by Denise Mina
A knock on the door signalled the arrival of tea. A man in a startlingly white shirt came in, put down the tray and lifted the cups onto the table. Maureen took her tea weak and black without sugar. The young man had given her sugar and milk but she took it anyway, knowing that McEwan hadn’t intended her to get a cup.
Still smarting from the insult, McEwan drew heavily on his super low-tar fag and stubbed it out.
‘Did your brother know Douglas Brady?’
‘He met him once.’
‘When?’
‘Four months ago, I suppose. Liam came round to my house and Douglas was there.’ ‘How long were they together for?’
‘About fifteen minutes. Douglas was late for an appointment or something, he had to go.’
‘Was anyone else there?’
‘No. Just the three of us.’
‘Right.’ McEwan wrote something down in his notebook.‘Did you know Douglas was married when you got involved with him?’ ‘No.’
‘When did you find out?’
‘Just recently.’
‘When?’
‘I don't know. Recently.’ She picked up the cup of tea and took a sip. The milk in it left a cheesy coating on her tongue.
‘We found this in your house.’ McEwan pushed a letter towards her. It was Douglas and Elsbeth’s marriage certificate, the copy from the General Register, still inside the creamy envelope.‘It’s a copy of Douglas Brady and Elsbeth McGregor’s marriage certificate ordered from the General Register,’ he said, for the benefit of the tape.‘The envelope is postmarked two days before the murder. When did you receive it?’
‘The day after it happened.’
McEwan slapped his open hand hard on the table. ‘THAT WAS A STUPID LIE,’ he shouted.‘DON’T LIE TO ME.’
The letter had been addressed to her work. She had left it sitting in her handbag on the bedroom floor and McMummb had handed her the keys and wallet out of the bag. They knew she hadn’t been in the bag since she found Douglas. It had to be before she found him She sipped her cheesy tea.‘Yes,’ she said.‘It was a lie, I’m sorry.’
She inhaled the last of her fag and put it out, wondering where the fuck Liam was and what they were saying to him and why McEwan wasn’t questioning him. His boss might be questioning him, if he had a boss.
‘When did you receive this letter?’ asked McEwan.
‘The day it happened. The day before I found him.’
‘Did you show it to your brother?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t see him that day.’
‘So you’ve said.’
‘Ye didn’t find his fingerprints on it, did ye?’ she said triumphantly.‘Did ye?’
‘We haven’t taken your brother’s fingerprints yet. Why would you send off for a marriage certificate, I wonder?’
It was meant to be rhetorical. She decided to get in his face.‘He told me he wasn’t married. I thought he was lying so I sent off for a search on the Register. I’m sure the Registrar’ll have a record of the request. I asked for a fifteen year search.’
‘And that’s how you found out he was married?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did Douglas say when you told him?’
‘I didn’t tell him. I never saw him alive again.’
‘That’s right,’ said McEwan.‘You didn’t see him that day, did you?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You’ve been consistent about that one point, haven’t you?’ ‘Yes.’
‘As consistent as you were about not having been to the Rainbow for treatment.’ He turned the page on his notebook.‘How did you feel when you found out he was married?’
‘I kind of knew. That’s why I wrote to the Registrar in the first place.’
McEwan leaned over the table and repeated the question firmly.‘How did you feel when you found out he was married?’
‘Well, Joe,’ she said loudly,‘I felt a bit stupid and then I felt tired and then I felt stupid again, all right?’
McEwan pointed at her.‘Don’t be cheeky,’ he said, his voice lowering an octave. He composed himself.‘You didn’t feel angry, at all?’
‘Uff, if you get involved with men who are already spoken for, you deserve all you get, don’t you?’
McEwan sat back and looked down his nose at her with a mean, lopsided smirk.‘Is that right? And you weren’t expecting him to leave his wife?’
‘Look, I was four months out of psychiatric hospital when I met him, I was in a state. Even I knew I wasn’t fit to pick a life partner.’
