Authors: William Meikle
"Bring him to Govan..." she said, as she also handed me a photograph of her son and a check for one thousand pounds. "Bring him there and you'll get the rest."
She showed me a second check, then put it away in the small black bag. As she sat back in the chair the bag seemed to disappear into the black folds of her dress.
"And I want him at the house by ten in the morning, the day after tomorrow. I'll not have the neighbors saying that my boy didnae go to his own father's funeral. I remember when next door's mother died and..."
"Thanks, Ms. Malcolm," I said, getting up out of my chair. I put out a hand and she used it to climb up out of the seat. She had one last, longing look at the whisky bottle. It wasn't worth her while...it was already empty...although if I gave her even the smallest hint that there was another bottle in my desk drawer, she'd have been in that seat for the rest of the day. She nodded once to me, then headed for the door. Just as she put her hand on the doorknob she stopped and looked Doug up and down again.
"Maybe you should go to Skye with your man here. You look like you need some fresh air."
It was only after she left that I noticed she'd taken my cigarettes with her.
When I turned back from the door Doug was playing with the check.
"A grand on my first day. See...I told you I'd be good for business," he said.
"Tell me again on your 20th day," I replied. "If you're still averaging the same. I might keep you on."
"If we're making that much, you'll have to give me a raise," he said.
"Aye. You'll be after five bob a week if I'm not careful."
"Six," he said. "And a key to the executive lavvy."
"Six bob!" I said in mock horror. "With overheads like that I might have to consider downsizing."
In truth, I liked having Doug around. After the affair with the Johnson Amulet we both had too much time to ourselves and found we didn't like it much. After two months writing for a local paper I was back at my desk in the hallway of my flat that doubled as an office...working cases, working for myself...staying just above the poverty line. Doug meanwhile had tried to go back to work, but his nerves were shot.
At his first lecture back someone had slammed a door and Doug had run, screaming. Then there had been a power failure in his basement office. Trapped there, for five minutes without light, had been enough to send him over the edge again, and they'd found him crouched in a corner, arms over his head, squealing like a kid that expected a beating. The University had been sympathetic, and had put him on extended sick leave, but their patience had recently run out...and so had their paychecks.
Doug was spending most of his life locked in a room with his computer and the Internet connection, but the University's decision meant he had to find a source of income. It was purely by chance that he found there was a demand online for his expertise. There are plenty of people willing to pay to be told how little knowledge they have, and Doug was soon making enough money on online research sites to keep himself.
He was still having problems being on his own though...and he spent a couple of weeks persuading me that his newfound skills could help my business.
"You can find out just about anything online," he had told me. "Let me help you. I can make you money."
He knew and I knew that he mainly wanted to spend his days somewhere he felt safe, and I owed him. He'd saved my life in the Amulet case, he was my friend, and besides...my own nerves weren't so calm anyway...it would be good to have him around. Yesterday I'd told him he could have a job...on the basis that he only got paid when the Agency made enough to afford it. The only thing he asked me was whether he'd have to pay the phone bill for his connection. We'd shaken hands on it, then gone out on the town.
He'd started in the morning, and already we had a check for a grand. If I believed in good omens, I might believe he was already bringing us luck.
"So what do you think?" he said, and fell into an almost perfect impression of the old woman. "Ma boy isnae ma boy."
I laughed, and that spurred him on.
"It wisnae like this when I was a lassie. I remember the time..." He said. This time he even had her mannerisms perfect
"Please...stop," I said. "I thought she was going to sit there all day."
"She might well have done. And did you see her pocket your cigarettes?"
"Nope. She was too quick for me."
"Aye, I don't think there's much that gets past her. I'm surprised she let 'her boy' go so easily."
"I dunno," I said, "Maybe the pod-people have got him."
In the old days that would have opted us into a long conversation about 50's B movies...but we were a long way from the old days. His face went ashen and a shiver ran through him.
"Please. No more weird shit. Just give me a simple kidnapping."
I smiled.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
I handed him the address on Skye.
"There's no phone number on here...she must have forgotten it. Do something useful and find the number while I get some more cigarettes."
