lot’ll be finding a few dead ones out there soon enough.’
McLean grimaced at the thought, even though every winter brought its share of them. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a man called Billbo? Two ells?’
Again the nurse shook her head. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid. I can ask, but this lot can get very defensive if you start prying.’
McLean gave her a weary smile. ‘Well, it was worth a try. And at least someone’s had a hot meal. Any chance of finding him a bed for the night?’
‘We never turn anyone away, Tony. If he wants to stay, we’ll give him a mattress and a blanket.’
‘OK. Thanks. I’ll leave him to your tender care then.’
McLean took one last look at the ex-soldier, hunched over his empty bowl as he pulled apart the last few pieces of bread, shoved them into his mouth. Gordy’s eyes darted from side to side, showing his wariness of the other people milling about. He needed medical care;professional help to get him over the trauma that had destroyed his sanity. And all society could give him was a bowl of soup, some stale bread, a mattress on the floor of an old basement in the dark recesses of the city. Out of sight, out of mind.
15
McLeanwasn’t sure quite what he’d been expecting, but Jennifer Denton wasn’t it. She was small, for one thing. Not so much short as tiny, as if she were actually a little bit further away than you thought. Her manner was distant, too. Not quite rude, but she didn’t try to hide the fact that she would rather be somewhere else, and quite frankly found the whole interview process tiresome.
She had arrived on the dot of eight, immaculately turned out. McLean had visions of her poor hairdresser having to schedule an early appointment ‘just for Mam’selle’. It was certainly a lot more effort than most of his interviewees went to. When he’d shown her to the interview room she had sniffed the air with a disapproving nose. He had taken some small satisfaction from the knowledge that the last occupant of the chair he offered her had been a mad ex-soldier who’d been sleeping rough.
‘You’ve worked for Mr Weatherly quite a while now, Miss Denton,’ he said after the formalities had been dispensed with.
‘Twenty years. I started off in his campaign office. Just a summer job to get some experience. When he won the election, Andrew asked me to stay on.’
‘What do you … What did you do for him?’
‘I explained all this to your sergeant. What was her name? Ritchie?’
McLeanpicked up the top sheet from a pile of papers lying in front of him and made a pretence of reading it. ‘I’ve seen DS Ritchie’s interview transcripts. You’ve been very helpful. All of Weatherly Asset Management have. But there are a few things we need to clear up. It says here you were Mr Weatherly’s PA. So what, exactly, did that entail?’
‘Everything, Inspector.’ Said without a hint of a smile, maybe an edge of weary exasperation. ‘Andrew was brilliant, but like most brilliant men he was completely incapable of organizing his life. My job was to make sure he knew where he was meant to be, what he was supposed to be doing, who he was supposed to be meeting.’
‘Sounds like you were very busy.’
‘I was … I am efficient. Busy is a sign of incipient disorganization.’ Miss Denton shifted ever so slightly in her seat. ‘Show me a busy man and I’ll show you someone just barely able to cope.’
Sitting beside him, Grumpy Bob stifled a chuckle, turning it into an unconvincing cough. McLean ignored him as best he could.
‘Was Weatherly busy?’ he asked.
‘Oh, dreadfully. Always rushing around, never taking the time to do things properly.’ This time Miss Denton gave him a knowing smile as she answered, as if she were sharing a great secret. It was gone in an instant, replaced with her normal, businesslike facade as she began reciting what was obviously a well-rehearsed list. ‘He was on several committees at Holyrood, as
McLean grimaced at the thought, even though every winter brought its share of them. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a man called Billbo? Two ells?’
Again the nurse shook her head. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid. I can ask, but this lot can get very defensive if you start prying.’
McLean gave her a weary smile. ‘Well, it was worth a try. And at least someone’s had a hot meal. Any chance of finding him a bed for the night?’
‘We never turn anyone away, Tony. If he wants to stay, we’ll give him a mattress and a blanket.’
‘OK. Thanks. I’ll leave him to your tender care then.’
McLean took one last look at the ex-soldier, hunched over his empty bowl as he pulled apart the last few pieces of bread, shoved them into his mouth. Gordy’s eyes darted from side to side, showing his wariness of the other people milling about. He needed medical care;professional help to get him over the trauma that had destroyed his sanity. And all society could give him was a bowl of soup, some stale bread, a mattress on the floor of an old basement in the dark recesses of the city. Out of sight, out of mind.
15
McLeanwasn’t sure quite what he’d been expecting, but Jennifer Denton wasn’t it. She was small, for one thing. Not so much short as tiny, as if she were actually a little bit further away than you thought. Her manner was distant, too. Not quite rude, but she didn’t try to hide the fact that she would rather be somewhere else, and quite frankly found the whole interview process tiresome.
She had arrived on the dot of eight, immaculately turned out. McLean had visions of her poor hairdresser having to schedule an early appointment ‘just for Mam’selle’. It was certainly a lot more effort than most of his interviewees went to. When he’d shown her to the interview room she had sniffed the air with a disapproving nose. He had taken some small satisfaction from the knowledge that the last occupant of the chair he offered her had been a mad ex-soldier who’d been sleeping rough.
‘You’ve worked for Mr Weatherly quite a while now, Miss Denton,’ he said after the formalities had been dispensed with.
‘Twenty years. I started off in his campaign office. Just a summer job to get some experience. When he won the election, Andrew asked me to stay on.’
‘What do you … What did you do for him?’
‘I explained all this to your sergeant. What was her name? Ritchie?’
McLeanpicked up the top sheet from a pile of papers lying in front of him and made a pretence of reading it. ‘I’ve seen DS Ritchie’s interview transcripts. You’ve been very helpful. All of Weatherly Asset Management have. But there are a few things we need to clear up. It says here you were Mr Weatherly’s PA. So what, exactly, did that entail?’
‘Everything, Inspector.’ Said without a hint of a smile, maybe an edge of weary exasperation. ‘Andrew was brilliant, but like most brilliant men he was completely incapable of organizing his life. My job was to make sure he knew where he was meant to be, what he was supposed to be doing, who he was supposed to be meeting.’
‘Sounds like you were very busy.’
‘I was … I am efficient. Busy is a sign of incipient disorganization.’ Miss Denton shifted ever so slightly in her seat. ‘Show me a busy man and I’ll show you someone just barely able to cope.’
Sitting beside him, Grumpy Bob stifled a chuckle, turning it into an unconvincing cough. McLean ignored him as best he could.
‘Was Weatherly busy?’ he asked.
‘Oh, dreadfully. Always rushing around, never taking the time to do things properly.’ This time Miss Denton gave him a knowing smile as she answered, as if she were sharing a great secret. It was gone in an instant, replaced with her normal, businesslike facade as she began reciting what was obviously a well-rehearsed list. ‘He was on several committees at Holyrood, as
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