‘So why say you had a class?’ Ale asks.
‘What is this?’ he asks. ‘Am I being arrested or something?’
‘No, Matt. You avoided us that day and when someone does that it suggests they are hiding something. We want to know what you are hiding.’
‘I’m hiding nothing, mate.’ The skin on his neck is mottled. He gives it a scratch. ‘And I wasn’t hiding from you. Don’t know what you are talking about.’ As he continues speaking his voice gets louder.
‘Then we saw you in The Horseshoe with Karen Gardner. You legged it as soon as you spotted us,’ says Ale.
‘It was the guys you were with,’ he answers. ‘Foreman and Cook.’ He sits forward, chin jutting out. ‘They’ve been saying shit on Facebook about Simon.’ He slumps back in his seat. Crosses his arms. ‘Karen dragged me out of there before I…’ realising he was about to suggest a violent act, he paused, ‘…made an arse of myself.’
‘Wise move, son,’ I say. ‘Wouldn’t be the brightest thing to do with two police officers as witness.’
‘Aye … well.’
‘You and Simon, did you ever double date?’
‘Do what?’ He’s not wondering what the words mean, but why the question is being asked.
‘It’s when you and a pal each take out a girl,’ answers Ale.
‘I wasn’t … ‘ Exhales. ‘Now and again. Simon and Aileen have been, like, forever. I’ve not met any that’ve stuck. Women are nuts.’
Ale smiles. ‘None taken.’ Her expression a request for more information.
Matt is unrepentant. ‘One lassie. I’d been seeing her for three weeks. Three weeks, yeah? Told her I was thinking of getting a tattoo. She was like, nope, not happening. Said she could deal with a couple but that was my lot. ’ He purses his lips and blows. ‘Three weeks and that makes her my boss? No chance. I was like, take a walk, hen.’
‘What about Karen Gardner?’ I ask.
‘What about her?’
‘Double date?’
A shrug. ‘We went out in a foursome kinda thing a couple of times. Simon and me don’t socialise much really. He always had…’ he pauses before he says Aileen’s name, ‘ …and I had my own pals and the guys down at the rugby club. Anyway, Karen’s a good laugh like. A mate. Don’t see her like that.’
‘Does she see you the same way?’ asks Ale.
‘Aye,’ says Matt, his expression as adamant his tone. He’s leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, hands soft, resting on his thighs. He’s in safe territory, and from his perspective, dealing with everything that we’re throwing at him. Time to mix it up a little.
‘What about Aileen?’ I ask.
‘What about her?’ He presses his hands on to the sides of his chair, switches his weight and is now fully upright in his chair.
‘She was a bit of a babe,’ I say. ‘Ever rub one out while thinking about her naked in your brother’s bed just through the wall?’
He looks from me to Ale and presumably sees nothing but the same frank curiosity on her face.
‘Jeezuz. You people are sick,’ he says. ‘She’s not long dead and you’re…’ He shakes his head, and I’m thinking this is interesting. He’s defending her honour. A wee spot of chivalry, and he cares more than he is letting on.
Is it really just on behalf of his twin brother? Or is there something more at play here?
‘Ever listen to them going at it and wish it was you?’ I ask.
‘You’re sick.’ He shakes his head. And scratches at the skin on his neck.
Realising that at this stage we’re not going to get much more out of him, we escort Matt out of the secure area and in to the public part of the station. Explain that we’re going to arrange a lift for him back to the house.
‘Don’t worry about it, mate.’ He sticks his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll find my own way home.’
Just then Harkness walks in the front door with Karen Gardner.
Matt and Karen lock eyes. Say nothing. Matt walks past her and out of the door.
‘Interesting,’ mumbles Alessandra. Then. ‘Hi Karen. Thanks for popping in.’
‘Sure. No worries,’ she replies just above a whisper.
* * *
In the interview room, Ale takes the lead. Goes through the legal stuff.
‘Before we start,’ she says. ‘Can we get you a wee cup of tea or something?’
