by Bateman
‘We call him Gabriel,’ said Alison.
‘Gabriel,’ Nicola repeated. ‘One of God’s angels.’
‘Archangels,’ I said.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Do you mind me asking, have you had much success converting patients – you know, to God?’
‘No, I don’t mind, and no, I haven’t. It’s not about converting, it’s about giving them a little peace of mind.’
I said, ‘Can you recite the Ten Commandments?’
‘The . . .?’
‘Or indeed give me the names of the Twelve Disciples?’
‘I . . .’
She looked to Alison for guidance, which was not forthcoming. Alison was sitting back and looked quite content to allow me free rein.
‘Thaddeus,’ I said. ‘Thaddeus is the one everyone always forgets, mostly because he didn’t have any lines. If the New Testament was a movie, they’d be arguing over whether he was an actor or an extra. It makes a big difference in what they get paid.’
Nicola said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Thaddeus?’
‘He’ll get there,’ said Alison. ‘Eventually.’
I nodded my appreciation of her and returned my attentions to Nicola.
I said, ‘We know who you really are and what you’re up to.’
‘You . . .?’
‘You are Bobby Preston’s widow, and you have been masquerading as a hospital visitor in order to get close to Gabriel.’
‘I . . .’
‘You believe that he holds the key to the murder of your husband. I don’t know why you think your husband was murdered, but clearly you and the police do not agree. It also seems to me that the O’Dromodery Brothers, who provided the bulk of your husband’s income, also believe or believed that Gabriel could reveal who was responsible for your husband’s murder, and progressively that of Fergus and Bernard O’Dromodery, but had been approaching it in a much more rigorous manner i.e. by employing Francis Delaney to enter Purdysburn masquerading as a mentally ill patient to force the issue with Gabriel. Now, am I right or am I right?’
She had stopped sipping her tea and set it down, chinking the cup off the saucer and spilling a little as she did. There were shortbread crumbs at the corners of her mouth. She said, ‘My God,’ and I did not deny it.
Alison said, ‘We’re not here to get you into trouble. If anything, we’re here to help.’
Tears began to roll down Nicola’s cheeks. She wiped at them. ‘I wasn’t trying to . . . I mean, I was . . .’ Her hand moved to the side of the armchair cushion and delved down and she produced a rolled-up tissue and dabbed at her face. ‘Honestly – this is such a relief. I felt terrible pretending to be someone I wasn’t, but it was the only way I could think of. Everywhere I tried, they didn’t want to know. I knew Bobby was murdered – I knew, I knew, I knew – but I couldn’t prove anything. The police listened to me, they took statements from me, but they were just being kind; they’ve done nothing. I went to the O’Dromoderys and they were the same.’
‘Even after Fergus supposedly committed suicide?’
‘Yes! That’s when I decided I had to do something myself. But I’m hopeless at it. I keep at it, just in case there’s some tiny little thing he comes out with.’ She gazed red-eyed across at Gabriel. ‘The funny thing is, I went in there hating him, but he’s grown on me.’ She gave a sad kind of a smile. ‘What more could a girl want, but a beautiful man who says nothing?’
‘Perfect,’ said Alison.
I ignored them and said, ‘And now that you’ve studied him, do you still think he was involved in your husband’s murder?’
‘I don’t know. Not directly, maybe, but somehow he’s part of a bigger picture – he has to be. Look at him. What do they say – never judge a book by its cover? You’d know all about that. He seems so innocent and he does what he’s told and there’s no fuss and there’s nothing but that music he keeps bashing out, and a huge part of me wants to believe he’s innocent, but . . .’ She gestured helplessly.
‘Has he said anything at all?’ I asked. She shook her head. ‘Has he even reacted to anything, apart from when Francis Delaney tried to kill him?’
