I readied myself for the worst.
I told Col all I’d learned about Billy and the case. I filled him in on Nadja and Zalinskas, on Cardownie and the footage and anything else I’d missed out on previous reports. Throughout he sat quietly, listened. He seemed to be recording all I said, storing it away, but his eyes looked dead.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get all the answers.’
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘What does anything matter now?’
‘I wanted to give you some closure, you know that, Col.’
‘What else could you do? They’ve drawn in the wagons. You’ve done all you could, Gus. I’m thankful for that.’
I’d called a taxi, the driver blasted on the horn from outside the pub.
‘What will you do?’ said Col.
‘Get away for a while. I think I might be able to patch things up with Debs — just maybe.’
‘You deserve some happiness.’ He leaned forward, called me in, hugged me. I thought he felt cold. ‘Thank you, Gus Dury.’
I felt tears in my eyes, but I didn’t care.
‘This isn’t goodbye, Col.’
‘Och, I think it is.’
He took my hand and shook it. ‘I wish my son had been more like you, Gus.’
It felt like the greatest compliment of my life.
The taxi’s horn sounded again.
‘I have to go.’
‘Goodbye, then.’
We’d no time to linger on a lengthy farewell; for that, I felt grateful.
I told the cabbie to take me to my mother’s house. I planned to collect the urn and get out of town. The furthest ahead I thought was to return Milo’s ashes to his homeland. If I could persuade Debs to come with me, I’d take it from there.
A line of cars stretched bumper to bumper all the way down my mother’s street.
‘Can you wait?’ I asked the cabbie. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
A huff. ‘I’ll have to keep the meter running.’
‘Well go on then.’
‘I’ll get turned. Can’t wait more than five minutes, though.’
I dashed inside. My mother sat in the living room with my sister.
‘Gus,’ said Cathy, ‘what is it?’
‘I can’t stop. How are you, Mam?’ She didn’t even look up, just stared at an indistinct spot on the wall.
‘She’s out of it. Doctor’s given her a scrip,’ said Cathy.
‘Is she going to be okay?’
Cathy turned around, walked me into the hall and closed the door behind us.
‘It would be nice to have you around a bit more, you know. She needs her family.’
‘Cathy, this isn’t a good time.’
‘You’re her son.’
The cabbie got impatient, another round of the horn sounded. ‘Maybe in a while. I have to get away for a bit.’
I turned from her, went to the hallstand and took down the ashes.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Cathy. She spun around, walked back to the living room, slammed the door.
I wanted to say something, but I knew time was against me. I took the Glock out of its hiding place beside the ashes and stuffed it in my waistband.
As I ran out the cabbie scolded, ‘I can’t sit about blocking streets all day you know. Lucky I never got a ticket round here.’
My mind buzzed. My hand brushed the handle of the Glock, and I felt tempted to put it on the cabbie, but gathered myself.
‘And where are we going now?’ he said. ‘Well?’
Where was I going? Had I any choices left? I knew if I took off, that was it. I’d be running for the rest of my days. Constantly looking over my shoulder. Worrying about strangers. Did I want that for Debs? Christ, did I want it for myself?
‘Well?’ repeated the cabbie.
I’d never see my mother again. I’d never see Col again either. And I might not be able to face Hod. I knew the solution was simple. ‘You selfish bastard, Dury,’ I told myself, ‘for ever out to save your own worthless hide — you coward.’
I thought about Billy. The girls. Those poor innocent Latvian girls who didn’t know what they had let themselves in for.
Then the footage of Cardownie started to play before my eyes once again.
‘Well?’ said the cabbie. ‘Where to? Tell me or get out!’
‘Turn it around again.’
‘ What?’
‘Back that way, to the hills. I’ll give you instructions on the way.’
Cardownie had a mansion house somewhere in the foot of the Pentland Hills. A place for the city’s rich to gather, where backs got slapped and plans hatched to divide spoils. Seemed as good a place as any for me to start.
After a quarter of an hour on the road I got out and tipped the cabbie with a fifty. Immediately, his tone changed.
‘Thank you very much, sir. If I can ever help you out again, just holler.’
‘Actually, there is something. Have you a piece of paper?’
I scratched down a note to Debs. If I didn’t make it, at least Milo would be properly laid to rest. I passed through the carrier with the urn inside. ‘Take it to this address and give her the letter — that should explain everything.’
To sweeten the deal, I dropped another twenty. ‘And make it snappy, eh?’