* * *
Down in the newsagent's Old Joe was in his usual place. Apart from the occasional funeral, I don't think he'd left the place in more than forty years. As I stood in the queue I watched him work. He knew all his locals by sight if not name, and would have their 'orders' made up in advance. I knew he remembered them from what they bought every day. The boy at the front was 'A Daily Star and twenty Benson and Hedges'. The woman in front of me was 'A pint of milk, four bread rolls and a packet of M&Ms', and the little old man in front of her got a brown bag which Joe told me contained a Hustler and a Penthouse.
"Was that old woman up to see you?" he asked as he handed me the regulation two packs of Marlboro.
"Aye. She could talk for Scotland that one," I said.
"Tell me about it...she was in here before she went up to see you. Did she tell you about her bad back?"
I shook my head.
"Or her bunions?"
Again I shook my head.
Joe nodded sadly. "It was just me, then?"
"What can I say," I replied. "You're a good listener."
"You'd have to be with that one...there wouldn't be much chance of anything else. Did she have a job for you?"
"Aye. And she's a good payer."
Old Joe looked worried.
"I don't like her, Derek. There's something not right about her."
"Come on, Joe. You're nae judge of character. Remember the vicar you told me was 'nothing but trouble'?"
Joe was about to reply, but I wasn't going to let him off that easily.
"And remember that
nice boy
two years ago...the one you sent up with your personal reference? The one that pulled a knife on me?"
He looked sheepish.
"Momentary aberrations," he said, and pulled at my arm as I turned to leave. "I'm serious, Derek. I have a bad feeling about her. Don't take the job."
"Too late," I replied. "But look on the bright side...I'll have enough money to buy cigarettes for months to come."
"Does that mean you'll be settling your bill?" he said, almost wistfully. It was a question he'd asked me many times, and one I'd ignored just about as often.
"Maybe I can interest you in barter?" I said, "Doug could set you up a spreadsheet."
"And what would I need one of them for?"
"To keep track of your business, your taxes, stuff like that."
"The taxman owes me one hundred and three pounds," he said. "I owe the VAT man two grand, my turnover went up three-point-five percent last year and I've made sixty pounds and forty-three pence so far this morning. And you
still
owe me two hundred forty pounds. As I said...what would I need a spreadsheet for?"
"Maybe you could count the number of folk that come into the shop?"
"Six hundred and twelve this week so far," he said with a smile. "And that doesn't include repeat visits. See Derek. I notice things. And I'm telling you...there's something about that old woman."
"Oh aye...there's something about her, all right. If she comes back in keep her away from your cigarettes and whisky. She'll cancel out your profits in no time."
I didn't take Old Joe seriously. Like I said, he'd been wrong before.
But even bad guessers get one right at some time.
* * *
Doug had the computer up and running by the time I got back to the office.
"Is the beast ready to go to work?" I said, motioning at the machine.
He was already sitting at the desk chair, fussily arranging his working area to his liking. I let him get on with it, but I was going to draw the line if he started bringing in pictures of family.
"I've spliced the phone line," he said. "I'll only get half the bandwidth until we can get around to broadband but..."
I stopped him. Two technical computing terms at a time were enough for me.
"I don't need to know," I said, and gave him a smug grin. "I'm the boss."
"Aye...from here on in known as 'The Dinosaur in the Corner'."
"Just call me Barney."
I got the coffee going and settled in my chair.
"Shouldn't you be off doing something?" Doug said, "Canvassing your snitches, calling in markers...whatever you call it."
"Information gathering," I said. "That's what the job is all about...and that's why I have you, and you have yon beast on your desk. Get to it, boy. Gather me some facts!"
I got a rare smile from him, and he bent over his keyboard.
I had time to smoke one cigarette before he came over to stand beside my desk.
"I tracked down that phone," he said. "It's in a pub in Portree, 'The Auld Kelpie'. A kelpie is..."
"I know what a kelpie is," I said. "Did you try the number?"
"Not yet. I've been looking up the pub's history. It's four hundred years old and..."
"Too much information," I said, stopping him.
"No, wait," he said. He was like an excited puppy on a mission...well nigh impossible to stop without a well-placed kick. And I hadn't yet sunk as low as kicking puppies.
"The pub has a history of murders, hauntings, even kelpie sightings. Back in the early part of the 1900's three staff disappeared one night...their bodies were never discovered...and..."
I delivered the verbal equivalent of one of those puppy kicks.
"I thought you said no more weird stuff?"
