Quintin Jardine - Grievous Angel

The mouth was still the same, though. ‘Aw fuck, it’s you,’ she moaned, as she looked up at me. ‘What do you want now? Ma boy’s no’ here.’

‘We know that,’ I told her. ‘He’s with us. Invite us in, Bella.’

She knew it wasn’t a request; and she stood aside to let us past and into the hallway. The house had had a makeover too. There was a new fitted carpet in the living room, and a white three-seater settee and armchair that had a leather look to it. The telly in the corner was bigger than mine. I glanced at the sideboard, at the two framed photographs that stood upon it; Marlon and a boy who hadn’t grown much older than he’d been when it was taken. There wasn’t one of the daughter, I noticed. ‘Marlon’s earning good money, surely,’ I remarked.

‘This has got fuck all tae do wi’ him,’ she snapped.

I stared at her. ‘You’re not telling me you’ve got a job, are you? There would have been a story in the Evening News about that.’

‘Smart bastard.’

‘So what is the story? Or is this all knock-off? Would you like to show us receipts for this lot?’

Her eyes blazed at me. ‘Piss off, Skinner!’ she snarled. ‘If ye must know, it’s our Mia. She’s been lookin’ after me. She’s doing all right for herself.’

I didn’t know Mia; I’d never met her. But as far as I knew she hadn’t broken the mould and gone straight to Oxford from Maxwell Academy. She wasn’t the business of the evening, though. ‘Does Marlon still live with you?’ I asked her.

‘Aye. Why? Did he tell you lot different?’

I shook my head. ‘No, he hasn’t said a word to us. When did you see him last, Bella?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘we’re not trying to do him for anything. I need to know, that’s all.’

‘Tuesday,’ she muttered, grudgingly. ‘Tuesday afternoon, before he went out.’

‘Had he been in all day?’

‘No, he’d been at his work.’

‘With Tony Manson?’

She seemed to draw herself up to her full height, about five eight in the heels, and a look of pride shone in her eyes. ‘Yes, wi’ Mr Manson. He’s his prodigy.’

‘I think that might be protege, Bella; who told you that?’

‘Mr Manson did.’

‘Manson came here?’

‘No. I’d to go to his place one day. Marlon had left his mobile at home, and he needed it.’

A question suggested itself. ‘Are you working for Manson too, Bella?’

‘No.’

I didn’t believe her. ‘Bella!’

She folded. ‘Okay, occasionally.’

‘What sort of work?’

‘In one of his launderettes.’

Tony Manson had a range of commercial interests; they included low-rent offices around the West End of Edinburgh and in Leith, two discos, one in Fountainbridge and another in Bellevue, a pub chain that was incorporated and traded as Bidey Inns, several saunas, a private hire taxi company, and a string of launderettes. It was believed that much of what was laundered there was money from Manson’s other business activities, drugs, prostitution, protection and loan-sharking. I knew all those places and I’d never seen anyone in a launderette dressed as the new-look Bella was.

I shook my head. ‘Try again?’

She snorted. ‘All right, Skinner. God, you’re a fuckin’ bastard. Ah do a few shifts in the saunas, when Ah’m needed.’

‘I didn’t know you were a qualified masseuse.’

‘Ah can massage a cock as well as most, although probably no’ as well as one of you polis shites.’

Beside me, young Martin seemed to recoil with distaste. I saw his hand go, subconsciously, to the crucifix on his neck chain, as if he was warding off an evil spirit, and maybe he was. ‘Back to Marlon,’ I said. ‘You’re saying you haven’t seen him since Tuesday?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Does he often stay away for a couple of days?’

‘Naw, but he said that Mr Manson had gone tae Newcastle, so I suppose he’s gone too.’

‘He’d no other plans for Tuesday?’

‘None that he told me.’ Finally she seemed to realise that I was stringing her along; she folded her arms tight across her chest and glared at me. ‘Look, Skinner,’ she hissed. ‘What the fuck is this about?’

She was a nasty, vicious cow from a family without a detectable moral code, but there is one part of the job that no cop ever enjoys; doesn’t matter who’s being given the news. ‘Sit down, Bella,’ I murmured.

And she did, hard, on the leather settee. I didn’t have to say another word; she knew well enough, for she’d had the same news before. Under the tan her face went ashen, then her back straightened and her mouth set in a thin white line; but her eyes stayed dry. ‘What happened?’ she asked. The edge on her voice could have shattered diamonds.

‘He was found dead late this afternoon,’ I replied, ‘in the old swimming baths in Infirmary Street. We’re not certain how long he’d been there, but we think since Tuesday night.’

‘How did he die?’

‘It seems that he fell off the high board. Our guess is that he had help.’

‘Was it just him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What about Mr Manson? Marlon wasnae just his driver, he was his minder as well.’

‘No, Manson wasn’t there; we still have to speak to him. But he’ll keep. Bella, do you know if Marlon might have upset him in some way?’

‘Naw. No chance of that. Marlon worships the ground that man walks on. And Tony,’ she corrected herself, ‘Mr Manson, likes him too. This is someone else.’ Her expression changed, turned into one of pure savagery. ‘That bastard Holmes! I should have done that fuckin’ job myself, no’ trusted our Billy!’

‘Stop right there, Bella,’ I warned her. ‘Whatever Holmes was in the past, he’s out of it now. The man can’t even wipe his own arse. Now, if you’ve got any idea who might have done this, tell us now, and we’ll nail them. But you do nothing yourself; you’ve lost enough of your family to the life you chose to live.’

Her eyes blazed up at me. ‘Chose? You fuckin’ ignorant toffee-nosed bastard. You come and live here. You bring your family here and see what sort of a fuckin’ choice you’ve got.’

I didn’t have a glib response to that one. All I could offer was, ‘People do move out, Bella.’

‘Aye, most of them in the back of a Panda car, the rest in boxes, like ma boys and ma brothers. Thank God our Mia’s made it.’

‘Where is she?’ I asked. ‘Married?’

‘She’s had better luck than that. She’s got a good job; she’s on the radio.’

Back then, I was a cynic, so my life wasn’t full of surprises, but every now and then… I couldn’t hold back a gasp. ‘Eh? As what?’

‘She’s a presenter. A disc jockey, like. She calls herself Mia Sparkles. Watson or Spreckley didnae sound showbiz enough.’

‘Where? What station’s she on?’

‘Airburst,’ Martin volunteered.

I looked at him. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘Maybe not, boss, but I’ll bet your daughter has. There were some new licences issued the year before last; it started broadcasting last August. They’re targeting a young audience. The advertising profile’s ten to twenty-five. It’s doing well, from what I’ve read. Mrs Watson’s daughter does what they call the “School’s Out” slot, three hours, four to seven.’

‘You sound like a regular listener.’

He shrugged his shoulders, encased in a shiny new leather jacket. ‘Why not? I still fit their listener profile… just.’

‘Where can we contact Mia, Bella?’ I asked.

‘You don’t,’ she growled. ‘She’ll hear this from me.’

‘Were she and her brother close?’

‘Aye, of course they were.’ She didn’t convince me. If the family unit was so tight-knit, why was Mia missing from the sideboard?