memory of that conversation ticked over in the back of his mind during most of his waking hours, a mental string of worry beads whose movement reinforced his determination. All he'd wanted was to find his parents; he'd never expected to be consumed by this search for a higher truth. But consumed he was. Others might dismiss it as obsession but that was typical of people who didn't understand the nature of commitment and the need for justice. He was convinced that his mother's unquiet shade was watching him, spurring him on to do whatever was necessary. It was the last thing he thought about before sleep consumed him and his first conscious thought on waking. Somebody had to pay.
His uncle had been less than thrilled by their encounter in the graveyard. At first, Macfadyen had thought the older man was going to attack him physically. His hands had bunched into fists and his head had gone down like a bull about to charge.
Macfadyen had stood his ground. "I only want to talk about my mother," he said.
"I've got nothing to say to you," Brian Duff snarled.
"I just want to know what she was like."
"I thought Jimmy Lawson told you to stay away?"
"Lawson came to see you about me?"
"Don't flatter yourself, son. He came to see me to talk about the new investigation into my sister's murder."
Macfadyen nodded, understanding. "So he told you about the missing evidence?"
Duff nodded. "Aye." His hands dropped and he looked away. "Useless twats."
"If you won't talk about my mother, will you at least tell me what went on when she was killed? I need to know what happened. And you were there."
Duff recognized persistence when he saw it. It was, after all, a trait this stranger shared with him and his brother. "You're not going to go away, are you?" he said sourly.
"No. I'm not. Look, I never expected to be welcomed into my biological family with open arms. I know you probably feel I don't belong. But I've got a right to know where I came from and what happened to my mother."
"If I talk to you, will you go away and leave us alone?"
Macfadyen considered for a moment. It was better than nothing. And maybe he could find a way under Brian Duff's defenses that would leave the door ajar for the future. "OK," he said.
"Do you know the Lammas Bar?"
"I've been in a few times."
Duff's eyebrows rose. "I'll meet you there in half an hour." He turned on his heel and stalked off. As the darkness swallowed his uncle, Macfadyen felt excitement rise like bile in his throat. He'd been looking for answers for so long, and the prospect of finally finding some was almost too much.
He hurried back to his car and drove straight to the Lammas Bar, finding a quiet corner table where they could talk in peace. His eyes drifted around, wondering how much had changed since Rosie had worked behind the bar. It looked as if the place had had a major make-over in the early nineties, but judging by the scuffed paintwork and the general air of depression, it had never made the grade as a fun pub.
Macfadyen was halfway down his pint when Brian Duff pushed the door open and strode straight to the bar. He was clearly a familiar face, the barmaid reaching for the glass before he even ordered. Armed with a pint of Eighty Shilling, he joined Macfadyen at the table. "Right then," he said. "How much do you know?"
"I looked up the newspaper archives. And there was a bit about the case in a true-crime book I found. But that just told me the bare facts."
Duff took a long draft of his beer, never taking his eyes off Macfadyen. "Facts, maybe. The truth? No way. Because you're not allowed to call people murderers unless a jury said so first."
Macfadyen's pulse quickened. It sounded as if what he'd suspected was on the money. "What do you mean?" he said.
Duff took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It was obvious that he didn't want to have the conversation. "Let me tell you the story. The night she died, Rosie was working here. Behind that bar. Sometimes I'd give her a lift home, but not that night. She said she was going to a party, but the truth of it was she was meeting somebody after work. We all knew she'd been seeing someone, but she wouldn't let on who it was. She liked her