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<h2>8</h2>
<p>As Jack Fallon walked out of the coffee shop down the lane,
Lorna Breck was on her lunch break from the children's library
which stood on the corner of Strathleven Street, an old building
built at the turn of the century with money from Andrew Carnegie's
foundation. The children's section was half a landing up from the
basement stack-rooms, a dungeon of a place unlike the bright and
well-lit extension that had been built upstairs for adults. Lorna
thought they should have added something for the children, but
instead, they had to line up by the wrought iron gate at four
o'clock until she came with the big bunch of keys to unlock the
heavy old thing and let them down the narrow stone steps in single
file.</p>
<p>There was atmosphere in the old place, but it was musty and
claustrophobic. She had persuaded Keith Conran, her boss to clear
out a small store to let the children use it as a reading room. The
negotiations for that little improvement had taken months, but she
had eventually won. Her next fight was to get a fire door
somewhere. The little children's library was a death trap, with
only one narrow door in. Lorna kept a big extinguisher next to her
desk just in case.</p>
<p>It was two days since her terrifying experience at Gemma's
party. The memory of it hung around her like the big black clouds
now piling in from the west, heavy and sombre. She couldn't explain
what had happened, and that frightened her. She could recollect
nothing of what she'd said or done when she'd thrown the fit, as
Cathy had described it, or whatever it was she'd had. She'd just
opened her eyes with a terrible feeling of dread and a dreadful
feeling of certainty.</p>
<p>It was only afterwards that Gemma and Cathy had told her what
she'd said. She recalled nothing. She'd read about things like
that. It could mean anything. What scared her was that it might be
the signs of a brain tumour, and that scared her a
<em>lot.</em></p>
<p>Lorna's mother had read tea-leaves at family parties and she had
picked it up as she went along. She knew there was nothing in it,
except that sometimes when she looked at the brown patterns, she
got a little tickle of feeling, nothing more than a <em>shade</em>.
It was fun. Or it had been. She had never, not <em>ever</em> had
any real sensation of prescience.</p>
<p>Under her sleeve, the strange blister itched. The swelling had
died down within hours, leaving a tea-stain mark along her forearm.
The downy hairs there were still curled, looking as though they'd
been scorched. She couldn't remember any sensation of any pain no
matter how she tried.</p>
<p>The story in the newspaper made her cringe with embarrassment.
Keith, known to all the children as Conran the librarian, had asked
her about it and she avoided a direct answer. Some of the other
girls who worked in the adult library tried to persuade her to read
their palms and she'd abruptly refused. The thought of another
episode made her recoil.</p>
<p>Lorna was outside the grocer's shop by the bakery which at one
time had been the cobbler's business run by old Hungry Sandy. She'd
put her bag down on the ground while she counted the money in her
purse. There was a skirt in Peggy Mason's shop which she'd had her
eye on for two weeks and she was hoping it had been reduced, as
much of Peggy's clothes were after they'd hung on the lines for a
while. As she bent over the opened purse the numbness flowed over
her.</p>
<p>It was as if she'd slid without a sound, without a ripple, into
a cold pool. The noise of the traffic in the street and the people
passing by, the normal busy sounds of River Street just after
noontime, faded away slowly, as if somebody had closed a door on
them, leaving her inside a little personal bubble of space.</p>
<p>A high pitched whine, like a summer insect, tickled deep inside
her ears. She could hear the faint sound of blood pounding in
there. Lorna felt her hand slowly clench. The snap-clip of her
purse closed over with the sound of a dull footfall. A bus passed
by on the street, its engine a deep almost inaudible hum. Somebody
walked in front of her and looked at her, the passer-by a pale
ghost moving with snail-like speed, like a body drifting in
water.</p>
<p>The whine in her ears became a buzz and underneath it Lorna
heard the whispering chatter. It sounded at first like starlings on
a roof, the way they gather in flocks, whirring in black
constellations in the air before settling to argue amongst
themselves. She turned to the left, so slowly it took an age. The
chattering got louder, like words which she could not make out. The
numbness spread down her arms and rippled over her ribs. She turned
and saw herself reflected back from the grocer's window. Somebody
had put up a small blackboard offering prices of apples. Lorna
could see her face, a pale imitation, wraithlike inside the glass.
Her mouth was half-open, her eyes wide. She tried to think and the
thought would not come. She felt as if she was wading through
treacle.</p>
<p>Something spoke inside her head.</p>
<p>"<em>I see you</em>."</p>
<p>"What?" she tried to say. All she heard was a rumble deep in her
chest.</p>
<p>"<em>Eyes to see. Ears to hear."</em> The voice was the scratch
of fingernails on rough stone.</p>
<p>Lorna blinked. Inside the glass, her reflection did the same, a
slow, puzzled blink that looked sleepy in shady mirroring.</p>
<p>She saw her mouth open further. It was like watching someone
from inside a dream. Something passed by on the street behind her
and she saw the movement, then it was blotted out by a shadow in
the blackboard, billowing in like a cloud. The glass wavered, or
seemed to, and her reflection winked out. The chittering had faded
inside her head, dwindled to a scratchy rustle. She dreamily felt
as though he'd stepped out of the world, out of her <em>self</em>
for a moment.</p>
<p>The blackboard disappeared in rippling shadow, like the surface
of a river pool deep in a forest. The oscillations jarred, hardened
and then with a weird, dizzying <em>twist</em> they stopped and
Lorna saw</p>
<p><em>a street lamp</em>. Orange light fuzzed by a hard frost. She
shivered, felt the cold. Someone was walking down a narrow alley.
