Chapter 4
EDINBURGH
Brodie’s mother, Isobel, owned a little café down on Edinburgh’s Shore, a street that ran parallel to the Water of Leith, a river that ran out to the sea. It was creatively called Isobel’s. She and Brodie’s father – Dougal, a retired bus driver – ran the place.
Brodie parked his car around the corner, and he and Ruth walked around. It was at the corner of the street and had some tables and chairs outside.
‘I’m going to try and eat healthy,’ Brodie said, as they went inside.
‘No, you’re not. I mean, it’s not like your parents serve salads.’ Ruth smiled and nudged him.
‘I know. Who am I kidding?’
Inside, Isobel beamed a smile at her son. There were a few customers sitting, drinking coffee and eating bacon rolls.
‘If you’re here to help, you’re too late,’ Dougal Brodie said, coming out of the back from the kitchen. ‘I’ve already done the dishes.’
‘Damn, I knew we should have come earlier,’ Brodie said.
‘Hi, Ruth,’ Isobel said. ‘Get yourselves a table and I’ll rustle up some rolls and coffee.’
‘Thanks, Ma,’ Brodie said.
‘How are you, Ruth, love?’ Dougal said, coming round the counter to give Ruth a peck on the cheek. ‘He behaving himself?’
‘Oh, give over,’ Brodie said. ‘She’s my princess. I take care of her, alright.’
‘That’s what I expect to hear, young man.’
Brodie shook his head. ‘He’ll be telling me to go to my room, next.’
‘Don’t you knock it, son,’ Dougal said. ‘I taught you a valuable lesson.’
‘I waited until he had gone to bed then sneaked out of my bedroom to go drinking with my pals,’ Brodie said.
‘That will be right.’ Dougal gave his son a mock stern look. He turned to Ruth. ‘He probably drank my bloody whisky, too.’
‘I was more of a lager man,’ Brodie said.
‘Get yourselves a seat.’ He watched them sit. ‘Today’s the day, isn’t it?’
‘Aye. We’re heading up there after this,’ Brodie said to Dougal.
‘That bastard. Just give me ten minutes and a pair of pliers and he’ll tell me where the rest of them are buried.’
‘As much as I’d like to, unfortunately, we have laws to think about.’ Brodie locked eyes with his father for a moment.
‘The law’s a farce, son. I know you have to uphold it. But Kane stabbed you and almost killed you. That’s something I’ll never forget. And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay locked up.’ He smiled at Ruth. ‘Tea as usual?’
‘Thank you, Dougal.’
‘Coming right up.’ The older man left and went back through the kitchen door.
‘He was in the army,’ Brodie explained. ‘Before he was a bus driver.’
‘I know. You’ve told me many times.’ Ruth put a hand on his. ‘He’s just being a protective father. Let him vent.’
‘As long as that’s all he’s doing.’
Moira, Brodie’s sister, came out with two plates with a bacon roll on each.
‘Hey, sis, what are you doing here? The Western General getting rid of nurses now?’
‘I always take a week off work around this time, and this year is no different,’ Moira said. She was five years younger than Brodie’s forty-seven and was slim built with medium-length blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.
‘Didn’t you go to Spain this time last year?’ Ruth asked.
‘Yes, I did. I didn’t fancy going this year. I’m saving money now I’m getting divorced.’
‘Are you sure you and Roger are finished for good?’ Brodie asked.
‘Oh, yes. The skinny bastard was cheating on me. He denied it at first, but then he admitted it. I’m settling into my new flat on Leith Walk and loving every minute of it.’
‘A chance to go out boozing with your pals again,’ Brodie said, grinning, taking a bite of the roll.
‘I still went out with them. Roger went to his model railway club. At least I thought it was a model railway club.’
Dougal came in with two mugs, one tea, one coffee.
‘Thanks. Both of you,’ Ruth said. She looked at Dougal. ‘Let me pay for it this time.’
‘Your money’s no good here,’ Dougal said. ‘I mean it; the last time you tried passing some euros.’ He chuckled as Isobel lightly slapped him on the arm.
‘You’re fine, honey. This is on the house. While we still can.’
Brodie had bitten a chunk out of the roll then stopped to look at his mother. ‘What do you mean?’ He washed down the soft roll with coffee.
‘The restaurant next door went under. Now there’s a new place opening up. We could be next.’
‘Oh, Bel, don’t be daft,’ Dougal said.
‘It’s true. You never know what’s around the corner.’
Brodie smiled at his mother. ‘Don’t be daft, Ma. You’ll be fine.’
‘We have a plan B, if that ever happens,’ she said.
‘And what’s that?’ Brodie asked.
‘We’d sell up and go live in Spain,’ Dougal said.
‘That sounds like a plan,’ Ruth said.
‘It is,’ Brodie said. ‘He just said it’s plan B.’ He grinned at her.
‘Ignore him, Ruth,’ Dougal said.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Brodie asked. ‘I thought you said the dishes were done?’
‘Lots to do, son.’
‘Do you really think that it’s going to happen?’ Ruth asked, biting into her roll.
‘Edinburgh’s changing beyond all recognition. Who knows when they’ll put all of this down and start again?’ He smiled a sad smile. ‘Anyway, I’ll call you later. Maybe get a pint one night?’
‘Count on it, Dad.’
Brodie watched as his father walked back into the kitchen, as strong as he had ever seemed, albeit a little softer around the edges.
He was still a hard man, though, with a different sense of right and wrong compared to Brodie.
Dougal had once told his son that he could never have joined the police after leaving the army.
They had trained him to use all sorts of weapons, taught him how to fight, and he would feel handicapped coming on to civvy street and dealing with these bastards who thought they were tough.
‘I have to keep an eye on my customers,’ Isobel said. ‘Maybe we could get together for our dinner one Saturday?’ she said, looking hopeful.
‘Of course we will,’ Ruth said. ‘Our treat.’
‘I’ll keep you to that,’ she said, and smiled as she went behind the counter.
They finished up and left the café.
The Reader sat in the café in Sandport Place, directly across from Isobel’s.
He had been about to go in when the detective walked up, so he had diverted to the coffee place across the street.
He chose a table at the window where he could keep an eye on the front of the other café.
He had more than enough patience to sit and wait and drink his coffee, reading a newspaper, or at least pretending to.
After a while, the man and woman left. The Reader would have gone out and bumped into the man, just to see his face up close, if he had been alone. The woman posed the problem.
DCI Liam Brodie wouldn’t recognise him, of course.
That would come later.
But by then, it would be too late.