Phosphate Rocks Chapter 2: John

John has a face like a well-kept grave. 

He arrives early one morning at Torphichen Street Police Station: a tall, thin man with cropped grey hair and the demeanour of a professional undertaker. He is neatly dressed in polished leather shoes, grey trousers with stay-press seam, an ironed white shirt, blue tie and burgundy V-neck jumper under a padded anorak. Despite the layers, he shivers in the slanting winter light and blinks repeatedly as he states his business at the counter. 

‘I’ve come about the ess-eh-eye.’ 

A short, plump woman emerges from a side room with outstretched hand. She wears a black serge uniform with silver buttons and epaulettes, fair hair scraped back from a round face. 

‘Mr. Gibson?’ 

She smells of flowers and reminds him of summer.  

‘Aye.’ 

‘Detective Inspector Rose Irvine.’ Her handshake is warm and surprisingly firm. ‘Thanks for coming in.’ 

He follows her up a flight of steps and waits while she recovers her breath. Outside Interview Room Number Two she gestures for him to enter, but he holds the door open so she can go in first. 

The room is furnished with a wooden table and four metal chairs, the furniture marooned on a sea of blue linoleum, adrift between plain grey walls under a high barred window and a ticking clock. On the table is a manila folder. 

‘You worked at the SAI?’ she asks. ‘Scottish Agricultural Industries?’ 

‘Aye.’ 

‘We found a body in the old Leith works.’