The sound of heels on flagstones. She recognised the place, or
thought she did. At least it looked familiar. As she turned her
head, the scene swung with the movement, a cinematic pan. The
orange light faded away. Up above a window opened and a faint
voice, unintelligible behind a clatter of pots and pans, called
out. The footsteps came closer. Lorna heard the whimper of a baby
crying, and in the waking dream, she turned, though she knew no
muscle on her body moved. She was seeing this with her
<em>mind.</em> A figure came walking towards her, passed by, hidden
by shadows. A pale face turned to look curiously at her. It was a
girl, a young woman. In her arms, a baby held tight, close to her
shoulder. Lorna saw a look of surprise, maybe curiosity, then the
woman was gone.</p>
<p>A feeling of apprehension welled up inside her, bubbling like
tar.</p>
<p>Something was going to happen. She <em>knew</em> it. Something
<em>bad</em>.</p>
<p>The woman moved off along the alley, away from the light, turned
beyond the hard stone corner of a building. From up above, Lorna
heard a harsh scraping sound, a scuttling noise, like stones being
rubbed together. She raised her head and the scene swung dizzily.
Up on the wall, a shadow flicked with spidery speed, disappeared
into a deeper shadow. The noise continued, an abrasive scrabble
that continued into the shadow. It reached the corner, elongated
and then wriggled round and out of sight.</p>
<p>The anxiety twisted, tightened to sudden dread.</p>
<p>Lorna went down the alley, seeing the buildings tilt with the
odd <em>mental</em> movement, reached the corner, turned it...</p>
<p>And the shadow came down from the wall.</p>
<p>She heard herself scream, yet there was no sound. The woman was
knocked to the ground by something that shot out from the shadow
and struck her such a blow that she simply flopped. A dark shape
reached and grabbed. There was a jumble of movement and then a
piercing cry, mirrored by an even higher screech. The woman
scrambled to her feet, her screech of terror and anger
reverberating from the narrow walls of the alley. She ran at the
shadow. Something reached out again and smashed into the side of
her face. She dropped like a stone, but this time she did not get
up again. A dark pool quickly spread out from under her head,
casting no reflection. The shadow shrank back into the wall, oozed
into deeper shade and seemed to flow upwards in a liquid
wriggle.</p>
<p>In a flickering moment, Lorna heard the sound of a baby crying,
far above her head. She tried to look but she could see nothing.
her eyes were drawn back down to the alley. The black bundle
huddled on the ground. Just beyond it, the pool was widening on the
frosted ground, oozing far enough now to catch the orange light of
the next street lamp. In the numb bubble of observation, Lorna's
eyes looked up again. The shadow was climbing quickly, again with
that spidery speed. It swerved away from the edge of a window from
which light described a solid rectangle, then moved upwards. It
turned and Lorna got the impression of eyes looking at her from
within the oily darkness. She felt her whole being shrink back and
as she did, the thick, gloomy shape simply peeled off the wall
above her. Something that looked like a head turned and two eyes
caught the orange light. They whirled, altering the colour to
something that looked sick and suppurating. Lorna's fear screeched
inside her, a wire wound up to breaking point. The scuttling sound
came louder. Something small and white flopped inside the shade,
like a broken doll. Another something else, wet and warm,
splattered close by her with a small smacking sound. She felt a big
scream try to force itself out of her throat, then realised with
utter panic that no sound would come.</p>
<p>The thing, the shade, shadow, whatever it was came down the
wall, impossibly fast, jointed yet liquid. It hit the ground,
bounced and leapt towards her. A face from a nightmare, worse than
<em>any</em> nightmare came looming up at her. A mouth opened and
black spiked teeth glistened wetly.</p>
<p>Such was Lorna's terror that the scream building up behind her
locked throat broke through in a sudden explosion of noise. The
bubble of numb horror burst around her and the shadowed thing
winked out in an instant. The scream went on and on and on.</p>
<p>The noise came from so close that Jack almost stumbled off the
pavement as he walked quickly towards the street corner. It was
high-pitched enough to vibrate the thick glass of the grocer's
display window.</p>
<p>It happened just as he was walking past the fruit shop, like an
air-raid siren let off only inches from his ear, but higher than
that, the sound of a stone saw cutting brick. As he jerked round, a
slight girl came wheeling towards him, her face drained so white
she looked like a corpse, except for the wide open mouth and the
incredible noise that came out of it. She barged into him, half
falling, eyes gaping and so startling grey they seemed blind. Her
mouth was stretched wide enough for him to have counted her teeth
if there had been time. She stumbled and began to fall. Jack
reflexively reached and caught her, twisting himself to make sure
she didn't sprawl to the ground, and in the same moment knocked an
old woman's trolley to the pavement.</p>
<p>The girl's scream stopped abruptly. Her face went completely
slack and she sagged into him like a puppet with cut strings. All
the strength just went from her and her knees buckled. Jack got a
