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A little old lady bustled past, dragging a tartan shopping trolley behind her a wee white terrier peering out of the zip at the top rubber-tipped walking stick thunk, thunk, thunking on the polished marble floor.
Dr McDonald stood in the middle of Templers Vale Shopping Centre, staring up at the huge glass wall that dominated the atrium. Outside, the lights sparkled on Calderwell Bridge, Blackwall Hill rising up behind it. Kingsmeath reduced to a network of glowing points like early Christmas decorations.
Even Kingsmeath didn t look too bad in the dark.
Friday night and Templers Vale was virtually empty. A handful of late-night shoppers drifted between the same stores that always filled places like this Next, Dorothy Perkins, Primark, Burger King, Apple, Vodaphone, Monsoon Three floors of high-street chains and fast-food franchises.
I pointed up to the next level. There he is.
Sabir was wandering along by the glass railing, holding something out in front of him as if he was sleepwalking.
We took the escalator, gliding up to the sound of piped muzak. Sabir stopped outside a generic teenagers clothes shop the kind with silver mannequins in the window wearing ripped jeans, hoodie tops, and retro T-shirts. He stared up at a little white blob fixed to the wall above the shop s entrance.
I tapped him on the shoulder. Hoy, Judas.
He jumped. Jesus You tryin to do us in?
You ratted me out to Dickie.
Ah, now, not really The thing Sabir had been holding out was a white iPad with a red cover. He clutched it against his belly. You didn t exactly swear us to secrecy, did youse? Dickie asked us what I was doin and I told him. A grin spread his large grey face even wider. Hey, Doc, lookin better than you did this mornin.
She gave him a little wave.
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Dr McDonald peered in through the shop window. A thin bloke in skin-tight black denim and cockatiel hair was tidying a stack of hoodies.
Hold on a tick, I just need to nip inside and get a few things She ducked through the door.
So what did you dig up on Steven Wallace?
Sabir pointed at the lump above the entrance. They ve gorra hidden camera, right there. Most of them s out in the open where you can see them, but there s this network of sneaky buggers like this one ere. So when the sketchy shopliftin bag eads are casin the joint, they think there s these tasty little blackspots where they re safe they ve no idea it s all on film.
A large rectangular planter sat about eight feet away, with a mini jungle sprouting out of beige pebbles. There was something familiar about it I turned, frowned at the shop Dr McDonald had gone into, then walked around to the other side of the planter.
This is where she was: Megan Taylor, on the CCTV footage.
Sabir pointed over my shoulder. Camera s behind youse.
I turned, and there it was like a glossy black egg fused to the ceiling.
So if you were watchin a bunch of kids, and maybe one kid in particular, and you didn t wan anyone to know about it, you d stand in one of the blackspots, right? Only they don t exist, do they?
If you find Steven Wallace on those tapes I will bloody kiss you, Sabir. Even if you do look like a mouldy Weeble.
Cheeky get He pawed at his iPad. Steven Wallace, AKA: Sensational Steve youse can tell he made up his own nickname, can t you? Born in Oldcastle; boarding school at Glenalmond College; dropped outta Edinburgh Uni after two years of Law; had a trial with Hibs, didn t make it; gorra gig on hospital radio at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary; then a little community station. Most of that s from the bio on his website. In other news: he was married; one kid, but she died in a car crash drunk driver took out the family Vauxhall; got divorced; moved back to Oldcastle when his old lady died and left him the house on McDermid Avenue.
Convictions?
Nothin. Done for speedin a couple of times, but only three-point jobs. Licence is clean now. Made a complaint two years ago cos some bird was stalking him, other than that, he s squeaky.
Sabir lumbered over, holding his iPad out, tilting the screen so I could see it. Grainy black-and-white CCTV footage whizzed backwards until Megan Taylor was sitting on the planter in front of us.
Did you work your internet-search-magic on her?
Facebook, Twitter, and Hotmail. All just bollocks really: moanin about school, droolin over boy bands, wonderin how old you have to be to go on Britain s Next Big Star Nothin sayin, Oh, I m meetin that slimy prick off the radio tomorrow and he s gonna tie us to a chair and take me picture. I m runnin the lot through pattern-recognition software, see if there s anythin that matches up with the other birthday girls.
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