by Denise Mina
‘Can you think of a reason for him to pay that much money into your account?’ asked McAskill. ‘Sorry?’
‘Why would he do that? It was pretty obvious the other day that you had no idea it was in there. What would he give you money for?’
‘I don't know.’ She looked at the table and wondered, ‘Maybe he wanted me to pass the money on to someone else and he didn’t get the chance to tell me about it.’
McAskill nodded but didn’t seem convinced.‘Okay,’ he said.‘We’ll look into that.’
‘Did you find out who’d told Carol Brady where I was staying?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ said McAskill stiffly, rolling his eyes and nodding at the tape-recorder. Maureen didn’t understand the signal. He nodded at it again. Maureen leaned across the table and pressed the Stop button on the tape-recorder.
‘No!’ said McAskill, lurching over the table and pulling her hand away.‘You have to tell us you want the tape off and we need to say we’re going to, right?’ He switched it on again.
Inness said,‘The tape was turned off at five-thirteen by the interviewee, Miss Maureen O’Donnell. Miss O’Donnell, did you just turn the tape off?’ ‘Yes, I did just turn the tape off.’
‘Do you want me to turn the tape off before we continue the interview?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Miss O’Donnell has requested that the tape-recorder be turned off at this point in time,’ said Inness.‘I am turning it off at five-fourteen and the interview will continue.’ He flicked the switch and turned excitedly to McAskill.
‘I don't particularly want a tape of me telling you this,’ said Hugh,‘but a young officer’s facing disciplinary action over it. We went to see Brady and she gave us his name.’
‘Without blinking an eye,’ said Inness, taking another square of chocolate.‘She just said his name and shut the door.’ He popped it in his mouth. ‘Nice lady,’ said Maureen. McAskill smiled.‘Lovely.’
‘Where did the money in my account come from?’ Inness jumped in.‘Mr Brady emptied his own account. Took out thirty-odd thousand in big notes.’
‘God,’ said Maureen.‘How does anyone get that much money in their account in the first place?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ said Inness defensively, his incisors smeared brown. Maureen looked at his bald top lip. He lifted his arm stiffly, rested his elbow on the table and cupped his hand over his mouth.
‘He’d saved it over a number of years,’ said McAskill.
‘His wife didn’t even know he had the account until he died.’
Maureen took out her cigarettes and lit one. The smoke mingled with the sweet chocolate in her mouth turning both tastes bad.
‘Where do you think the rest of the money went?’
She shrugged, mulling over the lump of money in Siobhain McCloud’s handbag. The other fifteen thousand couldn’t be in there: it would take seven hundred and fifty twenties to make it up and the roll couldn’t possibly have had that in it.‘I dunno where it went. I suppose I’ll have to give the money back?’
‘No,’ said McAskill.‘He gave it to you. It’s yours.’ She didn’t know why Douglas had given it to her but she had a bad feeling about it. She didn’t really want the money. ‘Does Mrs Brady still think I did it?’
‘Yeah,’ McAskill said.‘She’s not interested in any evidence, she’s just certain it was you.’
‘Certain,’ echoed Inness, picking up another piece of chocolate.
McAskill nudged Inness and jerked his head towards the tape-recorder.‘Okay,’ he said,‘I’m going to put the tape back on now, Maureen, if that’s all right with you. I need a record of me telling you this next thing.’ ‘Sure,’ said Maureen.
He turned on the tape.‘Anyway, Miss O’Donnell, we have finished our examination of the house and you are welcome to return at your convenience.’
‘Right,’ said Maureen tentatively,‘What happens about the mess? Do you clean it up or do I?’
‘It’s down to you, really. It should be covered on your home insurance. We only clean the place if the person living there can’t clean it on their own, like a disabled or an old person.’
‘Right,’ she said, her heart sinking at the thought of her minimal house insurance.‘I see. Is that it, then?’
McAskill looked at his notebook.‘Yes,’ he said.‘That seems to be all for now.’
