a stupid thing, but I was only a kid. Christ, if I'd been done for murder, I'd be walking the streets again by now. Why can't we just be left alone?"
"What do you mean, if you'd been done for murder?" Alex demanded.
Mondo shifted in his chair. "Figure of speech. That's all." He drained his glass. "Look, I'd better be off," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll say cheerio to Lynn on the way out." He pushed past Alex, who stared after him, bemused. Whatever Mondo had come for, it didn't look like he'd found it.
Chapter 28~29
Chapter 28
It hadn't been easy, finding a vantage point that afforded a good view of Alex Gilbey's house. But Macfadyen had persevered, clambering over rocks and scrambling across tussocks of rough grass beneath the massive iron cantilevers of the rail bridge. At last, he'd found the perfect spot, at least for night watching. During the day, it would have been horribly exposed, but Gilbey was never around during daylight hours. But once darkness fell, Macfadyen was lost in the black depths of the bridge's shadow, looking straight down on the conservatory where Gilbey and his wife always sat in the evening, taking advantage of their magnificent panorama.
It wasn't right. If Gilbey had paid the price for his actions, he'd either still be languishing behind bars or living the sort of shitty life most long-term prisoners came out to. A scummy council flat surrounded by junkies and small-time hoods, with a stairwell that smelled of piss and vomit, that's the best he deserved. Not this valuable piece of real estate with its spectacular vista and its triple glazing to keep out the sound of the trains that rattled over the bridge all day and most of the night. Macfadyen wanted to take it all away from him, to make him understand what he'd stolen when he'd taken part in the murder of Rosie Duff.
But that was for another day. Tonight, he was keeping vigil. He'd been in Glasgow earlier, waiting patiently for a shopper to vacate the parking space that experience had taught him gave the perfect perspective on Kerr's slot in the university car park. When his quarry had emerged just after four, Macfadyen had been surprised that he hadn't headed for Bearsden. Instead, their destination had been the motorway that snaked through the middle of Glasgow before striking out across country to Edinburgh. When Kerr had turned off for the Forth Bridge, Macfadyen had smiled in anticipation. It looked like the conspirators were getting together after all.
His prediction turned out to be spot on. But not quite immediately. Kerr left the motorway on the north side of the estuary and, instead of heading down into North Queensferry, he turned off toward the modern hotel that commanded prime views from the sandstone bluff above the estuary. He parked his car and hurried inside. By the time Macfadyen entered the hotel less than a minute behind him, there was no trace of his quarry. He wasn't in the bar or the restaurant area. Macfadyen hurried to and fro through the public areas, his anxious flurry of movement attracting curious glances from staff and customers alike. But Kerr was nowhere to be seen. Furious that he'd lost his man, Macfadyen stormed back outside, slamming the flat of his hand on his car roof. Christ, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. What was Kerr playing at? Had he realized he was being followed and deliberately shaken off his pursuer? Macfadyen hastily whirled round. No, Kerr's car was still where it should be.
What was going on? Obviously, Kerr was meeting someone and they didn't want their meeting to be observed. But who could it be? Could Alex Gilbey have returned from the States and decided to meet his co-conspirator on neutral ground to keep their meeting from his wife? There was no obvious way to find out. Cursing softly, he climbed back into his car and fixed his gaze on the hotel entrance.
He didn't have long to wait. About twenty minutes after Kerr had entered the hotel, he returned to his car. This time, he drove down into North Queensferry. That answered one question. Whoever he'd met, it hadn't been Gilbey. Macfadyen hung back by the corner of the street until Kerr's car turned into Gilbey's drive. Within ten minutes, he was taking up his station under the bridge, grateful that the rain had eased off. He raised his powerful binoculars to his eyes and focused