‘We already have her address thanks,’ said Wheeler.

They walked to the car in the rain. Wheeler spotted him first. ‘Looks like we’re being watched.’

Ross looked at the boy who was sitting on his bike, watching them. His knuckles showed white as he gripped the handlebar. His hood was pulled tight around his face; only two dark eyes and a scowl were visible. Ross walked towards him, but immediately the boy pushed off on his bike and a second later he had disappeared around the corner of a house.

‘Too old to be a schoolie.’

‘So are Alec Munroe and Rab Wilson but they seem connected to the place.’ Wheeler stared at the houses. ‘You think there are kids behind those curtains watching us?’

Ross glanced down the road; he could feel eyes watching but there was no one in sight. ‘Probably – we’re the pigs, remember.’

‘Come on,’ Wheeler opened the car door, ‘let’s go to Milngavie and speak to James Gilmore’s poor old mother. I hope she’s not too much of a wreck.’

‘She’s bound to be in pieces. Her only son’s dead. I just hope she can hold it together long enough to talk to us.’

A few minutes later they were on their way.

Chapter 12

The car was idling at a red light on the road to Milngavie. The radio was on, a debate about the recent spate of violence against the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community in Scotland was just finishing. Wheeler reached for the volume and turned it up. She knew Callum Fraser was very active in the community and may have been interviewed for the programme.

‘Shocking statistics have just been revealed which suggest that hate crimes that target individuals because of their sexual orientation are on the increase. The number of reported cases of homophobic abuse, including violent attacks, has increased dramatically in the past four years.

‘Strathclyde Police spokesperson DI Andrea Sinclair had this to say: “We are aware of the on going struggle to bring the perpetrators of these crimes to justice, but we are committed to doing so. We firmly believe that, while the statistics show an increase in attacks against the LGBT community, there is also an increase in convictions. We work hard with the LGBT community and hope that all incidents are reported. This way, a firm message is sent out to the wider community that these kinds of hate crimes will simply not be tolerated. Prejudice, whether based on gender, race, religion or sexual orientation, has no place in a modern Scotland.”’

The lights changed. The programme ended and a jingle advertising The Sandy Shack Nite Club began. Ross reached forward and switched off the radio. ‘You think Gilmore might’ve been gay?’

Wheeler stared out of the window, watched the grey clouds scudding across the sky. ‘Could have been. Nothing seems to point at much in the way of relationships, either way.’

‘But he wasn’t openly gay, like Callum. I mean, no one even hinted at anything at Watervale.’

‘No, but I’d imagine it wouldn’t be easy to come out if you were part of the educational establishment.’

‘Especially when you’re working with kids who might give you a bit of a hard time.’

‘Yep, it wouldn’t be just a bit of joking from the kids themselves. The usual prejudices might emerge from the other teachers or parents. It could’ve been tough going and maybe he preferred to keep his sexuality private.’

‘Do you think it might have been a hate crime?’ Ross asked.

‘From a group of anti-gay vigilantes? Doubt it somehow.’

‘Or maybe an ex-lover? Or back to square one and keep an open mind?’ Ross stopped the car at a red light.

‘Square one for the time being; until we gather more of the pieces of the jigsaw, we can’t see a pattern emerging.’

Ross watched the light change to green, moved the car forward.

She reached across and touched his shoulder.

He glanced at her, ‘What?’

‘Is that dog hair on you?’ She picked off the offending piece of fluff.

He ignored the question. ‘Do you think that maybe instead of going to visit old Mrs Gilmore, we should go see George Grey? Gilmore was working one-to-one with him. Maybe they chatted; maybe Gilmore let something slip. Or maybe wee George isn’t quite the angel Ms Paton made him out to be and he’s going to do a runner. What do you think?’

‘I think we go see George Grey later. Let’s go visit Gilmore’s mother first – she deserves it.’

‘Okay, but I’m glad Stewart delegated it to uniform. Telling an old dear that her son’s been murdered ranks up there with the crappiest part of this job.’

‘Stop being so bloody sensitive. Maybe she can shed some light on who Gilmore was; we’ve not got much of a picture to go on. If he was a ghost to his colleagues, I’m hoping that he will have meant much more to his mum. And besides, while poor Boyd and Robertson get to visit Manky Miller at the youth club, we get a nice old lady in Milngavie. So stop whining.’

They drove into Milngavie. According to their directions the home was just off Mugdock Road and close to Tannoch Loch. ‘We’re looking for The Courtyard Retirement Community,’ said Wheeler.

‘Death’s waiting room.’

‘Hold that thought,’ Wheeler said, ‘here’s the turning.’

Chapter 13

‘That heater’s fucked. It’s boiling in here.’ Boyd’s shirt showed signs of sweat under his armpits as he parked the car outside the youth club and killed the engine. He had deliberately kept the sports news channel on full volume for the entire journey, which meant that conversation between him and Robertson would have been impossible. He glanced across at Robertson, noting that despite the heat, Robertson’s navy-blue suit and white shirt remained in pristine condition. His hair retained its dull sheen and today’s aftershave was lime-based.

‘Look.’ Boyd pointed to the end of the road. A group of boys stood huddled in the rain, hoods up close around their faces, watching them. Boyd waited for a couple of seconds until the boys moved off, then he opened the car door and stepped into the drizzle. He breathed deeply, theatrically. ‘Christ, Robertson, your aftershave is a bit strong in an enclosed environment.’

Robertson ignored him and strode ahead towards the club. ‘Let’s get this over and done with; if Munroe and Wilson were involved in Gilmore’s murder, then this place might hold some of the missing information.’

Boyd lumbered along beside him, wheezing hard. ‘Aye, maybe. Hard to tell if they were involved but there’s not much chance that anybody from round here’s going to talk to us.’

‘If the two boys are not directly involved, then they know something – they’re not the innocents they pretend to be.’

‘How come you’re so sure?’

‘A hunch.’

‘Aye, right. A hunch didn’t do much for Quasimodo, but knock yourself out, Sherlock.’

As they approached the building the sign suggested that it was open. The padlock around the gated entrance told them otherwise.

Boyd glanced around, noted that the group of boys had returned and were watching. ‘A wee audience for us.’ He ignored them, read the sign: Watervale Youth Club and in smaller letters, Support, advice and mentoring for those struggling in society.

‘Shite.’ Boyd shook his head, felt a burst of annoyance. ‘I’ve seen what vicious criminals can do, how they ruin lives. Folk like Manky Miller think every fucker has rights – the marginalised have a right to get enough support to live within a society they hate.’

Robertson watched a figure turn into the road and saunter towards them.

Boyd built up steam for his argument, his voice rising. ‘Helping the marginalised, ignoring the law, encouraging and supporting people to live outside the law? This Manky’s an ex-con and a spineless cunt.’