‘No, and I can’t even vouch for that. I was just told there was a struggle – but no, the only thing he ever did was sneeze once and I said, “Bless you” and for a moment, a fraction of a moment, I thought he was about to thank me, there was something in his eyes, but just as quickly it went away and there was just that terrible blankness again.’
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but why would you lie about the shortbread?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your shortbread, you said it was freshly baked. It wasn’t, it’s from Marks & Spencer.’
‘I . . . just . . . what are you trying to say?’
‘I just want to know that you’re telling me the truth.’
‘Forgive him,’ said Alison, ‘he doesn’t get out much. Listen, Mystery Man, we all lie about the shortbread. That homemade lasagne you like so much? Homemade by Mr Tesco.’
‘But then what are you doing in the kitchen all that time?’
‘Drinking,’ said Alison, ‘and laughing. Now can we get on with this? Page will be wanting fed.’
I studied her. ‘Do you actually breastfeed him?’ I asked.
Alison winked.
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘to get back to business – forget the shortbread and the masquerading, and for the moment ignore the why – tell me how you think your husband was murdered?’
‘How? Well, he ran the same route every morning, really early, and he said that the only thing that ever passed him was a milk-float. He didn’t run that fast. The route was completely circular, just behind here; it’s a big block of new apartments with two entrances, one on each side, and those are the only breaks in the path, and he wasn’t knocked down anywhere near them. He had no reason whatsoever to step out onto the road, so whoever hit him would have had to deliberately mount the kerb and actually chase him onto the road and kill him.’
‘Joy-riders lose control of their vehicles all the—’
‘There were no cars reported stolen in Belfast either the night before or on that morning. I checked.’
‘Okay, a drunk driver,’ said Alison, ‘maybe going home late. Your husband ran onto the road to try and avoid him, but too late . . .’
‘There was glass on the road,’ said Nicola. ‘It came from the sidelight of a Porsche. The police had the evidence, they just wouldn’t go and check it out.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said Alison.
‘Patience,’ I said.
Nicola nodded her appreciation. She blew her nose into the tissue and then held it in her hands for a moment trying to decide where to put it before finally squashing it back down the side of the cushion. ‘Yes, you see, I told the police everything I knew, that my Bobby had had a row in work with someone, and that he was really under pressure and felt like he was being watched, and I told them who he had a row with but they said they couldn’t go accusing someone of anything without proper evidence and I said what about the glass from the Porsche and they said they’d look into it but I never heard another thing. They were just fobbing me off.’
‘Who did he have a row with?’ Alison asked.
‘Fat Sam Mahood,’ I said, ‘and he drove a Porsche. It’s still in Gloria’s drive.’
Nicola nodded. ‘My Bobby loved his work, he loved being his own boss and having all sorts of diverse clients, but when the recession bit, the work started to dry up and he ended up mostly working for the O’Dromoderys. He always said they were a bit creepy and stingy with the money, but it was steady work. I only met them once, some corporate dinner we had to attend a couple of years ago, and I didn’t like them one bit. And that Sam Mahood even less. He was mean, and a bully, you could tell.’
‘Do you know what they rowed about?’
‘I really don’t. I mean, he was working day and night on one project. They’ve been building a—’
&
nbsp; ‘Shopping centre, West Belfast.’
‘Yes, exactly, so I suppose it had something to do with that, but he never said what it was. I should have pressed him on it – it’s the biggest regret of my life. I could see he was wound up but I just thought it was this bloody recession – everyone’s on a short fuse, it would work itself out. I never for one moment thought it was that bad, but I suppose now that he kept the worst of it from me. And then that big bastard came to the house and they had their row . . .’
‘This house, your house?’
‘Yes! It happened a couple of nights before he was killed, and that’s where I saw the Porsche, because I went outside to have a cigarette and tried to have a wee earwig at the window but I couldn’t hear anything beyond raised voices because they were all smothered down by the double glazing.’
‘But if you took the fact of the rows at work and then at home, and the police already had the glass from a Porsche, and Fat Sam Mahood was a well-known thug, surely they could make a connection?’
