The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
Maggie looked hang-dog. Her encounter with Fatboy had frightened the wits out of her
Wilma was struggling to keep up. “Hang on. Brian Burnett? How does he come into this?” “I took the kids to his place. Willie Meston was so desperate to avoid any contact with the law, I thought maybe Brian might be able to help.
“He was pretty shocked…” Maggie yawned, “when he discovered what the boys had been up to. And to top that, Lewis was able to fill us in on the drug dealer.”
Wilma brightened, “So you got a result after all?” “And how? Seems the guy is not only dug in to that flat I’ve had my eye on – the one Kyle goes to the child minder. But he’s had Lewis round to his own place to watch porn movies.”
“What a lowlife!”
“And as if that wasn’t enough, there seem to have been some very odd things going on in Esplanade Court. Anyhow, Brian was a big help. Smoothed the path for us at Queen Street.”
Wilma grinned. “Didn’t I tell you he had the hots for you?” Maggie grimaced. “Still, I counted myself lucky to get my statement in without running into Chisolm.” “So you all went down there together?” “Brian took the kids. I followed.”
“Did you now?” Wilma threw her a quizzical look. She buried her nose in her wine glass. “Maggie!”
Glowered
“As a matter of fact,” she raised her head. “I nipped back to Seaton first. Thought I’d check out that flat.” “You reckon that was a good idea?” “We-ell,” Maggie looked hang-dog. Her encounter with Fatboy had frightened the wits out of her. “The dealer, was he there?”
“Yes. Shouldn’t have been, but the child minder had gone missing.”
“So what did the guy have to say for himself?” “Oh,” she looked away, “not a lot. And I couldn’t have been in there long before the police came crashing in, complete with enforcer, and took the pair of us down to Queen Street.”
“Maggie Laird,” Wilma tittered, “that’s some going.” Maggie glowered. “What d’you mean?”
“Well, first you’ve had uniform at your door. Next thing you’re being escorted down the nick by the boys in black, visors an all.”
She ignored this. “What I can’t understand is who set that up. I mean, Brian wouldn’t have had time, and…” Wilma’s nose twitched. “It’s not funny.” Her shoulders started to heave. “Wil-ma!” She was laughing now, mouth wide, head thrown back. “Stop it.”
Wilma covered her face with her hands, but her shoulders continued to shake.
“What I can’t work out,” Maggie ran on, “is how the police managed to turn up, complete with search warrant, at the very moment when…?”
“When, what?” Concern was etched on Wilma’s face. “Did something happen in that flat, Maggie?”
She shrugged. “As I was saying, it couldn’t have been Brian, and…” Her eyes met Wilma’s. Sharply, Wilma turned her head away. “It was you, wasn’t it?” She turned back. “What makes you think that?” “You’ve got that guilty look on your face. Have you been spying on me, Wilma Harcus?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know they were in black, with visors, the lot that took us away?”
Wilma shrugged. “That’s what a drugs raid looks like.”
“I never said it was a drugs raid.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I did not. Wilma, I’ll ask you again, have you been spying on me?”
“Not spying. Shadowing, mebbe?” she ventured. Then “If you must know, I was mindin’ yer back.”
“Why on earth would you…?”
Representation
Wilma cut Maggie short. “You’ve had me scared half to death, Maggie Laird. And tonight, when I saw you go in… And then you didn’t come out again… I nearly had a heart attack. Oh, Christ,” she banged a hand to her forehead, “I’ve put my foot in it again.”
Maggie drew herself up. “How long has this been going on?”
“Off and on. Ever since you forgot your phone.” “You’ve got a nerve.”
“Aye,” Wilma countered, “I have. It’s one of the reasons we make a good team.” Hastily, she changed the subject. “What about the kids?”
“I never saw them after they went off with Brian. The police would have had to wait for legal representation before they could be interviewed, I suppose. And get the mothers in.”
“No dads?”
“Not a one to be seen. What d’you think will happen to the kids now?”
“Most likely get taken into care,” Wilma slurred, her eyes heavy with fatigue.
“And once that bunch of do-gooders from Social Services get involved, there’s no telling where those weans will end up.”
“But it’s not as if the boys did anything wrong. I mean, Lucy was most likely already dead when they found her. The rest you can put down to… oh, I don’t know, kids do such random things.
“I suppose they were culpable in not ringing the police straight away, but the poor girl could have been lying there for goodness knows how long. Those kids were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Well,” Wilma covered her friend’s free hand with her own, “that surveillance practice of yours in Seaton fairly paid off.
“If you hadn’t acted on your instincts and chased up the drugs angle, you’d never have found out about the other thing and the police might still be going round in circles. Makes you a proper private investigator now, don’t you think?”
Maggie gave a huge yawn. “If you say so. What about you, though, getting Brannigan to own up to perjury?”
Wilma grinned, “that was some sport.” “I can imagine.” “Don’t give me that face.”
“I’m not. You did well, there, Wilma. And we’ve travelled a fair distance together, you and me. But…” Her face clouded suddenly. “There’s a way to go yet, before I’ll get justice for George.”
Careless
“Christopher – is it all right if I call you that?” The lad they called Fatboy leaned back in his seat. “You can call me anything you like,” he answered with a careless shrug.
Brian pursed his lips. He could see this was going to be a bummer. Chisolm had wanted to put someone else on it, but Brian had argued his corner. He wanted this one for Maggie.
“Well,” he responded smoothly, “Christopher will do for now. So, Christopher, perhaps you’d care to tell me what you were doing in a seventh-floor flat at Esplanade Court in Seaton?”
Fatboy eyed the detective. “No comment.” Inwardly, Brian sighed. “How would you respond if I told you that a quantity of drugs and a large sum of money were found in that flat?”
“No comment.”
Not to mention the implement Brian had been briefed on. X marks the spot. Once again, the words ratcheted through his head. And a mountain of empty Calpol bottles. He wondered what else the guy had been up to.
More tomorrow.