seem quite taken with it. Wounded bloody soldier.’
Cooper never was a very good liar; that’s why he hardly ever did it. Hadn’t got any better.
‘So what’s with Jumbo then? How come he’s a fixture?’
Flash of anger across Cooper’s face. ‘Jumbo carries things. That’s what. That okay with you?’
McCoy held up his hands. ‘Just asking.’
‘Asking too bloody much. You ask Murray to get rid of Naismith like I asked you?’
‘I’ve been off work, Stevie. I haven’t seen him. I can—’
‘Don’t worry. It’s done. No thanks to you. The stupid cunt got himself caught with half of bloody Watches of Switzerland in his office. He’ll get a couple of years at least.’ He nodded over at the empty chair by the budgie. ‘Hence Jumbo. Nothing like that is gonnae happen to me. From now on I’m holding nothing, carrying nothing.’
‘Good idea,’ said McCoy.
‘Aye well, I’m full of them the day.’ He reached into the pocket of his Harrington, took out a folded bit of newspaper and held it out to McCoy. ‘As I said, not much to do in the hospital. So you end up reading the paper.’
McCoy took the paper, unfolded it. Was half a page of the Herald. Cooper must have been really bloody bored if he was reading the Herald. A picture taken at some function in the Central Hotel. Four middle-aged men. Three in dinner suits, one in a dress police uniform.
POLICE CHIEF RETIREMENT DINNER
McCoy didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking at. Looked over at Cooper.
‘The polis,’ he said. ‘Look at him properly.’
McCoy took another look. Just made it to the kitchen sink before he was sick.
EIGHT
By the time he left Cooper and got back to the flat McCoy was running late, very late. He held up his hands in acknowledgement, said sorry as he came into the flat, already taking his jacket off. Susan looked like thunder. He got his orders. Had to be washed, shaved and into the new suit and tie in ten minutes.
He hurried into the bathroom, took his shirt off and ran the hot tap, got his shaving foam out the wee mirrored cupboard. He pressed the can, squirted the foam onto his hand and spread it round his chin.
Cooper had been quiet, persuasive. None of his usual bluster and threats. He said it was simple. What had been done was done. Nothing could change it. All that was left was revenge. And they were the ones to do it.
He pulled the razor down his face, scraping noise against the bristle, waved the razor in the water in the sink.
He had listened to Cooper, agreed with what he was saying, and then he had said no. He was as surprised as Cooper was. For the first time in his life he had said no to Stevie Cooper. He couldn’t do it. The past was the past. Gone. And he wasn’t going back there, not for anyone. No matter what had happened. No matter how angry Cooper got. No matter how many threats he made.
He rubbed the remains of the shaving foam off his face with a towel. Looked at himself. A thirty-year-old man, a detective, shaving himself at his girlfriend’s flat. Whatever had happened, he had moved on. He had managed to leave it behind and that’s where he needed it to stay.
He dragged a comb through his wet hair, brushed his teeth.
Funny thing was he felt calm, not what he had expected at all. Decision had been made. Case closed.
He walked through to the kitchen and presented himself for inspection. Only one nick on his neck, suited and booted and ready to go. Susan had a dress on, wee flowers all over it, deep neckline, had her hair up, looked a million dollars. She looked McCoy up and down, moved in and straightened his tie. Kissed him.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ she said.
The Malmaison restaurant was hushed, a comfort zone of linen and waiters, silver service and good wine. Room was softly lit with candles on the tables, chandeliers above. Susan took McCoy’s hand and led him towards a table under the minstrels’ gallery. Other diners a mixture of well-dressed couples and groups of rich-looking businessmen. McCoy put a smile on his face as he passed them all, tried to look like he belonged here, like he belonged with Susan.
They sat down. Waiter arrived with menus and a wine list which he opened with a flourish and gave to McCoy. He promptly handed it to Susan. No use pretending, he knew as much about wine as she did about being a polis. They were here for an early Valentine’s dinner. Susan was working Wednesday night so she’d arranged this.
‘Who is that guy anyway?’ asked Susan, reading the menu.
No need to ask who she was talking about.
‘Told you. He was there in the house when Dunlop—’
‘I know that, but why was he there? What’s he to you?’
The waiter appeared and they ordered. Steak for him, venison for her. Bottle of Malbec, whatever that was. Waited until he’d left until he replied.
‘Stevie? He’s an old pal. He’s a good guy underneath it all.’
She looked at him. ‘Didn’t look like it. Looked like a right nasty piece of work. And who was Lurch?’
‘Jumbo. His pal.’
‘What happened to his finger?’ asked Susan, holding up her left hand.
‘Eh?’ asked McCoy.
‘Jumbo. He only had half of one finger.’
‘That right?’ said McCoy. ‘I never noticed.’
The wine arrived. Susan tasted it and deemed it fine. Waiter poured them two glasses and McCoy made a start on it and the wee basket of bread rolls.
‘So how does he make his money, this Stevie?’ asked Susan, watching McCoy shoving most of a roll in his mouth.
McCoy tried to chew it down, replied. ‘Does a bit of this and that. Why? Why are you so interested in Stevie Cooper all of a sudden? Thought we were supposed to be whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, not talking about my pal.’
Susan wasn’t going to be derailed easily. ‘Does he deal with prostitutes, run them?’
‘What?’ he asked, looking over at her. He wasn’t the only one; a middle-aged lady in pearls had heard her too. Looked somewhat surprised at the subject of the conversation.
‘Does he?’
‘Well, I suppose so—’
‘Good!’ Susan looked delighted. ‘Exactly the kind of person I need to talk to for my thesis.’ she said. ‘You could arrange it.’
The thought of Susan and Stevie Cooper having a cosy chit-chat about the economics of sexual exploitation was more
