Free Lorimer and Brightman - 08 - Sleep Like the Dead. By Alex Gray by Alex Gray Page B

had done a damned good job of wasting the front door. Chucking the key behind him into the mess of stuff lying on the floor, he pushed the door back and forwards, testing it. He considered the
    security of the place. A pair of bolts had been nailed to the inside, top and bottom, but neither was flush with its original hasp any more and a thorough search of the flat had failed to turn up any decent tools to fix them. It was typical of Brogan. Always had been a lazy, careless sod. He cursed him as he stepped onto the landing.
    The man’s boots made hollow echoing sounds as he headed down the stone steps. Okay. He’d have to risk leaving this place for a while. His own toolkit was locked inside the boot of his car. He paused at the entrance to the close before setting foot on the Glasgow streets. There were calls to make this evening, but he could do that from the car. It was parked not too far away and it would be sensible to move it to another place before it was remarked upon by any nosey neighbours. Care and attention to detail had always been his watchwords and he wasn’t going to neglect either now.
    ‘Hello?’ Marianne lifted the telephone from its hook after two rings. Never give your name, Billy had always dinned into her. After the last couple of years that advice had become second nature to the red-haired woman. And not just because her wee brother was a drug dealer, mixing with a strange assortment of folk.
    The voice on the other end of the line was unfamiliar, an English accent that Marianne couldn’t place.
    ‘Hallo. Is Billy there?’ the voice asked, in a tone that was friendly enough to make Marianne relax a little.
    ‘Sorry, no, he’s not,’ she answered. ‘May I ask who’s calling?’ she added politely.
    ‘Oh, I’m a pal of Billy’s from the old days. In Glasgow for a bit. Thought I’d look him up,’ the man added.
    Marianne frowned suddenly. ‘How did you get this number?’
    ‘Billy gave me it. Said to ring if he wasn’t at the flat.’
    ‘Oh,’ Marianne stood for a moment, wondering. That was okay, then, wasn’t it? Billy never gave out any details of her number or whatever address she was using. So this old friend must be from his army days, someone who had no earthly idea of the Brogan family or their affairs.
    ‘Haven’t seen him since we came home together on leave that last time. Man, that was some night!’ the man on the other end of the line chuckled.
    It was a warm, friendly sort of laugh and Marianne found herself smiling. Its very normality made her feel good.
    ‘Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you… what did you say your name was?’
    There was a long pause and no reply then an unintelligible voice that faded until she could make out the words line breaking up and the connection was dead.
    For a moment Marianne looked at the receiver then replaced it on its stand. Pity, she thought. He sounded nice. But not nice enough to break her promise not to give out her brother’s mobile number. Then she frowned. Why wasn’t Billy at home?
    Curious, she lifted the telephone again and dialled. As she listened to the unfamiliar ringtone, the woman sat down suddenly. Now she knew why that man hadn’t found Billy Brogan in his flat.
    And if her suspicions were correct he would not find him anywhere in Scotland, never mind Glasgow.
    He put the folded handkerchief back into his pocket, thinking hard. Either this woman really didn’t know where he’d gone or she was lying to protect him. She hadn’t sounded too put out. A pleasant, educated voice, someone he’d enjoy talking to in another time and another place. And who was she anyway, this
    Marianne whose name had been written in red ink and underlined? A girlfriend? He didn’t think so. There had been an absence of any sort of proprietorial tone to her voice. Maybe she was an ex? Hadn’t seen Billy boy for a while. One way or another he had to find her, make her tell him what he wanted to know — the whereabouts of Billy