As she fought to regain her breath, she heard a door open. She jolted upright

Cross Purpose: Episode 62

Maggie glanced at her watch, hoping to call Willie’s bluff, “But it’s not five o’clock yet.” Gotcha! She knew from Ryan that his mum worked full-time. Reckoned it would be nearer six before she’d be home. Esplanade Court had to be where Willie’s supplier was based – how else could a 10-year-old source the supplies, handle large sums of money?

Willie threw a sly glance over his shoulder. “She’s gettin aff early the nicht.” He resumed his climb.

“It’s one thing you getting into trouble,” Maggie panted as she passed the fourth-floor landing, “it’s quite another involving other people.”

“Like who?”

“Like Ryan. He’s been helping you, hasn’t he?” “Helping?” Willie’s face was blank. “What wi’?” “With the druggies.”

“Dinna ken what ye’re talkin’ aboot.” “Ryan’s your runner, isn’t he?” Maggie persisted. “Runner?” Willie sneered.

“Lookout? Footman? Whatever you want to call him. He was on the door at Northview Towers,” Maggie fought for breath. “I’ve seen him other places too.”

“Yer talkin through a hole in yer heid.”

Opportunity

“You sure?” Maggie stepped sideways as a woman struggled downwards with an infant in a buggy and a toddler by the hand.

“Aye.” Willie used the opportunity to lengthen the distance between them. “And what about Lewis? He’s been here too. I’ve seen him.”

Willie stopped in his tracks. “Dae ye no’ get it?” He turned. “We come tae pick up Kyle, whichever wan o’ us can dae it.”

The sign for the fifth floor passed in a blur, a tangle of graffiti. “Which floor did you say it was?”

“Ah didna. Now button it. Yer nippin’ ma heid.” “I saw you go into Northview Towers, Willie. And the other tower blocks. And I saw the druggies go in after you.”

“What dis that prove?” Call his bluff. “I’ve got photographs.”

“So?”

“I could take them to the police.”

Willie stopped. Looked down on her. “You dae that. Ah’m no feart o’ thon community bobby. A do-gooder, ma da says, jist like them social workers.” He started up the stairs again.

“I’m not talking about the local police office, Willie, I’m talking about Queen Street.”

“Ah’m no feart o’ them neither.”

“But if you were to get in trouble…”

Willie scoffed. “Ah’m aye in trouble.” “Serious trouble. What would your parents say?” “Ma ma widna be bothered.”

Maggie seized her opportunity. “Your dad, then?” The boy blanched. By the time they reached the sixth floor, Maggie was mesmerised by the bright green soles of Willie’s trainers.

“The police would want to know the names of your…” her breathing was agonised, “clients. Your supplier too. They’d investigate where he was getting the drugs from and…”

Willie stopped dead. “Ye widna.”

“What?”

“Tak yer photies tae the filth?”

Bargain hard. “Not if you’re prepared to help me, Willie.”

“Help ye? How?”

“I want you to get hold of Ryan too. Meet me later. Somewhere quiet, so we can have a proper talk.”

“Bit ah’ve Kyle tae pick up, and git hame fur ma tea.”

“Tomorrow, then. How about I pick you up at Codona’s at half past six?”

Willie shrugged. “Dinna ken.”

They reached the seventh-floor landing. Winded, Maggie bent over, splayed her hands on her knees. As she fought to regain her breath, she heard a door open. She jolted upright. Caught a glimpse of a figure in a sweatshirt and trackie bottoms. Strained forward.

“Hi, Kym,” she heard Willie say. “Kyle here?” Dammit! So the lad might be telling the truth after all. She watched as Willie’s small figure disappeared through the door.

Desperate, Maggie summoned a breath. “Willie,” she called out. “Tomorrow. Six-thirty. Don’t forget.”

Awful

In the briefing room, the Major Incident Team sat round the table. The meeting had been timed for 7pm. Susan Strachan yawned. She was supposed to be on day shift that week. Should have finished at four. She rolled her head to the side, first one way, then the other.

Her stomach rumbled. Bugger! She’d planned to nip round to Markies, pick up a ready meal in the food hall. Something tasty. She’d had an awful day. Now it looked like it was going to be yet another takeaway.

“Let’s get on,” DI Alan Chisolm straightened his cuffs. “What have we got on the kids. Dunn? Elrick?”

Douglas was first to jump in. “Steady progress, sir. I’ve been into the schools, primary and secondary: Tillydrone, Linksfield. Had good co-operation…” He hesitated.

“Do I sense a ‘but’ coming?

Dunn nodded. “No feedback just yet.” “What about you, Elrick?”

“I’ve been c-concentrating on S-seaton, sir.” Willie Elrick had a tendency to stutter when he was put on the spot.

“Turn up anything?”

“N-not y-yet. But there are three or four gangs of k-kids about the ages the d-door-to-doors have thrown up. They hang out round the high-r-rises. Mebbe when they get f-fed up, take their b-bikes up School Road to K-king Street and St Machar Drive.” “Good stuff. Anything from you, Wood?” “Well…” Dave Wood twiddled his pencil. “I thought I was onto something with the arrangement of the body, but…”

Procedure

The inspector raised a quizzical eyebrow. “It turned out to be a dead end.” There was a titter from the far end of the table. “If you’ll pardon the pun, sir.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Chisolm scowled. “A young woman is…”

There was a hesitant tap on the door. A young WPC peeked in. “I’ve got the final report back from Pathology, sir.”

The inspector wrinkled his brow. “Not before sodding time.” He’d never known a department take so long to produce a final report. Way before he’d come to Queen Street, Allan Chisolm had heard that Alec Gourlay was scrupulous.

Nonetheless, this was taking procedure too far. The inspector made a mental note to raise the matter with his superiors at some future date.

Still, the constable hung back.

“Well,” Chisolm rasped, “bring it here.” Gingerly, the young woman advanced across the room. She slid a large envelope across the desk.

The DI extracted the report from the envelope and skimmed through it, casting the sheets of paper aside one by one. From time to time he’d pause. Pick up one of the papers he’d discarded. Check something.

From beneath lowered lids, Brian observed his senior officer, trying to gauge the DI’s reaction. Other than the occasional slight wrinkling of the brow, there was none.

More tomorrow.

Cross Purpose (£8.99) is the first in Claire MacLeary’s Harcus & Laird crime trilogy, featuring an unlikely pair of middle aged female private investigators. The second, Burn Out, and the third, Runaway, are available now. All published by Saraband Publishing https:// saraband.net