by Sam Millar
‘Kane!’ shouted a booming voice from the car.
Karl turned to see Detective Harry McCormack easing his bulky frame from the passenger-side door.
‘Well, if it isn’t Mister Congenial,’ said Karl.
‘Why don’t you get in, keep us company for a while?’ said McCormack. It wasn’t a request.
‘I’ve urgent business to attend to, McCormack. You’ll just have to wait until I’m finished.’
‘I won’t ask again. The car or the station. Your choice, Kane.’
‘Can’t it at least wait until I place this bet? The race is about to kick off in a few minutes. It’s a sure shot. I’ll even let you bet on it.’
‘Get in the car. Now.’
‘Thought you said you wouldn’t ask me again, McCormack?’
Reluctantly, Karl walked to the car and was quickly shoehorned inside where another burly giant of a detective sat, silently observing. To Karl, the man resembled the Incredible Hulk – only white, and less handsome. The driver of the car was equally silent, looking bored and smelling of last night’s booze. The heat and body odour in the car was overwhelming.
‘What’s this about, McCormack? It better be good. I was on my way to winning a small fortune.’
McCormack smiled painfully. It looked like a knife wound. ‘Always with the mouth, Kane. You never know when to shut it, do you?’
‘That’s a trick question. How am I to answer without speaking?’
White Hulk made a grunting sound of impatience and looked out the side window of the car, before elbowing Karl violently in the stomach.
‘Fuck!’ Karl buckled immediately, winded.
‘You know the old story of good cop, bad cop, Kane?’ said McCormack, pulling Karl back into the seating position. ‘Well, we dispensed with good cop, just for you. We only have bad cop and bastard cop.’
For a brief moment of madness, Karl thought of saying something smart again. Thankfully, sanity came to his rescue, forcing him to say nothing.
‘Do you know a Laura Fleming?’ asked McCormack.
Karl thought for a few seconds. The name didn’t ring a bell.
‘No…’
From his pocket, McCormack produced a small, clear bag, the word ‘EVIDENCE’ stapled boldly across its lip. A tiny item clung to the inside of the bag.
‘Recognise this?’ asked McCormack, holding the bag inches from Karl’s face.
Upon close inspection, Karl could see that it was one of his business cards, a smudge of red staining its pale lettering.
‘Looks like one of my business cards.’
‘It is one of your business cards. See the red smudge? Care to hazard a guess as to what it is?’
‘Lipstick, perhaps?’
‘Blood. Laura Fleming’s blood. Care to tell me how it got there, and what she was doing with your business card?’
‘My business cards are everywhere. I don’t have any control over where they end up. I haven’t a clue how the woman’s blood got on it. Besides, I’ve already told you, I don’t know her.’
‘Know? Knew. I forgot to tell you. She was found murdered in a hotel, three days ago. She had been raped and tortured, before having her throat cut, almost separating her head from her shoulders. Your everywhere business card was forcefully clamped between her teeth.’
‘What…?’ Karl felt like he had been slapped. His stomach began tightening.
‘Ever been to a fleapit called The Motel Royal, in Ballymena?’
Karl’s stomach tightened further. It was slowly beginning to dawn on him where the questioning was going.
‘I…yes, a couple of weeks ago…’
‘Good job you admitted that, smart mouth. After showing your picture to a few customers, they confirmed you were there, but using a different name. Jim McFadden, apparently. Some of the customers in the bar section of the motel informed us that you had a drink before going upstairs and having sex with the woman you never heard of.’
‘Didn’t know it was lawful for cops to carry pictures of people without criminal records, McCormack?’ Sweat began trickling down Karl’s spine, pooling between his buttocks.
‘You learn something new every day, don’t you? I had your photo with me to clarify things at the motel.’ McCormack smiled his knife-grin again. ‘Now, what about this murdered woman you claim not to know, but had sex with, just the same?’
‘I…I didn’t know her real name was Laura Fleming. Told me it was Sandy.’