hand under her armpit and kept her upright, head swinging this way
and that, looking for a place to let the girl sit, or lie down. The
old woman whose trolley had been kicked to the far edge of the
pavement retrieved a fallen turnip and a cabbage which had been
inadvertently dribbled twenty feet down the road and then back
again by passing feet, came up to him and squinted through rheumy
eyes.</p>
<p>"You want to watch where you're going son," she said
indignantly, then added: "I hope your girl gets better."</p>
<p>Jack nodded, putting an apology into the short movement.</p>
<p>"Take her into the shop, son. They'll give her a glass of
water."</p>
<p>The girl was shivering against him, as if she was racked by a
fever, but against him she felt cold. He braced himself, swung her
up with an easy movement and elbowed his way past the gawpers into
the shop. The door swung back and he carried her straight past the
queue of people waiting with baskets of fruit and vegetables, all
staring with the blank curiosity of people who know something has
happened that they've missed.</p>
<p>A woman behind the counter asked if she could help him. Jack
said he needed a glass of water and a phone. He didn't stop, but
continued through to the back of the shop. As expected, he found a
sink cluttered with several cups. One or two of them were
clean.</p>
<p>There was a seat in the corner. Jack was considering whether to
try to balance the girl on it when the blonde woman came through
the narrow door.</p>
<p>"What's the matter?" she asked brusquely.</p>
<p>"I don't know. Something wrong with this girl."</p>
<p>"What? She faint or something?"</p>
<p>"Looks like it. Can you get a cup of water?"</p>
<p>The woman bustled to the sink, letting the door swing behind
her. It was her busy hour and it looked as if she could have done
without the interruption, but she rinsed a glass quickly, let the
water run for a while to let it get cold and turned towards
Jack.</p>
<p>"Well, put the wee thing down then," she said, her voice
softening down. "Oh my, would you look at her colour. Is she
expecting?"</p>
<p>Jack shrugged. "Damned if I know. I never met her before."</p>
<p>The shopkeeper gave him a quizzical look and Jack eased the girl
down to the seat. She was beginning to come round a little, but her
eyes still looked blind and dreamy, as if she was coming out of an
anaesthetic.</p>
<p>She gave a little hiccup and some colour same back into her
cheeks. The woman handed Jack the cup and he held it up to the
girl's lips.</p>
<p>"Here," he said, "Take a drop."</p>
<p>He tilted the glass and let some water dribble between her slack
lips. Some dripped onto the girl's lap, but enough got into her
mouth. The lips twitched and the girl's throat worked spasmodically
as she swallowed, then coughed. She came awake almost immediately,
yes blinking and watery, looking around, obviously completely
bewildered.</p>
<p>"Where....?" she started to say.</p>
<p>"It's alright dear. You've just taken a bad turn. You'll be
fine," the shopkeeper said. Satisfied that this was not a life and
death emergency, she gave the girl a smile, turned, and pushed her
way back into the shop.</p>
<p>Jack held up the cup and the girl took another drink, this time
deliberately. He kept tilting it as she demanded more and continued
until she'd finished the lot. Her colour was coming back
rapidly.</p>
<p>"What happened?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.</p>
<p>"I don't know. You let out a scream that would wake the dead and
started to fall. I managed to catch you before you took a dive for
the pavement. I had to carry you in here. Are you on any kind of
pills?"</p>
<p>"No," the girl said. She was looking down, eyebrows knotted in
concentration. She still hadn't looked at Jack.</p>
<p>"I don't know..." she started to say, paused, then changed
direction. "Something happened. I saw something."</p>
<p>"Like what?" Jack didn't have a clue what she was talking
about.</p>
<p>"It was in the dark. Something coming." Her brows knit further,
then she shook her head. "Oh I don't know. I can't remember. I
thought I saw an awful thing and it gave me a fright."</p>
<p>"You sure you're not on something?"</p>
<p>"No I'm sure," she said quickly and for the first time she
raised her eyes. They were still as startling metallic grey as they
had been outside the shop, but now they held expression. As soon as
she looked at Jack she flinched back and let out a small gasp. Her
hand jerked up towards her face.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.</p>
<p>The girl was staring at him. Her eyes were huge, winter pools in
a stormy sea. Her mouth opened slowly. She looked terrified.</p>
<p>"Are you going to faint again?" he asked.</p>
<p>She shook her head dumbly, and her mouth closed again. Her eyes
were scanning him as if searching for something. She looked
absolutely horrified, or terrified, though he couldn't decide
which. For a second he returned her gaze. Then she seemed to snap
out of it.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought I..." she stopped again. Jack
wondered if she ever finished a sentence. "I don't know what I
thought. Oh Christ, I don't know what's happening."</p>
<p>"Do you want me to call a doctor? I can take you to the health
centre if you like."</p>
<p>"No thanks. I'll be fine."</p>
<p>"You don't look that fine to me. Where do you stay?"</p>
<p>"Clydeshore Avenue, across the bridge," Lorna said. "But I have
to get back to work."</p>