‘No,’ answers Karen. Then, as if she has remembered her manners, ‘Thanks.’ And offers a weak smile. In contrast to Matt, she’s sitting upright, spine pressing into the back of the chair, knees together, hands clasped on the table top. She looks like she has just discovered she has brittle bone disease and is scared to move.
‘I know we’ve spoken before, Karen,’ says Ale. ‘But that was an informal chat. This is nothing to worry about, but we just need to get that all on record. OK?’
‘OK,’ Karen squeaks. And I’m struggling to place this girl with the one in the red car who flashed her boobs to the old man next door to the Banks house.
We ask Karen to outline the events of the night Aileen died. For the record. She complies. Spelling it all out, exactly the same as when we first talked to her. And it’s almost too perfect. People get it this exact when they have rehearsed. Ask someone for details of an event, particularly when they appear to be under stress, and something in the story will change. Sure, if they are being truthful the facts will repeat, but something in the telling will change.
I scan my memory. Yup. As far as I can make out it was word-for-word.
‘How did you and Aileen meet?’ I ask.
‘At the supermarket.’
‘Hit it off straight away?’
A nod. Her eyes shine a little bit more.
‘What drew you together?’
‘Dunno,’ she answers. ‘My parents are divorced. Hers were having problems. I’d just broken up with a boyfriend.’ A long pause as she stares at the table top, sifting and sorting through memory. A smile laden with affection. ‘We both loved Twilight.’ A tear escapes and she wipes it away.
‘You two were great friends, eh?’ asks Ale.
Karen nods. A sob escapes. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Still not quite used to…’
‘No need to apologise, Karen. We understand. You’ve lost someone you care about.’ Ale reaches forward and pats her hand. Realising this isn’t entirely professional, she withdraws and sits back in her chair. ‘I’m sure Aileen would be proud of you. The way you’re dealing with this.’
‘Yeah?’ asks Karen, as if desperate for approval from the grown-ups.
‘Yeah,’ answers Ale, her tone like a hug.
Karen sniffs. Wipes away another tear. Settles into her chair a little more.
‘Tell us a little bit more about that night. Before you two split up. Was there anyone around, anyone who caught your attention apart from the usual people you would expect to bump into when you were out?’
Karen shakes her head. Stares at the tabletop. Thinks some more. ‘No.’
‘Sure?’
A nod.
‘Please think carefully, Karen,’ I say. ‘There may be something in your head. A clue that could help us catch this person.’
‘It was just the usual crowd. With a few randoms. But nobody who sticks out.’
‘Did you see Simon that night?’
‘No,’ she answers. ‘Although he did text Aileen. Just to say hi. But she ignored it.’
‘Why?’
‘She said he was being a dick.’
‘I never met the girl, but I don’t think she knew what she wanted,’ observed Ale.
Karen loosened her hands a little. ‘You’re right. One minute she was like, let’s find some guys to party with. Next she was missing Simon and texting him.’
‘How do you think th
at would have been for Simon?’ I ask.
‘Must’ve driven him nuts. I told her she was being a crazy bitch. She had to cut things off with him, like, completely, you know? Or they’d never move on.’
‘Makes sense to me,’ says Ale. ‘What do you think would’ve happened eventually with Simon and Aileen?’
‘They would’ve got back together,’ she answers with certainty and a slight note of regret.’
‘Why do you say that?’ I ask.
‘Jeez, they were made for each other. Totally. You just had to spend five minutes in their company to see.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
‘A wee bit jealous, if I’m honest.’ She tucks some hair behind her right ear. ‘I’d give anything to have someone like that. And she just throws it away.’
‘Tell us about Simon.’
A note of suspicion forms on her face. ‘Are you asking me if I think he did it?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘Just looking for the best friend’s perspective. Is he a nice guy? Did he treat her badly? Did he ever hit Aileen or verbally abuse her?’
‘You don’t really know what goes on in someone else’s relationship do you?’ she says, thinking aloud. ‘I always thought Simon was too nice, really. And a bit boring. No one’s that nice, eh?’ She’s a little more animated as she says this. As if she’s enjoying the chance to have a bit of a gossip. ‘Or that safe.’
