“She resisted the temptation to pull away. If she was honest, she rather enjoyed the feeling

Brian added: “But back to George. The damaged door was easily enough explained. That only leaves the question of the filing cabinet.” “Oh,” Maggie’s face suffused with colour. “I should have rung you, Brian. I’m really sorry. That filing cabinet – I did a bit of detective work.” She leaned towards him. “Those burglaries in King Street, remember? Police took several statements from an old guy who runs a jewellery workshop on the first floor. I went to see him. Slipped my mind, I’ve been that hard pressed. Apparently, the keys were a bit iffy. George locked the cabinet, broke the key in the lock. He nipped downstairs and asked the jeweller to have a look.” “Classic.”

“Anyhow, the old guy managed to get the thing unlocked and the key out, but by that time the lock was useless.”

“Well, Maggie Laird,” Brian grinned, “aren’t you the private eye?” She glowed with satisfaction. Her visit to the jeweller had boosted her confidence.

“So…” The detective in Brian resurfaced. “Now it’s been established that there was nothing suspicious about George’s death, all our focus should be on clearing his name.”

“Agreed. You were telling me about Jimmy Craigmyle.”

Obvious

“Right. Apart from the fact that Gilruth owns that club, if – and it’s a big if – Craigmyle is working there, he won’t finish till three in the morning.”

“So?”

“I’d have thought it was obvious, Maggie. That part of town’s no place for a woman.” She sat upright. “I can look after myself.”

“Oh can you? How is the PI business anyhow?” “Coming away,” she smiled. “Thanks for asking. Some aspects have been surprisingly easy to master, actually. Others…well, that’s the reason I wanted to see you. I need some more information.” She turned her face up to his. “That OK with you?” “Depends.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that would compromise your position.”

“No? Just PNC a few people and God knows what else.” He leaned in close. That tiny frisson again. “Do you want to see me locked up?”

“Course not.”

There was a silence, then, “Tell me what it is. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Brian. What I want is for you to keep on digging: Jimmy Craigmyle, first and foremost, plus anything you can find on Gilruth.”

“I thought that was settled.”

“It is. It’s just… if you could float the name past a few more folk. Run it through the computer, see what comes up.” You couldn’t have too much information, she’d decided, if you were going to be a proper PI.

“Have you been listening to me, Maggie?” Brian’s voice was heavy with exasperation. “It’s time to move on,” he reached for her hand. “Put this Gilruth nonsense behind you.”

She resisted the temptation to pull away. If she was honest, she rather enjoyed the feeling. But she felt a twinge of remorse.

Wasn’t using Brian’s attraction to her doing her dead husband a disservice?

No. Maggie left her hand in place. She’d have to keep Brian Burnett onside if she were to clear George’s name. And if the business took off, she’d no doubt have to call on Brian’s services again.

“I know. All the same, will you do that?”

“I can’t promise. To tell the truth, I…”

“You know I wouldn’t ask unless…”

Brian looked down at the small fingers clasped in his. He sighed. “I know.”

“Thanks, Brian,” she flashed a smile. “I really appreciate…”

“Oh,” he let go of her hand, reached into an inside pocket, “I almost forgot.” He drew out a scrap of paper. “I’ve got a phone number.”

Maggie’s heart beat faster. “For Craigmyle?” “Yup.” He handed her the paper. “Might not be in service, but it’s worth a try.”

Innocence

Kym sat comatose on the settee, the kids lolling at her feet. She’d had a fair old bevvy while she was out, and that on top of the pills she’d swallowed first thing. Her eyelids drooped. The doorbell jolted her back to reality. She looked at Fatboy. “That’ll be someone for Kyle.”

“Well,” he didn’t budge, “don’t look at me.” “Aw, come on. I’ve only just got in.”

“Your call, anything to do with these kids.” Kym hauled herself upright. “My call?” She engaged Fatboy through bloodshot eyes. “Aye, it’s my call right enough. But only when it suits you, pal. The rest of the time, goodness knows what you’re doing up here with them.”

“Don’t be daft,” Fatboy assumed an expression of supreme innocence. “We’ve only been watching TV.”

“Telly, is it?” With that she staggered to her feet and lurched down the hall. There was the sound of the chain being slid off its housing, the front door opening and banging shut again.

“Cheers, big fella.” Willie swaggered in, Lewis at his heels. Fatboy’s face darkened. “Who’s this?”

Willie waved a hand. “Fatboy, meet Lewis. Lewis,” he turned, “say hello to Fatboy.” Lewis looked at his feet. “Hello.”

“What the hell’s he doing here?”

“He wis jist…”

Lewis raised his head. “Ah’m chummin’ Wullie the day.” Fatboy threw Willie an evil look. “Better not be getting in the way of business.”

“Naw,” Willie rushed to answer. “Ah’ve hud a crackin’ day,” he grinned. “Near ran oot o’ gear. Nipped back here fur mair supplies. Ah bumped inta Lewis on ma way ower. We’re in the same class,” he added by way of explanation.

Fatboy eyed the newcomer. He was big for his age. Limpid brown eyes under a dark buzz cut. Large hands and feet. A solid roll of fat where his waist should have been.

Jeered

“What’s your claim to fame, then?” he addressed Lewis. The lad lowered his chin. “Cat got your tongue?” Fatboy started forward. “I asked you a question.”

“Loon’s a ha’penny short o’ a shilling.”

“You shut your mouth,” he barked at Willie. Fatboy swivelled back to Lewis. “Well?” Lewis kept his head down. He shuffled his feet. Finally, “Naethin’,” he muttered.

“Nothing?” Fatboy jeered. “Oh, come on, you can do better than that.” Willie jabbed an elbow in the boy’s ribs. “Lewis is the porn king, are ye no, pal?”

Lewis looked up, his face scarlet. Fatboy grinned. “You a fan, then?”

“Aye,” Lewis offered a vacant smile. “Anything special?”

“Well…” Sideways look. “There wis this video…” “Dinna listen tae him,” Willie interjected. “Sits aw nicht watchin’ Goth movies.”

“That right?”

“Aye.” The boy’s expression didn’t alter. “Shame,” Fatboy retorted. “I know some cracking sites.” “Ye dae?” Lewis regarded him with awe. “Don’t I just?” Fatboy made an expansive gesture. “Something for every taste.” He grinned. “You could swing past my place sometime, if you want. Take a look.”

“Ye kiddin’ me?” The boy’s eyes popped. “No.” The grin vanished from Fatboy’s face. “Here,” he pulled an envelope from an inside pocket. “I’ll write down the address.”

More tomorrow.