Chapter 17
FIFE
Monday evening. While Brodie was watching a DVD, drinking whisky on his couch in his apartment in Leith, DI Art McKenzie was with DS Cameron Reid in the Windygates bowling club.
‘Just play it cool,’ Art told the younger man. ‘Rules for tonight: no dancing on any tables…’
‘That was one time.’
‘…no vomiting on the green, but if you’re that pished you need to puke, I’m not going to be a happy camper.’
‘Of course I’m going to take it easy. Blend in, you said,’ Cameron said.
‘Dick Drever knows us. He met you at lunchtime, remember? We’re not going to draw attention to ourselves, is what I meant. Just two coppers in for a pint after a long day.’
‘Right. Not sitting like we’re undercover. Which we are.’ Cameron drank some of his pint.
‘Not officially. I invited you along here tonight to have a drink since you said you liked it here when we were going about our inquiries earlier.’
‘I never said that.’ Cameron looked at him. ‘I said somebody could improve the décor in here by setting fire to the place.’
‘A little bit louder, if you don’t mind. I don’t think they heard you up in Dundee.’
‘I’m just saying.’
‘Well, don’t just fucking say. They may be bowlers in here, but some of them are nutters.’
Cameron looked over at a group of men sitting at a table, playing dominoes. Old men, who may have been able to handle themselves a long time ago, and the meaning of ‘getting wired in’ for them meant getting wired into the Hun.
‘Here’s Drever coming over,’ Art said.
‘You two couldn’t keep away, eh?’ Drever said, smiling, standing at their table. He was holding three empty pint glasses by his fingers.
‘Aye, I wanted to show Cameron what a good time we have in here.’
Drever looked around. ‘Regular Vegas casino, this place.’ He looked back at Art. ‘Any sign of Al?’
Art shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He sipped at his pint. ‘How’s April?’ He sat holding his pint glass, looking up at the big bar manager.
Drever looked down at him. ‘She’s keeping well. Same old, same old.’
‘Last week, one of the boys was saying that her mother’s ill. At death’s door, he said. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Aye, but she’s lived a good life. April is away staying with her.’
Is that why you’re shagging Alan’s ex-wife? ‘Well, when you speak with her, tell her I send my best.’
‘Will do, Art. Thanks for that.’ Drever walked away, picked up more pint glasses and went behind the bar.
‘He’s married? And sleeping with Alan’s ex?’ Cameron said.
‘It happens…’ Art said.
‘Aye, but it just seems… personal. Like she’s still married to Alan, if that makes sense.’
Art looked at him. ‘It does. That was remarkably lucid. Have you taken some pills or been sniffing glue again?’
‘I think this lager’s been watered down. How’s that for lucid?’
Art tutted. ‘Burn the place down. Lager’s watered. What next? You think Alan’s been taken by aliens? Having a truncheon shoved up his arse?’
Cameron was watching the TV and turned to Art. ‘What was that?’
Art turned to look at him. ‘I said, you think he’s getting it shoved up his arse?’
They both looked up to see a man stopping at their table. Wearing a dog collar.
‘Hello, vicar,’ Art said.
‘Arthur. I didn’t see you at church on Sunday. Were you under the weather?’
Art had forgotten about this old codger calling him Arthur as well, despite telling him numerous times to shorten it to Art.
Senile old sod. ‘I was a bit… under the weather, yes.’ Lying on his couch nursing a massive hangover.
Saturday night had been karaoke night and the last thing Art remembered was dancing with a younger woman to Eric Clapton’s ‘Wonderful Tonight’.
A little bit of arse grabbing may also have been involved, and he was sure he hadn’t invited her home.
‘I hope you’re feeling better now,’ the vicar said. ‘I’m having a wee refreshment myself. Keeps the cold out. I generally only have one, but sometimes I’ll have more than one.’ He stood looking at Art.
‘Oh. Aye. Would you like another one?’
The vicar smiled. ‘Oh, I really shouldn’t. But why not, since you’re offering?’
Art waved at Drever and indicated that he was buying the vicar a nip. Drever nodded.
‘Dick’s getting it for you, vicar,’ Art said.
‘Oh, that’s very good of you, Arthur.’ He turned around and made his way to the bar.
‘Drunken old sod,’ Art said. ‘It’s not even fucking cold outside.’ He looked at Cameron. ‘I notice you didn’t jump in to buy him a drink.’
‘He’s not my vicar.’
Art shook his head. ‘As I was saying, Drever didn’t let the grass grow under his feet before having it away with Alan’s wife.’
‘Ex-wife,’ Cameron corrected him.
‘Aye, but he never showed any interest in her before now, but as soon as Alan’s missing, he jumps in there.’
‘How do you know it’s not been going on for a while?’ Cameron asked.
‘True, but he has to be careful not to get caught. His wife would not be best pleased. I heard she’s handy cutting up sausages with a butcher’s knife.’
Cameron looked up at the TV again.
‘You alright, son?’ Art asked. ‘You seem distracted.’
Cameron looked at his boss. ‘It’s Morag.’ His wife.
‘Is she okay?’ Art said, putting his pint on the table.
‘She’s fine. But we’ve split up. I’m back living with my mother again.’
‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’
‘I thought we could patch our marriage up, but things just went sideways.’
‘Sorry to hear that, pal. Honestly. Morag’s a great girl.’
‘Just don’t tell Drever, or else he’ll be along to my house with his slippers and dressing gown.’
‘How’s the kids taking it?’ Art asked.
‘They’re six and four. They think Daddy’s working away somewhere.’
‘Like on the oil rigs? Or the circus?’
Cameron looked at Art to see if he was taking the piss. ‘Something like that.’
‘You’re going to be driven nuts, staying with your maw again.’
‘I could always move in with you.’ Cameron supped his pint and stared off at the TV again.
‘That’s all we would need at the station, to have people think we’re a couple.’
Cameron looked at Art. ‘We’re a what?’
‘I said, we’re a fucking couple.’
Art turned to see the vicar standing at the side of their table. ‘I just wanted to say, I hope I see you at church next Sunday,’ he said.
‘I’ll be there,’ Art said, not quite making eye contact with the man of the cloth.
‘I think you need it,’ the vicar said in a low voice as he walked away.
Art shook his head and looked at Cameron. ‘Go to fucking church. Aye, watch me.’
‘Sunday, Arthur,’ the vicar said, his back still to them as he walked further away.
Art shrank down a bit in his seat, holding his pint up to his mouth for a few seconds, hiding behind it. Nothing wrong with the old bastard’s hearing, he thought to himself.
‘Same again, Arthur?’ Cameron said.
‘Don’t you fucking start. But yes.’
Art watched the vicar leave as Cameron got up and went to the bar. He felt sorry for his younger colleague. He would give anything to have his wife back. He would never get that chance but he hoped there was still a chance for Cameron.
And for Alan.