‘What do you mean by too nice?’ Ale asks.
‘Well,’ she draws the word out as if it was made of two syllables. As if trying to build up her energy to convince herself as well as us. ‘I mean, he was a volunteer on the Samaritan phone line. Apparently he did quite a lot of online … what do you call it … counselling. On a couple of other sites an’ all. He’s only in his early twenties for God’s sake. Get a life mate,’ she sniffs.
‘What about Matt?’ Ale asks. ‘Ever fancy a wee slice of that? He’s a handsome guy. Got those rugby-player thighs.’
‘If you like that kind of thing.’ Her tone is defensive.
‘Oh come on,’ laughs Ale. ‘He’s fit.’ They’re girls together.
Karen allows herself a smile. ‘And he bloody knows it.’
‘Did you guys ever…?’
Karen tosses her head. ‘He wishes. We had a snog once when we were drunk.’ She holds a hand up and slices her long fingernails back and forward across her throat. ‘Electricity was zero, mate. Was like kissing a fridge.’
‘Whose idea was it?’ I ask.
‘His. Totally. Said we needed to get it out of the way or we’d be,’ she holds both hands up and does the air-quote thing, ‘“haunted by the possibility of it for the rest of our lives”.’
‘What a shit chat-up line,’ says Ale.
‘Yeah, and it worked.’ Karen offers a smile. ‘He got the kiss.’
‘And nothing else?’
‘Nothing else.’
‘Disappointed?’ Ale asks.
‘Not bothered really. Would be nice hanging off his arm, but it wasn’t to be.’
‘Is Simon more your type? The silent, nice and safe one?’
‘As if,’ she sneers. ‘Apart from the boring fart thing, he was my mate’s ex. Out of bounds. Totally.’
‘Disappointed?’ I ask. ‘The nice guys are the ones you go back to, no?’
‘Not even going there,’ she answers. ‘A friend’s ex?’ She shakes her head. ‘Too much grief. Besides, they weren’t really over. Not really. The only person who couldn’t see that was Aileen.’ She tails off. Stares into space. Finds a knot of grief and rubs at it. Tears spark in her eyes before shining a trail down the pale of her cheek. She sniffs. Palms her face dry. It is a gesture that is awkward and serves to remind me how young she is.
I push aside any thought of her youth. I can’t let that influence how we deal with her.
‘Karen,’ I say, and pause. Wait for her to look up from the table and meet my gaze. ‘What are you not telling us?’ I don’t realise how harsh my tone is until I catch a warning glance from Alessandra. Fuck it. This girl needs to know how serious we are. ‘We need to get to the truth here. Your best friend in the world is dead. No more nights out, nights in, girlie chats over fucking Twilight, Facebook or The Only Way is Essex … this is as real as it gets. And in your head is a vital clue that will help us…’
‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ she interrupts, as if desperate to shut me up. She’s hugging herself now.
‘I don’t believe you.’ I allow my frustration to seep in and slam my hand down on the table top. She jumps. ‘You’re holding something back. I can smell it. What is it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘Pants on fucking fire.’
‘Ray,’ says Ale quietly. I throw her a warning scowl. Time she got real as well. Yeah, there might be times when I go over the score, but this time I’m on the money. I’m certain of it, and Karen just needs a wee fright to make her tell us what she knows.
Karen is even whiter now. Her eyes dart about the small room as if she’s looking for a safe place to land. Somewhere far away from my accusing glare.
‘You’re hiding something.’ I point at her, my finger like a dagger, invading her space. ‘And you need to tell us now.’
She shakes her head. Shuts her eyes tight.
‘Karen,’ I say.
She crosses her arms.
‘Karen.’
Crosses her legs.
‘What are you holding back?’
She puts a hand over her mouth. A word escapes. ‘Matt…’
‘What about Matt?’
‘He…’
There’s a knock on the door. It opens slightly and a head sticks in. It’s Daryl Drain.
‘Boss.’
‘We’re in the middle of something here, DC Drain,’ I say, and notice the release of tension in the room, like dirty dishwater escaping down a plug-hole.
