A cold easterly wind blew as I walked down Leith Walk towards the address I’d been given for Tony McCaffrey. I kept my eyes to the ground, as this was dog shit county. Crossing over the Walk, I headed towards Easter Road, home of Hibernian F.C. A schemie approached, walking as though he had just got of his horse or had shat his pants. Maybe he had done both. A tan and white pitbull cross, with short stubby bow legs strained at the leash. The Schemie broke into a jog and cursed after it as it finally broke away from his grasp.

‘Ye fuckin bastard! Come back here! Hey! Shit for brains!’

The last expression might have been self description. Certainly, the dog was having none of his crap. It disappeared into the distance barking, ‘Adios amigo.’ If it had any sense it would leave town permanently.

A couple of minutes later I was outside the address. I didn't expect to find McCaffrey’s name on the entry system but there was a familiar one there - Cowan. The streets of Leith are truly paved with shite, I thought. I began to press other buzzers as there was no point in alerting McCaffrey. A female voice answered from the third one I tried.

‘Hello?’

‘Department of Social Security. Trying to contact one of your neighbours… a Mr Charles Manson.’ It was the best I could come up with.

‘I dinnae ken him,’ she replied

You wouldn't want to, I thought.

‘There’s a couple of guys up on the top floor,’ she went on, ‘you could try them.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, as the door-release mechanism buzzed. I made my way warily up to the third floor but no one poked their nose out to challenge me. I stopped outside the one marked ‘Cowan’. What the heck, I thought, and rang the doorbell. Short of breaking the door down there wasn’t much option. I needn’t have bothered, though, as the door was slightly open. I shouted a ‘hello’ in case there was a dug waiting to chew my bollocks off, but there was nothing, not a sound, so I stepped in cautiously. The flat was dingy and dark, so I felt around for the light switch and flicked it on. A feeble glow shone from above to reveal a dismal choice of decor. The wallpaper was pink and stained, the carpet mottled green with a swirl of autumnal browns. A solitary picture of a white-robed Jesus stared back from the left-hand wall, giving the peace sign. A warm sweet sickly odour pervaded the place and made you immediately want to take a shower. Something was dead, of that there was no doubt.

I followed my nose to the second door on the right. I half turned before going in but there wasn’t anyone watching me except Jesus, so I pushed the door. It wouldn’t move and I had to put my full weight behind it to create a gap big enough to squeeze through. Even though the room was dark, I could see the outline of a body against the back of the door as soon as I got inside. I tried the light switch but nothing happened, so I made my way to the curtains and threw them back. Immediately several pigeons took off from the window ledge. I turned back and looked at the body.

It was McCaffrey.

He was sitting upright against the back of the door, suspended a couple of inches off the floor by a rope around his neck, which hung from the coat hook. His arms dangled by his sides, his hands just brushing the floor. His long fairish hair had fallen over his face, his tongue bulged from his mouth as though someone had stuffed it there like an apple in the fatted pig. His only item of clothing was the gold crucifix around his neck with the Man nailed to it. Again I was looking at Christ and Christ was looking back at me.

I prised open the window to let some fresh air into the room, then sat on the edge of the unmade bed and lit a cigarette, surveying the scene while the pigeons settled back down on the ledge. One of them had only one leg and I wondered idly what had happened to the other - in America some country singer would write a song about it. On a wing and a prayer with Pigeon Pete, only one leg so hence no feet - or words to that effect. It’s strange what goes through your head when you’re confronted with death. I took another draw on my cig and looked Tony over. I felt his face. He was cold as the proverbial marble. It was then I noticed his wrists and shins were deeply bruised. He had been bound and his legs were possibly broken, making it impossible for him to stand. The pigeons began to coo as they became amorous on the ledge.

Well, I had finished my job. I had found Tony McCaffrey. But I was still none the wiser as to why they wanted him found. Hell, they only had to come through to Edinburgh and walk up to the door the same as I had. I stepped over the body and looked out of the back window. There was nothing to recommend the garden. It was a wilderness, which meant no one on the stair cooperated – probably didn’t even know each other. Stumpy the pigeon was oblivious to me, as his love interest circled about on the ledge. He makes a remarkable job of staying upright, I thought, for a one-legged randy pigeon. I flicked my finished cig out of the window and turned round to see I wasn’t alone.