<p>"And where's that?" he insisted.</p>
<p>"The library. Just round at Strathleven."</p>
<p>"You sure you'll be alright?"</p>
<p>The girl nodded. She brought both hands up in front of her face
and breathed in deeply, still looking at Jack over the tips of her
fingers. He didn't know whether it was him or not, but the way
she'd looked at him at first made him feel he must have developed
some gross disfigurement, like leprosy. Now she looked at him with
something that looked very like fear.</p>
<p>"Don't worry, he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a
policeman."</p>
<p>Lorna nodded. "I know. It's not that. Its..." she left another
sentence hanging, then completed another. "Look. I have to go
now."</p>
<p>She got to her feet, stumbled a little. Jack reached out a hand
and grabbed hers. As he did she jerked as if she'd been given a
heavy jolt and her face snapped round towards him. Her big eyes had
gone blind again, but this time they looked as if they were staring
right inside him. She made another strangled little sound in her
throat and pulled her hand away. As the contact broke, Jack felt a
tiny physical <em>wrench</em>.</p>
<p>She brushed past him, murmuring her thanks, pushed her way out
through the door, then past the crowd of people waiting to buy
vegetables and out into the street. Jack stood for a moment, slack
jawed, wondering what on earth that had all been about. He followed
her through, more slowly, his face a picture of puzzlement. By the
time he got to the pavement she was gone. He looked over the heads
of the passers by, quite easily because of his height, but there
was no sign of her. He hadn't even asked the girl's name. All he
could really recall about her were those fathomless grey eyes and
the look of fear in them when she'd glanced up at him. Jack was
sure he didn't look that scary. He shrugged and walked along River
Street.</p>
<hr />
<p>Robbie Cattanach had said he'd met him in Mac's bar, which was a
hole of a place as far as comfort was concerned and rough and ready
as far as the regulars went, but it was close by and warm enough
and the Guinness was poured slowly and allowed to stand awhile
before Peter Hollinger, whose brother used to run the bar in Arden
a few miles down the road, would set it down before a paying
customer.</p>
<p>The young pathologist was not in sight when Jack pushed his way
through the crowd of lunchtime drinkers. There were a couple of
teenagers playing darts in the corner. Jack recognised the set of
their shoulders and their shocks of sandy hair as members of the
ever expanding Buist clan. One of them nodded to Jack, and the big
man gave him a wink. The younger generations were settling down, he
thought, remembering his father with a warm and slightly painful
glow.</p>
<p>He ordered a pint and leaned his elbow on the bar, making sure
he missed a puddle of beer. Hollinger, a bear of a man who ran a
civilised, if occasionally boisterous bar - aided by his old
shillelagh which hung beside the bottles on the gantry - let the
black stout pour slow as tar.</p>
<p>Somebody came up behind Jack and clapped him on the shoulder. He
turned, expecting to see Robbie Cattenach.</p>
<p>"Well fan my brow if it isn't Black Jack Shelack."</p>
<p>Mickey Haggerty made an exaggerated brow-fanning motion. He
stuck his hand out and gave Jack a crushing handshake that was in
complete contrast to the small man's wiry frame.</p>
<p>"How's it hanging Jake? Long time gone blind."</p>
<p>Jack remembered from childhood, and broke into a delighted grin.
"Yeah. Long time no see right enough Mickey. How's yourself?"</p>
<p>"Fair to bloody awful, but we've not died a winter yet. Here,"
he said, indicating the pint Peter Hollinger was laying down with
magnificent reverence on the bar. "Let me get that."</p>
<p>"Best offer I've had in a wheen of days," Jack said, reverting
back to his childhood slang. "So, Apache Mick. You're getting more
like Jack Palance every time I see you."</p>
<p>"That's because I've had a hard life. I've a face that's worn
out three bodies. Not like you fellas who get cushy jobs and get
your names in the papers. The last time I got that I was up for
drunk and incapable. I admitted I was drunk, but I've never been
incapable. There's a dozen women of this fair town would swear to
that, but they huckled me for it anyway. You wouldn't do that Jake,
would you?"</p>
<p>"Not if I was drinking with you. I carried you home often enough
as I recall."</p>
<p>"That's 'cause I'm just a wee <em>toaty</em> fella," Mickey
agreed amiably. Jack took a deep swallow of his beer, knowing he
shouldn't but not caring much of a damn and felt a warm glow from
his chance meeting with an old friend from the old days.</p>
<p>"Must be a couple of years since you were last in here," Mickey
ventured.</p>
<p>"Yeah. About that." Jack agreed. "It hasn't changed much."</p>
<p>Mickey winked. He'd a cheerful, well used face with prominent
cheeks and a shock of boyish fair hair.</p>
<p>"Listen, I was sorry to hear about your wife, and all that. And
your girl. Fucking awful."</p>
<p>Jack nodded, keeping his face straight. He was getting used to
this by now. "Aye, sure was."</p>
<p>The two of them studied their pints for a moment of awkward
silence, then Mickey, irrepressible at any time, chimed in.</p>
<p>"Anyway, it's good to see you, Commanche, no matter what. Life
goes on, eh?"</p>
<p>Jack looked at him and felt a reluctant grin force its way
across his face. Life goes on. Yes, he thought, sometimes it does.
