The Papers of Tony Veitch by William McIlvanney Read Free Book Online

her for two or three hours last week and I didn’t feel like hitting her once. It must be love. She still hasn’t filed for a divorce, you know. It’s a sin. Once I’ve been there, I spoil them for everybody else.’
    â€˜When’s this happening?’
    â€˜Give it time. She’ll surrender. The kids are driving her daft. Use the house like an adventure playground. They need a father’s firm foot. Be a pity to leave my wee, snug bachelor-pad, mind you.’
    â€˜You could force yourself.’
    â€˜This could be the last time you get to crash down here. And that’s only the beginning. I’m going to show these bastards how a real polisman operates. I’ll embarrass them into promoting me.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜You know Paddy Collins?’
    â€˜In the Victoria Infirmary? The stab-victim.’
    â€˜Stab-victim? He’s got more holes than Haggs Castle. They didn’t know whether to bandage him or play a round on him. He’s been a dead man for days. They were just waiting for him to admit it. Last night he admitted it.’
    â€˜You know who did it?’
    â€˜No. But I will. I was with him a few times, but he never recovered consciousness. You know who he was?’
    â€˜Paddy Collins.’
    â€˜Aye. And Hitler was a housepainter. His name’s just Paddy Collins, but you know what his connection is? Cam Colvin’s brother-in-law. You know what that means?’
    â€˜Paddy Collins might not be the only dead man.’
    â€˜This could really be something big.’ Milligan’s blatant enthusiasm disconcerted Harkness, like someone offering guided tours of the mortuary. ‘Imagine it. I saw Cam’s sister at the hospital. She’s really into the grief-stricken widow routine. She’s had days to rehearse it. She’s getting good. Great, isn’t it? Her man’s always been a bigger shit than two tons of manure. Nasty to birds, nasty to blokes. Living off Cam Colvin’s reputation. Anybody who knew him would’ve voted him the man most worthy to be a corpse. But put him on a hospital bed and shove a tube up his nose, and it’s bring on the angel choirs. She’s going to make it seem like the end of the world. And Cam’s not going to like that. He’s going to want to give her a shroud to dry her tears. With somebody inside it. He can’t let it go.’
    Harkness shook his head, absorbing the implications.
    â€˜It makes Jack’s worry seem less than major,’ he said.
    â€˜Who, Laidlaw? He still your neighbour? St Francis of Simshill. What’s he up to?’
    â€˜I phoned my father there. Jack had been on the phone for me. Eck Adamson died in the Royal last night.’
    â€˜That’s a worry? It’s about as sad as breaking a bottle of meths. He must’ve been pure alcohol by now. Of course, maybe to Laidlaw he was just another example of suffering humanity. Christ, we’ve all got our worries, right enough. Anyway, as a tout Eck was about as much good as a budgie. He could hardlyrepeat what you told him, never mind tell you anything else. But I’ve got a real tout. Remember Macey?’
    Harkness nodded. When he worked with Milligan, he had met Benny Mason several times. Macey had been what policemen call ‘a good ned’ – professional, unviolent, prepared to play the percentages and take the odds the way they fell without complaint. He seemed to regard his transition to informer as a self-determined promotion. He wore it well, his nerves seemingly unaffected by the hazards of inhabiting that criminal limbo. Harkness had heard recently that on a break-in when an ill-informed policeman chased Macey and caught him, Macey had calmly explained, ‘Ye’re no’ supposed tae catch me. Ah telt ye about this job. Ah’m the one that jist manages tae get away.’ He did.
    â€˜You’re still using him?’
    â€˜Never to