Watcher by Grace Monroe Read Free Book Online

showed up. The Watcher wasn’t pleased. The rumble of a bike engine had quickened his pulse for a moment. She’s come back . But it wasn’t Brodie. Glasgow Joe got off his trike and started snooping.
    The Watcher disappeared into the shadows to wait.

Chapter Nine
     
     
    St Leonards Police Station, Edinburgh
Sunday 23 December, 1.35 a.m.
    St Leonards police station was aglow. The artificial Christmas tree twinkled as its lights flashed on and off – it was enough to cause a punter to have an epileptic fit. As usual my timing was impeccable. I was parking the Fat Boy just as the meat wagon arrived with its cargo of petty criminals, herded up from the city streets. Normally, it’s a wonderful opportunity to score new business, but Sergeant Munro was hovering and I knew he would do anything to thwart me. Did that man never sleep?
    The lager louts were drunker than usual, filled with Christmas cheer and all manner of illegal substances; there were many well-kent faces in the crowd.
    ‘Brodie, darlin’ – you look beautiful! Gies a kiss for ma Christmas!’ I could always rely on wee Billy Palmer for an arrest and a compliment; the effect of the latter was shattered seconds later when he threw up in the gutter. The other prisoners laughed and jeered.
    ‘Better out than in, son, that’s what I always say,’ said Sergeant Munro. Billy Palmer lifted his head and wiped his face on the sleeve of his grubby hoody. Ever the gallant, he blew me a kiss – he used the hand which had L.O.V.E. tattooed on the knuckles.
    It was a right rogues’ gallery tonight. I’d represented most of these wasters at one time or another over the years. Shuggy McAllister was dragged along by Sergeant Munro – right through the diced carrots and custard or whatever it was that had been in Billy’s stomach. Shuggy was a small-time crook who had ideas above his station, and was fussy about his appearance. Lifting his foot, he tried to wipe the sole of his shoe on Billy Palmer’s back.
    ‘Palmer – ya dirty wee bastard!’ McAllister shouted. ‘D’you ken how much these fuckin’ boots cost me?’ The officers in charge weren’t expecting it. McAllister broke free and kicked Billy Palmer full in the face. There was a crack, and then the sound of a jaw breaking carried far into the night. It was always like that; the atmosphere could turn on a five-pence piece. It was always wise to watch your back.
    ‘I’m sorry – I didnae mean it, man!’ Billy Palmer screamed his apology through bloodstained teeth as he cowered in the gutter. His eyes held mine, beseeching me to get him out, but he was already on bail so it was Christmas in Saughton Prison for him. I didn’t think Santa would bring him anything other than another beating from Shuggy McAllister.
    The situation was quickly under control. The noise had alerted Malcolm who had been inside the station keeping warm. Sergeant Munro had made him a cup of tea. Their association went back years, to the times when Malcolm himself was getting lifted for lewd and libidinous behaviour. Malcolm teetered out on the toes of his patent pumps, watching where he stepped and ignoring the fracas – it was nothing he hadn’t seen many times before.
    ‘Honey! You came!’ In the best tradition of a drag queen he extended his arms and hugged me, holding on as if he’d never let go. I didn’t mind; he smelled a lot better than Billy Palmer.
    ‘Come here,’ I said to him gently. ‘Let me see what damage that bastard has done this time.’ I pulled Malcolm under the nearest streetlamp. Gingerly, I touched his blacked eye. ‘What’s this – has your mascara run?’ I ran my fingertips over his swollen lips; tears of shame filled his eyes.
    ‘I was going to say that you could do with some leeches – but I forgot you married one.’ Malcolm is a Beaton, a family known throughout Scottish history as healers. As he himself said many times, ‘Life in Glasgow was tough for a pansy.’ He went to