'You don't know a fuckin' thing.'

'Never stopped me before,' he says.

Don't I know it. 'I'll be back when I'm back, Detective.'

'I'll look forward to it.'

'In the meantime, you might want to get off your arse and ask some questions at The Denton. In fact, you might want to start off with Mrs Lang.'

Donkey starts to say something, but I cut him off. I realise I've been gritting my teeth.

As I turn the corner, the reason for me coming to Benton comes into view.

Alison Tiernan lives in that block. Enough running around. It's time I found out what the fuck's going on.

THIRTY-SIX

I look around for Stokes' Escort, but it's nowhere in sight. Which means I'm okay for the time being. I don't know how long that's going to be the case, though.

I walk round to the front of the building just as a fat guy wearing an anorak comes out of the block. I make a show of looking for my keys, and give him a smile when he holds the door open for me. He doesn't return it.

When I get into the hallway, my mobile starts ringing. It's George and he sounds like someone slapped him.

'Where the fuck were you?' he says.

'Sorry?'

'Last night, you were supposed to meet me. You owe me money, Mr Innes.'

'I owe you fuck all, pal. In fact, you owe me for a couple of tyres.'

'What?'

I click him off. The mobile starts ringing again almost immediately.

'Listen, George, I don't owe you a fuckin' thing. Sue me.’

‘Mr Innes?' It's not George. A female voice. 'Who is this?'

'Urn, it's Pauline. Remember?'

Shit. 'Yeah, Pauline. Sorry about that. What can I do for you?'

'That bloke you were after, he's in the casino right now.'

'You sure?'

'He just threw a strop with one of the dealers, grey in his hair. Yeah, he's the guy. You want to come over and take a look?'

'I can't right now, Pauline. Listen to me, try to keep him there if you can. Tell him he can have free drinks or some- thing and I'll pay you later, okay?'

I can't do that, Mr Innes.'

'Well, just try to stall him.'

'How?'

'You're a bright girl. You'll think of something.’

‘Don't patronise me. You sound like — ’

‘Bye, Pauline.'

I hang up on her. If she's got any sense, she'll leave Stokes alone. But I'm counting on her not knowing what kind of arsehole the guy is and playing it my way. It might buy me a little more time with Alison.

I take the concrete steps two at a time, and I realise that this block has a ground-floor flat and a first-floor maisonette. I walk towards the end of the landing, look out over the balcony and check out the carpark. Then round again to face the door.

This has to be it. It's the only one that could correspond to the window I was watching last night. I take a deep breath, adjust my jacket and knock on the door.

At first, I'm not sure if there's anyone in. I knock again, harder this time. I hear a voice from somewhere behind the door. For a brief second, I think it's Stokes and my gut tightens.

It can't be. He's at the casino.

The sound of a chain being put on the door. I brace myself just in case Pauline got it wrong. Thinking, well, if it's Stokes, I'll peg it and call Mo. That'll be the end of it, questions or no questions. I am the self-preservation society.

The door opens a crack. I can see one side of a girl's face. 'Alison Tiernan?' I say.

She starts to say something, then makes to close the door. I jam my foot in the gap. She slams the door on it and pain shoots up my shin. I curl my fingers round the door and pull it as far as I can off my foot. 'Listen to me, Alison. My name is Callum Innes-'

'I don't know you. Get your foot out my door.'

'Your dad sent me.'

'Fuck off.'

'You've got to let me in, Alison. I'm not going to hurt you, alright?'

'I'll call the police.'

'We both know you won't.'

'I'm not letting you in.'

I keep my foot where it is, but I let go of the door. 'Fine. Then I do this from out here. I know what Rob's been doing. And I know you two took some cash that didn't belong to you. But I'm here to help. If I wasn't, then I wouldn't have bothered knocking, would I?'

She stops trying to slam the door. Her lips purse and she looks at me through the crack. Figuring me out, wondering if I pose a threat.

'I mean it, Alison. If I didn't need to sort some stuff out, I wouldn't be here, believe me. I would've called Mo by now.'

We stand there in silence for a few seconds. Then she says, 'Get your foot out of the door.'

'Are you going to let me in?'

'Just get your foot out of the door.'

'I'm not moving until I get a chance to talk about this properly.'

Her face suddenly twitches into animation. 'Fine, okay?

Yes, fine, I'll let you in. Now get your fuckin' foot out of my fuckin' door, alright?'

I remove my foot, try to ignore the pain. She closes the door, slides the chain off and opens it up again.

'Come on,' she says. 'But if you're after a cuppa, you can fuck right off.'

I follow Alison down a dim hallway into a living room that looks like it's been decorated by a bunch of drunken students. The curtains are held up with drawing pins. Unframed posters dot the walls, a thin layer of dust on them. Alison heads straight for a ratty-looking easy chair with a throw rug on it, and sits on the arm. A small lamp provides the only light in the room, even though I catch a whiff of a scented candle.

'I've still got some things I need to ask you,' I say, taking a seat on the couch. I can't make her out. Sitting there on the arm of the chair, an oversized Elvis T-shirt stretched over her knees, she looks her age. I think. I can hear her biting her nails, but the light in this place makes her look like one of those anonymous witnesses, her features hidden in a half- shadow.

After a long silence, punctuated with her gnawing, she finally sniffs. 'Why didn't you call Mo?' I told you. I've got questions for you.’

‘Fuck do you care?'

I don't know. Got some stuff to get straight, that's all.’

‘So you're still going to call him?'

'You don't want me to? Way I see it, I'd have thought you'd be eager to leave.'

There's a sound that could pass for a laugh, but I'm not sure. 'You don't know the first fuckin' thing, do you?'

'That's why I'm here, Alison.'

She leans over to grab a cigarette from a gold Bensons pack and the light from the lamp catches her face. A flash of recognition, but I can't place who. It's not Mo. Her face is round, her body type a far cry from Mo's streak of piss physique. And she doesn't have Morris Tiernan's hard fea- tures. In fact, it's difficult to believe she's related to either man. Her face is softer, like a child. Mousy hair, mousy eyes. She must get her looks from her mother.

That is, what little looks she has left. A big ugly bruise covers her right cheek. It looks fresh and painful.

'Rob do that to you?'

She glances at me, then lights the Benson. 'What do you think?' She blows smoke at me. 'Who did your nose?’

‘A bouncer at that club you used to work at.' She smiles with the healthy side of her face. 'Good.’

‘What was the fight about?' I say. 'What fight?'

'The fight that landed you with that. The barney you had last night.'

'I didn't fight last night.’

‘I was outside, Alison.'

She takes a long drag on her cigarette, stares at me as she exhales through her teeth. 'Then why didn't you come up? You might've been able to help me out a bit.'

'I thought about it.'

'Thanks for that. A lot of fuckin' good thoughts do me.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘About what?’

‘About Rob.'

'What can I do? It depends on you, dunnit? I don't have much of a say in the matter, do I? I'm fucked. So's Rob. But I'm not going without a fight.'