Sometimes it stops dead and sometimes going on is the hardest thing
to do.</p>
<p>"So you're looking for the nutter that killed the old
biddy?"</p>
<p>"Yea. Not an easy one."</p>
<p>"Well, I hope you catch the bastard. Nice old soul she was. My
mother used to go to her a few years back. She was spot on. Told
her she was coming in to money, and the next week she took the
roll-up at the bingo and came out with two grand. Bought me a new
suit, in case I did something stupid and got married, but I pawned
it and lost the money on a horse."</p>
<p>Jack laughed for the first time that day. It was typical of
Mickey. He'd been an engineer on merchant navy boats for years,
travelling round the world, bringing home exotic tales to tell in
Mac's bar and then he'd quit travelling. Now he drove a rubbish
dump truck, a position he claimed was ideally suited to him because
it came with absolutely no authority whatsoever, allowed him to
take a day off fishing whenever he liked, and paid enough to get
him from one weekend to the other most times. He was the most
irresponsible, but probably the most genuine fellow Jack knew. He
had two real hobbies. He played snooker to almost professional
level, but not seriously enough to want to make the big time, with
the added responsibility that would bring, and an abiding interest,
for some reason, in American Indian culture. he'd been like that
ever since he was a kid in Castlebank School, and nothing had
changed.</p>
<p>"So what's the score with old Marta then. They say she was dead
for a few days."</p>
<p>"Yes. A week past Saturday."</p>
<p>Mickey frowned.</p>
<p>"That was a bummer of a night. I nearly got drowned on River
Street coming out of here. Tide was backed up and coming up the
pends from Quay Street. You could have moored boats on the
pavement. I'd a fair drink in me, 'cause I'd just won a double on
two horses at Ayr. Blew the lot. It was too heavy to carry
home."</p>
<p>"You didn't see anything on your way home," Jack asked
casually.</p>
<p>"What's this, the third degree?"</p>
<p>"Save me taking you in for questioning," Jack shot back, and
Mickey laughed.</p>
<p>"Well, I saw two young fellas on bikes come up on the pavement.
Graham Friel's boy was one of them. I remember he nearly couped me
off my feet. The water was too deep round at the corner to get
through. Looked as if they were on powerboats by the wash they were
setting up."</p>
<p>Mickey closed his eyes, thinking. "I got a light off a bloke.
Shuggy Thomson. He'd a fair skinful in him. Could hardly walk. The
buses were diverted up College Street, so I had to go along to the
bridge, and it was bloody freezing."</p>
<p>He paused for a moment, frowning.</p>
<p>"Oh, here. Now I remember. Somebody passed be just by the old
shoe shop. I can't remember the man's name, but he's a good punter.
He was in the bookie's putting bets on the same day as me. Irish, I
think. He's had a bad couple of hits on the horses, I can tell you
that, but he keeps on putting the money down."</p>
<p>Mickey stopped again. "I crossed the road. Amazing what you can
remember when you try hard. I went down Brewery lane for a pee.
That was murder, I can tell you. The wind was blowing a gale, and
if you pee into the wind, you only get your own back."</p>
<p>Jack looked at him, puzzled, and a second later he caught
Mickey's drift and laughed again.</p>
<p>"That doesn't make me a suspect, does it?" Mickey asked, trying
to keep his face straight, but unable to conceal the mischief in
his eyes.</p>
<p>"Not yet. But I'll need a witness who saw you at home."</p>
<p>"That might be difficult, for I never got home. I stayed with a
lady. Her man's working on the rigs and isn't due back for two
months, and I'm sure as hell not giving her name, and don't you be
telling my sister either."</p>
<p>Jack grinned again, but stopped when Mickey's brow drew down
again in that furrow of concentration.</p>
<p>"Wait a minute. When I came up the lane I bumped into somebody.
he was coming in the opposite direction, heading down River Street.
