Stonemouth

‘Is there a going rate for copies, Ezzie?’ Lee asks.

‘No,’ Ezzie says. He looks up at us. ‘Come on, guys; no fair.’

Lee’s phone beeps. ‘Yes,’ Ferg says, ‘let’s get on with it. Phelpie, bid or fold.’

‘Pound,’ Phelpie says, sliding a coin decisively into the centre of the table.

Ferg sighs dramatically.

Ryan Mac arrives, nods at me with a sort of wary politeness — I like the wary more than the politeness — and sits in. El’s ex, though I’ll never be able to think of him that way. He’s slim and fair and slightly puppy-fatty, though in a cute way. Still very young-looking, and I can see Ferg eyeing him up. Phelpie takes a call from Mike Mac and has to go. Ryan gets up suddenly to have a word with Phelpie before he leaves and they stand at the far end of the loft’s main living area, by the stairs, talking quietly.

Meanwhile I’m in a head-to-head with Ezzie again, who definitely thinks he has a chance this time. Which he might, of course, though I’m looking at a full house of jacks and threes.

Lee is making more rolls. Ferg has gone to the loo.

Ezzie had three kings, and deflates when he sees my hand. I suspect that’s the last of his money. His wallet looks anorexic and working in the bridge control room can’t pay that well. I go to arm-sweep in all the money, then stop. I look at Dr Torbet and motion with my eyes.

‘Mm-hmm,’ Jim says. ‘Excuse me.’ He stands, goes to help Lee with the rolls.

I look Ezzie in the eyes, nod at the pile of money bracketed by my arms and say quietly, ‘Ezzie, this is all yours if you can tell me a bit more about some of that CCTV stuff.’

Ezzie looks alarmed. He glances round. ‘I canny sell you any of it,’ he tells me.

‘Just want to know if anybody’s ever got a private look, you know? Somebody not off the bridge?’

‘Aye, well, might have happened,’ Ezzie says, looking at the money.

‘Any footage ever disappeared, Ezzie?’

Ezzie looks up at me. Another not very good poker player. I can see in his eyes the answer’s yes. ‘Oh, now, not really for me … Canny really say, Stu.’

I lean over a little closer and lower my voice still further, though the industrial-looking extraction fan over the hob and grill is easily making enough noise to drown out our conversation. ‘What if somebody wanted to see the time Callum Murston took a dive?’

Now Ezzie looks positively frightened. ‘Think that was all wiped,’ he tells me quickly.

‘Wiped?’

‘Polis. They said to. Didn’t want it fallin into the wrong hands.’

‘Really?’ I ask. The wrong hands? What does that mean — the press?

‘Aye,’ Ezzie says, ‘like if somebody put it on YouTube or somethin? Mr M might get upset and things could kick off, ken?’ Ezzie glances round at where Ryan and Phelpie are standing, still deep in earnest discussion. He looks back at me. Ferg is pacing back from the stairs. ‘Ah was on holiday at the time, Stu,’ Ezzie tells me quickly. ‘That’s all I know. Onist.’

‘Ooh! Blood sausage!’ Ferg says, stopping by the kitchen island. ‘Better have one of those.’

I smile at Ezzie. ‘Fair enough,’ I tell him. I push the pile of money towards him and sit back.

‘How about you? Do you see Ellie often?’ I ask Ryan MacAvett.

Ryan shakes his head. ‘No, hardly ever,’ he says. ‘Seen her once or twice through the window of that drop-in centre on the High Street. Used to bump into her at the supermarket, but now she gets stuff delivered.’ He glances at me. ‘Thought of claiming I had a problem, you know? Like, being an addict? Just to be able to walk into the centre and get a chance to talk to her.’

‘Doubt that would have worked,’ I tell him.

‘Aye, me too,’ Ryan says, and drinks from his bottle of Bud.

The girl is a hard habit to give up, I think but don’t say.

We’re sitting sprawled on couches in another part of the loft while we take turns, two at a time, on a beta for the PS3 of MuddyFunster II, due to be the blockbuster Christmas release from the games house Ferg works for. It’s Grand Theft Auto with more ridiculous weapons and more slappable civilians, basically, and Ferg is brutally dismissive of it, having had little to do with the development and nothing with the concept.

‘It disrespects women, for one thing,’ he tells Lee when he asks why Ferg hates it so much.

‘That bothers you?’ Jim asks, mildly incredulous.

‘Mark my words,’ Ferg says, drawing himself up and narrowing his eyes. ‘Manners change in societies over time, gentlemen, and, as usual, I am ahead of the curve. Gallantry will be making a comeback.’

‘Gallantry?’ Lee splutters.

‘Yes. Perhaps even a sense of fair play, who knows?’

‘Wouldn’t hold your breath,’ Jim tells him.

‘… Is that a submarine surfacing in the river there?’ Lee says.