The April Dead by Alan Parks

Author:Alan Parks [Parks, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY

Meiklejohn was running some sort of keep-fit class when they got there. Asked them to take a seat, told them he wouldn’t be long. Wattie and McCoy settled themselves on a bench at the back of the gym, leant back against the wall bars. The class was ten or so teenage boys doing various exercises. Star jumps, press-ups, that kind of thing. Was making McCoy tired just watching them.

‘You ever want to join the army?’ asked Wattie.

‘Nope,’ said McCoy. ‘Police is bad enough for idiots telling you what to do, the army’d be a thousand times worse. You?’

Wattie nodded. ‘Thought about it when I was at school but my dad was having none of it. Told me I wasn’t going off to fight some imperialist war for a bunch of capitalist swine.’

McCoy looked at him. ‘What? Call Me Ken said that?’

‘Oh aye,’ said Wattie. ‘Card-carrying member of the Communist Party of Great Britain, my dad.’

‘Who’d have thought it?’ asked McCoy.

‘Aye, he’s a bit past it now but you should have seen him when he was younger. Was forever organising marches against South Africa, CND, was a shop steward and all, the full shebang.’

‘What did he say when you joined the polis?’

‘Wasn’t that happy but he said it was better than being cannon fodder for the shipyard owners.’

They watched the boys for a while, McCoy still trying to take in Call Me Ken’s past. Supposed you just never knew. Meiklejohn seemed like a good teacher, the boys were laughing and joking with him, enjoying the session. He stopped a couple of them laughing at some fat lad trying to do squats, encouraged the sweating, red-faced boy to keep trying.

Maybe Wattie was right, maybe McCoy had gone too far the other way. Treating everyone as guilty before he even started. Maybe Meiklejohn was a good guy, maybe he really had bought Paul Watt the book because he thought he’d find it interesting. Meiklejohn blew a whistle, told the boys they were done, to hit the showers. McCoy stood up. Time to find out.

Five minutes later they were back in Meiklejohn’s wee office. Light streaming in through the window, lighting up the wall of photographs. Meiklejohn was sweating, hair wet at his neck, exertion from the gym. He sat down, offered them tea.

‘We’re fine,’ said McCoy.

Stood up and poured himself a pint glass of water, chugged half of it back at the sink then sat back down.

‘Not as young or as fit as I used to be,’ he said. ‘Now, how can I help you?’

McCoy dug in his pocket, took out a photograph, handed it to him. Meiklejohn took it, looked at it then looked up. ‘That’s one of your lads,’ said McCoy. ‘As you can see by the angle, his neck is broken.’

Meiklejohn swallowed. Photo hanging loose in his hand.

‘He died in a car accident yesterday afternoon. Car was being driven by Colonel Angus Lindsay. Lindsay’s in hospital. Battered and broken but they think he’ll live.’

‘Why would you show me that photo?’ asked Meiklejohn.

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