‘You’re a disgusting and immoral bastard, Kane,’ said McCormack. ‘You travel far to use your cock, but that’s fine with me, because eventually it’ll become a rope to hang you with.’
‘There was no sex involved.’
‘I see. You just needed a shoulder to cry on?’ McCormack smirked.
‘A client hired me to search for someone. A missing relative. The trail led me to Ballymena.’
‘Name of client and missing relative?’
‘Confidentiality. You know I can’t divulge such information.’
‘Bollocks to that, Kane. A woman’s been brutally tortured and murdered, and you’ve the cheek to talk confidentiality?’
‘It’s not cheek. It’s the law.’
‘Okay, then, if sex wasn’t involved, you won’t mind giving a swab, just to eliminate any DNA from other suspects?’
‘Am I a suspect?’ Karl bristled.
‘How about that swab?’
‘You get a warrant, you get the swab.’
White Hulk made another sound of impatience.
Karl braced his body for the blow. None came.
‘There was a shooting in Ballymena the day you were there. Know anything about that?’
‘Shooting in Ballymena? That’s news?’
‘Apparently some old paedophile was having sex in his car with two children, before a good citizen chased him off, rescuing the children.’
Karl felt his face redden slightly. Tried controlling it. ‘Good for that good citizen.’
‘The story doesn’t stop there, Kane. Apparently, this was a rather persistent and sneaky paedo, and he came back later, only to be blasted by a few shots up the arse from a old rusty blunderbuss, before he fled the scene for good, shit running down his legs and out his car door.’
White Hulk made a sound like laughter.
‘Where’s all this going, McCormack?’ asked Karl.
‘I was able to track down the children involved. Two young sisters. Saintly wee things. I asked them for some description of the perv. Even managed to show them some photos I had in my pocket, one of which was of you. Know what they said?’
‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ Karl began steeling himself for whatever damaging revelation was coming next.
‘Quote: “That ugly bastard? We’d never forget that face, had it been him!’’’
McCormack and the driver both laughed out loud. Even White Hulk managed a weak grin.
Karl laughed, also, nerves kicking in. ‘I guess sometimes it pays to be ugly.’
There was almost half a minute of silence before McCormack finally spoke.
‘You can get out now, Kane, but I’ll have a few more questions for you in the very near future. You can place a bet on that sure thing.’
‘Just make sure you contact my solicitor,’ said Karl, easing himself back out of the car. ‘I’m sure your boss, Wilson, will have his phone number.’
‘Be seeing you, Kane…’ said McCormack, pulling the door shut.
Welcoming the whisper of cold wind on his damp face, Karl watched the car slink out of view before turning and throwing up all over the pavement.
‘Ah fuck…’ he muttered, wiping the spillage from his mouth.
‘Disgusting,’ said an old lady, tut-tutting, before making her way into the church. ‘Drunk at this time of the morning. Disgraceful animal.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE CONVERSATION
‘He had a battered face that looked as if it had been hit by everything but the
bucket of a dragline. It was scarred, flattened, thickened, checkered, and welted. It was a face that had nothing to fear. Everything had been done to it that anybody could think of.’
Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely
‘And this man’s name is Thomas Blake?’ said Detective Chambers, taking notes in Karl’s office while sitting down facing Karl. ‘You suspect Blake had something to do with Miss Fleming’s rape and murder in Ballymena?’
‘Suspect? Something a bit stronger than that.’
‘Any proof?’
‘Unfortunately, no. He has a partner, looks a bit like Lee Marvin and–’
‘Lee Marvin?’
‘Do you have to be so bloody young? Lee Marvin was an actor – one of the best. Anyway, this bastard is the spitting image of him. He likes wielding and firing shotguns in public – preferably at people looking like me.’
‘Firing guns in public? Have you any proof of that?’
