A Taste for Malice (34 page)

I hear the thunk of a car door and move to the window. It’s the neighbour and her children. A small boy and a girl chatter all the way from the car to the front door, each vying for the lion’s share of their mother’s attention. I see her look over her shoulder towards my car as if looking to attract my attention. Good. The light must be reflecting off the windshield and spoiling her view. She must think I am still inside.

I walk into the hallway. This space is bare apart from a large wooden framed mirror and a shelf of matching wood. The shelf houses a phone, a pad of paper and a pencil. The shelf is completely free of dust. I pick the phone up and press last number redial. The phone rings out and is answered within four rings.

‘Good afternoon, Royal Bank of Scotland, Shawlands branch. Molly speaking. How can I help you?’

‘Jings, Molly,’ I say. ‘That’s quite a mouthful.’

‘We do have our standards, Mr …’ I can hear the smile in her voice.

‘Mr Wrong Number. Sorry to waste your time, Molly.’

I replace the phone in its cradle and as I do so look more closely at the pad of paper. It’s in a nice pastel shade of lilac and has the remnants of the last page still attached where it was torn off. I hold the pad up to the light. I can barely see the imprint from the missing page, but the writing forms the shape that an address might when written down on an envelope. Not many people hand write these days. If this turns out to be a clue we have to be grateful to Mrs Hogg’s age.

It’s a tad Enid Blyton and
The Secret Seven
, but I rub the lead from the pencil across the page in the hope that something shows. She can’t be too heavy on the page when she writes as I can’t make out much on the paper. I’ve got a capital B on the end of the first line. Strange place for a capital letter. Nothing much thereafter until the last line. Reads like Troon. Under that I can make out a pound sign. The first number is too faint, but this is then followed by what looks like three zeros.

I’m back in the car after searching the house and feeling more than a little disappointed. There’s nothing on view that might give me more information on how to find Hepburn. All I got for my efforts was something that might be an address in Troon and a bruise on the inside of my upper arm from the window pane.

So far I’ve been flying by the seat of my threadbare pants. I need to have some sort of strategy for when Mrs Hogg appears. She’s sure to recognise my car when she drives into the street. That would give her time to prepare for whatever I have to say. It’s best if I surprise her.

I start the car and move down a couple of houses, parking on the far side of a large blue Ford. In position I check my wing mirror. I have clear visual access to her drive. Now I just have to sit and wait some more.

A couple of boys are out on their bikes, weaving up and down the street, aimlessly passing the hours before supper and bed. They cycle a large figure of eight and then go back again. Then they stop, speak to each other, laugh and cycle some more. Thankfully neither came out of the neighbour’s house, so they won’t report my presence to their mother.

The neighbour is clearly the inquisitive type. Nothing to do all day but housework, daytime TV and childcare. She’s no doubt spotted my change of position and wondering why the hell I’ve moved down here. Something she said earlier leaks into my mind: “children being abused by some horrible women”. Not woman. Women. Why would Hogg detail it to her neighbour in the plural? Makes me wonder what exactly her involvement in all of this is.

As far as we know she has provided a reference for Hepburn and a safe house. Is there more?

It’s now six-thirty and still no sign of Hogg. I am starving and I need a piss something fierce. Should have gone while I was in her house. There’s a half-full bottle of water on the back seat. I could empty that out the window and use it as a temporary toilet. Mind you, all it would take would be for one of the boys to cycle past just as I had my dick in my hand and we’d have a full-blown paedo alert.

To take my mind off my bladder problems I give Alessandra a call. No answer. I try Daryl. No answer. Kenny? He’s similarly engaged.

Just call me Ray McBain: Nae Pals.

I send each of them a text. “Call me”. Doesn’t sound too desperate, right?

I turn on the radio. Chirpy chappy Simon Mayo is doing his utmost to spread cheer to the nation’s workers on their way home from another thankless shift. Where does he get his energy? Whatever he’s on, I’ll have twelve please.

A car parks in front of me. It’s Alessandra. She all but bounces out of her car and into mine.