Who was it now," he said, taking his chin between finger and
thumb.</p>
<p>"I know. It was yon minister, Simpson. You know the man. Big in
the masons. His mug is never out of the papers. Always looks as if
he's eating shit, he's that torn-faced."</p>
<p>"Can't say I do," Jack said.</p>
<p>"Aye. He was scooting along the road in a big rush." Mickey
stopped again. "Hold on. I stood and watched him. He never even
said sorry for nearly knocking me on the face. He went down River
Street and turned into Boat Pend."</p>
<p>Suddenly Jack was all attention.</p>
<p>"You sure? That was on the Saturday night?"</p>
<p>"Dead sure. I was pissed, but I never forget. You never know
when you'll need an alibi. It was definitely him. I remember
thinking what a toffee nosed bastard he was, and a bigot besides,
but he never even looked the road I was on. Man of God? He would
have left me lying in the gutter unless I was showing my left
leg."</p>
<p>"And this other man. The one from the betting shop. Did he go
anywhere near there?"</p>
<p>"He was heading that way, but I couldn't be sure. I'll remember
his name in a while."</p>
<p>He took a big swallow of his drink, finished his beer and set
the empty glass down on the bar. Jack offered him a refill, but
Mickey shook his head.</p>
<p>"Driving all day. But if you're back in tonight, I'll take all
you're prepared to buy."</p>
<p>He reached up and clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Hope you catch
the bastard Jake. Kick the shite out of them when you do."</p>
<p>Jack said he'd think about it. He'd been thinking about it for
the past few days. By the time he finished his own beer, Robbie
Cattanach hadn't appeared. Jack toyed with the idea of another,
then decided against it. What Mickey had told him was worth
following up. He left mac's bar, turned the corner at Market
Street, and headed up to the station.</p>
<p>Superintendent Ronald Cowie had left a message for him to come
straight up to his office. The senior officer was sitting behind
his desk and did not look up as Jack came in. Jack ignored the lack
of welcome and sat himself down on a chair on the near side of the
desk.</p>
<p>"I was hoping for a progress report," Cowie said.</p>
<p>"No progress so far," Jack replied. "You've got everything I
have."</p>
<p>"And that's not very much."</p>
<p>"You're right," Jack agreed, keeping his voice steady, refusing
to rise to it.</p>
<p>Cowie turned in his swivel seat and swung back again with a
handful of newspaper clippings.</p>
<p>"One killing and one abduction. It's all over the front pages.
It's been nearly a week and we've nothing to show for it."</p>
<p>"These things take time," Jack said. "What we have are two
separate incidents in different parts of the town. One a murder,
and the other a possible murder. We have no serious witnesses.
We've rounded up every peeping Tom and flasher. We've taken two
hundred fingerprints. We've had TV and newspaper appeals, and we've
been round a thousand doors asking questions. We just have to keep
on going. Something will show and then we can move."</p>
<p>"I don't see any sign of progress," Cowie said, running a paper
knife between his fingers, trying to look like a hard man, which
Jack knew he wasn't.</p>
<p>"There's not much, but I have a couple of things I have to check
out."</p>
<p>"And what's that?"</p>
<p>"Well, I've got one name of somebody seen in the area on the
night in question, and I'm hoping for another. They don't sound
like likely suspects, but if they were close to the scene, they
might have something to tell me."</p>
<p>"Who's the name?"</p>
<p>"A man called Simpson. He's a minister."</p>
<p>"What Bill Simpson?" From Castlebank Church?"</p>
<p>"That's the man."</p>
<p>"He's a friend of mine. A very good friend."</p>
<p>Jack didn't doubt it. As soon as Mickey Haggerty had mentioned
the masons, that connection had been an odds-on-certainty.</p>
<p>"He's also a church representative on the council. He's very
close to the police committee. Do you really think we should bother
him?"</p>
<p>Jack waved to the pile of press cuttings.</p>
<p>"I'll bother anybody if it gets me a result."</p>
<p>"Well, I want you to take it very easy with Bill Simpson."</p>
<p>"I'll try to get the handshake right," Jack said wearily.</p>
<p>"What's that?"</p>
<p>"You heard."</p>
<p>"I heard insubordination, that's what I heard."</p>
<p>"No you didn't. You asked for a progress report. I gave you what
I have. I'm keeping you abreast of the situation, which isn't very
much at the moment."</p>
<p>"I could have you taken off both of these cases, Fallon. Just
like <em>that</em>," he said, snapping his fingers.</p>
<p>Jack stood up, and put his hands on the table. His black hair
had fallen down over his brow. He towered over the seated man.</p>
<p>"Listen, Superintendent. You've not got your arse in Angus
McNicol's seat just yet. I don't give a flying fuck if you can take
me off this or not, but I don't think our boss would like it."</p>
<p>"I should have been in charge right from the start," Cowie said,
angrily.</p>
<p>"And have you wondered why you weren't?"</p>
<p>"You...." Cowie started to raise his voice. "Get <em>out</em> of
my office, or I'll put you on report."</p>
<p>"Yes. You do that. And let me get on with my job," Jack said,
giving the man a hard, black, and utterly contemptuous look. he
turned and stalked through the doorway, slamming the door behind
him.</p>
<p>Despite what he'd said to his immediate superior, Jack had
already decided to take it easy with Simpson. He went back down to
Cairn House with John McColl and they knocked on all the doors
again, asking the neighbours more questions. The young couple who
lived directly below Marta Herkik's flat were quite definite. There
had been noises on the Saturday night, around ten o'clock. They'd
been watching a video at the time, a space movie about an alien.
Jack recalled what Robbie Cattanach had said, and thought it was
appropriate. It was definitely the Saturday night, because that's
the only day either of them, both working in offices in Glasgow,
ever got the chance to hire movie cassettes from the video shop.