‘No proof, per se. I didn’t stay around long enough to have my face blasted into oblivion when he was pointing that mother of all guns at me. But even the dogs in the street know – and I mean that both literally and figuratively.’ Karl folded his legs, trying to get comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. ‘No, better make that dog, singular, not plural. One of them had a slight accident with its rear end when it was rear-ended.’
Chambers scribbled something into his notebook, and then looked Karl straight in the face.
‘Why’d you ask for me specifically, Mister Kane? Why not Detective McCormack? He’s the one in charge of the case.’
‘I like the freshness of your face. Very homely and honest.’
‘Can you never answer a question without sarcasm?’
‘No.’
‘Detective McCormack reported that you refused to give any information when he questioned you two days ago. Why the change of heart now?’
‘Questioned? Is that the word he used?’ Karl forced a smile.
‘What word should he have used?’
‘Intimidation and bodily force, for starters.’
‘Are you saying he hit you, Mister Kane?’ Chambers looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘Him? No. Never touched a hair on my pretty head. Even a thick-neck like McCormack is a bit too smart for that. But the gorilla with him did.’
‘The gorilla?’
‘Face and built like King fucking Kong. Only hairier. Has a piece missing from his left ear, and bigger pieces from his brain. Would talk the leg off a stool.’
Chambers smiled. ‘Oh…that’s Detective Carson, probably. A strange one.’
‘Strange? If he had two dicks, he couldn’t have been any stranger. Anyway, to answer your question as to why the change of heart. The last two days have been hell. I can’t get Laura Fleming out of my head. The thought that this scumbag Blake or Lee Marvin will get away with murdering her was something I couldn’t live with.’
‘We still have no proof of anything you’ve just told me, but I promise you that I will look into this, even if it means angering Detective McCormack.’
‘I kind of thought you would, seeing how you’re such a believer in law and order.’
Chambers shook his head. ‘You’re a very hard person to like, Mister Kane, if I’m to be totally honest with you.’
‘Honesty is always the best policy, I find. Works wonders for the soul, if not the bank account. Now, are you finished here? Some of us have work to do.’
‘Okay. Have it your way.’ Chambers stood to leave. ‘I’ll look into the allegations you’ve just made against Thomas Blake and his associate. I’ll be in contact, if I need to ask you anything else.’
‘You do that. One word of advice. I’d be careful of letting McCormack know what you’re doing behind his back. He might not like that. He’s very…sensitive, when it comes to police work.’
‘Thank you for that. I’ll try and remember it. Though to be honest, I think it’s Detective McCormack who should be careful.’ Chambers smiled, and immediately Karl saw a different young detective standing before him in the smile. ‘Good day, Mister Kane.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THERE WILL BE BLOOD
‘Anyone checked you for a heartbeat lately, lady?’
J.T. Walsh in The Last Seduction
‘There’s been nothing out of the ordinary from any of the workers in their time schedules, other than a few sick notes,’ explained Geordie Goodman, in the makeshift office, handing Karl a collection of beige-coloured folders. ‘But on further examination, I discovered a few irregularities in the logging-in of a businessman, a Mister Tev Steinway, one of the Jewish butchers.’
‘How so?’
‘He comes here about two in the morning, twice a month, to do his slaughtering.’
‘Why so late at night?’
‘The place is basically empty at that time, with only a few maintenance men checking wear-and-tear throughout the abattoir. This gives Mister Steinway privacy. No curiosity seekers witnessing the slaughtering ritual.’
‘Have you ever met Mister Steinway?’
‘A couple of times. He’s been here since my father ran the place. One of the few customers who didn’t desert us in bad times. Never any trouble. A real gentleman. Keeps himself to himself…’
‘But…?’ coaxed Karl.
Geordie seemed reluctant to proceed. ‘Mister Steinway has been here six times in each of the last two months. I just found out from one of the night security that Mister Steinway’s been bringing in whiskey and food for the main security guard, asking for a blind eye to be turned by not logging-in every visit.’
‘How’d you find out?’
