Irvine Welsh - The Blade Artist

— A bit bloody late for that!

— Sweetheart. . Greg coos, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

Franco retrieves the Tesco phone from his pocket and dials Larry. — I’ll sort something oot now, he nods to them, as he walks outside through the French windows into the garden. Larry won’t be pleased, as with the van, but he extended the invite, and he has a spare room.

After a few rings, Larry picks up. — Of course, Franco, anything for an auld mucker, he sings down the line. — You git packin n ah’ll swing by n pick ye up pronto.

Franco feels the overwhelming whiff of performance, yet expresses gratitude and moves back inside. — Sorted, he says. — Larry’s comin tae pick ays up.

— Sorry it’s come to this, Frank, Greg mutters sadly. — Enjoyed having you around. But the kids. .

— Totally understand, Franco replies. It feels inadequate, but it’s all he can stretch to. He goes to his room and gathers up his belongings. He calls Melanie on the Tesco mobile. Nothing at all. Maybe he needs to put even more credit on it. He doesn’t want to ask Elspeth if he can use her phone. He’ll wait till he gets to Larry’s.

Larry is as good as his word, arriving within the half-hour. The shifty-eyed, jittery-looking emergency glazier is already replacing the window, his presence enforcing a strained civility.

Elspeth, who had studiously avoided him at the funeral, blushes a little at Larry’s presence, as she follows Frank outside. In her teens she had nursed a devastating crush on her brother’s friend, and had once made a drunken pass at him. Larry shoots her a crocodile grin, indicating that he remembers the occasion only too well. — Elspeth. . been a long time, doll, he says, as Franco puts his red case into the back of the white van. — Nice house. He surveys the home, hands on hips. — Very you.

Gazing from him to the van, Elspeth retorts, — Nice van. Very you.

Larry bursts out his most appreciative touché smile.

Greg has joined them outside, and is still half-apologising to Franco. — Really sorry we have to part this way. Good luck.

What the fuck does this cunt want fae me? Franco gives him a stony nod of acknowledgement. Yet when he turns to his baleful-looking sister, an uncharacteristic word slips from him. — Sorry. .

The uniqueness, to say nothing of the obvious heartfelt nature of the apology, seems to shake them both. They look at each other in blank stasis.

— Right! Fit for action? Larry grins, breaking the silence.

Franco is relieved to climb into Larry’s van, and doesn’t look back as it tears down the street.

They aren’t gone long when DI Ally Notman arrives at Elspeth’s to investigate. It is immediately clear to her that he isn’t concerned with the window, obviously tipped off by colleagues that Frank was staying in the house. — He’s not here any longer, Elspeth informs him. She’s done with cops, and isn’t for asking him in.

Notman stands on the front step, regarding the formidable cross-armed force in the doorway. — You say your brother went away with Larry Wylie?

— It’s Frank who was attacked! Elspeth’s loyalty both shocks and confuses her.

— You know, I can believe it, Notman says. — When the old neighbourhood psychopath is the good guy, then the city really does have problems.

— I’m sorry, Elspeth retorts in pompous authority, now embracing the role she’s been strangely cast in, — but you do not know my brother. He’s worked hard to turn his life around and make a go of things, but some people won’t let him be!

Greg can scarcely believe what he’s hearing.

— Your brother, Notman begins, — has been a running sore on this city –

— Get away fae here! Elspeth cuts him off, her face contorted in rage, to the extent that Notman stands back off the doorstep. — My nephew was murdered, and what have youse done about it? Nowt! Just go. She points to his car, parked in the street.

— Look, Notman adopts a reasoned tone, — I don’t want to –

— You’ve got aw that DNA stuff, Elspeth hisses, looking him up and down in contempt, — you must have a forensic team tae gather the information and match it against your records!

— That’s right, Greg, who has materialised at his wife’s shoulder, sings, — we’re not asking for the world, officer.

— When I hear a member of the public use the term ‘DNA’ I squirm inside. Notman shakes his head contemptuously at them. — Everybody that’s watched a CSI: Miami is now an expert in polis work. It isnae like that –

— What’s it like then? Elspeth’s chin juts out, as Bill and Stella Maitland, the next-door neighbours, appear, lingering in support. — What you’re saying is you’re no going to tell us who was there by the physical evidence, or who you’ve hauled in for questioning, if anybody, or if ye found the knife or murder weapon. That you’re gaunny dae nowt! Well, our Frank’ll find oot whae did this!

— That would be a big mistake on his part, Notman says, turning and heading to his car.

Greg swallows hard, and says to his wife, — Frank would be proud of you.

It’s the wrong thing to say. As it sinks home, Elpseth bursts into angry, frustrated tears, to be comforted by the advancing Stella, who leads her into the house.

Melanie was surprised to see Martin, Jim’s agent, who had driven up yesterday evening from LA. He was desperate to get in touch with her incommunicado husband. She issued him with the UK number, with a warning about inherent transmission difficulties, citing her own fruitless attempts to contact Jim. — Sometimes it works, she told him over coffee.

— There’s another reason I came, Martin confessed. — I had a visit from a cop, a detective in the Santa Barbara PD, name of Harry Pallister, he said, not stalling on her reaction. — He told me he was investigating a complaint you made about a couple of guys harassing you on the beach. He asked about Jim. I didn’t like his tone, so I challenged him, and asked him if Jim was a suspect in anything. He said no. Then he was on his way. Something about all this just didn’t quite sit right, so I thought you should know.

Melanie expressed her gratitude to Martin, telling him as much as she felt able, which was just about everything she knew. He appreciated her candour, offering any assistance he could, and then left to head back to Los Angeles.

She is therefore expecting another visit from Harry, yet when it comes, it still causes real discomfort. She has only just got Grace and Eve strapped into the car, when he arrives. Melanie knows that her skittish, distracted behaviour has been noticed by her daughters. It has taken them much longer to get ready than usual. The girls have been acting up, and Eve has bitten Grace’s finger. It isn’t acceptable, but her older daughter is determined to make an issue of it. They have just settled down, when Harry pulls up, with that suffering expression on his face. He is out the car and asking her, — Mel. . sorry to trouble you, just wondered if anything else had popped into your head about those guys?

So Melanie moves out of the kids’ earshot, away from the driveway, up onto the stoop, compelling him to follow. — Nothing that I haven’t already mentioned, she says stiffly. Martin’s news from last night has put her on edge. She hasn’t talked to Frank properly for a couple of days; the time differences and this awful phone he bought have made it awkward. Now Harry’s limpet-like presence, with the same insinuating tones, going over old ground. Here, on her front porch, and so early in the morning.

— When you came back, you’re sure Jim was with you?