Walter thought on it, his right hand massaging at his temples. ‘Wasn’t a drinker or a junkie, you say? Few of those men on the streets and that’s for sure. There was a guy a while back though . . . Aye, it could be him, I suppose.’

Her pulse quickened as she sensed a light in the dark. ‘Who was he, Walter?’

‘A young guy. Young to me anyway. Under forty for sure. He just stayed a few nights. Didn’t seem the type for this place, you know? He maybe took a wee drink but no like the guys in here. No like me. And he wasn’t a junkie. I called him the Saint on account of him being sober. He asked a lot of questions. Wanted to know how the place worked.’

‘And you told him?’

‘Course I did, lass. Like I said, he didn’t seem the type. You need to learn the ropes quick in here or you’ll never survive. Guys think you’re soft they’ll break into your room in the middle of the night and take your smokes or your booze, whatever they can get. I told the Saint to watch himself. You think it’s him? Jesus, I hope I’m wrong.’

Walter leaned in closer before Narey could reply and she managed to bite on her impatience and let him speak.

‘What happened to him? If it wasn’t the sauce or that junk they put into themselves?’

She didn’t want to lie to the old man but she couldn’t tell him the truth either. Not all of it at least. ‘We’re not sure yet, Walter. Looks like he was murdered.’

The man closed his eyes again and he pinched at the top of his nose. It was a small age before he spoke. ‘No wonder I drink, hen. No wonder we all drink or get stoned or whatever. What’s the point in staying sober when that’s all the good it does you. He was a decent laddie, that one, compared to some. What’s the point in being decent if you get yourself killed? And wee Sammy’s McClune’s baby. Never done harm to a soul, never had the chance. See some of them in here? Bad bastards, pardon my language. We all die just the same, good and bad. No wonder I take a drink.’

Narey could see the thirst growing in the man as she looked at him. Walter wasn’t going to finish this day as sober as he was now.

‘What can you tell me about this guy, Walter? When was he last here? Do you know what his name was?’

‘Last here?’ Walter looked surprised at the question. ‘Hen, I’m no very good with dates. Head’s too muddled with the drink if I’m honest. I think his name was . . . hell, let me think. Like I said, I called him . . . Wait. Brian. That’s it, Brian. That’s what he told me anyhow.’

‘I don’t suppose you know his surname?’

Walter laughed. ‘Hen, you’ve had all the memory I’ve got left.’

Narey nodded, her hand resting on the old man’s arm. ‘Thanks, Walter. You’ve been a big help.’

The man’s eyes were moist now. ‘See if you can find out what happened to him, Miss Narey? Will you? If they start killing the saints, what chance have us sinners got?’

‘I’ll do my best, Walter.’

‘And, Miss Narey . . . I wouldn’t normally ask but . . . all this—’

‘Don’t worry about it, Walter. I understand.’ She opened the hand that was resting on his arm just long enough for him to see the two twenty-pound notes that were in it. She then pressed them quietly into the man’s fist.

He looked up gratefully and managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks, lass.’

Narey and Toshney were making their way back down the stairwell, avoiding fresh dumps of vomit, when he spoke.

‘Boss, hope you don’t mind me asking. But you do know he’s just going to spend that money you gave him on getting plastered, right?’

She turned on him and he took half a step back despite himself, shoved there by the anger that was pouring out of her.

‘Of course I do, Fraser. Like he said, it’s no wonder he takes a drink. Living in a place like this, in a world like this. If it was my dad . . . well I’d rather he was sober than drunk but if he was a drunk then I’d rather someone bought him a fucking drink. I just gave Walter another reason to be drunk by telling him about this. Least I can do is pay for it.’

They stopped by the front desk on the way out and Narey wasn’t in the mood to go round the houses this time. She told Cochrane that she wanted to look at their register to see if they had anyone signed in by the name of Brian.

‘I don’t think I can do that.’

She smiled, glad of the challenge. ‘Oh I think you can. Or else you can just give me the excuse to rip your head off and shove it up your arse.’

He stared back at her for a few moments, trying to think of a way to argue. Finally, he gave in. ‘You may as well. It’s all public record anyway. I don’t remember any guy called Brian though.’

‘Do you really care what their names are?’ Her insinuation was paper-thin. Cochrane just glared back and pushed the open register towards her.

She went back four weeks and saw no one named Brian. Five weeks, the same result. Then there it was, one entry six weeks back, a booking that only lasted for four nights. The name beside it was Brian Christie.

‘What about this guy?’ She pointed at the name. ‘Remember him?’

Cochrane shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘So tell us!’

‘If it’s the guy I’m thinking of, he told us he’d lost his job and been thrown out by his wife. He said he’d be signed up for housing benefit by the end of the week. It never came through and he didn’t stay long.’

‘Five eleven with reddish hair?’

‘Could be.

‘Is it?’

‘I think so. Aye.’

‘Did you check for a previous address? See any ID?’

Cochrane laughed sourly. ‘Why would anyone? Who would anyone want to stay in here if they didn’t have to?’

Chapter 10

It wasn’t unusual for Narey to want to wash off the dirt of a day on the streets but this one demanded it more than most. She stood in the shower for fully fifteen minutes letting it soak her, lathering herself so much that her feet stood in a pool of bubbles. Staring up into the needles of the shower, she took the hit on her face and let the water run down into her open mouth.

She could feel her fists clenching and forced herself to open her hands wide. She placed them palm first against the tiled shower wall. Being angry wasn’t helping but she couldn’t shake it off. She slapped her hands against the tiles and liked the sound of it, so did it again.

She stood long enough to calm down. The anger was all still there, curled up and smouldering inside her like a sleeping dragon, but she was fairly sure that she was in control of it. For now at least.

Wrapped up in a towelling robe, she marched into the front room and dropped heavily onto the sofa. Air rushed from her and her eyes closed over. She wanted wine. It wasn’t a good idea though, given that her head was as muddled as it already was.

‘Glass of wine?’ Tony, mind-reader and bad influence, was sitting in the chair opposite.

‘Yes. I mean no. No.’ She didn’t open her eyes. ‘And I really mean no. But thanks.’

‘You sure?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. Want to talk about it instead? I’m guessing it was a bad one.’

Her eyes flicked open but her hesitancy was obvious. There was a line. One or other of them had first joked that it was police crime scene tape and it was there to keep him out. The line had been set a long time ago but they both knew it had become blurred since then. The choice of ditching it altogether was hers though.

‘Up to you? Tell me as much or as little as you want.’

She sighed heavily and rubbed at her eyes. ‘Okay. But only because this is therapy and an alternative to wine.’