Doug Johnstone - Hit and run

Rose was watching him intently. He knew she could read his face.

‘What were you thinking?’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, I know what you were up to. In the toilets with the merry widow? That is quite something.’

Billy raised a hand to his face. His skin felt like a plastic bag, creased and artificial. He ran a hand over his bandaged head, trying to find the weak spot with his fingers.

‘Does everyone know?’

Rose sighed. ‘Not sure how far word has got out. Tom and I will keep it out the Standard, but I can’t guarantee the tabloids won’t get a sniff of it. I spoke to the barman, persuaded him to keep his mouth shut if anyone came asking, but if one of the red tops gets wind of it and offers him money, there’s not a lot I can do.’

‘It’s not really news, though.’

‘You’re right, a rival reporter taking drugs and having sex in a pub toilet with the grieving widow of a recently murdered, notorious Edinburgh crime lord — not newsworthy at all. I think the worst hack in the world could make a case for that getting some column inches, don’t you?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

Rose stared at him. ‘Look, I’m on your side. You’re a friend, a colleague, OK? We cover for each other, look out for each other. And you got us some great stuff on this story, although now your means of getting the scoops looks rather unprofessional, to say the least. But anyway. Rest assured that the paper is going to do its best to protect you in all this, I have the gaffer’s word. And I’ve got your back too,

‘I appreciated that, Rose, really.’

She looked down. ‘But you’re going to have to take some serious time off, you understand? You’re way too close to this whole thing, to the point where you’re part of the story.’

Billy had a flash — Frank’s body clunking up the bonnet and over the roof of the Micra.

Rose nodded at Billy’s bandages. ‘I guess all that nonsense will take a while to recover from anyway.’

‘Brain surgeon reckoned I could be out in a week.’

‘Really? Modern medicine, eh?’

There was silence for a moment, just the low thrum of hospital machinery, occasional coughs from other patients.

‘Listen,’ Rose said. ‘Your brother told me that Dean came to see you.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And threatened you.’

‘That’s putting it mildly.’

Rose shook her head. ‘I’d love to tell you not to worry about it.’

‘But you can’t.’

‘I know what that arsehole is like, Kiddo. Maybe you should consider lying very low for a while. Maybe even leaving town.’

Billy thought about that. His dead mum, absent father. His tiny microcosm of life. ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you have.’

Billy’s orphan status hadn’t taken long to come up in conversation with Rose when he started at the Standard. He wasn’t exactly shy about mentioning it, using it for leverage. It always helped to have sympathetic, middle-aged women on your side, taking care of the motherless child in all his sorrow.

Billy spoke. ‘Zoe knows.’

Rose sighed. ‘I thought she might.’

‘Dean told her.’

‘I’ll bet he did.’

‘I don’t think I can go home.’

He was angling, and they both knew it. Rose played along.

‘Hell, if you need a place to stay when you get out of here, I’ve got a shockingly uncomfortable sofa bed with your name on it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it. Just make sure and get better, OK?’

She patted his hand maternally and looked him in the eye.

‘Listen, Kiddo. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask this..’

Billy nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Did you get anything out of Adele when you met, something that might help with the story? And the case, of course.’

‘You still in touch with the detective inspector?’

‘Very much so. We make a pretty good team, I think.’

‘He’s lucky to have you.’

‘Oh, please.’

Billy was surprised to see her blush. He’d never seen her blush before.

‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Did you get any info from Adele?’

Billy shook his head. ‘It wasn’t that kind of conversation.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘It really isn’t like that. It’s hard to explain.’

‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘I feel like I do.’ Billy could feel tears welling up, a hot prickle swarming over him. ‘I need to talk to someone about it.’ He looked down.

He felt Rose’s hand on his, a loving squeeze, and tears fell. He caught his breath and sniffed, immediately wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands.

‘I feel something for Adele, but it’s not…’

‘It’s OK.’

‘No, it’s not.’ Billy looked up. ‘Rose, there’s something I have to tell you.’

But he couldn’t. Looking into her eyes, her concerned face, he couldn’t talk, couldn’t work out how to get his mouth to make sound. Couldn’t face the awful fallout, especially not from her. She was like his mum, his memory and imagination blending them into one. His heart plummeted like an anchor.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rose said. ‘Women are trouble, Kiddo, you should know that by now. Best just stay away from us.’

Billy got the tears under control and put on a fake smile. ‘Must be the medication making me weepy.’

‘Must be. Hey, what am I thinking, I’ve got some news that could cheer you up. The police have got a witness.’

‘The Whitehouse case?’

‘Of course the Whitehouse case, what else?’

Billy put his hands on his legs, tried to stop them shaking. All he could feel was a colossal pulse in his ears, bursting to get out.

‘What sort of witness?’

‘A taxi driver came forward. Said he drove past a stationary car on Queen’s Drive in the early hours of that morning.’

‘Did he see anyone?’

‘No, but that’s the thing.’ Rose was excited, newshound instinct kicking in. ‘It was parked, no one in it, lights off.’

‘So?’

‘So, whoever it was must’ve hit Frank Whitehouse, then stopped, got out and moved the body to the bottom of the Radical Road.’

‘And?’

Rose shook her head. ‘I’ll blame the painkillers for your slowness, yeah? That means it wasn’t an accident. If it was an accident, why not report it? Or why not just drive off? Why go to the bother of moving the body to make it look like suicide?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It still doesn’t quite add up, though.’

‘Why not?’

‘The police don’t think the Mackies were responsible, at least not directly. They have a strong alibi.’

‘They could’ve got someone else to do it. Made sure they were somewhere public when it happened.’

Rose grinned. ‘Now you’re starting to think like my Scoop again. But the type of car is unusual.’

‘The taxi driver identified it?’ Billy heard his own voice catch, it was fucking obvious.

Rose shook her head. ‘A small red hatchback, that’s all he could tell the police. That fits with the forensics so it’s definitely the car responsible. But forensics also came up with a definite age limit — at least ten years old. Something to do with polymers in the paint that are now banned or something.’

‘So what?’

‘I can’t imagine an associate of the Mackies, or a hitman or whoever, driving around in a small, ten-year-old hatchback, can you? These clowns all have souped-up racers or executive sports numbers, not wee family cars.’

Billy felt something wash through his body, not pain exactly, but a horrible shiver, like a spirit entering him.

Rose leaned back. ‘Anyway, don’t you worry about it, I’m on the case. I think we’re getting close to finding out who was driving that car.’