Denise Mina - Still Midnight

‘How much are you paid an hour?’

Lander was a little embarrassed. ‘I’m paid two hundred pounds a week, flat, whatever hours I do.’

‘I see.’ She jotted it down. ‘Not that much for a thirty-hour week.’

‘Thirty-six. Sometimes forty-two if I work the full week but it suits me,’ he said simply.

‘In what way?’

‘The hours, the location and the company.’

‘You get on well, then?’

He spoke as if it was a pre-prepared speech, looking over her shoulder to another audience. ‘Mr Anwar and I have been friends for fourteen years. Over that time we have become as brothers.’ His hand chopped the air a little for emphasis. ‘He is as a brother to me.’

Having finished, he coughed, embarrassed. Morrow recognised his discomfort, his inability to Oprah-sob on demand. Like him, she didn’t believe sincerity was marked by incessant emotional revelation. She yearned for a time when it was enough to tell a man you loved him on your wedding day and expect him still to know ten years later.

Lander was controlled and would be hard to wrong-foot. She slouched in the chair and sucked her teeth sarcastically. ‘Yeah, I see, kind of, what you’re on about.’

‘Do you see?’ He was suddenly angry. ‘Do you?’

‘Oh, aye, yeah, see whit ye mean.’

‘What do you see?’ He seemed furious, at both her belittling tone and scattered grammar.

She slapped the air carelessly. ‘You work together, you enjoy cricket together?’

‘Correct.’ He pointed a finger at her nose and his rage subsided. ‘Correct.’

Morrow stared at him, letting him stew for a moment. ‘In the days and weeks running up to the kidnap, did you see anyone hanging around the shop?’

‘Many people hang around the shop.’

‘Anyone unusual? Anyone take a special interest?’

‘In what?’

‘In Mr Anwar? In the shop’s income, anyone ask about the takings, for example?’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No, not that I can think of. We get a lot of odd types. Alcoholics, junkies, odd types, but they’re all locals, if you don’t know who they are you’ll know who they belong to.’

‘Belong to?’ asked Bannerman.

‘Who their family are, their mother’s name or granny’s name.’

‘No unusual phone calls?’ asked Morrow.

‘No.’

‘Can you think of anyone Mr Anwar owes money to?’

‘No.’

The answer came a little too fast; he hadn’t considered the question. Even if there had been someone Morrow felt sure that Johnny Lander would not tell her. He wouldn’t say anything harmful to Aamir. His loyalty ran too deep.

‘What do you think happened?’

‘Wrong address.’ He sounded certain.

‘Why?’

‘They’re a modest family. Religious. They give a lot of money to charity, on the quiet, the way it should be.’

‘What charities?’

‘Earthquake appeal, important things.’

‘Humanitarian appeals?’

‘Yes.’

‘ Afghanistan?’

‘Never mentioned it specifically. Pakistan I think…’

‘Any connection with Afghanistan? Do they have family there?’

‘Not that I know of, they’re both from Uganda.’

‘How about yourself, did you serve there, ever?’

‘No. After my time.’

She tried a blank card. ‘Would you say that you are a loyal person?’

‘Yes.’ No flinch or hesitation, not a moment’s doubt or a glimmer of shame.

‘But you don’t have a family of your own?’

‘No.’

‘Are you friends with Mr Anwar’s family?’

‘No. Just Mr Anwar.’

‘But you must know the family?’

‘A little. Billal and Omar both worked Saturdays in the shop when they were at school, but I don’t really know them.’

‘You worked every Saturday with them for years but you don’t know them?’

‘No. I didn’t work with them. Their daddy worked with them. I didn’t go in then, when they were on. There isn’t really room behind the counter for three and I used to fish, so…’ Small shrug. ‘I was glad.’

‘You must hear a lot though, know about them?’

‘No. Mr Anwar doesn’t really talk about his family.’

‘Does that seem odd to you?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Most parents like to talk about their children. But Mr Anwar doesn’t?’

‘He doesn’t talk about anything but the shop.’

‘Doesn’t that get tedious?’

‘And cricket. We talk about cricket too.’

‘Now,’ she sat forward, ‘ that must get tedious.’

Lander warmed to that a little, allowed himself a small crisp smile.

Bannerman interrupted, ‘Are you still involved with the TA?’

‘No.’

‘Can you tell me when you left the TA?’

‘I can: in April 1993.’

‘Quite a while ago then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you still know people in the TA?’

Morrow could tell where he was heading with it, the military connection, the guns and gear the gunmen had could have indicated a TA connection, but the gunmen weren’t trained, they made mistakes so fundamental no one with any army training would have made.

‘No. I know people who were in the TA at the same time as me but I am not in contact with them on a regular basis.’

‘How about an irregular basis? Who has seen you in the shop?’

He thought hard. ‘No one.’

‘Not one single person from the TA has ever come into the shop?’

‘Why would they? Sure, most of them live in Stirling. If you don’t believe me you could contact the HQ and ask for addresses. I’ll give you the number.’

He was very exact, his military mindset letting him answer without questioning their authority. Most interviewees struggled to understand the reasoning behind a train of questioning, attempted to connect with their questioner. It was refreshing.

She took over. ‘Do you get arms training in the TA?’ Bannerman’s eyes widened in warning, as if she was giving too much away. When she looked back Johnny Lander’s back was straighter than before.

‘Of course. There wouldn’t be much point in having an army if they can’t use arms.’

The damage was done now so she went for it. ‘Hand guns?’

‘Certainly. But if you’re thinking I had anything to do with Mr Anwar’s kidnap you are very wrong indeed. He is a good personal friend of mine and I most certainly would never do anything to harm him in any way.’

He was panting a little at the end, looked upset and she reached over to him, touching the air above his knee. ‘There’s no suggestion of that at all, Mr Lander, but the men used guns and we have to explore every possible connection with Mr Anwar.’

‘I see.’ He still looked nervous.

‘It’s our job to get him back and we are trying our hardest.’

‘Good.’ He pursed his lips tight. ‘Good. He’s… a good man. If there’s anything I can do…’ He thought they were going and leaned forward to stand up but Morrow stayed him with a hand.

‘The TA. What sort does it attract?’

He sat back down. ‘Ex military, who can’t quite give it up.’ He twitched his mouth, touched his chest indicating himself. ‘Poor men with families, in it for the money. Others…’ He shrugged and wondered about it, ‘seen too many action movies. They don’t last.’

‘How come?’

‘They want to be heroes. Not what the job is. Discipline. Can’t take it. Not about being popular. Not about being nice.’ He smiled knowingly at Morrow.

‘What happens to them, then?’ asked Bannerman.

‘Leave or get put out. It’s hard to do things right.’ He nodded at Morrow and dropped his voice. ‘You were doing something hard there, before, weren’t ye? Noising me up, trying to shake a monkey out of the tree?’