‘Kenny. Ray here.’
‘I know who you are, ya daft bastard.’
‘Shut the fuck up and listen.’ I tell him of the latest turn of events, but I miss out the part about the dream… and the possibility that I was one of Connelly’s victims. I can’t quite accept that yet.
‘Right. Find a hotel. Any hotel, as long as it’s big and central and close to the motorway. When you get there, phone me back and I’ll send Calum round.’
I’m sailing along the M8 when I remember the new hotel that opened up at the motorway end of Argyle Street. That’ll do nicely. I can always take my bodyguard shopping if I get too bored.
I find the hotel, park and enter the wood-panelled reception area. My room is ready, I am told by the receptionist, as she hands me the key.
It is a good size, with twin beds and a large TV. Calum appears, like an extra room fitting.
‘Naw. You need to get your own room,’ I order.
He shrugs. ‘Orders are to stay as close to you as possible. That this McCall guy might be after you.’
‘Can I go to the shitter on my own?’
Save your anger for McCall, I think. But Calum is right, why else would McCall be boning up on me?
I’m on his hit list.
Or have I become convenient to him? Could it be that when I was arrested and charged, I presented an opportunity to him? He could dovetail his crimes into my life? Set me up as the perfect patsy. In that case he should want me to live.
There was a threat inherent in those… what would you call them… dreams?
No way was I abused by Connelly. It didn’t happen. These were dreams. Warning me that my life was in danger.
For fuckssake listen to yourself, McBain. A dream told you. Next thing you’ll be on Oprah having written a book about how a dream saved your life. There has to be a more practical solution. Science and good old plod will provide the solution, not dreams and fucking hocus pocus.
Could be false memory syndrome. That happens, doesn’t it? People experience a hard time and go through a dose of denial and blame displacement. They blame somebody, anybody else.
There is a problem here though, just what am I in denial about?
I sit on the lip of the bath, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. Take a deep breath. Got to sort yourself out, Ray.
‘Ray.’ Calum knocks at the door. ‘You all right in there?’
‘I’m havin’ a crap, ya cunt. Fuck off and leave me alone.’ That was a wee bit harsh. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Count to a hundred and ten if that’s what it takes. You are in a strange situation and calling people names is not getting you anywhere. Aye, but it feels good.
I try to ignore the shiver that runs along my skin like an electric current every time the dream comes back to me and I have to force it out of my mind.
Concentrate on the facts, Ray. What do you know? There’s fact and then there’s opinion. I deal in facts. I only work with conjecture till it leads me to a fact. Fact: it was only a dream. Fact: McCall knows who I am. Fact: I didn’t kill Connelly.
I didn’t.
Fact: unless I get my act together sharpish, I’m fucked.
In the morning I send Calum to get himself a coffee. If he is upset at me calling him names last night he’s not letting on. I expect in his line of work that it was pretty tame.
A knock at the door. I look out of the spyhole and then open it. Daryl smiles and walks in the door.
‘Before we start,’ Daryl nods at the window and the car park beyond. ‘There’s someone outside who would like to say hello.’
‘Tell her to come up and not to be so stupid.’
Daryl smiles and pulls a mobile phone from his jacket.
‘Come on up. Room 441.’
Before long the door opens and Allessandra walks into the room.
‘Come in, Allessandra. How have you been?’ I ask like I’m on a team night out. What the fuck was that? How have you been? You stupid arse, McBain. Don’t know what else to say. How about, sorry, I may have ruined your career?
She looks at me and her surprise at my change in appearance is quickly masked. This is not the time for compliments.
‘Listen, Allessandra…’
‘Listen, Ray…’
‘You go first,’ I say trying to be gentlemanly.
‘No, you go first, sir. Oh, sorry… Ray.’
‘For fuckssake,’ Drain jumps in, ‘you’re both sorry about what happened. But Allessandra, you’ve no need to be.’ He looks at me with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, because we both know I don’t have a leg to stand on.
