‘Can I ask why you were in Laidlaw street this morning?’ the sergeant asked.
‘A patient asked me to check something in his lock-up,’ she replied, deciding to keep her answers short and sweet, lest she nervously rambled on and said something she shouldn’t.
‘What’s the patient’s name?’ It was the younger one’s turn.
‘Sorry, I don’t know if I can tell you that. I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I’ll have to check with my boss first or possibly my union. Patient confidentiality and all that.’
‘No need to be so formal,’ the older one assured her.
‘Listen, it doesn’t get more formal than this, does it? Two policemen interviewing me about a fire I didn’t see or know about. I am not trying to be difficult. But what I can tell you is what I’ve said already. A patient asked me to check out his lock-up for him.’
‘Was he after something?’ the younger one asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. He just wanted me to make sure everything was alright.’ It was the first lie Kelly had told. And she knew the cops weren’t buying it by their silence. She decided to match them at their game.
Eventually the older one spoke. ‘Did he give you keys?’
‘No, there was a key safe by the garage door. I was given the code. And who said it was a “he”?’ Kelly asked, knowing the cops already knew Monahan’s name.
‘What was inside?’ the young one asked, bluntly ignoring her question.
‘Boxes. Paint cans. The usual garage stuff.’
‘A car?’ the younger one continued.
For the second time that morning Kelly lied. ‘I think I would have noticed a car.’ She didn’t know why she said it, but she did and now it was being dutifully written down in a police notepad.
‘Did you set fire to the lock-up?’ It was the older one’s turn again.
‘You sniffed my clothes, what do you think? This is getting silly. I’m a nurse, not an arsonist.’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ the sergeant promised as they made their way to the front door and left.
‘Great,’ Kelly said after closing it behind them. ‘I’ve been implicated in an arson attack and lied to the police. What the hell are you playing at, girl?’
She slipped into bed without taking her dressing gown off as she felt the need to be cosy and wrapped up warm. About the only thing she truly missed about her ex-husband was when they would cuddle as she drifted off to sleep.
17: Photo evidence
Kelly meant business when she arrived at Monahan’s flat for her next shift. She wasn’t smiling when she marched into his bedroom and threw her bag onto the armchair by the bed.
‘What the hell have you dragged me into?’ she demanded.
‘Problems, were there?’
‘You could say that. Your lock-up burnt down after I’d been there. Then the cops arrive at my door after someone phoned in my car registration and a full description of what I was wearing.’
‘All sounds a bit professional, doesn’t it, for a member of the public?’ Monahan replied, his nonchalant replies getting right up Kelly’s nose.
‘I’ll ask again. What have you got me into?’
Monahan fumbled for the pad by his bed, pressing a button to raise him from his prostrate position to something more upright. He was also buying time as he decided what to tell her. ‘I didn’t know I was still being watched, but clearly I am.’
‘So I was what, then? An experiment? Used to see whatever nutjob is after you?’
Her description made him smile. ‘You could call them nutjobs, I guess. But they are a little more hardcore than that.’
‘So who are they?’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’
‘Oh, I do.’
‘Oh no you don’t. Listen, this is getting a bit panto. I apologise. I genuinely wouldn’t have put you in danger had I known I was still being watched. I honestly thought I was of little interest now that I’m bedbound.’
‘Well, you clearly are and now I’m involved.’
‘They’re not interested in you.’
‘They were interested enough to send the police my way.’
‘Only to rattle you. To make you go back into your shell.’
‘I would say that’s mission accomplished on their part.’
‘Good. Again, I’m sorry. So did you find anything of interest in the lock-up?’ Monahan smiled mischievously.
‘This is just a game to you, isn’t it? You know exactly what I found and frankly I don’t believe any of it.’
‘Good. That means you’re not easily led. Not that it matters now anyway as the car has been destroyed. More’s the pity. I liked that car.’
‘Well, you can have a picture. I took plenty,’ Kelly said.
Monahan’s eyes widened slightly at the news. ‘Why?’
‘Because I thought it was so ridiculous. You tell me about Diana and, lo and behold, what do I find? The missing Fiat Uno right here in Scotland. It’s all nonsense and you’re up to no good.’
‘What if I was telling the truth? What if that is the car the French authorities tried to trace for years?’
‘And what if it is? What was I supposed to do about it? Why did you send me there?’
‘To see if it was still there. And to prove to you I’m no phoney.’
‘I don’t know what you are. But I do know this will be the last time we meet. I’m telling my boss I’m not sitting for you anymore.’
‘Pity. You’ve helped me a lot, Kelly.’
‘It’s Nurse Carter, Mr Monahan.’
The fiery exchange had taken its toll on Monahan, who closed his eyes to rest. But he didn’t sleep well. The photos Kelly had taken of the car bothered him.
18: Regrets
‘Another day at the coalface done,’ Connor said as he packed up his man-bag and powered down his PC. ‘All I did was rewrite a bloody press release and some agency copy. Bugger all else on the go.’
‘At least you did that. I did nothing. I couldn’t get hold of anyone I called either,’ April sighed.