‘Oh, I think they spoke to him – they knew him well enough – but he said they’d had a business discussion, that was all, and that the glass could have come from any Porsche. And because it was several weeks after the murder – well, if his car was damaged it was long since repaired and he wasn’t likely to be caught with the paperwork to prove it. So he got off scot free.’
‘Until you came along,’ I said.
She began to nod, but then stopped and her eyes bore into me. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you’re insinuating . . .?’
‘Me?’
‘It’s just the way of him,’ said Alison. ‘He has no people skills. He tries to sound normal, but it always sounds like he’s making an accusation. Darling, it’s almost as if you’re accusing Nicola of murdering Fat Sam, or somehow orchestrating it.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m just drawing your attention to the confluence of circumstance.’
‘Sorry – again, in English?’ said Alison.
‘Nicola here makes accusations about Fat Sam’s involvement in her husband’s murder, and shortly thereafter he is murdered. If you were that way minded, you could draw parallels and conclude that—’
‘Oh pish and fish!’ Nicola exploded. ‘How could you even imagine I could be involved in . . . after my husband was killed!’ The tears sprang again, and she jumped up and said, ‘Sorry . . . sorry,’ to Alison and disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Excellent,’ Alison hissed across. ‘Well done.’
‘I’m just trying to get a reaction,’ I said. ‘Everything is possible right now.’
‘Oh, would you get a grip? She has the thighs of an elephant – can you even imagine her chasing Fat Sam around with a knife?’
‘It wouldn’t have to be her, acting alone. She could—’
‘Can’t you see she’s distraught? Where’s your compassion? Where’s your intuition, Mystery Man? Did you leave it behind in Purdysburn?’
Alison jumped up and followed Nicola into the kitchen. In a few moments I heard soothing sounds, and more tears, and the kettle being refilled. I was pretty sure Alison wasn’t serious. She was putting on an act for Nicola’s benefit, getting to our shared goal by roundabout, or dare I say it, nefarious means. We were a good team.
I gave them a few minutes, and then I joined them. They were standing together, their backs to the sink, teacups clasped in their hands. As I entered, Nicola looked to the floor. Alison raised an eyebrow in my direction.
I said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. When a case is this complicated, sometimes you just have to throw things out there and see what sticks. I really don’t think you killed Fat Sam. Or anyone else. And I admire your tenacity with Gabriel. He’s hard work.’ I turned to indicate him through the open door, which would have been fine if he’d still been sitting in the armchair. ‘Gabriel?’ I said, and stepped back into the empty lounge with Alison and Nicola right behind me.
‘Where the—?’ Alison began, but I held up a finger to shush her, so that we could better hear the familiar notes coming from Nicola’s piano.
39
It was a much grander piano – without actually being a grand piano – than the one Gabriel had been playing in Purdysburn. This one had not been head-butted, covered in graffiti, vomited over and otherwise abused by mental patients, at least as far as I knew. It was polished and pristine and perfectly in tune.
‘Do you play?’ I asked.
‘Not as well as him,’ said Nicola.
As I have previously stated, he was not a great piano-player. He had long, thin fingers and fingernails long enough to turn my stomach.
‘You don’t happen to recognise the music?’
Nicola shook her head. ‘Bobby was really the musical one,’ she said.
‘This is only the second time I’ve heard it,’ said Alison, ‘and the first time it was through a ceiling. I think I prefer it through a ceiling.’
I clicked my fingers and said, ‘Phone.’ Alison ignored me. I added, ‘Please,’ and she reluctantly handed it over.
‘What’re you up to?’ she asked as I fiddled with it.
‘Recording him, and then sending it to Jeff. He can e-mail it to my database, see if anyone recognises it.’
‘You seem convinced that it’s recognisable – what if he’s just making it up?’
‘It sounds like he’s just making it up,’ said Nicola.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s something already in existence.’
