Naming the Bones (18 page)

‘I spoke to Professor James. He said Christie never said a word in his writing workshops.’

Meikle’s voice was low.

‘What else did he tell you?’

‘That Archie had the potential to make it big, but he wasn’t sure he’d have had the discipline.’

‘He’s changed his tune.’

‘Oh?’

Murray stirred his coffee, wary of losing the other man with the wrong question.

‘James couldn’t stand Archie or his poetry. It was him who made sure Archie was chucked out of uni.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Who do you think? It’s not like I spent my time hanging around with professors.’

‘If he wasn’t welcome, why did Archie keep going to the poetry workshops?’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’

Murray could hear the heat of pub arguments and long-ago resentment in the older man’s voice. He levelled his own tones and said, ‘No reason, but why go where you’re not wanted?’

Meikle sighed. The anger was still there, but now he spoke with resignation.

‘They were good at what they did, right?’

Murray nodded.

‘Some of them became world-class.’

‘The way I read it, Archie wanted to be part of their gang, but for whatever reason they didn’t want him. Maybe I can see their point. They were university types – no offence intended – but you know what I mean. Serious guys. And Archie was wild, too wild sometimes.’

‘According to James, it wasn’t unknown for Archie to turn up drunk and obnoxious. He said that if Archie hadn’t been so talented, he would have told him not to come back.’

Meikle sipped his coffee. He gazed beyond Murray and he might have been looking through the café’s unwashed window to the busy street outside or into the past. ‘That type of thing wasn’t unusual, but there was more to it than just drunkenness. Archie had this extra energy. It’s hard to explain. Like he had a tincture of quicksilver running through his blood. I think that was part of why he drank so much – to damp his energy down.’ Meikle looked at his watch again. ‘I’m going to have to head soon. You asked me if I was there when he wrote Christie’s name in the concrete.’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t show you it to make a good picture for your book. The night he did that was the night Christie introduced him to Bobby Robb.’

They left their cold coffee cups on the table along with the tip and headed back into the street. This time the bookfinder kept Murray close.

‘I blamed Bobby for Archie’s death much more than I ever blamed Christie. She was only a young lass. Bobby was old enough to know what he was doing.’

The name rang a distant bell, but Murray resisted asking who Robb was for fear of breaking the spell. Meikle continued, ‘If I’m honest, I’d been losing patience with Archie for a while.’ He glanced at Murray. ‘You’re too young to remember what the city was like in those days. The phrase “wine bar” hadn’t been invented. Men were meant to behave like men, drink as much as they could get down and only greet when their team lost the cup. People were used to blokes with long hair by then, but you’d better bloody act like a man if you knew what was good for you.’

‘And Archie didn’t?’

‘Nowadays, odds are he would be okay. Anything goes, right? But not back then. Archie was too loud. He’d get steamboats and start mouthing off, on sex, religion, politics, poetry – the kind of stuff that gets up people’s noses. He attracted aggro and whoever was with him got dragged in. It was beginning to piss me off.’

‘And Bobby?’

‘Bobby was bad news. I’d heard a bit about him:
Edinburgh’s a small city and a guy like him doesn’t go unnoticed. He was one of those leeches that attach themselves to students – you know the type, that bit older with the kind of contacts some youngsters find impressive.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Drugs, wideboys, who knows what else. In those days students got decent grants and Bobby Robb was just the boy to help spend them. But even if I hadn’t heard of Bobby, I’d have tagged him as trouble as soon as Christie walked into the bar looking up at him like he was Jesus Christ resurrected and ready to turn beer into whisky. There was something Victorian about the whole thing. Like she was a little milkmaid fresh from the country and he was an old villain ready to sucker her in and pimp her out.’

They approached a building under renovation and fell into single file as they entered a tunnel of scaffolding, its supports bandaged at head height with sacking to save careless drinkers from cracking their skulls. On the wooden walkways above men in hardhats hammered into the stonework. Mineral dust powdered the air. Murray held his breath until they emerged on the other side. Meikle picked up the tale.