‘What do you mean? You didn’t really like Douglas?’ Whatever she said sounded incriminating. She decided to come clean.‘Look, Douglas was a sad middle-aged guy who couldn’t keep his knickers on. I liked him and he was nice to me. I should never have got involved with him but I did because I was lonely and horny. I didn’t want to see him any more and the wedding certificate was the final straw. I wasn’t upset about it. I wasn’t pleased but I wasn’t angry either.’
McEwan was suddenly interested.‘You intended to end the relationship?’
‘Aye, but I wouldn’t kill him or harm him in any way or have him harmed by anyone else. He was as nice to me as he knew how to be. That’s all you can ask, isn’t it?’
‘Did you tell anyone you were going to finish the relationship?’
‘Yeah, I told my pal Leslie and I told Liz at work.’
‘You didn’t tell your brother?’
‘No. Liam and I don’t talk about things like that. He knew Douglas was living with someone else and he never asked much about him because he didn’t take it seriously.’ ‘Someone thought it was a serious relationship,’ he said pompously, folding his arms.‘Serious enough to kill him in your house.’
The conclusion didn’t follow from the observation. Maureen told herself just to leave it. The sooner it was over the sooner she could see Liam.
McEwan raised an eyebrow and looked at her.‘Here’s what I think happened, Miss O’Donnell.’ This was what he had been building up to, this was his trump.‘I think you were very upset when you received the letter telling you he was married. I think you threatened to tell his wife and he tried to pay you off but the money wasn’t enough. You wanted him to leave her and come and live with you. I think you phoned your brother and told him.’ ‘No, I didn’t—’
‘You invited Douglas to the house and let him in. Your brother came to the house. Maybe he just meant to threaten Douglas, make him think seriously about leaving his wife and it just went too far.’
‘Oh, fuck. You’re so wrong. You’ve no idea.’
‘We’ll call you in if we need to speak to you again,’ he said.‘Thank you, Miss O’Donnell.’
Maureen was surprised. She looked at McAskill but he was looking at the tape-recorder, away from her.‘What are you going to do to Liam?’ she asked.
‘We’re not going to do anything to him, we’re going to talk to him. Is there anything else you want to tell me?’
McEwan looked at her as if he knew something. He was bluffing.
‘I can't think of anything,’ she said innocently.‘Who’s questioning Liam?’
‘We’ll go and speak to him now,’ said McEwan.
‘Is it worth me waiting?’
‘No.’ He stood, leaned across McAskill and pressed the Off button on the recorder.
As soon as the tape was off McEwan’s face turned a livid shade of purple, swollen, throbbing veins suddenly visible on his temples. He leant close to her, so close she could smell the lemon tang of his aftershave.‘Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,’ he whispered.
McAskill stood up, keeping his eyes down, and put his hand on McEwan’s chest as if moving him back so that he could get up from the table. But there was plenty of room b
ehind his chair– he could have pushed it backwards. He was holding McEwan back, he was reminding him not to.
Joe McEwan wouldn’t be the best man to cross, she thought, not the best at all.
Maureen walked across town. She didn’t notice the tall man walking a hundred yards behind, following, carefully keeping himself out of sight, varying the speed of his walk. He followed her along Bath Street and up Cathedral Street. He held back when she got to the well-lit cathedral forecourt, staying in the shadows and watching as she took the side entrance into the Albert Hospital. He waited for a few moments and skirted the bright forecourt, creeping into the lobby. The lift stopped at eight. He read the board. Level eight– Dr Louisa Wishart. He wrote it down in his notebook, checked the time and jotted that down too. He left the building and waited across the road for her to come out.
She locked herself into a toilet cubicle and smoked a furtive fag before going into reception and checking in with Mrs Hardy. She was worried about setting off the smoke alarm and had to keep waving her fag about to dissipate the smoke. Fifteen thousand pounds. Siobhain said he had given her money to make himself feel better about the hospital: Maureen cast her mind back, trying to remember something about her stay in the Northern that was worth £15,000. And now they had Liam. Liam had never been in trouble with the police before. Joe McEwan seemed to have his heart set on him and, like Leslie said, the police don't have an infinite amount of time. She had known that they’d come for him eventually and she’d been fucking about, wasting time, idly guessing who did it.