‘Sorry. I wouldn’t interrupt but this is…’ I can tell from his expression that whatever is eating his gusset, it’s extremely important. I stand up.
‘Excuse me, Karen. I’ll just be a moment.’ I leave the room, inwardly cursing. She was on the verge of telling me something, and I doubt we’ll ever get back to that moment.
In the corridor I turn to Daryl. ‘Right. This better be fucking good.’
‘It’s Kevin Banks, boss. Just took a dive under a truck.’
26
I thumb a text to Maggie. ‘Your place or mine?’
Her reply arrives ten minutes later. Ten minutes while I sit outside her house in my car. It’s still early days in our relationship, and I don’t want to take anything for granted. Which is a weird thing to say when I’m sat outside her house.
Hers reads, ‘yours?’ Followed by a double kiss. Then a moment later, ‘Eejit. I saw your car as you arrived. Come on in.’
She stands at her door with hand on hip and her head cocked to the side. Smiling. She stretches up for a kiss as I reach her.
‘If you saw me arriving, why did you wait ten minutes to answer?’ I lean down and push my lips against hers. Savour the press and the warmth. Feel a stirring. Lean in to her to stoke the fire. Her face is against mine and I can feel her cheeks press up as she smiles.
She moves back into the hall and I feel a pang of disappointment. ‘Cos, I thought you’d just come in,’ she snorts a laugh. ‘Instead of sitting out there in the car like Ray nae pals.’
‘We hadn’t arranged anything, and I didn’t want to just arrive unannounced.’ I put on my best sad face.
She goes to say something. Pauses. ‘A mix of consideration and impatience. How could a girl not love that?’
‘Do we shag first, or should I make dinner?’ I ask.
Maggie throws her head back and la
ughs. ‘Again with the consideration and impatience.’ She moves towards me. Kisses me long and hard, her tongue caressing mine. Stops. Breathes deep. ‘Dinner can wait.’
* * *
We make it as far as the sofa and after, we lie there naked and sated. I close my eyes and feel sleep about to take me. Maggie nudges me.
‘Hey. What about my dinner?’
‘Right enough.’ I grin. ‘We have worked up an appetite.’
She cuts off my chuckle with a kiss.
‘What do you fancy to eat?’ I ask.
‘There’s nothing much in the cupboard. Mrs Hubbard’s been a lazy bitch, frankly. Couldn’t be arsed going to the shop today.’
‘Want me to go for a carry out?’ Her hand is stroking my chest. Now I know how a cat might feel when it’s on the receiving end of some affection. I resist the urge to purr.
She nods. ‘There’s any number of take-out places at the end of the road.’
‘Well, this is Glasgow.’ I sit up, reluctant to do so as that means her hand will stop stroking me. But judging by the growl from my belly, food is becoming essential. ‘Preference?’ I ask.
She shakes her head. ‘As long as it’s hot.’
‘What, like me?’ I stand and shake my hips. My naked groin is level with her face.
She puts a hand over her face and mock screams, ‘My eyes! My eyes!’
‘Better put some clothes on before I go down to the shops.’ I grin. ‘Not everyone appreciates what a hunk of man I am.’
Maggie laughs. ‘Which reminds me. Nothing with cheese, please.’
* * *
Fed and watered, empty cartons congealing on the table in front of us, and we’re back on the sofa staring at something or other on the TV. I feel almost relaxed. The news comes on. Kevin Banks’s attempted suicide is the lead story.
‘Shit,’ I say. My face fills the TV screen and police speak issues from my mouth. The reporter then goes on to say how social networking sites have gone into meltdown. People are furious that a man whose daughter has died under suspicious circumstances has been driven to such a desperate act.
‘What happened, baby?’ asks Maggie.
I’m rubbing both hands over my head while posting to the back of my mind the fact that Maggie is comfortable enough to use such a term of endearment. But today’s events are in a storm at the forefront of my mind, and the nice stuff will have to wait. ‘Fuck Twitter. Fuck Facebook and all the sad bastards who use them.’
Bad Samaritan Page 14