‘There used to be a time that, when you were quiet, the newsdesk would give you something to work on,’ Connor moaned. ‘Now all they do is get you to rewrite copy some other journalist has already filed. Which is a waste of time as the subs then rewrite your rewrite.’
‘At least we still get paid,’ April said, putting on her coat and heading for the door.
‘I know, but the day doesn’t half drag. Much prefer it when I have something to get my teeth into, but there’s been bugger all happening.’
The pair walked to the staff car park, with Connor heading for the gym to work off the day’s frustrations. April wanted to go and slump into her favourite armchair at home for the next Beast Shamer instalment, but she was not in the mood to cook for herself this evening. She also knew she should pay a visit to Luigi.
‘I better go and see the Octopus.’
‘Good luck,’ Connor said, rolling his eyes.
April’s restaurateur fiancé was a curious mix: half charmer, half sex pest. So much so she had nicknamed him the Octopus because he was always hugging her just so he could feel her up. But April had had enough of his wandering hands and enough of being engaged. Tonight she needed to tell him the truth. It would be better for both of them. Or so she hoped.
19: Normals
Kelly was furious when Sister McIntosh told her she would be sitting for Monahan again. She had confessed all – except the discovery of the Fiat Uno – to her line manager, who had listened sympathetically and promised she would try to get her another patient. But tonight there was no choice.
‘I’m sorry, Kelly. There’s no one else. I even tried to get an emergency bank nurse to do it, but nothing doing. You are literally the only person available.’ Sister McIntosh placed her han
d on Kelly’s arm as she added, ‘Just remember, Kelly, there is only so much we can do for a patient.’
Her words resonated with Kelly. She felt stupid for getting so involved. She still couldn’t fathom why she had gone to the lock-up in the first place. Was it just curiosity, or a misplaced desire for adventure to break the monotony of her life? Perhaps it was even some sort of response to the failure of her marriage. But she couldn’t deny it; she had enjoyed the thrill of finding the car. She had been both frightened and exhilarated at the same time.
‘You’re right. I need to get a grip,’ Kelly replied.
‘If you feel the patient is threatening, or that you’re in any personal danger, then we’ll just cancel the visit,’ her boss assured her.
‘No, it’s fine. Thanks,’ Kelly said and restocked her nurse’s bag from the office supplies and made her way to her car.
She sat in the driver’s seat, gathering her thoughts. She unlocked her smartphone to browse through the photos from the lock-up, skimming through the ‘Camera roll’ album and then ‘My photo stream’. The hairs on her neck and arms began to bristle as she realised the pictures of the Fiat Uno were gone. For the first time Kelly felt very afraid.
• • •
Kelly tossed her phone stroppily onto Monahan’s bed when she arrived at his flat.
‘Want a look at my photos?’
Monahan picked up her phone and swiped the screen to scroll through Kelly’s picture albums.
‘Nice kids,’ he remarked.
‘Yeah, nice kids. No car. Please tell me, what is going on?’
‘Your phone has been hacked. Fairly easy to do these days with some basic technology. But you still need a degree of competence and to know what you’re after, of course.’
‘So whoever hacked my phone to delete the car pictures also has photos of my kids, right?’
‘Possibly. They may use your kids as leverage. I would.’
‘What sort of fucked-up world do you live in, Mr Monahan?’
‘A very real one. One that normals like yourself don’t have any dealings with.’
‘Until now. Thanks to you. I want this to stop.’
‘You are of no interest to them. But I am.’
‘Don’t tell me, because you know too much? This isn’t some movie. It’s my life.’
‘No, not because I know too much. But because I have something.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘I hope you never find out.’
The rest of Kelly’s shift sitting with Monahan passed in near total silence. She kept wondering what Monahan had that was so important. Then she would berate herself for letting her curiosity get the better of her again.
There was real danger here, yet she was attracted to it like a moth to a flame.
20: Meltdown
‘Hey-a, why so glum? Have-a you been missing your Luigi?’ the Italian said, giving April a customary bear hug as she arrived at his restaurant in Glasgow’s Shawlands district, his hand just lingering on her ample backside a shade too long.
‘Hello, Luigi. I’m fine, thanks,’ April said, trying to keep things cordial.
‘Oh-a no. I hate-a when a woman-a says “fine”. That means-a she’s got the right hump.’
April couldn’t help but smile at the way Luigi could suddenly break into broad Glaswegian, and his insistence on speaking about himself in the third person. ‘No, I haven’t got the hump, Luigi. I’m just tired and hungry.’
‘Well, you have-a come to the right place. I have-a special seafood linguine tonight-a. You’ve got-a mussels, shrimp and squid. It’s beautiful, like-a you,’ he said, giving April another hug, his meaty arms ‘accidentally’ brushing over her boobs.
‘I think there’s more than enough sealife around at the moment. Just the spaghetti meatballs for me, please.’
‘A-ha. April Lavender can’t get enough of Luigi’s juicy meatballs,’ he said, announcing her menu choice to the rest of the customers.
April was not in the mood. She wished to dine in silence and unmolested. She berated herself for coming in the first place. Luigi poured her a generous glass of red wine. She looked at his ageing, jowly face, and the over-sized moustache spread across his face; his eyebrows were arched in anticipation for April to approve of his wine selection, and she hated herself for what she was about to do.