The girl, a plump, but pleasant faced young woman - they'd been
married for only three months - had gone to bed halfway through the
film because she'd found it too scary and too gruesome. She had
first heard the bumping noises from upstairs, but they'd soon
stopped. There had been people on the outside stairs earlier on in
the night, but that wasn't unusual. Marta Herkik often had visitors
who came to get their fortunes told, but nobody had seen anyone on
the stairs.</p>
<p>All of the neighbours told the same story, except for the lower
dwellers who hadn't heard the noises in Marta's rooms. None of them
had had any visitors themselves that night. Only one had gone out,
to pick up a Chinese meal from the take-away on the far side of the
bridge, but that was just after seven in the evening.</p>
<p>Jack left the building again, thinking. If the minister
<em>had</em> gone down Boat Pend, there were few other places he
could have been heading for. The alley went right down to the old
quayside, but it was unlikely he'd be going there, for the whole of
the harbour had been under a foot of water, thanks to the high tide
and the backing gale sweeping up the firth. There were no other
houses easily accessible from the covered alley. There was a
chandler's business attached to a fishing tackle shop, and the old
bakery further along the quayside which was still operating, but
wouldn't have opened until five in the morning. There was also the
Castlegate Bar, a water-rat dive where no minister would have been
seen dead.</p>
<p>No, he thought, it was possible, that Simpson had been heading
up the stairs to the old woman's flat.</p>
<p>And if he had, why had he, a man of god, been visiting a
medium?</p>
<p>Despite the possibility, it didn't seem likely.</p>
<p>Jack picked up his car from behind the newsagent's shop and
drove to the east side of town where the old buildings, sandstone
tenements and a few detached houses, gave on to a more modern
housing estate. The basalt rock where Levenford's castle fort had
perched since before the pyramids were built, loomed against the
darkening skyline as evening fell swiftly. The lights up on the
ramparts were haloed yellow in the hard frost thickening the
air.</p>
<p>William Simpson's wife Betty was small and silver-haired, though
Jack guessed she was a few years younger than she looked. When he
had introduced himself an odd tight expression flickered on her
face and then was gone. She invited him in and led him to the
living room at the back of the manse. She poured him tea from a
small china pot, a bird-like woman making fluttering motions. The
cup rattled a little on the saucer when she handed it over to him.
She did not appear overly nervous, but she gave Jack the impression
of a woman with something on her mind.</p>
<p>"It's just routine," Jack said encouragingly. "I was hoping to
speak to your husband."</p>
<p>"What about?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm hoping he can help me. In fact I'm rather counting on
the fact that he's got a good memory. I'm in charge of the
investigation into the death of Mrs Herkik. You'll probably have
read about it."</p>
<p>The minister's wife turned her lips down. "The psychic. I don't
agree with dabbling in that kind of thing," she said.</p>
<p>"Me neither," Jack agreed, quite untruthfully. He had no
thoughts one way or the other on the issue. Spiritualism and
fortune telling was all mumbo-jumbo to him, even established
churches fell into that category. "But I have to investigate, and
I'm hoping your husband can help me there."</p>
<p>"You think he had something to do with it?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no. It's just that somebody mentioned he might have been in
the vicinity at the time."</p>
<p>The woman frowned and shook her head, as if any connection
between a minister and a medium was out of the question.</p>
<p>"When was that?"</p>
<p>"A week past Saturday."</p>
<p>"No. Not possible," Mrs Simpson said immediately. "William
always does his sermon after dinner, then he works in his darkroom
most of the evening. Never comes out until late."</p>
<p>"You mean he wasn't even out of the house?"</p>
<p>"Not the house. His dark-room's in the church basement."</p>
<p>"I see," Jack said agreeably.</p>
<p>"But you can ask him yourself," the woman said, taking a small
sip of tea. "He's there now. He'll be in for his dinner any
minute."</p>
<p>Jack said that would be fine. Betty Simpson poured another cup
for each of them into small china cups and sipped delicately,
looking at the policeman over the rim. Upstairs, Jack heard
footsteps, then louder ones on the stairs he'd passed on his way to
the living room. The door opened. He'd expected the minister, but
it was a girl of seventeen or so, taller than her mother. She had
dark, plain glasses and frizzy hair. She looked at Jack
curiously.</p>
<p>"When's dinner," he asked. "I've got a study group tonight."</p>
<p>"Another half hour, Fiona. We're just waiting for your
father."</p>
<p>The girl nodded, non committally and went out of the room again.
He could hear her moving about in what he took to be the kitchen.
