The Long Glasgow Kiss

‘What I want is to know what exactly you, Small Change and Bobby Kirkcaldy have gotten yourselves involved in. I was hired by Willie Sneddon to find out who was trying to intimidate Kirkcaldy and to look after his investment. Now, after that sham last night, it looks to me like whoever it was succeeded and Sneddon’s investment has gone down the pan. Either that, or a deal of some kind has been done to get you all off the hook. What I want to know is with whom.’

Collins watched me as I talked, still cool and unflustered. I had to resist the temptation to walk around the desk and kick the chair from under him.

‘If what you’re saying is true, what’s it to you? Why should you care? You’ve run your errand for Sneddon. Fight’s over, the outcome is what it is, whether Sneddon likes it or not.’

‘Well, first of all, I have a funny feeling that it wasn’t some disenchanted gypsy brawler who killed Small Change. Secondly, even though you seem to be taking it remarkably well, the bottom has fallen out of Lorna’s world and I feel I owe her something. And thirdly …’ I stood up and leaned knuckles on his desk, pushing my face towards him. ‘And this is the thing that really riles me … There’s a kid lying in the Southern General taking his lunches through a straw, all because there was a chance he saw you arrive to talk with Bobby Kirkcaldy. And that’s where it gets puzzling. It was no secret that Kirkcaldy and Small Change did business. And you were Small Change’s partner in at least one enterprise. So what I’m wondering is who was in the car with you and why he didn’t want to be seen arriving that night.’

‘Listen, Lennox … if you’re really interested in clearing up Jimmy’s death, like you say you are, then I’m grateful for it … though it looks pretty much to me like the police have got their man. But putting that aside, do you think I would really have anything to do with killing Jimmy? Like you said, he was my father, whether it was public knowledge or not, and he looked after me. There were lots of things we were going to do together. He had big plans for me. Why would I have anything to do with his death?’

‘I don’t think you did. I don’t think you were responsible for his death and I don’t think you wanted his death. But I do

think you’re scared. And I know Small Change was scared witless before he died. Whoever had him scared has got you toeing the line, for fear of getting the same treatment.’

‘This is shite, Lennox. God knows where you’re getting this stuff. I wasn’t anywhere near Kirkcaldy’s house that day or any other.’

‘What day? I didn’t say when it was. And I didn’t say whether it was day or night.’

Collins gave a small laugh. ‘Look, you’re not tricking me into saying anything because there’s nothing for me to say. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Really? I think different. But, like you say, I’ve got nothing to back it up. Yet. When I do, it will be interesting to see who your biggest problem is: the police or Willie Sneddon. But, in the meantime, you think things over. If you decide you need my help to get yourself out of whatever it is you’ve gotten into, give me a call.’ I pointedly tossed my card onto his desk. He pointedly didn’t pick it up.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bantaskin Street, Maryhill, was hardly Sunset Strip, Hollywood, and observing a building from a car is less than inconspicuous when yours is one of only three cars in the street. It meant I had to park around the corner, some distance from the gym, leave the Atlantic, and carry out my surveillance from a tenement corner.

I hadn’t really expected to get anything worthwhile out of Collins. The whole exchange with him hadn’t been to find out what he knew, rather to hint at what I knew. Which was less than met the eye. If my hunch was right, it would take Collins only the time it takes to make a ’phone call and arrange a meet before he’d come hustling out of the side door of the gym. I’d guessed ten, but in fact it was nearer twenty minutes before he emerged and crossed the street to where he had parked his Lanchester–Daimler. I sprinted back to the Atlantic and came around the corner just in time to see the tail of his car as it took the junction into Cowan Street.

I had hoped for a car to intervene between me and Collins’s Lanchester, but Maryhill Road was pretty much empty of anything but trams and buses. I had to hold back. Collins would have checked the street before he got into his car, satisfying himself that I had gone. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be checking his rear-view mirror a little more frequently than usual. Thankfully, his burgundy Lanchester was the kind of colour you couldn’t miss, and I reckoned I could keep tabs on it from a distance.