Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'You're
full
of
piss
and
wind,'
Stewart
said,
belching
himself
as
if
in
illustration.
'Probably,'
Billy
said,
'but
I
still
find
it
easier
at
the
moment
to
feel
sorry
for
Murray
than
I
do
for
you.'
'He
might
be
worse.
Jill
the
Ripper
might
have
got
him
and
cut
his
balls
off.'
Stewart
snorted,
spraying
crumbs
of
aggressive
amusement
in
Billy's
direction.
'That's
what
the
old
guy
who
found
him
thought
had
happened.
The
old
clown
ran
up
the
street
with
his
trousers
half
up
his
bum.
Slap
into
Tommy
Clarke
with
his
wee
notebook
for
car
numbers.
All
of
them
standing
about
every
corner
in
Moirhill
with
their
wee
notebooks,
only
somebody
dumped
Murray
and
none
of
them
any
the
wiser.
This
silly
old
bugger
had
been
getting
ready
for
his
bed
when
he
looked
out
and
saw
Murray
on
the
pavement
under
the
lamp.
Corner
of
Deacon
Street –
three
in
a
row
the
old
guy
thought
and
away
like
a
bloody
fire
engine.'
'Very
public
spirited
of
him,'
Billy
reflected.
'Most
folk
in
Moirhill
would
have
kept
their
noses
clean
instead
of
running
to
look
for
a
policeman.'
'Policeman
my
arse!
He
was
away
to
phone
the
Citizen
and
collect
a
sweetener.'
Restored,
Billy
whinnied
and
flew
out
his
arms
jubilantly.
'That's
public
spirited
too.
After
me,
you'd
have
been
the
first
to
know.'
He
sobered.
'Which
still
doesn't
tell
us
who
did
him
over –
or
what
he
was
doing
in
Moirhill
in
the
first
place.'
Murray,
standing
just
inside
the
entrance,
had
difficulty
at
first
in
spotting
them.
It
wasn't
just
that
the
room
was
crowded,
but
that
the
dark
glasses
shaded
the
smoke
like
mist;
the
music
smashed
against
him
like
something
physical
striking
his
head; after
the
drifting
isolation
of
the
side
ward,
it
was
an
assault
of
people
so
that
what
he
felt
was
almost
timidity
and
he
had
to
force
himself
to
walk
forward.
As
he
crossed
the
room,
the
stripper
finished
her
act,
turning
her
back
and
shaking
her
hips
in
a
frenzy
until
her
tight
buttocks
shimmered
in
a
looseness
of
the
flesh.
It
was
Billy
who
saw
him
first,
and
reacted
spontaneously
with
dismay
that
turned
at
once
into
relief
and
concern.
'I
signed
myself
out,'
Murray
said,
answering
the
question
before
it
was
asked.
It
felt
good
to
sit
down;
too
good,
like
scurrying
into
a
refuge
.
'How's
the
eye?'
Having
arrested
his
fork
half-way
to
his
mouth,
Stewart
completed
the
movement
and
started
chewing.
'That
looks
like
a
bit
of
raw
meat
hanging
down
under
your
glasses.'
'It's
still
there.'
'Signed
yourself
out.'
Stewart
nodded
and
sucked
a
fibre
of
meat
from
between
his
front
teeth.
'You're
a
hard
bastard.'
'How
did
you
know
we
were
here?'
Billy
wondered.
'Phoning.'
Murray
turned
his
darkened
gaze
on
Stewart.
'They let
Malcolm,
my
brother,
go.'
'Your
brother?
They
let
him
go
home
on
the
Saturday
night
.
Of
course,
you'd
be
out
of
the
game
by
then
,
you
wouldn't
know.'
'Standers
let
him
go?'
Stewart
blew
out
his
lips
in
the
pleasure
of
contempt.
'Standers!
Forget
him.
As
soon
as
Merchant
was
found
dead,
the
Chief
Constable
hit
the
panic
button.
It
was
too
hot
to
leave
for
a
clown
like
Standers.
Jackie
McKellar's
in
charge
now.'
'McKellar?'
Murray's
years
out
of
the
city
had
left
him
out
of touch
with
a
lot
of
things;
he
was
still
catching
up.
'Detective
Chief
Superintendent
McKellar,'
Billy
took
a
professional
pride
in
explaining.
'Early
fifties.
There
was
a
planning
meeting
at
Headquarters
on
Saturday
afternoon
.
Ness
–
he's
the
Assistant
Chief
Constable
(Crime)
–
chaired
it.
McKern,
Standers'
boss
for
Northern,
was
there.
And
Frank
O'Hara
of
Central
Division.'
On
the
last
name,
he
looked
at
Murray
questioningly,
but
saw
that
he
understood.
Central
was
the
politically
dominant
of
the
six
divisions
into
which
the
city
was divided
–
in
it
were
the
main
business
districts
and
the
centre
of
local
government
–
so
that
although
they
shared
the
same
rank
O'Hara
was
deferred
to
by
the
other
division
chiefs.
His
presence
was
an
indication
of
the
kind
of
pressure
they
expected
Merchant's
death
was
going
to
involve
.
'Oh,
and
Standers
was
there,
but
only
to
give
a
progress
report.
Eddy's
right,
Jackie
McKellar's
the
man
in
charge
now.
And
he's
good-
he's
got
a
record
of
quick
results.
McKellar
knows
what
he's
doing.'