Betty Simpson looked at the clock on the wall, checked the time
against her watch, then called for her daughter again. The girl
leaned into the room a few moments later.</p>
<p>"Could you give your father a knock? He's in his darkroom."</p>
<p>Fiona pulled a face. Jack caught the expression and it struck
him this was not a completely loving household, but that could have
been said for half the homes he visited in the course of his
work.</p>
<p>"Always pottering about down there. He's in the camera club,"
she said, then added with a hint of dryness in her voice: "as well
as a few other things. He could have used the basement here, but he
said the boiler room was much better for developing. I suppose it
keeps him out from under my feet."</p>
<p>They talked on for a few minutes more when a piercing scream
launched Jack out of his seat. It wad the second one he'd heard
that day. This one was just as shattering as the first. He was at
the door before he even turned to look at the woman.</p>
<p>Her face had gone ashen. She was sitting stock still, with both
hands clenched in front of her. Her eyes were fixed and glittering
behind the half-moon glasses that had slid half-way down her nose,
and they gave her the look of someone who knew something she had
feared had just become a reality.</p>
<p>"Oh my God, what's he done to her," she said through gritted
teeth. Jack went through the doorway, almost knocking a coatstand
over in the hallway. The scream continued, sharp as glass. He was
round the side of the house when it stopped suddenly, then came
back in a series of high-pitched barks, the kind of noise a fox
makes when it is trapped in a den while the terriers growl and snap
outside.</p>
<p>He ran past the wrought iron gate before he realised where the
sound was coming from, stopped himself in mid stride by grabbing
one of the bars and swung himself around. Betty Simpson was coming
out of the house, her small frame outlined by the light in the
hallway. Both hands were now clamped up at her face. Jack skittered
down the stairs, shouldered the door open and found himself in the
basement under the church. The boiler threw off a lot of heat as it
rumbled and gurgled in the corner. Off to the left, beyond the
stack of organ pipes, a door in the wall lay open. The screeching
cries came from there. He made it in three steps, went straight in
and saw William Simpson hanging from a beam, his toes only six
inches from the floor.</p>
<p>Fiona Simpson was backed up against the wall. Her eyes were
bulging and pale behind the thick glasses. Her mouth was open so
wide her jaw looked as if it had sprung out of the hinges. Jack
moved forward, reached a head up to the man's swollen face and felt
under the chin for a pulse. There was nothing. The eyes were
staring and the tongue lolled, almost black. The body was quite
warm. He turned to the girl, blocking off the sight of her father
dangling from the low ceiling. He tried to take a hold of her hand,
but she snatched it away and then, quite surprisingly, started
beating at him with both fists. The blows were flabby and
ineffectual. Jack ignored them, and simply enfolded her in his
arms, and all the jerking life went out of her. She sagged against
him, her whole body shaking and then her knees gave way. Again, for
the second time that day, Jack lifted a girl off her feet and
walked. He managed to get both of them out of the room, hooking the
door shut with a foot, and then to the outside door and up the
stairs. Betty Simpson was hovering at the gate.</p>
<p>"What's happened. What has he <em>done</em>."</p>
<p>"Back to the house," Jack said, brushing past her, the girl
still flopped in his arms.</p>
<p>"But..." the woman started to say.</p>
<p>"Come on now. Do as I say. Get back to the house. <em>Now!"</em>
he shouted, more loudly and harshly than he should have. He carried
the girl to the manse, shouldered the door open again, walked
straight into the living room and laid her down on the chintzy
sofa. She flopped awkwardly, skirt rucked up over heavy
hockey-playing thighs. He didn't notice. Instead, he turned to the
girl's mother.</p>
<p>"Make sure she's alright. I have to use the phone."</p>
<p>"But what's happened?" the woman protested again.</p>
<p>"I don't know yet. Just tend to the girl. I'll get the
rest."</p>
<p>He gently eased her back into the living room. Found the phone
in the hallway and made two calls. In five minutes the first police
car arrived in the driveway of Castlebank Church Manse.</p>
<p>Within an hour the body of William Simpson had been cut down and
taken away, after all the photographs had been taken and the cellar
checked out by Ralph Slater and his team who were certainly earning
their pay over the past week or so. Jack Fallon had already been
summoned to Superintendent Cowie's office, and he knew why, but he
decided to let the man kick his heels for a while. What they'd
found in the cellar under the church gave him too much work to
do.</p>
<p>Jack spent another two hours talking to Simpson's widow. His
daughter was unfit for any questioning. She had remained hysterical
for half an hour before lapsing into a state of almost catatonic
shock. An hour after that, she'd come out of the stasis and started
screaming again. By this time Doctor Bell had arrived. he rolled up
the girl's sleeve and gave her something which took about forty
seconds to work and the girl's eyes rolled upwards and she fell
asleep. Betty Simpson said she needed no pills or potions.</p>
<p>After Jack had phoned the office and then the ambulance service,
he'd gone back own to the cellar to double check the man hanging
from the beam. His first assessment had been right. Simpson was as
dead as a door-post. Jack was badly disappointed that he hadn't
been able to question the man. He'd had a quick glimpse around the
cluttered room and his eyes immediately lighted on a number of
things that he knew would demand a lot of attention. This, he knew
in those few minutes, was no ordinary suicide. He'd gone back into
the house and told the woman to sit down beside her now silent and
shivering daughter, then he'd told her that her husband was
dead.</p>
<p>She'd gone stock still and then lowered herself very slowly onto
the chair.</p>
<p>It was hard to tell, but to Jack, the expression that had
flickered on her face was not one of shock, as he'd have expected,
but of relief.</p>
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