Capital Offence

Chapter 26

Tuesday 11th June

15 days left

Vaila had no difficulty tracking down Patsy. She went in to the Constitution Bar the following morning when it opened for the lunchtime session, and found that the newspaper she’d brought with her was redundant. Half the punters were still exclaiming over their own copies, and a space behind the bar had been cleared of dark brown banknotes from holiday destinations around the world to make way for a framed copy of the largest double page spread.

A pint of Deuchars, and she was immediately in conversation with the barman and a couple of the regulars. They were already playing spot the face. Check out the look on wee Ian’s coupon! Is that Ally keeking ower his shooder? Lorraine disnae ken whether to run or join in. Mental!

“Is that Patsy there at the back?”

“Aye. Surprised she wisnae up for it...”

“Naebody wis peyin’”

Intakes of breath.

“Below the belt, pal. Well ooty order. But, fuck, aye.”

Vaila joined in. “Does Patsy live near here?”

“You ken Patsy, like?”

“No, I’ve never heard of her.”

“Ho ho boay - walked right intae that yin, ya bam ye!”

“Alright, alright. Fair comment.” The man refocussed over the bar, to where the barman was stacking bottles in the cooler compartment. “Spas - where’s Patsy Flanagan bide?”

(Flanagan! thought Vaila. Patsy Flanagan!)

“Doesn’t she stay at the flats? Down Citadel? And don’t call me Spas.”

“Aye, that’s right. She’s got a wean there. Looks the spit o’ Spas here.”

“Canny be. Must be ten year since Spas goat his end away!”

The barman gave the men a couple of fingers and continued stacking bottles.

“Is that Lenny by the pillar with his goab open?”

“If the goab’s open it’s Lenny.”

Vaila drained her pint and made her way out into the thin grey light of Constitution Street, then, pulling the collar of her leather jacket up around her ears, turned right and headed up Great Junction Street towards the Citadel.

*      *      *

 

Vaila stopped by the foot of the block of flats and squinted up into the fine drizzle which had started to drift down from a leaden sky. There was nothing on the rows of steel push buttons above the answerphone to give the game away. That would make it too easy. You could kid on you knew someone if their name was on the bell, and next thing they’d let you in and Bob’s your uncle.

As Vaila stood, undecided, a wee woman waddled up pushing a plastic shopping bag on wheels, with three extra plastic bags from the Co-op draped over the handle. In days gone by she’d have been wearing a tweedy coat and a headscarf - probably slippers if it was just out to the corner shop and the bunions were acting up.

Needless to say this one was wearing a bulging mauve track suit and trainers, with a blue four-buttoned jacket over the top in a style rarely seen outside the pages of the People’s Friend.

“Can Ah help ye pet?”

“Oh hi. I was looking for Patsy Flanagan.”

“She’s in 407 opposite Mrs Mac. Here, Ah’ll let ye in.”