‘Aye,’ I say looking at Allessandra. ‘Daryl’s right.’
‘First time for everything,’ Allessandra aims a smile in his direction. ‘But I did want to say sorry, ’cos if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have ended up in jail, charged with murder.’
‘Correction, Allessandra. If it wasn’t for me keeping my name off that list, I wouldn’t have ended up in jail. I put you in an untenable situation. And for that I am deeply, deeply sorry. I’m also proud of you. Proud that you had the balls to go to the high heid yins. What if I was the murderer? And you hadn’t? People would have lost their lives because of you. No. You have nothing to apologise for and plenty to be proud of.’
‘If you say so,’ she says. A thought flits across her face. She clenches her fists and relaxes them. She’s still conflicted about this whole situation and I need to try and reassure her.
‘I say so.’ To emphasise this I step towards her and give her a hug. We both then step backwards trying to deal with the awkwardness of the moment. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And there was nothing sexual in it. Unless you count the thought that entered my head in that split second I was holding her.
‘Pals,’ I say. She nods. I’m not completely convinced but say nothing more.
‘Let’s sit down before we all curl up and die with embarrassment,’ grins Daryl. ‘Ray McBain has a soft side. Fuck me.’
‘No thanks.’ Allessandra and I say at the same time, catch each other’s eye and laugh.
They sit at the small table thoughtfully provided by the hotel management for those guests who might want to write their postcards. You know the kind of things, bought too much, ate too much, didn’t have enough sex.
Perched on the edge of the bed, I ask them to tell me what’s been going on. But first I want to know why. Why are they both risking their careers, and possibly everything they own, to help me?
‘I’ve known you for a long time, Ray. And no way are you a murderer.’
‘Me too, Ray… I mean I agree.’ In the light of her eye I can read some uncertainty and… what, pity? Is she doing the right thing? she’s been asking herself. Who wouldn’t in her situation? New to a job, new colleagues, new boss. Then the man you want to trust the most goes on the run for murder. Allessandra Rossi has a lot to be wary of and I am even more impressed that she is here. This woman has balls.
‘After we’ve bonded and all that,’ Allessandra is wearing an impish smile, ‘if you don’t mind me saying so, Ray, you look great.’
‘Thanks.’ I’m not immune to flattery.
‘Who’d have known that under all that blubber there was such a good-looking guy?’
‘Blubber? Was I that fat?’
‘Can we get down to business?’ asks Daryl. ‘Or are you two going to carry on with this love-fest?’
‘Feeling left out?’ I ask. ‘Poor Daryl. Nobody loves him.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, Ray. I’m getting plenty.’
‘So what’s been happening down at the cop shop?’
‘As far as suspects go, you’re it. No-one else has been investigated.’ Daryl grimaces.
‘Great.’
‘Most of our time has been spent trying to find a link between you and the two other bodies,’ answers Daryl.
‘And looking into your past for clues as to why you might have turned out like this,’ Allessandra adds.<
br />
‘Aye, caused a bit of a stir when we found out you’d spent some time in a seminary studying to become a priest,’ says Daryl. I feel like I’m at Wimbledon and I’m following the ball across the net as I look from one to the other as they speak.
‘Have you found anything incriminating?’
‘Plenty for the psychologists when you get round to speaking to them. But nothing for the courts,’ Daryl answers. ‘I’m serious, by the way, about the shrinks. They want to get you in front of one.’
‘And? Standard practice in a case like this. Make sure I’m fit to stand at my trial.’
‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘It is a well used defence…’
‘No fucking way,’ I say. I know why he’s saying it. If I get caught and if I get locked up it might be easier for a policeman to be in an asylum than a prison. Makes it easier for the suits as well. Policeman goes nuts and kills is simpler for the damage limitation guys than policeman killer is as sane as you or I.
‘I take it my flat has been searched?’ Time to change the subject.
‘With a fine-tooth comb.’ Allessandra says. ‘And you know how you serial killers like to take trophies from your victims? We found bugger all.’ Her tone is light, probably to atone for Daryl’s serious comments.
