‘So? You need to clean up this mess.’

‘How come it’s now my mess?’

‘You’re police. You can sort this.’

‘Think Jason already tried that approach. It failed.’

‘And he’s family.’

‘He’s your family.’

‘You’ve never cared about family. I suppose you think that it’s my problem and you can’t be arsed helping us.’

Wheeler held the phone out in front of her, shook her head in disbelief. Let her sister rant for a few minutes, heard key phrases – ‘you were always rubbish at emotions’, ‘hopeless at being part of a family but then . . .’ a pause as if she was holding back. Then a new list of why Wheeler wasn’t a good sister, hadn’t been a good daughter, blah, blah, blah. Finally Wheeler clamped the phone back to her ear. ‘You finished with the character assassination?’

Jo hadn’t. ‘How would you even know how a mother feels? You’ve no idea what I’m going through.’

‘You’ve no idea how clichéd you sound.’

‘Let me explain something: it’s like a physical pain. An actual pain.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake get off your cross.’ Wheeler was losing patience. ‘A young girl has died and Jason could be involved. He’s certainly lying through his teeth about something.’

But her sister still hadn’t finished. ‘I’m suffering, Katherine.’

‘Yes you are,’ Wheeler paused, ‘from a terminal case of melodrama.’

‘You fucking cow!’

The phone went dead. Wheeler looked up, caught Ross watching her. ‘Played that one well, didn’t I? Didn’t exactly get her on board.’

‘Could’ve been better, I suppose. You going to call her back?’

Wheeler shook her head. ‘First time I heard her swear.’

‘You must have touched a nerve.’

‘She said I was rubbish at emotions and family. This coming from a woman who’s produced a fucking psychopath for a son.’

‘Charming.’

She sipped the chilled wine. ‘But I’m right.’

‘You think she’ll come round when she realises the trouble he could be in?’

‘I doubt it.’ Wheeler looked at him. ‘I think he’s like his mother; it runs in the family. Besides, officially he’s off the hook.’

Chapter 60

‘Now it’s your fucking problem you little prick, so you should start worrying.’ Weirdo slammed his fist against the wall, narrowly missing Jason’s head.

‘I didn’t give it to her. She took it herself.’

The second punch hit Jason hard in the stomach. He doubled over and began to cry. Weirdo kept his voice low, controlled, professional. ‘Doesn’t fucking matter does it, you lying to yourself? Or the polis. Important thing for me is to find out where it’s from. See, I know you didn’t get it from me. You got it from some other cunt and now you’re going to tell me who, or I’m going to cut your shrivelled balls off and make you suck on them like sweeties. Understand?’

‘I need to remind you . . . you need to watch it,’ Jason wheezed. ‘You know I have a contact in the police force.’

Weirdo paused his fist mid-air. ‘Aye, so you said.’

Jason tried to hold the stare. Failed. ‘It’s true, I do have a contact, so you better stop this now.’

Weirdo leaned into Jason’s face. ‘You trying to scare the shite out of me?’

Jason misread the signs, gathered himself, tried for some bravado. ‘I already told you, my Auntie Katherine is an inspector with the CID.’

Weirdo laughed; Doyle was right – it was like taking sweeties from a baby. ‘And I care . . . because?’

Jason gave his answer the gravitas he felt it deserved. ‘A detective inspector can arrest you and put you in jail.’

Weirdo paused and pretended to think for a moment. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells with me; what was the name again?’

‘Detective Inspector Katherine Wheeler, Carmyle Station, CID.’

‘Oh aye, I remember now. I passed on that wee snippet to my boss already.’

Jason began to relax.

‘It’s just,’ Weirdo leaned in closer, his spit landing on Jason’s face, ‘that Katherine’s already been round to see my boss. My boss didn’t seem too upset.’ Weirdo continued, ‘And as for me, well I don’t give a flying fuck who your wee auntie is, get it?’

Jason got it. After the next punch hit the wall, again narrowly missing his head, Jason slid down onto his knees and knew that it was over.

‘Well?’ Weirdo stood back. Waited.

‘Stevie,’ Jason whispered.

‘Go on.’

‘Stevie Tenant. Guy said his name was Stevie Tenant.’

‘And how the fuck did you get to meet him?’

‘Your friend.’

‘My friend?’ Weirdo asked but he already knew the answer. Jason would never have seen Weirdo with Doyle, but he had seen him with Smithy.

‘The fat guy who was in the car with you.’

Bingo. ‘And now you’re going to go snivelling to your wee auntie?’

Silence.

‘Well?’

‘She already knows . . . that I knew Lauren.’

‘And?’

‘I said nothing about the drugs. She didn’t believe me though.’

‘Because?’

‘The West End cops already had me in. She told them to interview me.’

‘Go on.’

‘I told them I didn’t know anything about the drugs and they believed me. I never mentioned Stevie, honest.’

Weirdo shrugged. ‘I don’t give a fuck if you dob wee Stevie in it but there’s a few things you might want to be aware of.’ Weirdo bent down again and stuck his mouth next to Jason’s ear. ‘So, a word to the wise wee man, if you think I’m a scary fucker and I see from the wet on your jeans that you do, just try wee Stevie aka Crusher Tenant. If you want tae try and dob him in it with your wee auntie, you might want to stop by the undertakers’ and choose a nice wee burial plot for yourself first. And maybe one for your wee auntie Katherine as well. Happy shopping.’

Jason sniffed, wiped the snot from his top lip and stared at the carpet. Ignored the mess on his jeans.

‘See, now you’ve lied to the polis. Told wee porkies. I could mention it to them. I reckon the polis could have you banged up for supplying. And you might want to have a good think about what happens to little pricks like you in the Bar-L.’ Weirdo held up a finger. ‘One, your fuck-off English accent is going tae have them wetting themselves with joy.’ Another finger. ‘Two, the shit you supplied killed a wee lassie.’ A third finger. ‘Three, and this is the bull’s eye, why they’re really gonnae love you. You’re the nephew of a polis. The polis who maybe put them behind bars.’ He leaned into Jason’s face so far that spittle hit Jason’s cheek again. ‘And when I say they’ll love you, I mean it in the raw, physical way. Loving you until it hurts. You get my drift?’

Weirdo stood, stared at Jason for a few seconds, saw the tears form, then shook his head, ‘Fucking wean.’ As he closed the door quietly behind him, he heard the sound of Jason sobbing. Weirdo pulled out his mobile, punched in the number. Waited. ‘Hello, Mr Doyle?’

Silence.

‘It’s me.’

‘Go on.’

‘Just paid a visit to the student.’

‘And?’

‘He gave the Lauren kid the gear.’

‘Where did he get it?’

‘Wee Stevie . . . via Smithy.’

‘That right?’ Weirdo heard the edge in Doyle’s voice sharpen.

‘And,’ Weirdo continued, ‘he went on about his auntie, the CID cop, Wheeler.’

‘Did he now?’ Doyle’s tone had changed. ‘How much did he tell her?’

‘He didn’t tell her he gave the kid the drugs, but he says Wheeler suspects.’

‘Because?’

‘She got the cops to get him in for interview. He says they believed him.’

‘But Wheeler didn’t? She’s CID and her nephew’s just given a wee lassie drugs and she died?’

‘Yeah.’

The silence lasted for half a minute.

‘You still there, Mr Doyle?’

‘Okay Weirdo. Good work. Let’s keep this to ourselves.’

The line went dead.