It had the desired effect...it stopped him in mid-gush. He didn't even realize it himself, but Doug had a kind of reading blindness. It allowed him to trawl for hour after hour, document after document, book after book, on the occult, the paranormal and weird shit of every smell and texture.
And he could do it all without once making the connection between his own fear and his reading material. It was only when I reminded him that he remembered the Amulet Case. Then it all came flooding back to him...the tentacled demon, the ancient Arab and the black chaos where I'd found him curled into a ball, screaming, bleeding and insane with fear.
He went white, all color leeching from his face, and he sat down, hard, in the guest armchair. The old lady had left something behind in exchange for my cigarettes...the sickly sweet smell of lavender and mothballs wafted in the room once more.
I took the phone number from his suddenly shaking fingers, and passed him my mug of coffee in return.
He gulped at it gratefully.
"See. I told you. Too much information," I said.
Doug sat still and sweated while I phoned the pub in Skye.
It rang for long seconds...so long that I was close to hanging up. But just as I'd had enough, it was answered.
"The Auld Kelpie. Irene speaking. How can I help you," the young woman at the other end said.
At least it sounded like a young woman. And the accent was perfect. It spoke of open spaces, sparkling seas, red hair, green eyes and long walks in the sunset. The image was so clean, so vivid that I had to force myself to answer.
"Can I speak to John Malcolm please?"
"I'm sorry. There's nobody of that name here."
I slapped myself on the forehead. The old woman had said it...she'd reverted to her maiden name...and I didn't know her married name, the surname of the man I was after.
I decided to try the truth...sometimes, even in my business, it was easier that way.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm after John, he's an accountant from Glasgow. He's been there for a while...months at least. I need to talk to him. His father has passed way, and he's needed at the funeral."
"Och. That's a shame," she said. "But I still cannae help ye. There's nobody of that description here. This is a local bar, for local people. We don't get much in the way of passing trade."
"Can you just ask?" I said, but she'd already put the phone down on me. I rang again, twice, but it was now permanently engaged. I had the feeling it would be like that for a long time...at least as long as I tried to ring.
Doug looked up as I put the phone on its cradle. The color was coming back to his cheeks, but his eyes looked red and watery, as if tears were not too far away.
"It looks we'll have to do it the hard way," I said. "How far is it to Skye?"
Doug may have nearly recovered, but he had lit a cigarette, something he only did 'in extremis'.
"About a four hour drive," he said, and punctuated it with a cough. He smoked as if he didn't really believe he was a smoker...all tiny puffs and theatrical flourishes. He looked like an actor practicing the act.
"Put that out," I said. "You know you don't want it."
"I need practice," he said. "The old lady is my new role model."
"If you follow her example the only thing you'll be modeling is a coffin."
That got me another smile, but my next words wiped it from his face, fast.
"We'll take your car," I said, and once more the color drained from him.
"We?" He seemed to shrink down in the chair away from me, and this time there really were tears in his eyes. He couldn't look straight at me, his gaze flitting from computer to door and back as he continued.
"You don't really need me...do you? I thought I'd stay here...just in case any new clients come in. And..."
I stopped him.
"It's okay Doug, really."
"No...you see, I can do more here," he said. "And if you need anything I can get it on the PC, and...
"Doug," I said, softly this time. "It's okay."
He handed me his car keys.
"You can take the car anyway," he said. "I'll be fine without it."
"It'll just be the one day," I said. "I might even be back later."
"In the meantime, I can see if I can find the old woman's married name," he said.
"Aye. That would be good. And keep digging into the history of the pub. There might be something I'll need to know when I get there."
"I'll call you. You have your cellular phone?" he asked.
In truth, I had no idea, but I smiled and nodded anyway.
"Do you want me to leave you these?" I said, motioning at my cigarettes as I stood.
He smiled at me sheepishly. The tears had dried, but he still looked pale and ill as he shook his head.
"One good cough and my lungs would come up," he said.
"Okay then, hold the fort," I said. "And get me more information, fact boy!"
"Yes sir, Barney, sir," he said. His smile was a small one, but it was a start. In five minutes he'd be back at the PC again, reading about mutilation, torture and barbarism, smacking his lips with relish and laughing at the more gruesome bits.
When I left he was indeed back at the computer, but when I closed the door I heard him move to lock it behind me. There wouldn't be any new clients while I was away.
* * *