On the way down to the lobby she asked them if she could see Joe McEwan. Inness smirked.‘I don't think he’ll be too happy to see you,’ he said.‘You weren’t very ladylike the last time.’
‘I know. I wanted to apologize about that.’
‘We can tell him;you’re sorry,’ said Inness.
‘Well, I’d really like to see him about something else as well.’
McAskill disappeared through the double doors under the stairs. Inness gave her a dirty look, for no reason, and wandered off to chat to the policeman on reception. When McAskill came back he was, smiling.‘You’ve got two minutes,’ he said to Maureen.
McEwan followed him out of the door.‘What can I do for you?’ he said sharply.
Maureen led him away from the other two.‘Listen, I wanted to ask you about something. Remember you said something about Benny’s no pro case? Could you tell me what he was arrested for?’
‘I certainly could not,’ he said, looking at her as if she’d just suggested he fuck a pig while she stab it.‘I can't tell you what was on someone else’s police record.’
She should never have called him an arsehole.‘Just asking,’ she mumbled.
‘Was there anything else? I’m busy finding out about your brother.’
‘My brother didn’t do it, Joe.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, meanly.
‘Come on, he’s got an alibi for the whole day.’ He ignored her comment. Was there anything else?’ he asked.
‘No, nothing else.’
‘Fine.’
McEwan swanned off back through the double doors, leaving them swinging, saloon-style, in his wake. Inness was still chatting to the officer on the reception desk. McAskill sidled up to her, looking at the floor.‘No pro,’ he said, his lips moving hardly at all, his voice a breathy whisper.‘Inverness nineteen ninety-three. Committed a breach outside a warehouse. Demanding money from a man. Six months afterwards the same guy was arrested for running a stolen credit-card operation covering the whole north east. Your friend was very, very lucky he was done for breach. His case was decided before they found out what it really meant. He must have been working with the big boss.’
‘Could the psychiatrist who saw him have known this?’
‘If your pal didn’t tell him at the time he’d know afterwards. It was all over the papers.’
Maureen loved nonsensical stories and when Benny first got sober he used to keep her up nights telling her about his drinking. If it was an innocent incident he would have told her about it.‘Thanks for telling me that, Hugh,’ she said.‘It makes sense of some things.’
He was showing her out of the door when she turned to him.‘Hugh,’ she said,‘why are you so nice to me?’ ‘I’m not that nice.’
‘But telling me about Benny, and the chocolate and stuff.’
‘You could have found out about your pal, it would just have taken a long time but it’s all a matter of public record.’ ‘No, I mean, they all think I’m a mental bitch, why don’t you?’
He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. ‘Ever thought about an incest survivors’ group?’ he said softly. ‘Eh?’
‘Tuesdays. Eight p.m. St Francis, Thurso Street. Round the back.’ He let the glass door swing shut behind her.
She looked back into the station lobby. He was walking away.
*
She could have gone home but Douglas’s key was still missing and calling out a locksmith on a Friday ni
ght would cost a fortune. She found a phone box by the main road and rang Liam’s house. When he picked up the phone he sounded drunk and pissed off.
‘Can I stay at yours tonight, Liam?’
‘What about the filth?’
He only ever used stupid colloquialisms like that when he was pissed.
‘I’ve just seen them, they won’t come to the house, honest.’
‘I haven’t got anything anyway,’ he said accusingly. She checked her pockets to see how she was fixed and hailed a cab.
The blue Ford followed Maureen’s cab up the Great Western Road, passing it slowly when it stopped at Liam’s house. It turned the corner and parked in a side-street. One police officer wrote down Liam’s address while the other turned off the engine and settled back.