He was older than I remembered, but I knew who he was the moment I saw him. He still had a mop top of red hair and glasses with lenses made out of the bottom of bottles. It was Jim Cowan, the Bumble’s brother, aka the Wee Man. We stood looking at each other and then at Tony McCaffrey.

‘Is he...?’

‘Yeah, he’s dead. You could stick a pole up his arse and windsurf him down the Clyde.’ I took one of my cigs and offered him one.

‘I gave up,’ he said taking one.

Yeah, you and me both, I thought, lighting up.

‘Is there anything we can do for him?’ He coughed on the cigarette. The Wee Man was not the same beast as the Bumble. He lacked his brother’s cunning, his guile, and above all his savvy for the situation.

I shook my head. ‘No. But a blanket to cover him over would give him a bit of dignity.’

He nodded approval as I pulled off one of the less than white sheets and covered Tony over.

‘You’re going to have to call the law, Jim,’ I said. ‘Tony here didn’t die from natural causes.’

‘No kidding,’ he replied and we both smiled. ’What are you doing here anyhow?’ he went on. ‘I thought you were down south.’

‘I got an invite from the Bumble to come back up. Then he offered me a job to find Tony here.’

He looked puzzled. ‘But he was never lost, so to speak. He lived here with me... albeit for a short while.’

‘This is your flat?’

He nodded and coughed some more on the cigarette. ‘Tony was always at a loose end. Then he got into bother in Glasgow...you know how it is...so I gave him a room here anytime he wanted.’ He looked down at the sheet ‘His mother’ll be upset.’

You don’t say, I thought and took a draw on my cig.

Suddenly I heard heavy feet on the stairs. I peered out of the window but couldn’t see any Plods or their cars. My instinct told me things were going to get worse before they got better. A few seconds later I heard the front door being pushed open and the sound of male voices. There was also the sound of heavy slobbering. The Wee Man backed away from the door and joined me at the window. I half expected him to jump up into my arms as an ugly face with a chain attached to it poked its nose around the door. The dog didn’t look much better either.

It was Kev Barr.

He was big and ugly and his head was shaven to add to the persona. He looked like Marlon Brando. Not like when he starred in The Wild Ones, but now - a fat bastard. Behind him stood a young guy who resembled Nosferatu. He wore a combat jacket and carried a baseball bat.

‘Heard you were back up here,’ said Kev Barr, as his mutt sniffed at the deceased. ‘But I didn’t expect the pleasure of your company so soon.’ He smiled, revealing a row of pure white teeth that had spent the night in a jar of Steradent.

‘And I heard you were out of the asylum,’ I replied, flicking my cigarette out of the window.

The smile on his face vanished. ‘You should have stayed away,’ he said menacingly. ‘What have we got here then, Tango?’ he went on, as he threw back the sheet covering Tony McCaffrey. Tango instantly sniffed at the corpse’s nether regions. Hanging has the habit of loosening the bowels.

‘Well, well if it’s not Tony McCaffrey. What a surprise. Fancy finding him hanging around here.’ Kev laughed, loudly this time and Tango barked as though in approval at the joke.

‘You’re a bit out of your swamp, coming through here,’ I said.

Kev laughed again. ‘I heard that Edinburgh needed a hardman, so, I expanded... in fact my organisation even has a cultural exchange programme these days. Meet Trotsky here.’ He turned and gave a thumbs up sign to Nosferatu. ‘Tavarich!’

The Russian’s expression didn’t change and as he continued to stare at me, I realised he was the guy in the photo with Tony.

‘He’s from Leningrad... sorry, what’s it called these days?’

‘St Peterburg,’ I said.

‘That’s the place.’ Kev paused and looked down at Tony, while Tango began to lick the deceased. ‘He disappointed me, did Tony. He was bright, had a future, but then he tried to get smart. Thought he’d try and hold out on us, just like his Uncle Davie.’

‘So you hanged him?’ I said, looking at Kev with mounting distaste.

He laughed again and Tango once more barked approval. ‘Naw, not me, I leave that to Trotsky here one of his favorite methods...a trick he picked up in Afghanistan.’

