed.

From: Brodie McLennan

Sent: Tuesday, 23 August 2005, 2.38 p.m.

To: Frank Pearson

Subject: We should be having a f.a.g by now

Good news your instincts are spot on. Bad news we appear to be up s.h.i.t creek without a paddle.

How did this happen?

Brodie x.x.x We sat as we were, waiting for his reply. Eddie and Lavender silently joined hands behind my back. I had the uncomfortable feeling they were praying. Unfortunately, we didn't have long to wait.

From: Frank Pearson

Sent: Tuesday, 23 August 2005, 2.40 p.m.

To: Brodie McLennan

Subject: Post-coital etiquette

Post-coital etiquette demands that you tell me the truth.

a) Is this lethal-looking weapon with, I might add, the MacGregor clan badge and motto on it yours?

b) If the answer is in the affirmative, I would like to ask why you have such a killing blade in your armoury? As a friend I would like to know do you have any other weapons of ma.s.s destruction about your person?

c) How has this now come to be in the Crown Office productions? When I saw you, I showed you the photographs that the police had supplied to us. The weapon they had originally was a simple Stanley knife that could be purchased in any DIY store, as you pointed out.

I await your answers Perplexed of Edinburgh x From: Brodie McLennan

Sent: Tuesday, 23 August 2005, 2.48 p.m.

To: Frank Pearson