‘Petty jealousy. An anonymous whistle-blower phoned John Talbot, a couple of days ago, told him what was going on. Obviously someone with a grudge against the security guard. Wanted him in hot water.’
‘Why would Steinway not want the log-ins recorded?’
‘He’s charged each time he uses the facilities. It can all add up, I suppose…’
‘I suppose you’re supposing something else, though, aren’t you?’
She seemed to be assessing before answering. ‘We’ve never had a problem with his bills. Never squabbles like some of the others using the facilities. Payments always on time; correct amount. I just…I don’t know…’
‘You think his nocturnal activity has something to do with the severed hands?’
‘No, of course not! I…I just want to make sure that there’s nothing illegal being done in my business. I had to fight tooth and nail with Belfast City Council to keep this place open, after what went on here years ago.’ Geordie’s face tightened. ‘I’m not going to allow it to be closed – for anything. Especially something I know nothing about. Even if it is by a loyal client, like Mister Steinway.’
‘You want me to do you a favour by making sure that everything really is kosher with Steinway. Is that it?’ Karl smiled.
‘I thought I was the one doing you a favour, passing on this information?’
‘Okay. We’ll call it evens on that. What about the guard? Has he been spoken to yet about turning a blind eye?’
‘Not yet. He’s been off on his two-day break. He’s back tonight. I was going to question him about it, tomorrow, first thing.’
‘Do me a favour. Let things be, for now. Don’t tell the guard he’s been caught out. That way, if Steinway is involved, he won’t be alerted. Do you a have photo of Steinway on file?’
‘Yes. We’ve security photos of everyone working here, as well as those using the facilities. I can have a copy for you in a few minutes. What’re you going to do?’
‘Oh, a little bit of nocturnal surveillance, I suppose. Nothing else for it, unfortunately.’ He was dreading the thought of it, what it entailed. ‘Fancy taking turns?’
‘No,’ said Geordie, rather coldly. ‘You run your business; I run mine.’
‘I’ll have to remember that.’ Karl stood to go. ‘I’ll call you later, with some instructions.’
&nb
sp; ‘Fine. Good day, Mister Kane.’
Exiting the building, Karl couldn’t help feeling just a little apprehensive about doing business with the strange, stoic young woman and her bloody business.
CHAPTER TWENTY
STAKEOUT
‘When you commit a crime, there are a hundred ways to fuck up. If you think of fifty of ’em, you’re a genius. And you ain’t no genius.’
Mickey Rourke in Body Heat
Overcoat wrapped to his ears, Karl sat huddled in the car and watched punishing slabs of grey rain battering the outside. The heater wasn’t working – hadn’t been since he left the car in to be repaired. He should have had it seen to when having the new rear window replaced after the shooting. Now he was paying for his neglect through chattering teeth and dripping nose.
The inside of the car was quickly becoming as cold as the abattoir when he had visited Geordie three days ago, discussing the information she’d uncovered about Tev Steinway.
From the glove compartment, Karl removed the security photo of Steinway, giving it another once-over for the umpteenth time.
‘Forgive the pun, Tev, but you’re built like a bloody bull. Would hate to piss you off.’
Steinway’s handsome face was leathery and weather-beaten, looking more like that of a seafaring man than butcher. His thick grey hair matched the grey eyes staring at Karl. The eyes gave away nothing about what was going on behind them.
‘Despite your impressive size, you certainly don’t look like a killer,’ said Karl, a wry smile on his face, before placing the photo back in the compartment. ‘Of course, neither do most killers…’
This was the third consecutive night of sitting in the darkness and cold, watching for Steinway, and each night seemed to be stretching longer than the previous. Worse, there was no guarantee that Steinway would show; no guarantee of the Jewish butcher’s involvement, either. And what of Georgina Goodman? Was she to be trusted? As a betting man, he wouldn’t place too much money on the odds, preferring the bookie’s favourite: the M1911 Colt .45 automatic pistol, snuggling warmly in the inside pocket of his coat, just in case.
