Ripped by Frederic Lindsay

ledges as if spectating at a play.
    'Your usually reliable source has a great sense of humour,'
    Murray said watching him make his way back through the crowd around the alley.
    'Ah, Eddy's not the worst.'
    'One of the best – laughing all the way to the bank.'
    'Don't be like that,' Shanks said seriously. 'So he drops a hint for old times' sake,' one long arm made a complicated explanatory loop, 'why not? “Eat up, eat up, yer growin' boys!” You remember?' And as Murray stared at him, reverted to the same parodic voice, “Eat up, boys, you'll never find better digs than at Ma Donelly's”.’
    'Ma Donelly's food was lousy,' Murray said, remembering. 'I'd forgotten it and her. Anyway it was me that had to eat it not you.'
    'And Eddy and I would come round and bum supper.' 'Can you give me a run back into town?'
    'Everybody was nicer then,' Shanks said nostalgically. At the same time, however, he looped across one long arm and gave Murray a business-like tap on the shoulder. 'What are you doing here anyway?'
    'I was just a passenger. The call came through while I was talking to Peerse.'
    After waiting for a moment to see if there was any more, Shanks said in a tone of deepest scepticism, 'And you and Peerse are such good friends. You wouldn't like to tell me what you were talking about?'
    'That's right.' Murray looked at his watch . 'I have things to do. Can we get on our way?'
    'Not right now. I'd like to ask some more questions . Get the feel of it. Maybe put a name to that van driver.'
    'Why you? You left the crime beat a long time ago.'
    'Oh , the 'Cit' will send one of the usual men,' Shanks said vaguely. 'Connolly probably or young Robertson.'
    'So?'
    'I – caught the call on the radio in the car. I was talking about murders yesterday in the Shot with Tommy Gregory. You know him!' Murray shook his head. 'Interesting guy, anyway, when I heard the call, I took a notion. And you're here. And then Peerse. God intends me to take an interest in this one.' He waited for a response to that; gave up on Murray's silence. 'A dead man – half dressed – with no shoes. He didn't have shoes on, did he? It looks as if he was killed somewhere else and brought there, eh? You're the Detective - don't you feel it's a strange one?'
    Murray shrugged. 'I'm only a Detective when someone pays me.'
    'Why is it then I feel you have an interest in this one too? You didn't recognise him as a client?'
    For answer, Murray rubbed his hand down his face and scowled.
    'Oh, that's right, the van smashed his face in. If it was the van – what do you think?'
    'I need a run back into town. The paper will send a real reporter out on this – why not give me a lift?'
    'You lack a sense of vocation.' Shanks, rising to the bait, wagged an arm in distress. 'I've forgotten more than young Robertson will ever have the wits to learn. Anyway, for the column I need an angle. I need a handle -something that lets me pick this thing up. There's something about it . '
    Murray pretended to think. 'I did hear the word rape mentioned.'
    Shanks blinked, struck by the idea. 'Did they say that? The guy had been raped? Could Pritchard be sure of that – without tests? I wouldn't have –’
    'Billy! Billy, you have vocation enough for both of us.'
    And then he had to walk back. Moirhill Road was long; if he turned north, it would have taken him all the way to the suburbs and green fields; but his way lay in the opposite direction towards William's Cross, taking one at a time the shoddy fronts that had passed so easily glimpsed from a car. His flat was on the first floor of the last close in the Road before the Cross: the other marker he used for first-time visitors was that it was next to the Chinese take-away. He stopped to read the menu in the window . He did this regularly but had never been inside since he had a prejudice against such places based on the fate of an alsatian when he had been a young policeman. When he had finished reading the list, he went into the