White Rage by Campbell Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page A

suppose he’s just doing his job. In the charm stakes, he’s a total golem . I don’t have a clue about Colin’s transactions. I never did. He had his world, I had mine. He had his spreadsheets, I had my paintings.’
    â€˜Did Latta say it might be useful if you came back to Glasgow?’
    â€˜He came all the way to Florence to tell me so.’
    â€˜Nice junket,’ Perlman said. ‘I’ll speak to him if you like. See what he’s up to.’
    â€˜No, you don’t have to do that. One day he’ll find out for himself that I know nothing about Colin’s business.’
    Perlman shrugged. ‘There’s no harm if I talk to him.’
    â€˜Let me deal with it, Lou. I have to cope with all kinds of things now. Fend is the word.’
    He felt a vague disappointment: he wanted to help. He wanted to check this thing out with Latta. But no, she didn’t need him for that. He saw a quiet determination in her face. She was going to be her own person. And he let this realization disappoint him also. What had he expected? A useless sorry widow, dazed by misery, looking for support and guidance, and turning to him? Oh, Lou, you’re the only one I can count on . The selfish heart projects its own needs. She was free. Allow her that.
    â€˜You said Latta was one of the reasons you came back. What were the others?’
    â€˜I don’t know yet.’ She drew away from him. His hand, released suddenly, slumped back against his side. ‘To visit this grave, maybe. To see if I could pick up my life again in Glasgow. I have spells when everything just shines with the possibility of a new life. I’m restless, energetic, I want to paint. Then the next day I’m tumbling down this spiral of gloom and I hit bottom and nothing has any electricity.’
    â€˜You don’t put your world back together overnight. Why the rush?’ He wanted to add: I’m here for you all the hours God sends.
    She said, ‘Tell me about the investigation.’
    â€˜Don’t ask. One of the nightmares of a cop’s work is knowing the identity of a criminal and not being able to do anything about it. Something might break, I might get a nibble of luck. Some days the wind blows your way.’
    She raised a hand to her neck where the skin was smooth and firm. He’d thought a thousand times of kissing her throat, unshackling himself in the intimacy of the gesture. She had tiny lines at the corners of her lips, and a darkness under her eyes, but otherwise the years had been charitable to her. She was slender. She had the body of a retired ballerina, and the kind of elegance of movement nobody can teach.
    â€˜You want justice for Colin,’ she said, and her voice was thin and strained.
    â€˜Of course. Don’t you?’
    â€˜What do you think?’
    â€˜He was murdered. Murderers go to jail. That’s a simple equation. It doesn’t matter what Colin did.’
    â€˜In your world,’ she said. ‘It matters in mine.’
    â€˜I understand –’
    â€˜I’m not sure you do, Lou.’
    â€˜You’re angry. You’re hurt. This I understand.’
    â€˜I’m neither angry nor hurt. Maybe I just don’t want to talk about Colin. I’ve almost managed to leave him behind. I’ve been training myself not to feel his absence. After a while, it gets easier. So let’s drop him.’ She pressed a finger to his lip as if to silence him. He smelled her skin, a trace of whatever perfumed emollient she used to rub into her hands.
    They walked a little way between graves. Tell me what’s new in your life. Is there a woman? Have you met somebody?’
    â€˜Have I met somebody?’ He studied her face. Was this mischief? Was she serious ? ‘What makes you think I’m even looking for somebody?’
    â€˜I bet women find you attractive. You’ve got that wee boy thing. Women want to brush your hair and