I looked at the Russian and his eyes said it all - he killed for pleasure. I began to wonder who was next.

Suddenly the Wee Man let out a yell. ‘Get out! Get out of my flat!’

Everybody’s jaw dropped, including Tango’s as we turned and looked at Jimmy Cowan.

‘This is my flat, so just please leave!’

‘Hey! Tumshie heid! You a care in the community case? I give the fucking orders around here.’ Kev Barr recovered his position. ‘You Cowans are all the same, think you can tell everyone what to do, don't you?’ With that he pulled the sniffing Tango away from Tony McCaffrey and pointed him in the direction of the Wee Man.

‘It’s all right Jim, things’ll be okay,’ I said trying to reassure him. I suspected grief and shock at the sight of Tony was beginning to set in.

Just then there was a loud meow from the hallway. Tango, sensing the pleasure of cat on a stick, pulled round sharply, catching Kev Barr off guard. Kev fell over and landed on top of the corpse of Tony McCaffrey. The body gave out a farting sound as the gases in the stomach were released.

‘Jesus! Fuck! Fuck! Jesus!’ Kev exclaimed. He was still attached to Tango by the chain around his wrist. He screamed in agony as 180lbs of Rottweiler attempted to haul him round the door. Somehow he managed to break free and Tango launched off after the cat, barking. I heard shouting as someone came out of their flat to investigate the Tom and Spike act.

Tango’s actions had also caught Nosferatu off guard and I shouted to Jim Cowan to run for it. I wasn’t quite quick enough to get past the Russian myself, though, and he swung the baseball bat at my head. There was a split second when everything went into freeze-frame and the voices faded. My eyes focused on the white-robed Christ in the hall and I heard myself again telling Jim Cowan to run for it. Then everything went blank.

When I came to, I was on the floor trying to make sense of where I was. There wasn't a sound, nothing. I half expected to find myself on the end of a rope like Tony McCaffrey or being savaged by Kev Barr's dug, but no, they must have legged it. I eased myself up and made sure the front door was closed. I was calling out for Jim Cowan but he didn't reply.

My head was pounding. I looked at the deceased but he revealed nothing. On the windowsill, Stumpy the pigeon was still trying to get his end away. The room was now cold, so I closed the window. Sitting down on the bed, I lit a cigarette, and felt the lump on the back of my head.

Besides a dead Tony McCaffrey, I now had a missing person in the shape of the Bumble's brother. All sorts of things went through my mind. Had they killed him as well? I didn't think so, purely from the fact that they wouldn't have had enough time - and besides, it would be easier to take him with them and dispose of his body later. But why had they come back? My guess was that they had intended to search the place and take Jim Cowan for a wee chat. That was, until I showed up.

I got up and looked around the flat a bit more, but nothing seemed to be out of place. I went through the joint from one end to the other. It was a bachelors’ flat – no sense of femininity anywhere. The toilet seat remained upright at all times. Jim’s bedroom was full of old fashioned furniture in dark brown wood, solid and functional. I searched the bedside cabinet but found little beyond a couple of books, a bottle of Paracetamol and a copy of the gay magazine, Pride. There were a number of adverts ringed in the lonely-hearts section. Jim definitely wasn't in the closet. I half expected as much, don’t ask me why. I put the magazine back and went into the kitchen. It was tidy. The cupboards contained nothing but tinned food.

I was still puzzled as to what Tony had died for. Kev's words came back to me - about him and the Bumble trying to be smart, but about what? What the hell, I thought, I'm going to search the place properly. I started with the obvious places like under the rugs and down the backs of the settees. Even the cistern in the toilet - but nothing. The only place left was the other bedroom - the one Tony occupied.

I put the sheet back over him and hoped the bed bugs didn't object to cold fodder. There was an old oak chest of drawers in the corner of the room and I began to empty it systematically. The top drawer contained nothing but socks, Y-fronts and T-shirts. The middle drawer produced little to fire the imagination beyond a black vibrator that needed new batteries. But the final drawer did produce something out of the ordinary, amid the adult magazines.