Liam lived on the grubby side of the West End. The four-storey town-house had been partitioned into gloomy bedsits when he bought it. He’d been doing it up gradually, working from the attic down. He had finished the first floor now but was reluctant to start renovating the ground-floor rooms. He’d kept the partition door at the foot of the stairs to make upstairs look like a separate flat and left the lower rooms scabby so that shady visitors wouldn’t think there was anything worth stealing. He rarely sat downstairs. He tended to spend his free time upstairs in the enormous room at the front of the house, painted white with a stained wood floor and nothing in it but a Corbusier lounger and the eight-foot-long utility desk with his Mac on it.
Maureen pressed the door-bell. She could hear Liam brushing heavily against the walls as he staggered to the front door. He opened it without looking out and sloped back into the front room. She followed him in. The coffee table was strewn with empty cans of imported lager.
It had been a scabby room before the police searched it but Maureen wasn’t prepared for the state it was in now. The dirty beige carpet had been pulled back and floorboards had been lifted and placed back down unevenly. The black leatherette settee had been cut open along the back; yellow foam spewed out like an action shot of a bursting spot. The old television was on in the corner; the moulded plastic back had been reattached badly and was open at the side. Match of the Day was showing: a panel of three ugly men in bad ties were laughing at a joke.
Liam walked unsteadily over to the coffee table and picked a lit cigarette out of the full ashtray. He slid more than fell sideways onto the settee, pulling at the ripped back to work his way into a sitting position. He looked her up and down as if he were sickened by the sight of her and blinked slowly.‘Maureen,’ he stated. He lifted his fag to his mouth slowly and sucked it, dragging his cheeks inwards. ‘You’re pissed,’ she said, unable to hide her disappointment, and went to use the phone on the hall table.
She found the insurance company’s twenty-four-hour help-line number in the Yellow Pages. She gave her details to a woman with a plummy accent and explained the situation as simply as she could. The telephonist paused for a moment, probably wondering whether it was a hoax call, and asked her for her policy number.‘No, I don’t actually have it with me.’
‘We need it to find the policy.’
‘Can’t you just use my name and address?’
The woman paused again and sighed.‘Just putting you on hold,’ she said. A high-pitched reworking of‘ Frère Jacques’ squealed across the line. Maureen held the receiver away from her ear. The tune played twice through. The woman came back on the line to tell her that she was still on hold, and was gone again.
Liam was standing in the doorway in a drunken foul temper. He was having trouble keeping upright and mumbling curse words.
‘Hello?’ asked the woman at the insurance company. Liam’s knees buckled and he slipped sideways in the door frame.
‘Yes, yes, I’m here,’ said Maureen, standing up and helping him back onto his feet. He spun round and fell face first into the living room.
‘Well,’ said the woman,‘I’ve had a look at your policy and you’ll have to do it yourself. You can be reimbursed for the cost of any items provided you keep them—’
‘Cheers,’ said Maureen, and hung up. Liam was crawling on all fours towards the settee.‘Ya fuckin’ drunken horse’s arse,’ she said tenderly, working her hands under his damp armpits and dragging him onto the settee. He pulled his T-shirt straight and sat, almost prim, crossing his legs carefully, looking eerily like Very Drunk Winnie. He coughed, thought about something and glowered at Maureen.‘See the state?’ he said, gesturing around the room.‘See it?’
Maureen sighed.‘If we’re going to have a fight, can we have it tomorrow?’
Liam blinked for a month.‘Who’s fightin’? I never said we were gonnae have a fight.’
Maureen sat down next to him ‘You strongly implied it,’ she said.
For a moment Liam’s expression quivered between furious and distraught. He started to cry.‘I’m fed up,’ he said, covering his face with his hands. Maureen put her arm around his shoulder.‘Oh, Christ, Mauri, everything’s turning to shite. My business . . . Douglas. I had to let Pete down on the deal and he’s pissed off at me. I lost thirty grand ’cause I crapped it.’
‘But, Liam,’ she said,‘you don’t need more money, you’ve got loads of money.’
