After He Died

by Michael Malone

  ‘Bill,’ Paula said as she turned away from Daphne. ‘If you want anything of Thomas’s let me know, won’t you?’ She looked him up and down too now, mentally comparing his size with Thomas. Had he lost a bit of weight? ‘Before I give them all to Oxfam, there’s quite a wardrobe of suits you could choose from…’

  Bill gave her a smile. ‘Hello…’ he laughed, and held his arms out. ‘Floor manager at a menswear store?’

  Paula nodded her agreement while thinking that the suits Bill usually wore were nice enough, but not quite of the same quality as Thomas’s. ‘Right enough. Thomas probably got them all from your shop. But if there’s anything else…’ It suddenly felt important to Paula that Bill take something. This was the first time in a long while she’d felt that connection with him. She missed the Bill of old. The big brother who had welcomed her into their home when she and Thomas started going out together. He had a steady gaze then, a ready smile. He was a young man who was certain of his place in the world. That gaze had long since clouded.

  ‘There’s that watch you like,’ Daphne said, as if she realised how much Paula wanted this to happen. ‘The TAG one?’

  ‘The TAG one,’ Bill said with a dismissive tone, which suggested to Paula that he really did want it. ‘I wouldn’t mind Thomas’s golf clubs. He bought a brand-new set last year. Must have cost him a fortune.’ Bill grinned. ‘And that wee electric caddy. Did he ever get a chance to use them?’

  Paula gave that some thought. ‘Probably not,’ she answered, but she had no idea if he’d used them or not. Hadn’t even realised he’d got them. She felt a pang of sorrow. How much time they’d wasted. She forced a smile. ‘Come over and get them. And anything else you want. Thomas would hate the idea of them going to waste.’

  ‘What about Tommy’s iPad?’ asked Daphne. ‘He always joked he was going to leave it to me in his will.’ She made a face. ‘I’m rubbish at computers. Tommy said the iPad was so easy to use even I would be able to work with it.’

  Bill snorted. ‘You and computers just don’t get on, honey. But if you want one I’m sure we could afford to buy it.’

  ‘No point in spending cash when there’s one going for free,’ she replied and smiled at Paula. ‘Is there?’

  Paula crossed her arms, suddenly aware of the chill that had crept up her legs as she’d been standing talking. She hadn’t given the iPad a thought. While Thomas was alive it was never more than a hand’s length away from him. She often cursed him about it, saying the device was more of a wife to him than she was.

  ‘You know I’ve forgotten all about that.’ Paula searched her mind for an image of it. Had she even seen it since Thomas died? ‘I’ve no idea where it is.’ She looked at Daphne. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No worries,’ she replied. ‘You know there’s a welcome home here if you ever find it.’ Daphne’s eyes clouded just for a moment as she said this. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘we’d better go. I’ve got my man to feed. You drive,’ she told Bill, and with that she threw the car key towards him. He caught it easily and walked round to the driver’s side.

  There was an easy flow to this negotiation between them that set off another lurch of missing in Paula’s gut. How long ago was it that she had that easy rapport with Thomas?

  She walked to her own car, feeling more alone that she ever had in her life. Standing at the door, she waved at Bill and Daphne as they drove off. Then she wondered if she should go back in to the house and get the rest of the story from Joe.

  But when she turned, Father Joe was standing at the reception-room window watching her. He lifted a hand up to wave, and it was as if that simple movement had taken his last ounce of energy. Then he turned and moved away, leaving nothing to see but a flash of winter sunlight on the pane, and shapes in shadow beyond.

  25

  As Paula drove back towards home in the West End of the city, she recalled the bag of Thomas’s personal effects the hospital had given her when she had gone to identify his body. All the items he had on him when he died had been thrown into a plastic carrier.

  Unable to look at them, she’d dumped the bag … but where?

  In her mind, she retraced her steps. She remembered the weight of it as the man had given it to her – he’d said he’d had to double-bag it, as there was so much stuff. He’d handed her a folder with a piece of paper on top of it. It looked like a list.

