clearing them up. It’s the law of supply and demand in reverse. The public demands action, my lot supply it, and I take the credit.’
He glanced at me with a grin I didn’t like. ‘You must have had a scare this morning. Christ, I remember you on a turnout once. It was a drugs overdose, but CID got involved. You were the greenest probationer I’d ever seen, greener even than Michael here at his first murder.’
He looked down at Prim. ‘And how about you, Miss Phillips? Are you okay now?’
‘Fine thanks,’ said Prim. ‘I’m just glad that Oz was with me, otherwise I’d have been scared to death.’
‘Mmm,’ said Ross, with a half-smile. ‘Just as well. Tell me, have you made contact with your sister yet?’
She looked up at him, sharply. ‘I haven’t a clue where my sister is, any more than I know which of her friends had the key to my flat. Believe me, when I find out...’
Ross nodded. ‘Aye, sure. Just let us know when you do.’
I decided to chance my arm. ‘Have you identified the body yet?’
‘Naw,’ said Ross. ‘Not a notion. We were thinking about circulating a description of his cock. That’s probably our best chance of a response.’
Prim frowned at him. She has a rare talent for making men feel ill at ease, but Ricky Ross was beyond her reach. He simply ignored her, continuing to smile at me. ‘Nae use to him now though, Blackstone, is it? Wonder if he’s left it to anyone in his will?’
‘Aye,’ I agreed, ‘and even if it was shared out, I can think of a couple of polismen who’d find just half of it an improvement! Present company excepted, of course,’ I added, after a pause. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked, as Prim spluttered beside me.
The phrase ‘Can I get you a drink?’ is a device which is, as far as I know, peculiar to Edinburgh. Its meaning depends entirely on the company in which the enquirer finds himself, and, with the finest inflection, shifts from a wholly sincere, ‘Can I get you a drink?’ to an equally sincere, ‘If that’s all you’ve got to say, why don’t you fuck off and leave us alone?’
Ross read my meaning correctly. ‘No thanks, we’re meeting someone. He’s over there, in fact.’ I turned to follow his gaze and caught the eye of a thin, sallow man, who I seemed to remember was a car dealer with a reputation for supplying MOT’s to fit all price ranges.
‘Oh. Okay, then. We’ll look in tomorrow to give you those statements, Inspector.’
The men in suits made their way round the bar, the pack opening up to let them pass at my deliberately loud mention of Dylan’s rank. As they reached the other side, Ricky Ross shot a look towards us, back across the crowded room, which made me feel suddenly that I might just have taken too big a liberty.
‘I didn’t like him at all!’ said Prim, as they were out of earshot.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Welcome to the club. It’s difficult to underestimate a bloke like Dylan, but Ross is in a different league. He operates at a much higher level of nastiness.’
I reached for my glass, but found that during our conversation with the forces of the law an over-zealous bar steward, or an out and out thief, had removed it, and Prim’s lager, although each had been at least half-full. I started towards the bar, but she tugged my arm. ‘Come on. Forget those, it’s time for that pizza.’
I should have known. It was Thursday and so the Bar Roma was heaving, without a table in sight. Prim looked at me, frustrated beyond belief, until I put yet another Plan B into operation. We commandeered a taxi from the rank outside Fraser’s and headed for the Pizzarama, halfway up Leith Walk, purveyors of the biggest pizza in town. We bought two monsters to go, then grabbed another taxi and went back to the loft and my extensive, if inexpensive, wine cellar.
A great takeaway pizza is always slightly underdone. The Pizzarama giants, covered in tomato, pepperoni, ham, artichokes and God knew what else,
He glanced at me with a grin I didn’t like. ‘You must have had a scare this morning. Christ, I remember you on a turnout once. It was a drugs overdose, but CID got involved. You were the greenest probationer I’d ever seen, greener even than Michael here at his first murder.’
He looked down at Prim. ‘And how about you, Miss Phillips? Are you okay now?’
‘Fine thanks,’ said Prim. ‘I’m just glad that Oz was with me, otherwise I’d have been scared to death.’
‘Mmm,’ said Ross, with a half-smile. ‘Just as well. Tell me, have you made contact with your sister yet?’
She looked up at him, sharply. ‘I haven’t a clue where my sister is, any more than I know which of her friends had the key to my flat. Believe me, when I find out...’
Ross nodded. ‘Aye, sure. Just let us know when you do.’
I decided to chance my arm. ‘Have you identified the body yet?’
‘Naw,’ said Ross. ‘Not a notion. We were thinking about circulating a description of his cock. That’s probably our best chance of a response.’
Prim frowned at him. She has a rare talent for making men feel ill at ease, but Ricky Ross was beyond her reach. He simply ignored her, continuing to smile at me. ‘Nae use to him now though, Blackstone, is it? Wonder if he’s left it to anyone in his will?’
‘Aye,’ I agreed, ‘and even if it was shared out, I can think of a couple of polismen who’d find just half of it an improvement! Present company excepted, of course,’ I added, after a pause. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked, as Prim spluttered beside me.
The phrase ‘Can I get you a drink?’ is a device which is, as far as I know, peculiar to Edinburgh. Its meaning depends entirely on the company in which the enquirer finds himself, and, with the finest inflection, shifts from a wholly sincere, ‘Can I get you a drink?’ to an equally sincere, ‘If that’s all you’ve got to say, why don’t you fuck off and leave us alone?’
Ross read my meaning correctly. ‘No thanks, we’re meeting someone. He’s over there, in fact.’ I turned to follow his gaze and caught the eye of a thin, sallow man, who I seemed to remember was a car dealer with a reputation for supplying MOT’s to fit all price ranges.
‘Oh. Okay, then. We’ll look in tomorrow to give you those statements, Inspector.’
The men in suits made their way round the bar, the pack opening up to let them pass at my deliberately loud mention of Dylan’s rank. As they reached the other side, Ricky Ross shot a look towards us, back across the crowded room, which made me feel suddenly that I might just have taken too big a liberty.
‘I didn’t like him at all!’ said Prim, as they were out of earshot.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Welcome to the club. It’s difficult to underestimate a bloke like Dylan, but Ross is in a different league. He operates at a much higher level of nastiness.’
I reached for my glass, but found that during our conversation with the forces of the law an over-zealous bar steward, or an out and out thief, had removed it, and Prim’s lager, although each had been at least half-full. I started towards the bar, but she tugged my arm. ‘Come on. Forget those, it’s time for that pizza.’
I should have known. It was Thursday and so the Bar Roma was heaving, without a table in sight. Prim looked at me, frustrated beyond belief, until I put yet another Plan B into operation. We commandeered a taxi from the rank outside Fraser’s and headed for the Pizzarama, halfway up Leith Walk, purveyors of the biggest pizza in town. We bought two monsters to go, then grabbed another taxi and went back to the loft and my extensive, if inexpensive, wine cellar.
A great takeaway pizza is always slightly underdone. The Pizzarama giants, covered in tomato, pepperoni, ham, artichokes and God knew what else,
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