I was certain. As Gabriel played on I sent the recording to Jeff. It was only thirty seconds long, but enough, I thought. Within moments he texted back that he would do what he could, but he was revising. I texted back that it was a matter of life and death and he texted back LOL:-).
Nicola said, ‘What’re we going to do now?’
‘We?’
‘We’re in this together now, aren’t we? Don’t we have the same objectives? Come hell or high water, I am going to find out who murdered my husband, and as far as I can understand it, your main concern is to reveal this man’s identity, and somehow through that, prove that he is innocent.’
‘Somehow,’ said Alison.
‘But all I can really contribute to this is my relationship with Gabriel,’ said Nicola. ‘I’m not a professional detective like you.’ Alison snorted. ‘And apart from annoying the police, I’ve done nothing and don’t really know what I can do except volunteer to look after Gabriel for you – to babysit him, if you will – and talk to him and see if I can get anything out of him. I think I have a connection with him. He seems more relaxed when he’s with me. But I’ve only ever spent a maximum of about half an hour with him each time. I’m sure if I had longer, I could really get through to him.’
I studied Gabriel. My plan had been to observe him for an extended period, but I was already pretty convinced that there was little more I could ascertain by remaining in his company. It was seeming more and more likely that the music was the key to him, and we weren’t going to crack that by merely listening to it; the annoyance factor alone was making it difficult to concentrate. Nicola was an amateur, for sure, but Gabriel was comfortable enough in her company, she had time on her hands, and her looking after him would allow me to pursue different avenues of investigation un encumbered by having to drag him around with me.
‘Are you sure you’re up for it?’ I asked. ‘In Purdysburn you were never more than a few feet away from security. Here, it’ll just be you and him. I don’t have to remind you that he’s the chief suspect in two murders, although I just have.’
‘Exactly,’ said Alison. ‘What if he turns on you? I don’t like it. We have no proof that he’s innocent. What if he’s like – what do you call it? Like a . . . sleeper, is it?’ She looked to me for guidance. I nodded. ‘And he’s just waiting for something to trigger him again. Maybe he was the one in the Porsche and, and . . . his mission isn’t over yet. I mean, it’ll just be you, and him
.’
‘It’s a chance I’m prepared to take,’ Nicola said firmly. ‘For my Bobby.’
Alison put a hand on her arm and stroked it gently. ‘Bobby is gone,’ she said softly. ‘You should be looking out for yourself.’
‘No – don’t you see? That’s the point. He isn’t gone. I want him to go – I need him to go. But I can’t let him go until this is resolved. And I think this might just be the best way. Can we not be like a team – me with Gabriel and you two out there? We keep in touch, we compare what we find out and, you never know, we might just solve this together?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said, and asked for my business card back. Nicola asked why, but still handed it over. I gave her a replacement. ‘This one includes Facebook and Twitter, you’ll get me one way or another.’
Nicola grinned. She turned the card over in her fingers. ‘This is great,’ she said. ‘We’ll be just like The Three Musketeers.’
‘Or Stooges,’ said Alison.
‘Tell you what,’ Alison said, as we turned the corner in the Mystery Machine, ‘she’s game. There’s no way I’d want to be left alone with a psycho like that.’
‘I was once classified as a psycho like that,’ I said.
Alison nodded. Then she said, ‘You’re much cuter.’
I tried not to glow too much, and instead concentrated on the traffic, and the radio news, which was telling us about an escaped lunatic and a civil war in the Middle East, in that order.
Alison said, ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘To do what I normally do.’
‘Obsess, interfere and annoy?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t go for all that bull about us making a little team with her.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘You told her virtually nothing about our investigation. You did not mention the defixios.’
‘Clearly.’
‘Because although her heart might be in the right place, the less she knows, the less trouble she can get us in if she gets caught with Gabriel.’
‘Something like that.’
‘And also, you don’t like to share the glory.’