‘Archie favoured working men’s pubs. Like I said, there wasn’t much else unless you wanted to drink in a hotel. But he went for the rougher end. The bar we were in that night was the kind of place where you’d expect Christie to get a comment or two. The punters stared at her, right enough, when she came in. Then they saw Bobby and concentrated on their pints. It’s always struck me as funny that guys with scars get a reputation for being hard. It’s the ones that cut them you should be looking out for, right?’ Murray nodded and Meikle went on. ‘Bobby had a scar running from the corner of his mouth up to his eyelid, looked like he’d been lucky to keep his sight. Side-on, it gave him this horrible, sneering smile, a bit like the Penguin.’

Murray looked at Meikle blankly and he said, ‘You know, the baddie in
Batman
.’

‘I think you mean the Joker.’

‘Shit.’ Meikle shook his head. ‘That’s what my wife calls a senior moment. Sideways, he looked like the Joker, but the funny thing was, he was the kind of ugly git women would be attracted to.’

Murray knew the type, but he asked, ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Something about his confidence maybe, the way he carried himself, the fact he looked like a bastard. Some women like that.’

‘So you thought Christie might go off with him?’

‘There were stars in her eyes when she looked at him right enough, but I got the impression it was Archie he was interested in. Homed right in on him and started to give him the gab.’

‘Did Archie reciprocate?’

‘Oh, he was taken with him, yes.’

Murray hesitated.

‘Are you saying Archie had homosexual tendencies?’

The bookfinder glanced at him.

‘If you’d asked me then, about Archie maybe being gay, I would have called you a poof for thinking it. But looking back, I don’t know. I don’t think so. He never tried anything on with me, but who can say? I guess Archie was the kind of guy that would try anything once, twice if he liked it.’

They were close to the library now. Murray looked at his watch. Five to the hour.

‘So, him and Bobby?’

‘You’re asking the wrong man.’

‘But you had your suspicions?’

‘No, I had no opportunity for suspicions. I never saw him or Christie again after that night.’

They passed a pub and had to fall into single file again to pass the smokers loitering outside. When they fell back into step, Murray asked, ‘What happened?’

Meikle sighed. ‘There were a few of us drinking that night. Archie had brought along a student pal that liked slumming it and I was with a couple of mates from the Socialist Workers’ Party. They tolerated Archie for my sake, and I put up with his wee snob of a pal for his. It was an uneasy balance, but it was a balance all the same.’

‘And Bobby Robb upset it?’

‘Big time, as my granddaughter would say. Bobby was all charm, but he wasn’t trying to charm me. It was like he was presenting a mask to Archie and Christie, but from where I was sitting I could see the line between where the mask finished and the real Bobby began. And he knew it. He kept turning round and giving me these sly nods and winks. I would have coped with that – after all, it was Archie’s business who he hung about with – but then Bobby pulled out a pack of Tarot cards and started laying them out in front of Christie.’ George shook his head. ‘When it comes to chat-ups, fortune-telling is up there with foot rubs and neck massages.’

Murray had never considered it before, but he could see how the tactic might work.

‘I guess it lets you get up close and personal.’

‘Exactly. I was a bit pissed off on Archie’s behalf, but it was still none of my beeswax and, anyway, something told me Robb was doing it to get Archie’s attention, so I let them get on with it.’

‘Did Archie join in?’

‘Oh, aye, before long he was right in the middle of the hocus-pocus. That made it worse. He was meant to be my mate and here he was giving me a showing-up in front of these serious socialists. Then I heard what Bobby Robb was saying and lost my rag.’

Meikle paused and his face grew tight, as if remembering brought back his anger. Somewhere a car radio cried advance warning of the lunchtime news bulletin and Murray remembered time was against them.

‘What was he talking about?’

‘Reincarnation.’

‘Surely that kind of thing was big back then?’

‘Oh, aye, it was. Hinduism and all that. Not my bag, but I didn’t have a problem with it. No, Bobby Robb was waxing on about how you could gain access to other worlds, other minds, through rituals. According to him, if you hit on the right spell, you’d be able to outlive death. Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe it was the drink, who knows? He’d had a fair few pints by this time, we all had. But according to Robb, the most valuable ingredient was the blood of an innocent, a virgin. You wouldn’t necessarily have to kill the girl to get it, Robb said, just cut her. He asked Christie if she’d oblige, and when she told him she didn’t qualify, started quizzing her on whether she had any friends who did. I waited for Archie to shut him up and when he didn’t, I told Robb he was talking a load of pish. The next thing I know, we’re scrapping outside on the pavement.’

