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Morrow stepped forward. ‘I’m DS Morrow, this is DC Harris. We’re here about Malcolm.’
‘What about him? He’s not been arrested?’
‘No, Mrs Tait, we’re just really keen to talk to him.’
A
‘We did, aye, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.’
‘How?’ A
‘Can we come in, Mrs Tait? Would that be OK?’
A
Harris followed behind Morrow, closing the door behind himself. The hall was narrow and plain, painted green with matching carpet. To the left was a front room, as neat in its way as the Anwars’ but with older, cheaper furnishings. A set of stairs led up the right-hand wall to the bedrooms. Along the wall by the stairs were click-frame collages of family photos, all of Malcolm and ginger A
Malcolm making his first communion, standing stiff as a board in a shirt and tie, solemn-faced, hair watered flat, rosary beads strapped around his prayer-clasped hands like a parlour Houdini. It was outside the chapel down the road, Morrow realised, she could just see this house in the far background.
A
‘Gageing?’ repeated Harris, thinking he had misheard.
A
‘Good for you,’ said Harris.
‘It’s a family disease,’ she said, as if that explained it.
‘Is it?’ Harris looked genuinely perplexed and interested. Morrow was impressed. ‘What do you do about it?’
‘Oooh,’ A
‘Hm.’ Harris didn’t know what else to ask so he tipped his head in sympathy.
A
‘You’ll notice that the ornaments in here are shite,’ she said proudly. ‘That’s what it’s like to live with an addict. Ye have to watch the fuckers every minute or they’ll rob the eyes out your head, swear to god.’
‘Must be hell,’ said Harris lightly.
‘It is.’ A
‘So it’s a support group?’ asked Morrow.
‘Oh, more than that.’ A
‘Chased?’ asked Harris mildly.
Smirking, A
‘Never said that, did I?’ She stuck her tongue deep into her cheek defiantly, almost flirtatiously, daring them to prove it.
‘If you know of dealing on the scheme you should phone us.’
A
Morrow gave her a warning look, flicking her eyes to Harris, suggesting that though she herself was tolerant he’d be liable to lift her. Aware that she’d said the wrong thing, A
‘Did you firebomb someone?’
‘Naw, we never really.’ she said, but she was smirking. ‘Just kidding.’
‘Look.’ Morrow took charge. ‘Malcolm took a taxi from here to Toryglen yesterday morning. We think he might be in a lot of bother.’ It was a lie but she could live with it. ‘Could ye tell us who he knows there?’
She was stu
‘Toryglen, yeah, on the Southside.’
‘Doesn’t know anyone there. Toryglen, are ye sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Toryglen’s twenty quid away.’
‘Yeah.’ Morrow looked at her notes. ‘The fare was… eighteen thirty.’
‘Well,’ A
‘No, he pulled out a twenty and took the change.’
‘I’ll fucking kill him.’
‘Who’s he been spending time with recently? Is he working? Do you know who he’s been hanging about with, say, over the past couple of days?’
A
‘Mrs Tait? Who’s Malcolm been spending time with?’
Keeping her eyes on the road A
They watched as A
He was handsome, square-jawed, slim, dressed in clean jeans and a white T-shirt, no coat. He didn’t look like a local, he looked healthy, had muscled arms and a flat stomach, but he did have a broken nose. Outside the house a brand new silver Lexus was parked at the gate.
‘Have you got the plate of the Lexus we were looking for?’ asked Morrow.
Harris looked at his notebook. ‘VF1 7LJ.’
It wasn’t a match. ‘Unusual car out here, I would have thought. Run that plate anyway. We’ll wait.’
Harris scribbled it down and went back to the car to radio, leaving Morrow to watch. The blond man seemed pleased and surprised to see A
Harris came back to her side.