The place smelled disconsolate, a sad amalgam of floor cleaner, stale chip fat and old smoke

The Hollywood Café in Holburn Street was 70 years past its sell-by date. Maggie pushed the door and went in. The interior was cramped, the front shop bisected by a glass counter, behind which old-fashioned sweetie jars were arrayed on tall shelving, the seating area to the rear crammed with high-backed booths.

She peered into the gloomy interior. Her spirits sank. There was nobody there.

She turned on her heel. Thought the better of it. Turned back. She rose on the balls of her feet and craned her neck.

At the very rear, the top of a dark head was only just discernible. Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. She should have realised.

See without being seen – wasn’t that what George always said?

“Jimmy?” She advanced down the aisle between the booths. Just as she’d given up hope of getting a result from her visit to the club, Craigmyle had got in touch.

Keeping his head down, the man rose halfway to his feet. He wasn’t as she remembered: leaner, shavenheaded, a rash of dark stubble on his jaw.

“Maggie?” He grasped her hand. “Good to see you.” Jimmy Craigmyle slid back into a corner.

Disconsolate

She dropped onto the banquette opposite. It was upholstered in scarlet leather, discoloured and torn, the rents crudely patched with curling strips of carpet tape.

The place even smelled disconsolate, a sad amalgam of floor cleaner, stale chip fat and old smoke.

“Can’t say the same,” she worked to keep her voice even. “No, well. I’m really sorry. That business…” “I looked for you at the funeral.”

“I was there,” Craigmyle said. “How could I not? Nipped in at the back,” he continued. “Ducked out before the crowd. Thought, in the circumstances…” “I understand.”

“We were buddies, George and me. You know how it is in the Force.” He scrunched his face. “I might not have been who he’d have picked. But you get stuck with someone, you learn to rub along.”

“I suppose.”

“Good turnout, wasn’t there? Did George proud.” Maggie’s mouth turned down. She could picture, still, George’s unadorned coffin.

“I’ll come straight to the point. I left my number at the club because I need you to tell me about Brannigan.”

“That **?” Craigmyle used the crudest of terms then put a hand to his mouth. “Sorry. What about him?”

“Everything.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m trying to clear George.”

“Why now? I mean, wasn’t the time for action back when…”

Maggie sighed. “I’ve myself to blame for that.” “How come?”

“Oh,” she grimaced. “That’s ancient history. Let’s just say I’m hell-bent on restoring my husband’s good name.”

“And how d’you propose to do that?”

“I’ve taken on the agency, for a start.” “You’re kidding.”

“No. Deadly serious.”

“And how’s that going to help?”

“Pay the bills, for one.” A tight smile played on her lips. “Plus I hoped, if I’m honest with you, Jimmy, it might give me some ideas.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“How to conduct surveillance, investigate…” “Listen, Maggie,” her companion leaned across the table. “Leave that sort of stuff to the professionals.”

Grimaced

“Like who? I hope you don’t mean the police force, Jimmy Craigmyle, because it didn’t do a damn thing to vindicate George.”

“Like me,” Jimmy countered. “Look, I know George was never that sold on me. Saw me as a bit of a fly man. As for you? I know fine well you never liked me.”

“That’s not…”

“No need to deny it. Not now we’re in the same boat, you and me.”

“Same boat?” Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. “Hardly.” “Near as,” Craigmyle insisted. “Wife threw me out. She’s put up with me for years, but having to resign like that was the last straw.”

Maggie grimaced. “At least you’ve got a wife.” “Lot of use that is. She doesn’t pick up my calls. Won’t let me see my kids. Started off OK, but now it’s any excuse.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Don’t know if it’s too late for the marriage, but I’d do anything to get my kids back. That’s the reason I’m working in Windmill Brae.”

“I thought…”

“Thought I wouldn’t be able to land anything better than a bouncer’s job,” Craigmyle threw her a bitter look. “That’s what they all think. Down Queen Street, anyhow. And I’m happy for them to think that way. Let’s me get on with the business in hand.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I might not be the man George Laird was,” he flexed his arms, “but I’m determined to nail that wee bastard that ran rings round the pair of us.” “Bobby Brannigan?”

“Spot on.”

“But how?”

“The club…”

“I was gutted when the barman said it was your night off.”

“Belongs to a guy Gilruth.”

“Yes,” Maggie winced. “His reputation precedes him.”

“I’ve managed to inveigle my way in,” Craigmyle lowered his voice. “Been biding my time. Keeping my nose clean. I don’t have the run of the place. Not yet. But there’s this back room…” He met her gaze. “Something’s going on in there, that’s for sure.”

Convinced

“Drugs, you mean?”

“That, and the rest. I’m convinced if I can crack that, I can rubbish Brannigan’s testimony.”

“But you’re an ex-cop, Jimmy. Surely they’re…” “Suspicious?” he sneered. “No way. A cop? Yes. A bent cop? Come on in, the water’s lovely. I could be useful to them, don’t you see?”

“Mmm,” Maggie nodded.

“And if I can get that wee b ***** d to admit he perjured himself in the witness box, there’s a chance we could get the case reopened.”

“Oh,” she felt light-headed all of a sudden. “And both your names could be cleared, you and George.”

Craigmyle snorted. “I don’t care about that. My name was mud before any of this ever happened. No. All I want is to see my kids again.”

“But it’s not just Brannigan’s testimony that caused the case to collapse. There was the interview. George said…”

“The tape that got turned off?”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence, then: “I’ll hold my hands up to that.”

Bingo!

More tomorrow.