Quintin Jardine - Blackstone's pursuits

He didn’t disappoint me. ‘How about making it easy for me?’ he said. ‘The way I see it, honey, you set the wee chap up. You lure him to this place with promises of unbridled passion. You’ve got him gasping for it and helpless, then Oz here comes in and knifes him.

‘All you really need to tell me is what you were after. Was it money, or is this a contract job? The rest is pretty obvious.’

‘Mmm,’ said Prim. ‘Indeed.’ There was a long, dangerous silence. Dylan looked down, all smugness and expectancy. ‘And having done that,’ she went on, softly, but with an edge to her voice that made me think of a demolition ball swinging unstoppably towards its target, ‘the cold-eyed hitman here went and barfed out the window all over a traffic warden?Yes?

‘Then, after that mishap, the death squad hung about the scene until PC Murdoch and Oor Wullie arrived.’

She stood up and squared up to the Armani suit and its contents, which suddenly seemed a touch less sure of themselves. ‘Let me tell you a few things, Mr Dylan. First, this is my flat, that ruined bed next door is mine, and I’m not happy about it. Second, no way would I let a thing like that through there anywhere near me.’ I wasn’t quite sure which thing she meant, the whole or the part. I guessed, she meant the latter, and felt a lot better about life, manhood, and associated issues. ‘Third, if you care to repeat that allegation before independent witnesses, Oz and I will sue you right out of that suit.’

I sat there on the couch, staring at Prim’s bum in her tight, faded jeans. It was a nice, round bum, generously fleshed but firm. I tried to imagine her committing acts of unbridled passion upon the person of the late William Kane, but somehow I wound up taking his place, with a bridle figuring somewhere in the scene, too. Eventually I forced myself to look up at Clever Bastard Dylan. He stood there, his face working itself into a cheesy grin as he fought to protect his dignity. ‘Okay,’ he said, finally. ‘Just testing. Have you any idea who that is, through there?’

She looked him dead in the eye. ‘Neither Oz or I have ever seen that man before in our lives.’

He missed the fact that she hadn’t answered his question. ‘Okay. The constable said you got back from the airport and found the body?’

‘Yes,’ said Prim. She dug into her vast bag and produced a boarding card. ‘There.’ She thrust it at Dylan. ‘That’s the flight I was on. Eight o’clock shuttle. It was a bit late so Oz and I didn’t get back here till after ten.’ He bought the lie without question.

‘The guy in there’s been dead since last night.’

‘Oh, you know a lot about bodies do you?’ Dylan was the sort of prat who patronises women automatically. This time he didn’t even realise he was doing it until the axe of Prim’s sarcasm fell on his neck.

‘I’m afraid I do. I’ve seen all sorts over the last twelve months. A few days ago, in fact, we went into a village and found a policeman with his testicles in his mouth. Just as well for his sake that he was dead. I mean what good’s a policeman without …’

Quite suddenly, she began to sob. ‘Thank Christ,’ I thought, relieved that she wasn’t that tough. I stood up and turned her towards me, holding her like the concerned partner I was supposed to be. ‘There, love,’ I said, warming to the part. ‘You had a hell of a time out in Africa. A dead stranger in your bed’s the last thing you needed to come home to.’

I glared at Dylan. He was completely conquered now. ‘Look, Mr … eh Blackstone, was it? Why don’t you look after Miss Phillips. My people will just have a look round … if that’s all right, that is?’

‘Aye, sure. You get on with it.’

I expected Prim to break the clinch when the door closed behind him, but she hung on in there. Her sobs were subsiding, but every so often a fresh outbreak would set her generous chest rubbing against my belly. Remembering that she had been a stranger an hour before, I racked my brains for images which would distract me and kill the reflex which Prim’s bra-less nipples were triggering in me. I thought of Hibernian defending a one-goal lead on a wet Saturday in January. I thought of an evening at the ballet with a woman I didn’t like. I thought of the bit in Pulp Fiction where John Travolta shoots Marvin in the face by accident. I thought of Van Morrison. I thought of a bottle of duty-free Grolsch after midnight on a cross-channel ferry.

None of it worked. Before she could get the wrong idea, which would have been right all along, I held her away from me at arm’s length. ‘Come on Prim. There’ll be time for that later.’ She looked back at me tear-stained, and nodded. It’s funny how there are people you can know for an hour and it seems like a lifetime.

‘Yes, you’re right. That prick’ll be back.’ (‘ You never know,’ I thought mischievously to myself.) ‘I’ll need to work out a story that’ll protect Dawn, as far as I can.’

Dylan must have had a pressing lunch date, because the prick was back within fifteen minutes. ‘The Doc’s arrived,’ he said. ‘Her first estimate is that he was killed between ten and midnight last night by a right-handed man. If you’re up to it now, Miss Phillips, perhaps you could clear up just one or two things.’

Prim nodded.

‘How long have you been in Africa?’

‘A year.’

‘And you don’t have a key, Mr Blackstone?’

‘No, he doesn’t. Nor do I to Oz’s place. That implies a permanent commitment, and we’re not ready for that.’ ‘Speak for yourself,’ I thought, falling deeper in love by the minute.

‘So who’s been using your flat while you’ve been away.’

‘I have a sister,’ said Prim. She sounded casual, but I knew she was measuring every word. ‘She’s an actress. She never knows where her next job’ll be, so she doesn’t have a place of her own. She sleeps on my couch or rooms with other performers when she’s in town. Sometimes her friends crash down here too. When I left I gave her a key and said that she could let her crowd use it as long as they kept it clean and didn’t smoke dope.

‘You could say that this flat’s been a sort of doss-house for luwies for the last twelve months. I’ve got no idea who might have been here last night. And as for the bloke next door, I told you I’ve never seen him before.’

‘How about you, Mr Blackstone?’ said Dylan quickly, with a failed attempt at slyness.

I was ready for him. ‘As Prim said, me neither.’ I chanced my arm. ‘Do you know who he is?’

Dylan shook his head. ‘His wallet seems to have been taken. There’s nothing there to identify him.’ He looked down again at Prim. ‘We’ve found some keys in the kitchen, Miss. Could you have a look at them to see if the one you gave your sister’s among them?’

He led us back across the hall. In the kitchen, a leaf of the table had been raised, and various objects were spread on it. Half a dozen keys of various sorts. An empty pill bottle. A five pound note, serial number AF 426469, cut into two halves.

She didn’t break stride, catch her breath or anything else. She looked at the keys carefully. ‘These two are for the coalshed down in the back yard. These two are for my parents’ place. That one’s for the Yale in the front door. The other fitted a lock I had changed when I moved in here.’ She picked up the pill bottle. I leaned over and sneaked a quick look. The label read ‘Prozac: Miss D. Phillips.’ She picked up the two halves of the fiver and looked round at Dylan. ‘You found my secret stash, then. Very thorough!’

Dylan looked embarrassed and nodded at a pile of muesli heaped on the floor, surrounded by the shattered pieces of a ceramic container. ‘Sorry about that, Miss. One of these clumsy sods knocked it off the counter. We can replace it if you like.’