‘Fancy that.’
‘So we, as in the royal we, think you have somewhere else. A kill zone. Somewhere you take your victims, do your stuff and hide your sordid wee mementos.’ Her tone tails off into serious as she realises that what she is saying is a spot of black humour too much, even for cops. Real people are suffering here and unless we find the mad bastard who’s doing it, more people will follow.
‘Is my flat being watched?’ They both nod a yes. Just a thought. If I was the killer and I wanted to use me as a patsy it would help my case if I were to hide incriminating evidence where the police are sure to find it.
‘Any reports about me being in Manchester?’ Again with the nods.
‘What about my appearance? Was that commented upon?’
‘No, thankfully,’ answers Daryl. ‘The coppers down there obviously didn’t realise its significance.’
‘Well that’s something. Anything else?’
‘There was one thing. A card we found in your car. It was a business card for a Financial Adviser. We called him and he didn’t know you. The good news is he offered you a free Financial Health Check.’
‘A what?’
He shrugs. ‘But on the back of the card someone had scribbled the name Maggie Gallagher, and a phone number.’
‘Never heard of her.’ I try to put a face to the name.
‘We went to see her.’ Daryl is wearing that smile. A smile of teenage proportions that demands to know — who’s he been shagging?
‘Turns out you and her had a sleepover at your place.’
‘And?’ I don’t rise to the bait, but I’m getting a face. A face that I shouted at and told to fuck off. She only wanted to help.
‘That was it. She said to tell you she’d like to meet up with you again.’
‘Right.’ That’s all I need, another romantic interlude.
‘Yeah,’ said Allessandra. ‘She sounded quite keen on you. You want her number?’
‘Surely you’re not thinking of pimping for a shag while this is going on?’ asks Daryl. I can’t decide whether Daryl’s impressed and jealous, or incredulous and critical. But I couldn’t give a toss. Maggie Whoever is not on my list of suspects. Therefore she can go and take a flying fuck for all I care. Preferably with someone else.
Chapter 30
Maggie Gallagher greets me with a smile as wide as the Clyde and is all but bouncing up and down in her excitement at meeting me.
‘Ray, Ray, is that really you? Wow, look at you. I’m amazed I recognised you. You look pure stunnin’.’
I’m in the reception area of the Radisson, just across the road from The Heilanman’s Umbrella in Argyle Street. Just popped in for a coffee on the way back to my hotel.
‘It’s Maggie, isn’t it?’ I ask, and look at the door behind her, wondering if it would be too rude to do a runner. This is all I need.
She hugs me as if we’re old friends. ‘I was so hopin’ we would meet up again.’ There wasn’t even a trace of awkwardness and plenty of friendship on offer. Which was strange given the fact that all our relationship consisted of so far were a drunken evening, a failed fuck and a one-sided shouting match in the confines of my car.
If she notices my reticence, she’s not letting on
‘What brings you here, Maggie?’ I stand as stiff as a board until her arms fall down to her sides.
‘Oh you know, passin’ through.’ She is blushing slightly and her line of sight is moving from me to the wall behind and then back to me. ‘Actually,’ she stands taller, ‘I saw you lookin’ in a shop window in Argyle Street and I’m like… is it? No, can’t be. But it is.’ She beams. ‘You look stunnin’.’
We stand and look at each other for a few moments, each wondering what to say. I’m thinking how can I get the hell out of here and she looks like she wants to get to know me better.
‘I just popped in for a coffee.’
‘What a nice idea,’ says Maggie, ‘don’t mind if I join you.’ This last statement had more the aura of a command than the tone of a request.
Not sure how I can extricate myself from this situation gracefully, I follow her to a table. She’s just too happy to see me to be rude to. From the large plate glass window we can see the traffic ebb and flow as it meets the crossroads.
The table is about knee high and is dark expensive wood. The seats are single, with curved backs and covered in plush purple velour. We are silent while we each have a look at the drinks menu. A waiter comes across and takes our order. We sit in silence until he leaves.
