LITMIR.BIZ

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joking, aren’t you? Aye, I saw him. That’s why I let him clobber me with a fucking chair. What about you?’

      Murray sat down on the other bed and shook his head. ‘Maybe I’m not as young as I used to be. Didn’t know what was happening until you were down and he was stabbing me with those bloody chair legs.’ He looked up. ‘What you grinning at?’

      McCoy shook his head. ‘Two of us. Glasgow’s finest. Brought to our knees by some loony armed with a bedroom chair. Maybe put in for a medal, eh?’

      Murray shook his head. ‘C’mon. After this shitshow I need a bloody drink.’

      *

      ‘Nowhere, sir. Uniforms didn’t move from the exits, didn’t see anything. Nobody came past them. We could search the building but it’s almost four hundred rooms . . .’

      ‘So where the fuck is he?’ asked Murray.

      Wattie shrugged. ‘He’s either hiding somewhere in the hotel or he managed to get out some other way.’

      Murray put his glass back on the table. They were sitting in the empty lounge bar, tartan everywhere. Smell of damp in the walls. Miserable bartender polishing a glass and looking at them suspiciously. Only other patrons were two old ladies sipping sherry.

      ‘He’ll be gone. No way he’s going to stick around here.’ McCoy took a sip of his pint, waved his arm around. ‘This hotel is huge. Even if we’d covered the exits there’s windows, service entrances, delivery chutes, loads of ways he could have got out.’

      Murray knew he was right, just didn’t want to admit it. ‘So what do we do now?’

      ‘Nothing we can do. He’ll turn up. Don’t think Connolly’s ever been out of Glasgow in his puff. He’ll no be going anywhere. Not while Elaine Scobie’s here. We’re looking for him, we’ve got our touts looking for him, even Scobie’s cronies are supposedly looking for him. He’ll turn up. Just need to go in mob-handed next time, make sure he doesn’t get away.’

      He held up the paperback he had found in Connolly’s hotel room. ‘He’s underlined something in here.’

      ‘Oh aye,’ said Murray, looking sour. ‘What?’

      McCoy read it out. ‘“The colonel had died badly. He had begged and pleaded and babbled hysterically, with tears down his cheeks, of the favours he could arrange for them if only they would spare his life. His last despairing words had been to offer them free use of his wife and daughters . . .”’

      ‘That supposed to be about Jake Scobie?’ asked Wattie.

      ‘Might be,’ said McCoy. ‘Really need to get Elaine Scobie to come in. Picture of the hotel-room wall’s proof if we even needed any. He’s obviously obsessed; she’s not safe.’

      Murray nodded. ‘I’ll have another go at Lomax.’

      McCoy finished his pint, stood up, winced.

      ‘Where you off to?’ asked Murray.

      ‘Boots the chemist and Marks. Aspirin, some plaster for these bloody cuts and a new shirt. You?’

      ‘Into the shop for a couple of hours then back home to change. Got dinner at the City Chambers. Some charity thing. All I do these days is go to bloody dinners.’

      ‘Perils of being a big boss.’ McCoy pointed at his neck. ‘Make sure the dress uniform doesn’t cover your war wound, give all the lady councillors a thrill. I’ll catch up with you later, see where we are.’

      ‘We need to be bloody somewhere,’ said Murray gloomily. ‘Between the press and the Super this Charlie Jackson thing needs to get sorted. Press went national today.’ He looked up at them and for the first time McCoy noticed he was starting to look old. More grey in his beard than ginger. ‘He’ll no be happy we lost Connolly today.’

      ‘We’ll get him, sir. Not be long.’

      McCoy headed for the door, hoped it was true.

      He was crossing the shabby foyer, almost at the hotel’s front doors, when they burst open in front of him. Jake Scobie and two of his boys were standing there trying to look like the bloody cavalry.

      ‘You get him?’ Scobie asked, looking round.

      ‘Not this time,’ said McCoy. ‘Got away.’

      ‘For fuck sake!’ Jake’s shout echoed round the empty foyer. Fat guy behind the desk looked up in fright.

      Murray appeared beside him. ‘Scobie? What are you doing here?’ he asked angrily.

      Jake’s colour was up, fists bunched. ‘You lost him, didn’t you!’

      Murray stepped forward; McCoy put his arm out to stop him going any further. Way Scobie was shouting the odds, he was definitely looking for a fight, and way Murray was feeling, Murray would be more than happy to give it to him.

      ‘Mr Scobie, can I ask you how you knew we were here?’ asked McCoy.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Can’t be a coincidence you turning up here, can it? How did you know we were here?’

      Jake looked exasperated. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? You had Connolly and you let him go! Useless shower. Usual polis shite.’ He shook his head. ‘Can see I’m going to have to do this myself.’

      Murray was still pressing against McCoy’s arm, trying to get to Scobie; could feel the weight of him. McCoy held firm. Last thing this investigation needed was Murray and Scobie going at each other in the foyer of the bloody St Enoch Hotel.

      ‘I’ll ask you again, Mr Scobie. How did you know we were here?’

      No response, just a glare. One of his boys cleared his throat, spat on the carpet.

      ‘Okay, Mr Scobie, let me explain things to you in simple terms. You are refusing to tell me how you knew the police or Kevin Connolly were here. If it turns out you are bribing or pressuring any officers on this case for confidential information that led you here, I’ll arrest you and make sure you spend the next couple of months in Barlinnie, Archie Lomax or no fucking Archie Lomax.’

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