Festival of Murder by Ross Macfarlane KC, Chapter 14: Leave the Gun…

Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane | Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

Italian on the Mound

‘Of course I know who you’re taking about - the ‘blokey-wife’ that comes in every morning.’

Stef - owner of Italian on the Mound, was fussing at the coffee machine: ‘He always asks for the same thing: a yolk-free omelette and an americano with oat milk on the side.’

Wood frowned: ‘Yolk-free omelette?’

Maddy looked up: ‘Fewer calories and less fat.’ A sudden blush: ‘It’s a Sex in the City trick.’ More blushing: ‘I used to watch it with my mum…’

Wood turned back to the cafe owner: ‘Do you have a security camera?’

The owner nodded. “I can get it on a memory stick for you. In the meantime, are you and your new girlfriend going to buy something, Wally, or are you waiting for me to go bankrupt?’

Wood replied with a flourish: ‘Due cappuccini - per favore.’

‘Coming up - take a seat…’

Italian on the Mound sat across and up from the magisterial Bank of Scotland building, the wee cafe nestling into the curve of the Mound and bearing an odd logo where the word “the” seemed to have been left out (the owner had smiled: ‘It was my mother designed the logo - so no arguments’).

Wood and Price sat across from each other at the tiny single table across from the counter.

Wood could see out of the door. Ah - Edinburgh during the Festival! The crowds moving up and down the Mound. A changing, flowing river of humanity. Like no place on earth A sort of United Nations of Fun. Gangs of university students marching up and down, thrusting fliers into unwilling, bewildered hands. Tourists from who-knows-where looking around themselves in awe - like Dorothy finding herself waking up in Oz – and suddenly everything is in Technicolor!

Stef clunked down two cups before them with a Neapolitan panache. ‘Due cappuccini.’ One in front of Maddy Price: ‘Per la bella signorina…’. And one in front of Wood: ‘…et il vecchio capra lasciva…‘. He bowed and left.

Maddy beamed: ‘Oh - isn’t Italian such a charming language!’ Wood shook his head: ‘Speak for yourself…I think he just called me a ‘randy old goat’.

Stef came back and put down a small plate with some treats. ‘And there’s some wee cannoli for you. On the house.’ He winked at Wood: ‘So you can leave the gun…’. And walked away.

Maddy looked up, puzzled: ‘You brought a gun??’

Wood smiled: ‘It’s a joke…’. Maddy’s face still puzzled. ‘…you know. From The Godfather…’. Maddy still puzzled. ‘…the film.’

Maddy gave an uncertain nod: ‘Ah - okay.’

‘You’ve never seen The Godfather??’

‘I don’t really get those old black-and-white films.’

That 21st Century culture gap between the older and the younger. Where the modern world is spinning so fast that it makes the older head spin with it.

Wood shook his head: ‘It’s not…it’s not in…’

The intended education was interrupted by Stef. He placed a small memory stick on the table and nodded down: ‘Okay - you’ve got the whole week on there and the dates and times are on the screen.’

Wally smiled at the young detective: ‘What did I tell you, Maddy - great service. And the coffee’s not too bad either…’

‘Delicious.’

Wood looked up: ‘And how’s your mum Piera doing, Stef?’

‘She’s like your jokes, Wally - never changes.’

Wood looked towards Maddy: ‘First time I was here, maybe twenty years ago, Piera made me a cappuccino. I wouldn’t say it was tepid, but I thought she’d served me a frappuccino by mistake…’

The prosecutor’s reminiscence was interrupted by a sudden slap on the head. ‘Ow!’

The face of a beautiful, mature lady came between Wood and Price: ‘You were told, Wallace Wood - in the Old Country, cappuccino is a drink ‘on the go’ - it’s meant to be a temperature that’s good to drink straight away. Stuff that in your law book!’ She walked away.

Wood rubbed his head: ‘You’re right, Stef - your mother hasn’t changed.’

Stef walked away. Maddy leaned across the tiny table and whispered: ‘That lady just assaulted you!’

‘I’ll mark it ‘no pro’- she was provoked.’

He scooped up the little memory stick from the table. ‘Get that computer out of your bag, Maddy and we’ll have a look at this. Let’s see if Alex Bryant actually exists when nobody is looking at him…’

*****

Wood had never quite shaken off the feeling that there was something a bit creepy about watching in-store camera footage. Ordinary people going about their humdrum daily business. Did they ever think that one day, their every move would be closely scrutinised by a group of strangers? The unattractive slack of the jaw, the picking of the nose, the furtive scratching of the rear. The fact that it was watched in silence always made it even more eerie for Wood. As if he were watching people long dead.

Probably came from years as a prosecutor examining old videotapes and then DVDs of real-life crime scenes. Sometimes witnessing the crime itself. The knife going into the body. The victim stands a little confused for a moment. Pats down his rib cage. Scrutinises his wet hand in that dark street. Rubs his fingers and thumb together trying to find out why the hand is so damp. Tries to walk forward. Stumbles.

What was that Johnny Cash sang? ‘I’ve seen them come and go and I’ve seen them die/And long ago I stopped asking why….’

‘There he is!’ Maddy pointed an excited finger at the screen. Wood scrunched up his eyes to see: ‘I don’t…’

Maddy put her finger on the screen on the laptop: ‘There. In regular clothing.’ She pointed to the date/time stamp in the corner: ‘This was the week before.’

Wood looked again. Yes, it was Bryant - but dressed in plain clothes (on both sides).

‘Wow - he looks almost respectable. If someone wearing jeans and a hoodie can be called ‘respectable’.’

Maddy guffawed: ‘You sound like my grandpa.’

“Your grampa a probably younger than me.’

Wood frowned as he scrutinised the scene: ‘But he looks so…so…ordinary. But later…the hair…the nails…’

Maddy smiled: ‘The long hair on the side - that’ll be hair extensions. The nails will be stick-ons.’

Wally nodded: ‘And when was this recorded?’

‘The week before the event.’

‘Let’s look at the next few days – and we’ll see if Lily Savage turns up.’

Maddy Price had no idea who Lily Savage was, but she got the general drift. They examined the following days, when Bryant started to turn up in increasingly intense man/woman combos, culminating in the fully (or, in fact, half) cross-dressed Alex/Alexis Bryant.

The footage the day in question. Wood pointed to the timer on the recording: ‘Look at that – the precise time that his mother came out of the window.’

Maddy sat back in her chair: ‘Well - bang goes your prime suspect.’ She started to laugh.

Wood looked up: ‘And what are you chortling about, young lady?’

‘I’m laughing because - and don’t hate me here - but that means that Bobby McKee was right. The son didn’t throw his mother out of the window.’

‘Re-wind. Let me see it again.’

They watched it again. Wood nodded towards the screen: ‘So what’s that?’

Maddy frowned: ‘What’s what?’

‘That thing that Bryant is carrying.’

Maddy focused: ‘Looks like an antique mirror or something. Nice gold frame.’

‘It’s not a mirror, Maddy - it’s a picture. And the shape of the frame he’s carrying is identical to the shape of the missing picture in old Mrs Bryant’s bedroom wall - remember that mark?

‘Now that you mention it…’

Wood sat back in his chair: ‘But what is it a picture of? And - more importantly - if the son Bryant didn’t throw his old mother out of the window, then who did?’

*****

Festival of Murder continues tomorrow in: Shaggy Walrus Village People Moustache