What the hell am I doing here?
‘Look, Maggie…’ I shift forward in my seat as if I am about to stand up.
‘You look fantastic, Ray. Look at all that weight you’ve lost,’ she says. I stay where I am. ‘You should write a book, The McBain Diet. It would outsell that Atkins guy,’ she gushes.
Yeah right, I can just see it on the bookshelves: Become a Suspect for Murder, Lose your Job, Go on the Run from the Police and See the Weight Melt Off!
‘So how have you been, Ray?’
She must be able to read my expression. ‘Any better and I’d be twins,’ I answer. ‘Just wonderful. Fantastic. All that’s missing is the balloons.’
Her face sags a little with concern.
‘Oh Ray. I have been worried about you.’
‘You barely know me, Maggie.’ I’m trying really hard to be pleasant.
She follows the passage of a car going up Argyle Street as if her life is dependent on it, and then her concern for me overcomes her hesitation. ‘The police came to see me.’
‘So that’s it then. You see me on the news. The police visit you and you’re all curious to know what’s going on.’ What would be the suspected murderer’s equivalent of a fag hag?
‘No, not at all. I…’ she pauses. ‘You were on the news?’
‘Do you not watch TV?’
‘Don’t even own one.’
‘Do you not buy newspapers then?’
‘Nah. Full of bad news. Life’s hard enough without looking for the bad stuff.’
Christ, this is perfect.
‘Well, if you had read the papers or watched TV, you’d know that you were sitting with a murder suspect.’
She laughs. Her head thrown back to display a row of fillings on either side of her mouth. ‘Is this another one of your stories?’ She looks at me. ‘Ray, first you were an entrepreneur. Now you’re a murder suspect.’ She laughs again.
‘Maggie. I’m not joking.’
She sobers when she sees my complete lack of humour. Her hand goes to her mouth. ‘Holy shit. Murder?’ She repeats herself.
Not long after I’d left the seminary I told a girl I was training for the priesthood in order to get
rid of her. If this weren’t true it would be even funnier.
‘Holy shit… Murder?’
‘Yes. And don’t speak so loud.’ A few faces turn to look at us. I stare them down.
‘Sorry, Ray. Ray, how awful for you. But shouldn’t you just give yoursel’ up? The police are bound to realise they’ve got the wrong man. Eventually.’ While she speaks she openly appraises me. Her eyes are looking deep into mine as if they display my darkest secrets and, what’s more, she can read them. There’s obviously a good brain in this head, which is easy to discount if you don’t get past the tits and the hair.
‘That’s just it. They think they’ve got the right man. So now you know… if you want to walk away and never have anything more to do with me, I’ll understand.’ I cross my arms and my legs and take a sip of my coffee. All the while thinking, go woman, go. She sits back in her chair, uncrosses her arms and looks from my face to the traffic outside and back to my face.
‘Ray, I didn’t tell you when we met but I was in that bar for the first time in my life. Do you remember my pal, Amanda?’
‘Christ. If it wasn’t for the fact that I woke up naked beside you, I wouldn’t remember you.’
‘Long black hair. Pure glam. No?’
I shake my head.
‘Well, anyway. Amanda and I used to work together in the Tarot Card call centre. Big mistake. Big con. Don’t ask.’ She flaps her hands theatrically. ‘When I left the dump, we lost touch. She phoned me out of the blue and asked if I’d like to go for a drink with her. Her boyfriend had chucked her, didn’t love her any more. But she was still mad about him and she wanted to go out for a drink, pure casual like, somewhere he drinks, but with a mate so as not to look like a mad stalker…’
‘Is this going anywhere?’
‘Don’t worry, there is a reason for all this preamble. Anyway… before I was rudely interrupted.’ She smiles, and I can’t help myself but respond in kind. She has to have the most infectious smile. Her smile wavers. ‘But I can’t.’ She slumps back in her chair.
Blood Tears Page 21
