The Edinburgh Dead - Brian Ruckley [81]
He had not gone directly to the police house. Instead, he had walked almost the whole length of the city, to Melville Street. He wanted to see if his visit to Cold Burn Farm had brought some change, or commotion, to the place. And, if he was honest, to try to clear his mind of the numb bewilderment that threatened to engulf it. He did not know how to oppose that which Davey Muir had become, nor hounds that knew neither death nor life. But a man, living a life like all his neighbours in the New Town; that he could oppose.
It had been fruitless, though. The mute façade of that grand house had stared back at him, lifeless and impenetrable as the obdurate wall of a castle. He could not, it seemed, reach those sequestered within; could not draw them out to meet them upon his own territory. He would find a way, though. He knew that if he worked away at the mortar hard enough, he could break out the stones in that wall and see what lay beyond.
So he had thought, in any case, until this moment. This ambuscade.
“If there’s been some spy dogging my footsteps, I’d like to know of it,” he said tightly to Baird.
Who snorted in dismissive contempt.
“Never mind your bruised feelings. Do you deny it? That’s the question, Quire. Are you going to tell me you were not in the company of a whore on the High Street, plain as day, on the very morning of Superintendent Robinson’s dismissal?”
That left Quire mute for a moment or two. The denial, if he was to offer it, had to come at once to his lips. He needed to snap it out unhesitatingly, with all the force he could muster. But he did not. The breath he needed to utter it faltered in his throat, snared for that instant in the thought of Catherine, and his sudden reluctance to so casually repudiate her. Not in a cause that he knew was already lost. He would not give Baird the satisfaction.
“No, you don’t.” Baird smiled. “Of course you don’t. No point to it. And it’s not even the first time, is it? The very same woman who so nearly put an end to your career once already. Robinson might’ve saved you from the consequences of your indiscretions before, Quire, but I will not. You can be assured of that.”
“I’d never have doubted it.”
“You know that any man of the city police who consorts with such folk is at risk of dismissal. You know that fine well, and if you thought it an empty threat, you’ll be learning otherwise, I think.”
Quire said nothing. There was an emptiness hollowing itself out in him, the impotent feeling of being atop a cliff, swaying at the very precipice, unable to turn away.
“Too many marks against your name, Quire. I’ve another complaint to hand already. A Dr. Knox. Claims you have harassed him with groundless accusations.”
Quire rolled his eyes.
“Questions, not accusations, and hardly groundless. He seemed content enough when we parted company. Shook my hand.”
“Did he? Must have reconsidered his judgement of the matter once no longer exposed to your charms, then. He’d hardly be the first, would he?
“You’re a fool, to think you can go around laying charges at the door of Ruthven and Knox without consequence. You think you’re some lone wolf, do you, unconstrained by the proprieties, the proper conduct to which the rest of must adhere?”
There was real bitterness in Baird’s voice now. A personal animosity. It called up Quire’s anger, for all his efforts to control himself.
“I’ve never thought myself anything more than a man trying to do what was needful, and right. It’s not something you would understand, given that you’re a piss-poor excuse for a police officer. If you were anything more than that, you’d be wondering why these folk want me gone. You’d be worth telling what it was I saw out on a Pentland farm, and how it was I got these scratches.”
“A Pentland farm,” snapped Baird. “There