  ‘Sign at the bottom, please,’ he’d said. His tone was deadpan, but his expression held a note of boredom.

  She duly signed, barely registering what she was doing. Numb, she’d walked back to the car park, and unable to bear looking inside, she’d dumped the bag in the boot … And it must still be there.

  In seconds her mind made several connections.

  The iPad could be there.

  Thomas might have used it when accessing those bank accounts in the notebook.

  Was that why Farrell had died? For the information in that machine?

  Almost on automatic, she stood on the brakes and aimed the car at the kerb. This rash movement earned her a loud beep of the horn from the car behind her. She flushed and offered a conciliatory wave out of her side window as the offended driver passed.

  She quickly stepped out of the car and walked round to the boot, and opened it. Sure enough, there was the large bag she’d received at the hospital. Reaching in, she pulled the bag closer. Resisting the urge to lift it up and tip everything out, she teased it open and peered inside.

  At the top was Thomas’s belt and wallet – a matching set that she’d bought him for his birthday about ten years ago. She felt the now familiar catch in her throat. Then she saw a light-blue shirt and dark-blue tie. She pushed them to the side and felt the soft fabric of his suit trousers and jacket. Under that was a pair of highly polished black brogues. She snatched her hand away, as if burned. This was too much, how could anyone be expected to shoulder this? She hiccupped a couple of sobs and forced herself to inhale, to slow everything down. She had to breathe, she commanded herself. This needed to be done.

  With trembling hands she reached again for the bag and pushed her hands inside. Only when she was sure she’d touched everything inside could she be sure of it. There was no iPad.

  With that thought came the realisation there was no phone either. If the iPad was always within arm’s reached, his iPhone was permanently in his hand.

  Where were they?

  Paula considered what the police told her about his last moments. He’d been in a restaurant in the city centre when the heart attack happened. He was on his own, according to the staff, and no one had accompanied him to the hospital. A diner at another table happened to be a doctor and tried to resuscitate him while they waited for the paramedics. He died in the back of the ambulance before they’d even set off.

  She sagged at that thought. Her knees hitting the car bumper, keeping her upright. Dying in the back of the ambulance. On his own. Yet another sob escaped the tight clutch of her throat. She forced a breath. And another. She should have been with him. She should have been there, holding his hand, reassuring him.

  She was clutching his wallet. She imagined it in his broad hands, saw the light hair that grew in a clump at the base of each finger, just up from the knuckle. Those long broad fingers had…

  She shook her head. She had to stop torturing herself.

  She opened the wallet and looked through the slots. A couple of credit cards, coffee shop loyalty cards, his driving licence. Some cash. She flicked through the notes, counting a round hundred pounds. And there, behind them, a small, folded photograph. She pulled it out and unfolded it to see the smiling faces of her and Christopher – the stretch of sand behind them signalling it had been taken at Ettrick Bay. She’d no idea he kept this with him.

  She held a finger to Christopher’s cheek. He would have been about ten when this was taken. His smile sending out nothing but good cheer and promise into the world. Holding it to her nose, she tried to inhale a sense of him.

  Was Cara right?
Had he been targeted? And because of something his father had done? No. It couldn’t be.

  Her boy.

  Her man.

  Both dead.

  It was all too much. What had she done to deserve this?

  She felt her knees give again, and had to flex her thighs to stop herself falling to the ground.

  Enough, she scolded herself. There would be plenty of time to feel sorry for herself. First, she had to find out what had happened – what Thomas had really been up to.

  She mentally ran through each of the series of numbers she’d memorised from the notebook. It was still all there, intact in her brain. She needed to get to a computer to check it out properly. But the death of Kevin Farrell made her cautious – she wasn’t going to risk using her own laptop back in the house. Because she was in danger too, he’d said.

  She felt a twist of fear. Then a flare of anger. What did it matter if she died? What else did she have to lose?

  A face imposed itself on her mind. Cara Connolly. What she’d been saying couldn’t be ignored. It had sounded like she was reading from a poor script for a B movie; but, now, with everything else Paula had discovered – and with Kevin and Elaine’s deaths – she knew she had to find out if there was any truth to it.