It was a small dark green book — looked a bit like a passport — and some letters, tucked inside Bondage Boys. The green book had few pages and it contained nothing beyond wartime dates, with an official stamp of a coat of arms beside them. Inside it was a black and white photograph of a couple posing under a tree. The guy in the photo looked about fortyish and was wearing a German uniform. He was dark and solemn, with deep set brooding eyes covered by a single eyebrow. The woman was younger and looked up at him as though she thought she'd made a good catch. He must have had charm, power or money to attract her. There was nothing on the back of the photo to indicate who they were.

I flicked through some more magazines. They offered everything from rubber-hooded fetishists to correctional therapists willing to flail your arse off. I looked over at Tony and went, tut, tut, tut. I surmised he batted for both teams. Then I noticed a small cloth badge had fallen on the carpet. I picked it up. It was a stylised eagle, a Nazi eagle clutching a swastika. It was finely made with gold wire and must have adorned a dress uniform. I hadn't figured Tony for a militaria collector, or for a Neo-Nazi. I pocketed the mystery items and thought I'd better put the rest back in the drawers but when I looked at Tony, I decided not to bother.

He hadn't left a lot and that puzzled me as well. Either he was a minimalist, or this was just a convenience pad. If it was, it meant he had another abode - but where?

If Jim Cowan had legged it and raised the alarm, then the place would surely be crawling with Plods by now. But there again, a naked dead man on the end of a rope doesn't go down well with the Police, especially if he's gay. Still, I reckoned Jim had to have been taken by Kev and Nosferatu. I didn't think there was any point in calling the law myself, right now. What was there to tell them? No. Tony was dead, and for the moment was unavailable for comment.

The other thought going through my head was how I was going to break the news to the Bumble. I found the phone in the hall and figured that there was no time like the present. Picking it up, I slumped to the floor, lit another cigarette and dialed his number.

Just then the theme tune from the Lone Ranger echoed from a box above my head. I froze and put the receiver down. I looked up at the picture of Jesus on the wall and we exchanged glances. He said, It's your call man, so I stood up, and looked through the peephole in the front door. There were two of them, both guys, clean cut and wearing dark raincoats. I stood back from the door and took another draw on my cig. They must have pressed the doorbell again as the full rendition of the Lone Ranger theme now galloped out of the box above the door.

Who the fuck were they? They were too smart for any of Kev Barr's mob - or for the CID. I nipped my cigarette out and once again the theme tune started up. That was fucking it! Body or no body, I’d had enough of this. I yanked the door open and couldn't care less if Tonto, Kimo Sabi and fucking Silver were out on the landing.

'Yeah? What the fuck you want?'

'Good afternoon sir, we are from the Church of Christ of the Latter Day Saints,' the tall one said in an American accent.

They were fucking Mormons.

'This is my colleague, Brother Mulvey and I'm Brother Harringdale and we're here to tell you that there is hope beyond death if you believe in the Lord.'

I just stared at them, wondering which one I would punch first.

'Could we...?'

I didn't hear the end of his sentence as I slammed the door in their faces. I swear that the picture of Jesus was smiling - a sly mocking smile - especially when they put a leaflet through the letterbox.

I sat back down on the floor and once again picked up the phone to dial the Bumble. It rang a couple of times and then I heard the Bumble's voice. 'Cowan Investigations.’

'It's me,' I said. 'Don't say anything, just listen. I've got a result for you.'

'A result? You've talked to Tony?'

'No, you're going to need a medium for that.'

'A medium?'

'Yeah, they communicate with the dead Davie.'

There was silence for a few seconds.

'Where are you?' he asked.

'I'm at your brother's flat on Easter Road.'

'Is Jim there with you?'

'No,' I said, 'he's vanished. Listen Davie, it isn't wise to discuss this on the phone. Come through and meet me at the Chinaman's. I'll tell you all when I see you.'

'Right,' he said and the line went dead.

I put the phone back on the hall table and went into the kitchen. I found a yellow duster and a can of Mr Sheen spring fragrance and began to clean the surfaces I had touched. When I finished, I picked up the leaflet from the doorway and looked at it. 'Arise with Christ!' it exclaimed. I left it beside Tony McCaffrey.

Zipping up my jacket, I opened the front door, stepped out and closed it behind me. Then I pressed the door bell.

Hi ho fucking Silver!