‘Luigi, I want you to take this back,’ she said, removing the large diamond ring he had given her a year previously. ‘I should never have taken it in the first place. I’m sorry. Sorry to have got your hopes up. Sorry for everything.’
Luigi’s beaming smile slowly disintegrated into a look of utter despair. Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his puffy cheeks. He stood in silence, looking absolutely crestfallen. Then his rotund shape, clothed in his chef whites, began to jiggle ever so slightly, before he launched into huge, body-shaking sobs.
‘Ahhhh-a,’ Luigi wailed, and the whole restaurant turned round to see the commotion. The attention did not stop him. ‘April Lavender has-a broken-a ma heart. Ahhhh-a.’
April already wanted to die from embarrassment when one of the younger waiters shot her a dirty look.
‘That-a devil woman,’ Luigi said, pointing a thick, stubby index finger directly at her, to make sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to who he was referring to. ‘She want-a Luigi never to be-a happy again.’ He collapsed onto April’s table, sending the cutlery flying and spilling half her wine over the pristine table cloth. He then started thumping the table with his arm. ‘Why-a? Why-a? You bitch-a! You BITCH-A!’
April could feel every set of eyes in the packed restaurant boring into her. She decided she needed to leave. April stood up to find the young waiter who had looked at her so disapprovingly already standing next to her, coat in hand. He threw it roughly over her shoulders and pressed his hand firmly into the small of her back, guiding her in the direction of the door.
April heard an almighty crash as she reached the exit. She looked round to see Luigi’s weight had overturned her table and he was now lying on the floor, thumping the ground and wailing like an injured animal. ‘BITCH-A! BITCH-A!’
She stepped out into the mild May evening, with the door closing on the chaos behind her. April stole a quick glance as she passed the restaurant’s large plate glass window to see Luigi slowly being helped to his feet by a crowd of concerned staff and customers.
‘That went well,’ she said out loud as she began the short walk home, her stomach grumbling from the adrenaline and the lack of food. She stopped at a chip shop, with its hot glass counter full of the saltiest, greasiest foods known to mankind. The young girl behind the counter stared at April expressionlessly, waiting for her to speak. Customer service obviously wasn’t high on the agenda in this chippy.
‘A bag of chips, please. Large. With a battered fish too.’
The girl stared at April momentarily before replying, ‘You want a large fish supper, then?’
‘Yes, dear,’ April said, smiling. ‘With lots of salt and vinegar. And a roll. With butter.’
‘Anything else?’ the girl asked sarcastically.
‘Just Irn-Bru. A bottle, not a can.’
April waddled up the road to her half-a-million pound Victorian townhouse, carrying a white plastic bag wafting the glorious smell of fish and chips.
‘Aw, April, what a night,’ she said, speaking to herself as was her custom. ‘You broke a man’s heart, created chaos and now look like a jakey with a fish supper and a bottle of ginger. Wonder what I’ll do for my encore?’
She sat for the next forty minutes in her kitchen sharing her fish supper with her cat, Cheeka, an animal that truly took after her owner’s own heart.
21: Doctor who?
There had been no further visits from the police and no more cryptic clues from Monahan. It was just back to normal. And
Kelly was bored by it all.
She arrived at Monahan’s at 9pm as usual only to find he had visitors. A doctor and a nurse.
‘Oh, hello,’ Kelly said, curious. She recognised neither.
‘I’m Doctor Davies and this is Nurse Mackay.’
‘Veronica,’ the strange nurse said, introducing herself less formally.
‘I’m Kelly Carter. I’m Mr Monahan’s usual nurse. Is there a problem? Who sent you?’
Kelly was direct but she was used to walking into patients’ crowded rooms and restoring order with relatives. Now she was being confronted by two unknown medical professionals and she wanted to know why they were here and who had called them.
‘We were part of Malky’s old medical team when he was working. We had a call from a Doctor… Abassi, is it?’
‘Doctor Shabazi,’ Kelly corrected him, wondering how he’d got his peer’s name so hopelessly wrong.
‘Anyway, your doctor fellow was asking a few questions about Mad Malky’s treatment. We thought we’d pop by to see how the old dog was getting on,’ Doctor Davies explained with a smooth smile.
Kelly hated doctors being overly friendly. She once had a GP who wanted her to call him Andy, which she refused point-blank to do. As far as Kelly was concerned, medical professionals needed to be just that. Not just out of formality but because there will come a point when they may need to deliver bad news and you’d rather hear it from a doctor than ‘Andy’.
‘I see, and how do you think he’s doing?’ Kelly asked, looking at Monahan, who was sat with a fixed, blank expression. She wondered why he hadn’t spoken.
‘As well as can be expected. He’s nearing the endgame and he knows it. I’ve told him to get all his affairs in order and not to do anything rash,’ Doctor Davies replied flippantly.
His words hung in the air. Who the hell would say ‘endgame’ in front of a dying man, and talk about being ‘rash’? Was this doctor openly warning Monahan?
Wicked Leaks Page 6