  A piece of gravel popped and she became aware of a presence just behind her. Too close behind her. She turned. Mouth open, ready to tell whoever it was to go away. Saw a tall man wearing a black hoodie, but not much else.

  A blow to the right side of her face, before the wallet was ripped from her hand and she was pushed into the boot, and lid slammed on her.

  Then the sound of rapid feet fading into the distance.

  A shout. A deep male voice. ‘Hey!’

  Pain was a dull throb in her head. Her limbs were a tangle. She scrabbled to turn herself over.

  ‘Bastard,’ she shouted, and damped down her fear. She was safe. They’d gone. And all they’d got was Thomas’s wallet.

  But then she gasped. The photo. That lovely wee photo in that arsehole’s hands.

  The car was a hatchback, so the boot was huge and thankfully the lid hadn’t been fully closed. With difficulty, she clambered over from the boot into the backseat.

  Pushing open the back door, she struggled out and looked up and across the road trying to track the trail of her assailant. Her adrenaline was raised. She’d chase the bastard down every back street in Glasgow if she had to.

  ‘You okay?’ she heard a man’s voice just behind her, and recognised the accent. She turned to face him.

  Anton Rusnak. And he was holding Thomas’s wallet in his right hand.

  26

  ‘You are okay, Mrs Gadd?’ Anton asked, and stepped towards her, his face full of concern.

  ‘I’m … I’m…’ Paula didn’t know how she was. She held a hand to the side of her face and opened her jaw slowly, feeling the tightness there. She was going to have a bump and bruise just shortly. ‘That little …’

  ‘I know,’ Anton’s smile held a grim promise. ‘I caught son of bitch. He won’t attack anybody else today.’

  A sharp feeling of nausea. Pressure on her throat. She turned to the side and vomited.

  Pulling her hair back from her face, Paula then wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Gasped for air as she tried to ignore the taste of bile.

  ‘Where the hell did you come from?’ she asked, ignoring the weakness in her thighs. If she didn’t take a seat soon she was going to fall down.

  Anton moved closer, reached beyond her and opened the driver’s door.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  Paula gratefully fell inside. She felt herself fold into the soft leather and tried to hide the tremble in her hands by holding them together between her knees.

  Anton held up the wallet. Opened it and checked what was inside.

  ‘Was there money?’

  Paula nodded.

  ‘None now. There’s cards, but no money.’ He stepped back and looked down the street to his right. ‘I go back and get the money.’

  Paula stretched out and took the wallet from him. Opening it she saw that the photograph was still inside. She shook her head. ‘No need. Let the wee bastard have it. The important stuff is here.’

  ‘You need tea. Coffee. With lots of sugar,’ said Anton, as if he was making an important announcement. He looked as if he was debating something with himself for a moment. ‘You safe now. Don’t go anywhere. I will be back.’ He turned and, judging the traffic, crossed the road. Paula felt a new surge of fear now that she was on her own again and watched as Anton walked further up the street and stepped inside a small café.

  She pulled the car door closed and locked it, taking a slow, deep breath. There was a quiver in all her limbs. She exhaled slowly, and repeated this with her eyes shut.

  A slight knock at her window roused her. Anton was there, holding up a cup. She could see the steam rising into the cold air.

  As if on automatic, she located the armrest, the necessary switch lowered the window.

  ‘Coffee and sugar.’ Anton smiled as he handed the cup through to her. ‘Probably more sugar than coffee.’ Shrug. ‘It will help you, Mrs Gadd.’

  Shakily, she took a sip and couldn’t help making a face at the sweetness.

  Anton was grinning at her. ‘You do fine, Mrs Gadd. Very courageous lady.’

  ‘Very angry lady, Anton.’ She took another sip and it was easier to control her shaking this time. ‘I’m very grateful you were here, but … where did you come from?’

  ‘It’s cold,’ he answered as his head sunk down towards his chest and he thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘You mind if I come inside car?’

