my name made me want to jump in a bath of disinfectant and scrub myself clean.
I resisted the urge to start clucking and instead said, “Not any more.”
“Aw, I forgot, he ditched you for that blonde piece with the pneumatic tits after you had that wee bit of bother.”
Wee bit of bother? Somebody tried to kill me and they murdered my parents. What would he call a big bit of bother? But, I refused to rise to the bait. If only his admiring readers knew what an insensitive prick “The People’s Reporter” really was and how he carried a teddy bear around with him so he could strategically position it in photos.
“Aye, that’s me,” I snorted. “The girl dumped for a pair of fake boobs and bad hair extensions.”
He chuckled. “What can I do for you, Nancy?” He’d adopted a chattier tone.
“I need to ask you about something.”
“Oh, aye. And what would that be? I’m used to people giving me information, not the other way round.” I heard the smile in his voice. “What do I get for giving you this information?”
The bastard was toying with me.
“The benefit of doing the right thing, Kyle. Isn’t that enough for the
Daily Scot’s
ace reporter?” Despite the fact I wanted to reach my hands down the phone and throttle him, I managed to keep my tone light-hearted, almost like I was flirting with the creep.
Let him think he’d a chance of getting a little something, something and maybe he’d help me.
There was a deep intake of breath. “Okay, you got me there,” he said. “I’m all about doing the right thing.” There was a long pause and I heard him tapping away on his keys.
The ignorant swine said nothing for a few minutes before loudly clearing his throat. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“You did a story a while back about a mother who lost both her sons. One was an undercover cop. He was trying to bring Sandy McNab’s empire crashing down – at least before his daughter blew his brains out. He was called Sammy McIntyre.”
“Aye,” said Kyle. “Course I remember that. A major story for me. Major. Got me a pay rise here so I wouldn’t up sticks and head off for the bright lights of London town. Good opportunity for me, but I prefer my own wee domicile up here. Being the king of my own castle.”
I wasn’t interested in his career prospects, so I cut in. “Do you remember his brother’s name?” Whilst I was asking, I was hoping he wouldn’t hear the tremble in my voice.
Kyle let out a long sigh. “Tony. Naw, Tommy McIntyre. That was the brother. He died in Iraq. Blown up by one of those IEDs. Vaporized the poor bastard. They didn’t have anything left to bury. Not even his teeth.” For the first time, there was a trace of humanity in his smug voice. “His mother was a lovely woman; gave me tea and homemade shortbread when I went round. Only two boys she had and they were both gone, just like that. Bloody heartbreaking.”
Before he could say any more, I’d muttered a word of thanks and put down the phone.
My head felt like someone had stuck it in a washing machine and put it on spin.
If Tommy McIntyre was dead, who the hell was the man pretending to be him and what did he want with me?
Chapter 18
Kyle Cafferty might have been a womanizer and a sleaze but he was a good journalist with a clutch of awards to prove it. Even I had to concede that. It wasn’t like him to get his facts wrong. But I had to be sure.
There was one last thing I needed to do before I confronted Tommy and I wasn’t looking forward to doing it.
It wasn’t difficult to trace Tommy’s mother; if indeed that’s who she was. Tommy had told me that it was just him and his dad, who was in a nursing home, left and up until now I’d had no cause to doubt him.
I managed to track down the article Kyle Cafferty had written. For the piece, he’d visited Anne McIntyre at her Glasgow home where she was in the process of moving to a small coastal town in Ayrshire called Fairley.
Anne McIntyre
I resisted the urge to start clucking and instead said, “Not any more.”
“Aw, I forgot, he ditched you for that blonde piece with the pneumatic tits after you had that wee bit of bother.”
Wee bit of bother? Somebody tried to kill me and they murdered my parents. What would he call a big bit of bother? But, I refused to rise to the bait. If only his admiring readers knew what an insensitive prick “The People’s Reporter” really was and how he carried a teddy bear around with him so he could strategically position it in photos.
“Aye, that’s me,” I snorted. “The girl dumped for a pair of fake boobs and bad hair extensions.”
He chuckled. “What can I do for you, Nancy?” He’d adopted a chattier tone.
“I need to ask you about something.”
“Oh, aye. And what would that be? I’m used to people giving me information, not the other way round.” I heard the smile in his voice. “What do I get for giving you this information?”
The bastard was toying with me.
“The benefit of doing the right thing, Kyle. Isn’t that enough for the
Daily Scot’s
ace reporter?” Despite the fact I wanted to reach my hands down the phone and throttle him, I managed to keep my tone light-hearted, almost like I was flirting with the creep.
Let him think he’d a chance of getting a little something, something and maybe he’d help me.
There was a deep intake of breath. “Okay, you got me there,” he said. “I’m all about doing the right thing.” There was a long pause and I heard him tapping away on his keys.
The ignorant swine said nothing for a few minutes before loudly clearing his throat. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“You did a story a while back about a mother who lost both her sons. One was an undercover cop. He was trying to bring Sandy McNab’s empire crashing down – at least before his daughter blew his brains out. He was called Sammy McIntyre.”
“Aye,” said Kyle. “Course I remember that. A major story for me. Major. Got me a pay rise here so I wouldn’t up sticks and head off for the bright lights of London town. Good opportunity for me, but I prefer my own wee domicile up here. Being the king of my own castle.”
I wasn’t interested in his career prospects, so I cut in. “Do you remember his brother’s name?” Whilst I was asking, I was hoping he wouldn’t hear the tremble in my voice.
Kyle let out a long sigh. “Tony. Naw, Tommy McIntyre. That was the brother. He died in Iraq. Blown up by one of those IEDs. Vaporized the poor bastard. They didn’t have anything left to bury. Not even his teeth.” For the first time, there was a trace of humanity in his smug voice. “His mother was a lovely woman; gave me tea and homemade shortbread when I went round. Only two boys she had and they were both gone, just like that. Bloody heartbreaking.”
Before he could say any more, I’d muttered a word of thanks and put down the phone.
My head felt like someone had stuck it in a washing machine and put it on spin.
If Tommy McIntyre was dead, who the hell was the man pretending to be him and what did he want with me?
Chapter 18
Kyle Cafferty might have been a womanizer and a sleaze but he was a good journalist with a clutch of awards to prove it. Even I had to concede that. It wasn’t like him to get his facts wrong. But I had to be sure.
There was one last thing I needed to do before I confronted Tommy and I wasn’t looking forward to doing it.
It wasn’t difficult to trace Tommy’s mother; if indeed that’s who she was. Tommy had told me that it was just him and his dad, who was in a nursing home, left and up until now I’d had no cause to doubt him.
I managed to track down the article Kyle Cafferty had written. For the piece, he’d visited Anne McIntyre at her Glasgow home where she was in the process of moving to a small coastal town in Ayrshire called Fairley.
Anne McIntyre
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