‘You and Bobby?’

‘No.’ Meikle gave a bitter laugh. ‘Bobby wasn’t the kind to fight his own battles. Me and Archie.’ They had reached the library doorway now. Somewhere a clock struck one, but the bookfinder made no move to return to his post. ‘I went round to his flat the next day, but Archie was either out, or not answering. I reckoned if he wanted to see me, he knew where to look. A month later his book came out. No doubt he launched it on a wave of drink. Eventually I heard Archie and Christie had gone off to one of the islands. Robb was with them.’ The bookfinder’s voice took on a definite tone, making it clear he was drawing a line under the subject. ‘Now you know as much as I do.’

‘Except why you blame Bobby Robb for Archie’s death.’

‘It’s just my opinion.’

‘But you’ve got a reason. I’d like to hear it, if you’re willing to share it with me.’

The older man stood silently, looking down the street in the direction of the crossroads.

‘Fuck it.’ He took his mobile from his pocket and dialled. ‘Fiona? Aye, I’m fine, hen, but I’m going to be a wee bit late back.’ He paused while the person on the other end of the line said something, and then answered, ‘No, no problem. Just something I’ve got to deal with. Aye, I remember, I’ll be back in time. Thanks, Fiona, I’ll do the same for you sometime. Cheers.’

He hung up and Murray said, ‘Do you want to go somewhere?’

‘No, I can’t. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. Let’s step away from the door, though. I don’t want to chance my luck.’ They walked down the bridge a little way and stood looking down onto old Edinburgh. Meikle nodded at the darkened street below. ‘From up here, it could be a hundred years ago.’ He sighed. ‘You’re right. Archie was a stupid bastard at times, and I’ve no evidence Bobby had anything to do with his death. But there were rumours.’

‘What kind of rumours?’

‘Nothing substantial, only that things got out of hand once they got to the island. Something happened to make Archie do what he did, and Bobby Robb wasn’t an innocent party.’ He looked Murray square in the face. ‘He came back to Edinburgh afterwards, but someone gave him a doing and he moved on.’

‘You?’

‘What does it matter? It was a long time ago.’ In the street below, two old men with open cans of lager in their hands made unsteady progress, arm in arm. ‘Classic Edinburgh: up here it’s hustle and bustle, down there it’s drink and decay. Like lifting a stone.’ Down below, the old men lowered themselves onto the kerbside. One of them gestured expansively, elaborating on some point while his companion tipped his beer can to his mouth. Transport them to a gastro-pub and they might be two professors of English literature debating the finer points of theory.

Murray said, ‘I still don’t see why you blame Bobby rather than Christie.’

Meikle gave Murray a defiant stare.

‘Bobby Robb was a walking pharmacy. Archie had no self-control. Put him on an island with someone like that and what happened was almost inevitable.’

‘There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’

‘No.’ The bookfinder looked away. ‘Except . . .’ His phone rang and he took it from his pocket. ‘I’m on my way.’ He stowed the mobile and turned his attention back to Murray. ‘Bobby Robb was a drug-addled opportunist, but even I could see he had some kind of magnetism. And Lunan was looking for a guru. Maybe that was why he palled up with me in the first place. Problem was, I had enough trouble keeping myself straight.’

He turned to walk away.

‘George.’ Murray put a hand on the other man’s arm. ‘You’ve been frank with me. I appreciate it.’

The bookfinder’s gruffness had returned. He hesitated an uncomfortable beat, then took Murray’s proffered hand and shook it.

‘I’ve thought about it nigh-on thirty years, and I believe whatever happened up on Lismore, Bobby Robb was at the bottom of it.’

Murray asked, ‘Did you ever see Christie again?’

‘Once, I saw her in the street not long after Archie’s death.’ Meikle shook his head. ‘That night in the pub, I remember thinking how beautiful Christie was. She was glowing and her hair . . . well, it was always lovely, but it seemed thicker, shinier.’ He paused as if deciding whether to go on, then continued, ‘The last time I saw her, it was as if she’d aged. She’d lost weight. It made her features look sharper, witchy. Suddenly I felt that I would have as soon talked to the Devil. I crossed the road to avoid her.’