Strange Loyalties by William McIlvanney Page B

angst. He had a face like a baby which has just discovered tickling. His mood was infectious. A late night in the Bushfield looked to be in the offing.
    John Strachan came back with the number and the address. The sight of a fresh pint seemed to make him nervous. He would have to be getting back to Mhairi. I thanked him for his help and we talked a little longer and I told him how much the painting of the five men at the table had interested me.
    When he was gone, I went to the pay-phone and dialled the number he had given me. The voice that answered was strong and self-assured.
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Hullo. Is that Mr Lyons?’
    â€˜It is. Who’s this?’
    â€˜I’m sorry to bother you. My name’s Jack Laidlaw. I’m Scott Laidlaw’s brother.’
    â€˜Ah, hullo. I was really sorry to hear about Scott. It was a terrible loss.’
    â€˜Yes. I was wondering, Mr Lyons. I’m in Ayrshire just now. I suppose you could call it a kind of sentimental journey. I’m just trying to sort out my feelings about Scott’s death. And I wondered if I could talk to you some time this week.’
    He hadn’t sounded like the sort of man who would hesitate as long as this.
    â€˜Excuse me. Where did you get my number?’
    It was my turn to hesitate, since I didn’t know where his number had come from. I could hear what I thought was Mozart faintly in the background.
    â€˜I was going through some of Scott’s papers. And your number came up.’ I was embarrassed by the way it came out. I had made it sound rather ominous: this is death on the line. ‘I mean, I found your telephone number. And I thought, as a friend of Scott’s, you were somebody I would like to talk to. I had lost touch a bit with him at the end. I’d just like to see him more clearly.’
    â€˜Papers?’ he said. ‘What kind of papers were these?’
    It was a strange question, not to say impertinent. That interested me. It seemed to imply that there might be papers Dave Lyons would be worried about. My casually evasive movement might have bumped against something solid. I decided to move carefully.
    â€˜Just some of Scott’s things.’
    â€˜Well, I’m very busy this week. Normally, I’d be in Edinburgh and it wouldn’t be possible anyway. But I’m working from home this week. I’m sorry but the schedule’s pretty tight.’
    â€˜It wouldn’t take long, Mr Lyons. There’s something in particular I’d like to talk to you about.’
    â€˜What would that be?’
    Papers, significant papers, I hoped my pause was suggesting. ‘It’s a bit complicated to go into on the phone.’
    I suspected his silence was debating whether it was better to close me off now or to check out what I thought it was I had. There was something here. I sensed it.
    â€˜Tell you what. I really am busy this week. There’s not much time I can give you. But tomorrow. I have a business lunch. At Cranston Castle House. If you’re there round about twoish. We can maybe have a few minutes. But only a few. It’s the best I can do.’
    â€˜It’s great,’ I said. ‘I appreciate it.’
    â€˜You know where it is?’
    â€˜Not exactly. But I’ll find it.’
    â€˜All right, then. I’ll see you then.’
    I was looking forward to meeting him. When I came back into the lounge, my evening went into a higher gear. The talk covered a lot of ground fast. The Happy Dane and I found we both liked Kris Kristofferson. A stranger offered me his condolences and told me that an old man called Sanny Wilson had met Scott in a bar the night he was killed. Sanny had told the man something he remembered. Scott had said at one point, ‘The man in the green coat has died again.’ I was intrigued. The man said that, if I was still here tomorrow night, he would try and bring Sanny Wilson in to tell me about it himself. I said I