Chapter 27
FIFE
‘I still don’t think we should rush in here like we’re about to lynch him,’ Cameron said as Art pulled into the small car park of Windygates bowling club.
‘We’re just here to inform the bastard that she’s dead, and if he starts giving us lip, then we tell him that we know he was seeing her. Watch his reaction. Then we can boot him in the nuts.’
Cameron stretched after they got out of the car.
‘You look like a half-shut knife,’ Art said.
‘It’s that old, shitey bed my mother has in her spare room. I think it came off the ark. Hardly any padding, the springs creak every time I move.’
They started heading for the club. ‘Why don’t you just patch things up with Morag? Get back to your own scratcher.’
‘I wish. But it wasn’t my fault in the first place.’
‘And there lies the problem; you have a lot to learn about marriage, son.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like always accepting everything is your fault. Even if it’s theirs. Sometimes you just have to keep your head below the edge of the trench. Happy wife, happy life.’
‘Maybe,’ Cameron said with a shrug.
‘Maybe nothing. That’s the key to a successful marriage.’
‘Worked for you, did it?’
Art stopped and looked at him. ‘Aye, it did. I would still be married to my wife.’
Cameron blew out a breath. ‘Aye, sorry, pal. You’re right. I’ll try to talk to her.’
‘Good lad.’ He opened the door and they walked into the bowling club.
There was the usual crowd in, watching TV, playing dominoes. All they needed was a stripper and that would be the entertainment trifecta complete.
They walked up to the bar, Art glad to see the vicar wasn’t in, unless he was skulking about in the gents, lecturing somebody on the perils of drinking or something else. Do as I say, don’t do as I do.
Dick Drever was nowhere to be seen, and in his place was a woman Art knew usually served at night. ‘Bastard’s probably hiding now,’ Art said.
‘I’d go into hiding too if I was serving that watered-down pish,’ Cameron said, his eyes going to the TV again as a football match played out.
‘Jesus, here we go again. What next? The barmaid’s an old dug?’
Kim, the barmaid, turned to look at Art, glaring at him.
‘At the Malt and Shovel in Glenrothes,’ he said to her, feeling his cheeks burn.
‘You want a drink?’ she asked, not quite ready to burst out a smile.
‘No, actually, we want a word with Dick,’ Art said.
‘So do we. He never turned up for his shift.’
‘We saw him last night, but only for a wee while. Did he say if he wasn’t coming in today?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. I don’t work Monday nights, and I don’t socialise in this dump in my free time.’
‘Is there any way you can find out?’ Art asked, keeping his voice even.
‘Ask one of those old coffin dodgers over there. They’re never out of the place.’
‘Keeps you in a job, though, eh?’ Art said, walking away.
‘What’s her problem?’ Cameron asked.
‘She’s just a bad-tempered old cow.’ He quickly turned round to make sure she hadn’t heard him, but she had turned away and had picked up the phone behind the bar.
One of the aforementioned old coffin dodgers was named Bert Doogan.
Art nudged Cameron and nodded towards a table where some old men were playing dominoes. ‘Bert Doogan. Doolally, everybody calls him.’
‘To his face?’
‘Behind his back, obviously.’
‘What do you call me behind my back?’ Cameron asked.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘Which one’s Doolally?’ Cameron asked.
‘Guess,’ Art said.
‘Well, if you ask me, they all look doolally.’
‘Again with the fucking raised voice. Shout a bit louder, I don’t think they heard you out on the fucking green.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘The one with the flat cap on.’
‘Figures,’ Cameron said. ‘He looks like he’s not playing with a full deck.’
‘Which would have been amusing if they were playing cards.’
‘Help you, Art?’ one of the old boys asked.
‘Aye,’ Art replied, walking towards the table. ‘Any of you boys in here last night?’
They looked at each other and laughed. ‘We’re in here every night,’ Doolally said. ‘Saves on our electricity bill.’
They all laughed again.
‘More money for booze, boys, am I right?’ Art said.
‘Damn right, son,’ one of the others said.
‘When Dick was on last night, did he happen to mention if he wasn’t coming in today?’ Cameron said, cutting to the chase. ‘We saw him, but were wondering if he said anything later on.’
They looked at Art before looking at Cameron. ‘No, son. But he must have had a busy night after he left here. He likes a wee swally when he’s finished for the night.’
‘He’s getting peace with his missus being away, that’s for sure,’ Doolally said.
‘Did anybody try calling him to see why he didn’t turn up for work?’ Cameron asked.
‘We only drink here, son, we don’t run the place. Why don’t you ask nice-but-dim Kim behind the bar?’
‘She told us to ask the old coffin dodgers.’ Cameron said.
‘Did she fucking now?’ one of the old boys said. ‘Cheeky cow.’
‘Does anybody know where he lives?’ Art said.
‘You drink here too, son,’ Doolally said. ‘You’ve as much idea as any of us.’
Art was just spinning his wheels now. ‘Thanks, lads.’
‘How about getting us old boys a drink?’ one of them asked.
‘I’ll ask Kim to put it on Dick’s tab.’
They walked away to the bar, Doolally looking over hopefully.
‘You’re not seriously getting the old farts a drink, are you?’ Cameron asked.
‘This you doing your bit for Help the Aged? Calling them old farts?’
‘They hardly give off a vibe that they’re one piece of coal away from freezing to death.’
Art whipped his head round to see if any of them had heard, but Doolally and his pals saw this as a signal that Art was indeed going to splurge for a round and he gave the thumbs up to the detective.
‘Keep it fucking down. It’s like when people get pished and start talking at the top of their voice, only you’re fucking sober. Christ, you’ll be singing “My Way” on the way out to the car next.’
Kim came over, her face doing a fair impression of a walking UTI. ‘What now?’
‘Do you know where Dick lives?’ Art asked.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Well, I am.’
‘Nope.’
‘Can you find out?’ Cameron asked.
‘Nope.’
‘We’re conducting an investigation here, Kim. We need to talk to Dick,’ Art said.
‘Talk to your own dick, then.’
Art shook his head. ‘What if he’s fallen and can’t get to the phone?’ Cameron said.
‘Tough shit. I’m not his babysitter. If he’s fallen, he should be more careful. Besides, I’m not his secretary. I’m only here to serve drinks and packets of crisps.’
‘Well, thanks for your help.’
Kim walked away, and Art turned to Cameron for a second.
‘We’ll get his address from control. They can get it from DVLA.
But watch this.’ He walked back over to the table where Doolally and his pals were, and he leaned in close.
‘Sorry, lads, she wouldn’t let me buy a round.
She said you were a bunch of drunken old scrounging bastards and she wasn’t going to encourage you. I did try.’
‘She fucking said that?’ Doolally said. ‘The committee will hear about this. My son-in-law sits on it, and he’ll make sure her arse is out the door. Thanks, son.’
Art nodded and walked out the door, followed by Cameron. ‘How fast can you run?’ he asked.
‘Why? What happened?’
‘Let’s just say that nice-but-dim Kim might be getting her jotters soon.’
‘At the end of the day, as long as I can run faster than you, that’s all that matters.’