She had a sudden urge to phone Leslie and ask her to come over and sit with her. She’d still be at work. Leslie had her own work to do and Maureen couldn’t keep leaning on her.
She wondered about them asking about the evening: they’d seemed so sure it had happened during the day. Winnie leaped to mind. False memory syndrome, a get-out-of-jail free for anyone who didn’t fancy tuning into the dark side.
17
Louisa
Maureen walked into the office and smiled at the receptionist.‘Hello, Mrs Hardy,’ she said.‘I think I might have missed an appointment last Wednesday.’
‘Yes, you did,’ said Mrs Hardy.‘We waited for you.’
‘I’m so sorry, it slipped my mind.’
Mrs Hardy smiled.‘Don’t worry, you’re here now. I’ll tell Louisa.’
Maureen thanked her and went into the little waiting room. The eager man who always tried to speak to her was sitting on the edge of his usual chair. He had turned it sideways to face the door and called,‘Hello,’ the minute she stepped into the room. She ignored him and walked over to the window, propping her elbows on the high ledge, bending her head forward and shutting her eyes, thinking about Liam walking off through the double doors in the Stewart Street police station, his head low. She could feel the numbness coming over her.
She scratched the back of her neck slowly with her nails, ripping long, deep welts, trying to chase it away. Numbness is worse than pain: it’s like a violent wasting disease when all connection with the outside world evaporates, nothing matters, nothing counts, nothing touches or entertains or surprises; even physical sensations feel distant and unreal. It’s death without the paperwork.
Her neck felt wet. She stopped scratching and looked at her fingers. The tips of her nails were smeared with watery blood. She pulled the elastic band out of her hair and let her pony-tail fall over her neck, covering the rips. She opened her eyes properly, looking out over the greening roof of the black medieval cathedral.
She thought of Siobhain and the numbness pulled back. Siobhain had seen Douglas at three-thirty that day. If they arrested Liam she could get Siobhain to talk to them as a last resort. They were asking about the nighttime. Maybe someone had seen something at night.
Mrs Hardy called both of them over the intercom. Mr McNeil was to come to the office and Ms O’Donnell could go into Dr Wishart’s office now. Maureen turned and saw the wee man hurry out of the door. Bad day to get your nerve up, pal, she thought.
Louisa was sitting stiffly behind the desk. She pushed the newspaper across to Maureen. ‘I’ve seen it,’ Maureen said.
‘So your boyfriend Davie is really Douglas Brady?’
‘Yeah. You can see why I couldn’t tell you. I thought you might know him.’
Louisa hummed and nodded.
Maureen told her how they had come to be involved with one another and described finding the body, how red everything was and how the police had treated her. ‘The police came here,’ said Louisa.
It hadn’t occurred to Maureen that the police might physically turn up at Louisa's office: she had thought perhaps they’d telephone an underling. If McEwan saw her notes he’d think she was a compulsive liar. ‘Did they see my notes?’
‘No,’ said Louisa.‘They’d need a court order to see them and they didn’t think it was that important. They asked me about you.’
‘What did they ask you?’
‘They asked me if I thought you knew the difference between a lie and the truth.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I thought you did.’
They made meaningful eye contact for the first time ever. Maureen wondered if she knew she lied to her all the time. Louisa’s line of sight slid sideways to an empty space by the door. Maureen thought it was her turn to speak.‘Did they just come to see you the once?’ she said.
‘Yes, just once. Do you want to ask me anything else about it?’
‘No,’ said Maureen. It was the longest conversation they had ever had. Louisa sat back.
‘What else would you like to talk about today?’ she said. Louisa’s blind protectiveness had touched Maureen and she gave her the after-mass rape dream as a thank-you gift. Louisa listened, and smiled happily at the end. They talked about the dream, trying to relate it to Douglas’s death.
