Chapter 11
FIFE
‘This is your local?’ Cameron said as Art pulled into the small car park just along the road from the Windygates bowling club.
‘You say it like I drink in a brothel, or something,’ Art replied. ‘I do live here, after all.’
‘I know, but… a bowling club? I never saw you as a bowler, boss.’
‘Social membership. It’s somewhere I can go for a quiet pint. Somewhere I’m not judged for being a copper.’ Said in the same tone he would use if the patrons thought he was a nonce.
‘Fair enough.’
They walked the short distance to the club entrance. Inside, the lunchtime bowlers were gearing up to have a couple of beers and a bite to eat before going outside.
‘I don’t know how they do it, some of them,’ Art said, nodding to a couple of bowlers in their suits. ‘Go out on the green half-pished and throw the bowl about.’
‘It must take a certain amount of skill not to create a divot, right enough.’
‘That’s golf.’ Art looked at his colleague as they walked up to the bar. ‘You don’t play a lot of sports, do you?’
‘I played table tennis in school. Does that count?’
‘Did you win any trophies?’ Art asked.
‘No.’
‘Then close but no cigar.’
The bar manager approached them. He was older than Art, heavier with dark eyes, like he had seen his way around the world and had decided to drop anchor in this little village north of nowhere.
‘Art. Bit early for you, isn’t it? Well, on a weekday, anyway. Didn’t you have enough last night?’ He chuckled. ‘This your colleague? The one you were telling me about?’
‘No, this is somebody else. Dick, this is DS Cameron Reid. Cameron, Dick Drever, bar manager.’
‘How do?’ Dick said, grinning at Cameron. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t. The usual?’
‘No thanks, Dick. I don’t drink on duty,’ Art said.
‘Since whe… I mean, I didn’t realise you were on duty,’ Dick said, when he saw Art briefly shake his head.
‘We’re actually here in connection with the disappearance of DCI Alan McRae.’
‘Al? Fuck me, where’s he disappeared to?’
‘If we knew that, we wouldn’t be here,’ Cameron said. ‘Have you seen him recently?’
Dick’s smile slipped a little bit. Then he focused on Art.
‘The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago, when he was in with you. He was going on holiday, wasn’t he?
Tenerife or something. I told him the Canaries were better in the winter.
When you’re freezing your nuts off over here, you can be over there getting a nice tan. ’
‘He did go to Tenerife, and came back but he didn’t go back to his sister’s house and hasn’t been seen since.’
‘I can ask around, Art, see if anybody’s heard anything,’ Dick said.
‘Thanks, pal.’ He looked at Cameron. ‘Fancy a wee scran? It is lunchtime, after all.’
‘Sure. You got a menu?’ he asked Dick.
‘Just what’s on the chalkboard there. Take a seat and Rita will be over to take your orders. Pint, Art?’
Fuck’s sake, Art thought, making eye contact with the bar manager, who, by rights, should have been slapping himself on the forehead as he remembered Art didn’t drink on duty. Attention span of a fucking golden Lab. ‘I’ll just have a Coke, Dick. What are you having?’ he asked Cameron.
‘I’ll have a pint and a nip,’ Cameron said.
‘Coke for him, too,’ Art said. They read the board while Dick poured two watery drinks from the spray gun into glasses with some ice.
‘Cheers,’ Art said, paying for them, and they found a table in a corner where Art could keep an eye on the front door.
Old habits, he told Cameron for the millionth time.
Then Rita came over to take their orders. She hadn’t seen Alan McRae either.