That seemed to be the sum total of his knowledge. I didn’t know yet how it helped me, but my spidey sense was tingling.
The game was afoot.
I did get something else of interest… I got the last known addresses of the remaining three dieters. It had been a while since any of them had been seen at work, but the guard didn’t seem too concerned.
“Yon Duncan man was here longer than the others. But everybody was glad when he called to say he wasn’t coming back. He was getting too skinny anyway,” he said as I left him with the last of the booze. “He was scary.”
I already knew where Duncan had ended up. That just left the last two… Peter Clarke and David Ellison. Both had addresses out in Milngavie… too far for a trip at this time of the night. The pounding in my head had lessened, but it hadn’t gone away, and the small amount of whisky I’d taken from the quarter bottle had just got me started.
I should have headed back to the office and the bed in the back room. But all that waited there for me was Duncan’s dead eyes. They’d still be there, even if George had cleaned up the mess. I needed a drink before I’d be prepared to face it. I wandered down towards Central Station, found a bar that had avoided gentrification, and settled in.
I have little memory of the next few hours. I drank, I talked to strangers, and I drank some more. I drank until my head stopped pounding and I couldn’t see Ian Duncan’s eyes.