Phosphate Rocks Chapter 11: The Aberdeen Keyring

The day is not over, but the light in the police interview room dims by the second once the detective inspector leaves. The fierce, weak sun slides behind Corstorphine Hill – an angry bairn all tuckered out – and the room swims in soft, rosy light. A glint of red from the evidence tray catches John’s eye. 

He glances around the empty room, shrugs and picks up a key ring: the brass hoop connected by three chain-links to a metal plaque. It fills his palm, a pretty thing. Solid, a pleasing weight in the hand. Too big for a trouser pocket, too cumbersome for house or car keys. An anchor for the keys to something important. 

The grease shed. 

John strokes the plaque with his thumb. It glides over the smooth enamelled metal, traversing the ridges of the embossed design. Three silver towers stand proud against a red sky, flanked by yellow beasts, leopards rampant on muscular hind legs with paws outstretched. 

Kelly’s cats. 

John glances at the clock. Three in the afternoon. February. 

Already dark in the Silver City.