Free In Place of Death by Craig Robertson

I drink, hen. No wonder we all drink or get stoned or whatever.
What’s the point in staying sober when that’s all the good it does you. He was a decent laddie, that one, compared to some. What’s the point in being decent if you get yourself
killed? And wee Sammy’s McClune’s baby. Never done harm to a soul, never had the chance. See some of them in here? Bad bastards, pardon my language. We all die just the same, good and
bad. No wonder I take a drink.’
    Narey could see the thirst growing in the man as she looked at him. Walter wasn’t going to finish this day as sober as he was now.
    â€˜What can you tell me about this guy, Walter? When was he last here? Do you know what his name was?’
    â€˜Last here?’ Walter looked surprised at the question. ‘Hen, I’m no very good with dates. Head’s too muddled with the drink if I’m honest. I think his name was
. . . hell, let me think. Like I said, I called him . . . Wait. Brian. That’s it, Brian. That’s what he told me anyhow.’
    â€˜I don’t suppose you know his surname?’
    Walter laughed. ‘Hen, you’ve had all the memory I’ve got left.’
    Narey nodded, her hand resting on the old man’s arm. ‘Thanks, Walter. You’ve been a big help.’
    The man’s eyes were moist now. ‘See if you can find out what happened to him, Miss Narey? Will you? If they start killing the saints, what chance have us sinners got?’
    â€˜I’ll do my best, Walter.’
    â€˜And, Miss Narey . . . I wouldn’t normally ask but . . . all this—’
    â€˜Don’t worry about it, Walter. I understand.’ She opened the hand that was resting on his arm just long enough for him to see the two twenty-pound notes that were in it. She
then pressed them quietly into the man’s fist.
    He looked up gratefully and managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks, lass.’
    Narey and Toshney were making their way back down the stairwell, avoiding fresh dumps of vomit, when he spoke.
    â€˜Boss, hope you don’t mind me asking. But you do know he’s just going to spend that money you gave him on getting plastered, right?’
    She turned on him and he took half a step back despite himself, shoved there by the anger that was pouring out of her.
    â€˜Of
course
I do, Fraser. Like he said, it’s no wonder he takes a drink. Living in a place like this, in a world like this. If it was my dad . . . well I’d rather he was
sober than drunk but if he was a drunk then I’d rather someone bought him a fucking drink. I just gave Walter another reason to be drunk by telling him about this. Least I can do is pay for
it.’
    They stopped by the front desk on the way out and Narey wasn’t in the mood to go round the houses this time. She told Cochrane that she wanted to look at their register to see if they had
anyone signed in by the name of Brian.
    â€˜I don’t think I can do that.’
    She smiled, glad of the challenge. ‘Oh I think you can. Or else you can just give me the excuse to rip your head off and shove it up your arse.’
    He stared back at her for a few moments, trying to think of a way to argue. Finally, he gave in. ‘You may as well. It’s all public record anyway. I don’t remember any guy
called Brian though.’
    â€˜Do you really care what their names are?’ Her insinuation was paper-thin. Cochrane just glared back and pushed the open register towards her.
    She went back four weeks and saw no one named Brian. Five weeks, the same result. Then there it was, one entry six weeks back, a booking that only lasted for four nights. The name beside it was
Brian Christie.
    â€˜What about this guy?’ She pointed at the name. ‘Remember him?’
    Cochrane shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
    â€˜So tell us!’
    â€˜If it’s the guy I’m thinking of, he told us he’d lost his job and been