Maureen didn’t want to bare her id, it was just a token gift. She said that her friend Ailish had fallen out with her boyfriend when she found out he was sleeping with her sister. Maureen had thought Ailish would have been more supportive of her during this difficult time but she wasn’t being helpful at all.
‘Perhaps she has a lot on her mind,’ said Louisa. They speculated about Ailish’s motives for a while. ‘I’m a bit concerned about the hospital,’ said Maureen.
‘I keep thinking about it and avoiding going past it. I think I’m getting phobic about it again.’
But Louisa wasn’t biting today.‘Tell me how you feel about Douglas now,’ she said.
‘I don't feel much about it. Often I didn’t see him for a week so it just feels like that.’
‘You’re probably in shock. When it hits you, and I’m sure it will, I want you to phone me, day or night, okay?’ Maureen thanked her.
She said she’d write a line for Maureen to excuse her from work for three weeks.
‘Louisa, you know what I said about the hospital? Well, I want to face it. Do you have any contacts there I could get in touch with?’ ‘What for?’
‘I want to go back and have a look around. It might make me feel better about it.’
‘I wouldn’t recommend it. I think you’re under enough pressure as it is.’
‘I feel sort of fearless just now.’
‘I think that’s shock. You may be focusing on that to avoid your feelings about Douglas.’
‘Maybe,’ she said.‘I’d still like to go back. I don’t want to go around it on my own in case I can’t handle it but I won’t know any of the staff there any more.’ ‘Martin Donegan’s still there.’
Maureen opened the door and turned back to Louisa sitting quite still at her desk with her hands clenched in front of her.‘Goodbye, Louisa,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Maureen,’ said Louisa.
Maureen went back into the waiting room and sat until Mrs Hardy called her back into the office.‘Here we are,’ said Mrs Ha
rdy, holding out a sheaf of paper.‘That’s a line from the doctor.’
Maureen took it.‘Thanks, Mrs Hardy.’
‘Will we be seeing you next week?’
‘Aye, see you then.’
It was darker in the streets now and the officer who had watched her enter the hospital followed her back through the town, heading towards the Stewart Street station.
*
As she walked down the hill the back of her neck stung in the brisk evening air, the razor tips of her hair switching against the raw skin. But the sharp stinging brought to mind Siobhain: she could vouch for Douglas being alive until half-three, even if she couldn’t talk about the hospital.
She could go to see Martin in the next few days. He’d been working as a porter at the Northern for twenty-something years and was a quiet, steady-tempered man. The hospital complex had developed chaotically over the years but Martin knew every corridor by sight. If there was anything she needed to ask about the Northern, then Martin was the man to see.
The officer on the desk said Liam wasn’t out yet. She asked how long he was likely to be but the well-mannered officer said he was sorry, he didn’t know. She waited for a bit, sitting in the plastic chair Liam had sat in on the first morning, licking her fingers and rubbing the soothing saliva onto the bloody scratches on her neck, working out how long it would take to get to Winnie’s. Twenty minutes later she left, catching a bus to the South Side.
The plainclothes officer followed her, sitting downstairs on the bus, watching for her.
She got off the bus and was walking the two streets to the house when suddenly, across the road, passing below an orange street-light, she saw Michael. His walk was exactly as she remembered it, a defensive, boyish swagger. She dropped back, crossing the road so that she was walking behind him. She followed him for ten minutes before realizing that it wasn’t him at all. It was just a tall bald guy. The stabbing-comb teeth left an imprint on her hand. She hadn’t sharpened the handle yet: all she could have done was give him a nasty poke. She shouldn’t have told Louisa her dream– it revived the sensations.
She still had her key for the house. She worked it into the lock silently, hoping to avoid Winnie altogether. The lights were on in the living room and the kitchen but the house was quiet. George often went out, he had friends in different pubs all over the city, but Winnie tended to stay close to the house. She must be crashed out somewhere, probably in her bedroom or on the settee in the living room. Maureen tiptoed upstairs to her old room at the back of the house.