  ‘Sorry, Anton. I wasn’t thinking. Of course.’ She found the central locking button, pressed it, and Anton huffed into the passenger seat. He held his hands before him and blew onto them. ‘Glasgow winter not quite as bad as home. But still is very cold.’

  Now that he was sitting beside her, Paula was reminded of what a large man he was. Back in the cottage that size felt like a threat, but here, after her attack, she was reassured by it.

  ‘Thanks again, Anton. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.’

  ‘I think you would have chased him.’ He gave her an appraising look. ‘Takes a lot to frighten you, I think, Mrs Gadd.’ His gaze held admiration. ‘But foolish. He could really hurt you if you chase him.’

  His words sunk in. Kevin and Elaine had been killed – she wasn’t buying the murder-suicide explanation – and it had to be about the numbers she found in that notebook. Was she also in danger?

  Her stomach turned over. Had the mugging been a ruse to get her to chase him? And once she was out of sight, down an alley or somewhere, what could have happened to her?

  She began to shake again, and put the cup of coffee down in a holder before she spilled the hot drink over her hands. Before Anton saw that she was frightened.

  ‘You were about to tell me how you managed to be here?’ She fought to control the waver in her voice.

  Anton looked down at her cup. ‘The coffee? Comes from my shop.’ He cocked his head to the side, in the general direction of the small shop he’d come from. ‘Beans and Bites is mine. There is big Polish community in the area. Tommy suggest I open a café. Big hit,’ he beamed. ‘Glasgow people love our Polish doughnuts, and sernik…’ Anton read her blank stare in reply. ‘Is cheesecake from Poland. Next time, when you’re not in shock you must try.’

  ‘Sounds lovely, Anton.’ She shook her head. ‘So, I just happen to get attacked across the road from your shop?’ Her life was getting stranger by the day.

  ‘I know. Crazy, right?’ Anton held his hands out. ‘And I’m not here every day, either. Is difficult from Bute, right? So random days – I like to surprise staff – I come over once a week and check how is doing. Today I see your car. You at the trunk. I thought I must say hi and as I cross the road I saw man attack you. I chase. Get wallet back. Give him big kick for his trouble.
’

  ‘I hope you kicked him hard enough for him to land in hospital.’

  ‘His balls will certainly hurt for long time.’ Anton’s laugh at this was almost loud enough to hurt her ears. Then he grew sombre. ‘How are you since last time we meet? Is not easy, no? Death takes time to…’

  She paused, reading the empathy in his eyes. ‘It certainly does, Anton. It certainly does.’

  ‘I had a look,’ Anton made a motion of apology. ‘Being nosy. Is Tommy’s, no? How did ned manage to steal Tommy’s wallet?’

  Paula exhaled loudly. ‘I was on my way home and I suddenly remembered I still had Thomas’s things in the car. Crazy, I know. My head’s been all over the place since he died. Don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’

  ‘You just stop in middle of road to check?’

  Paula considered telling him the full truth. It would be good to have someone she could trust. And a relief not to be to work on her own. And Thomas clearly trusted this guy.

  But something held her back. She couldn’t say anything just yet. She didn’t know enough. And she was afraid if she heard it all said out loud it would just sound ridiculous.

  ‘Since … since Thomas, I don’t know what side is up, to be honest. Soon as the thought occurred to me, I had to stop and check. Remind myself of him, you know?’ She was aware that her bottom lip was trembling and bit it in an attempt to hide it from him.

  ‘I understand.’ He nodded his head slowly, as if all the weight of his own loss was held in each small movement. He slapped his thigh hard as if that might increase his energy levels. Then boomed, ‘Must go and watch staff. They eat all those delicious paczki – Polish doughnut – and leave none for customer.’ He fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. ‘My number. You need? You call, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Paula. ‘And thanks again.’

  He got out, and she watched in her wing mirror as the big man walked across the road towards the coffee shop. Just before he entered, he paused, looked back at her and gave her a wave. Paula drove off thanking whatever star had directed Thomas towards Anton Rusnak.