He tried to shake off her arm by jerking his shoulders up and down. It didn’t work and she left it there.‘My bottle’s gone,’ he said, looking at her as if she had taken it.‘And Mum’s going mental, she says you’re a wee shite and Maggie won’t even speak to me.’ He sat forward, wriggling out of Maureen’s grasp, and wiped his face on his T-shirt. ‘When did you see Mum?’
‘She said that you’re a wee shite and you went back and took all your photos away.’ ‘I did.’
‘And she said you’re a wee shite.’
‘Yeah, you don’t have to keep going on about that bit.’
‘Did ye?’
‘They’re my photos, Liam.’
‘Ye could have asked her.’
Maureen was indignant.‘She was selling them to the newspapers.’
‘Yeah, but they were in her house,’ he said, aware of the weakness of his argument.
‘Look, Liam, I’m not having a great time right now either. Why are you picking on me? Do you want a fight?’
‘I don't want a fight.’
‘Well, shut up, then.’
They sat in an uncomfortable silence and watched Prisoner Cell Block H until Maureen got up to go to the toilet. He muttered after her,‘Prick.’
‘Hey,’ said Maureen, shouting back into the room,‘don’t you be fucking cheeky to me, son.’
The toilet on the first floor had been ripped apart: the U-bends had been taken off the sink and the toilet and all the jars and bottles of toiletries were sitting in the sink with their lids off. The linoleum had been pulled up, folded over and left in the bath. She went upstairs to the other bathroom. Liam kept it fairly sparse anyway and it was more or less intact. Only the towel cupboard had been riffled through: all of the fresh towels had been opened up and thrown back on the shelves.
When she came downstairs Liam was asleep in the armchair. She put out his fag, turned the telly off and went upstairs to the spare bedroom, leaving him there, his neck bent into his chest in a way that was certain to hurt like a bastard in the morning.
22
Columbo
It was a sunny autumn day, red sandstone buildings clashed with a powder blue sky, and out of the front windows of the bus, in the clear, far distance, Maureen could see the rugged Campsie hills capped in snow. She got off the bus and walked round the side to the staff canteen. She knew she was taking a chance and shouldn’t ask for him; she would just have a quick look. She thought about going to his secret place to wait for him but he might not come there. She was buying a cup of tea at the canteen counter when she remembered that he only worked every second Saturday– he might not even be in today.
She s
at at a table on her own and drank her tea, checking the tables and watching the door. She couldn’t see him. She was wearing her grey overcoat and tartan scarf. The staff were all there in their white uniforms. She saw them looking at her and knew she should take off the coat to blend into the crowd but if she took it off she’d have to take the scarf off too and then the marks on the back of her neck would be visible and they would definitely think she was a patient. Dr Paton might come in and spot her. She should never have come. A male nurse with the same eyes as Michael caught her eye and smiled, quizzically concerned. She changed her mind and hurried to leave. Martin almost banged into her in the doorway.‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’ he said angrily.
He took her elbow and guided her firmly down the corridor, into a theatre lift. He punched the button for lower ground with the side of his fist, not speaking until the doors were shut in front of them.‘Why have you come back here? I told you everything.’
‘Martin, I need to ask you some more questions. I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to phone you, I thought I’d be less conspicuous if I just turned up and found you.’
‘For pity sake. Sitting in the staff canteen with your coat on waiting for me?’
He walked briskly down the forked corridor. The failing fluorescent bulb was flickering slowly, like a dying man’s pulse. She followed him through the door to the L-shaped room and round the corner to his den. He turned on the light and shut the door behind her.‘Right, what is it?’ he snapped.
‘There’s no need to be short with me,’ said Maureen.
‘No, Maureen, there’s every need. I suppose you thought you were being fly, getting that list off Frank yesterday. He phoned later to see if you got it. When he found out that you didn’t exist he phoned the police. He’s been suspended from work and it’s all over the hospital. The George I man would need to be deaf and blind not to know about it now.’ He sat down on the metal chair and looked up at her solemnly.