‘Ray McBain, I owe you one,’ she says eyes large and bright with excitement. She’s wired. ‘We got the bastard. Broke down and confessed there and then.’ She makes a fist, punches the air and whispers. ‘Yes.’

‘Whoa, soldier,’ I say. ‘Who’s the bastard and where did he breakdown?’

‘The lawyer guy. Totally gave himself up. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And a confession.’

‘What?’

‘The Kay case,’ she says and looks at me as if there’s dumb, dumber and then me. ‘Keep up, McBain. Mind you, Rayo, it’s all down to you.’ She grips my knee. Looks at her hand. ‘Sorry.’ She pulls her hand away. ‘The gay thing was the break we needed. I acted the daft lassie, paid the father a visit, asked for the girlfriend’s contact details. Paid her a wee visit and she told me about where to find the lawyer guy.’ Her eyes are shining. ‘I’m going to be in the news.’ She moves her hand in a slow arc as if it represents a banner headline. ‘Promising Young Detective Solves the Crime of the Year.’

‘Well done you,’ I say, delighted for her. I’m equally delighted that the collar was bugger all to do with DI Peters. We get the bad guy, Alessandra gets the kudos and Peters gets the hump. A win-win situation all round.

‘They’d had a lovers’ tiff. Gangster’s son was putting it about. Lawyer guy was totally in love. He lost it. We have one less mad shagger in Glasgow.’ Her expression reads; how easy could it be?

‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Alessandra. You have a wonderful way with words.’

‘Thanks.’ She couldn’t look happier if she’d won the Euromillions draw.

‘How was Peters?’ I would give my left testicle to be able to see his face.

‘Well, I kinda went behind his back,’ she laughs and looks at me. ‘I had the best teacher. The Chief Super was delighted. Kept saying I was a credit to the Force, while Peters was standing there with a face on him. Looked like a tranny who’d gone on stage only to find out his tights had a huge ladder in them.’

‘Shouldn’t you be in the pub with the rest of them, having a celebratory beer?’

‘That can wait,’ she brings her focus to bear on me. ‘We have a psycho-bitch to find.’

‘Do the suits know where you are?’

‘I’m thinking I have some leeway at the moment. Best to use it before you fuck up again.’ She grins to show she’s only joking. I let it slide. She reminds me of me when I was new and eager. There’s nothing quite like cracking that first big case on your own. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Ray.’ Her expression grows sombre. ‘I’ll let the high heid yins know that it was your tip that led to the arrest.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. You ran with it. You took the chance. You deserve it.’

‘Okay,’ she gives a delighted shrug, slips her shoes off and puts her stocking feet up on the dash. ‘So, bring me up to speed.’

I reach into my pocket and pull out the photograph.

‘Eeeeee,’ she says and makes a face as she takes it from me. Then she turns the photo to the side. ‘Ooooo.’ She looks at me. ‘It’s the quiet ones you have to look out for every time.’

‘You know who that is?’ I try not to sound annoyed. ‘It took me days to work it out.’

She studies the photo some more. ‘That is a
lot
of manjuice.’

‘Man-juice?’

‘What do you want me to call it? Spunk seems too old, sperm too… bourgeois, jizzum… too crude.’

‘God I feel old.’ I give Alessandra a mock glare. ‘Too old to be discussing the nomenclature of semen in the current situation.’

Alessandra looks at me. Opens her mouth. Closes it again and then settles for, ‘Whatever’.

She looks at the photo again. Thinks. ‘Let me guess. Hogg knows more about Hepburn than she’s letting on. She’s been giving her some sort of help …you wanted to know why. This photo gives you the
why
. Hogg is going to lead you to Hepburn.’ She says all of this without any questioning tone. I nod. She licks a finger, touches the dashboard and makes a sizzling sound.

‘I am soooo hot today.’

‘How would you approach the situation next?’ I ask, doing my lead detective training thing. Might as well use Alessandra while she’s
in the zone
.

‘Does Hogg know you have this?’

I shake my head.

‘Good. The way I see it we have two choices. One, we keep an eye on her and hope that eventually she leads us to Hepburn. Two, we post it through her door,’ her eyes gleam as if she has only just this second thought of that, ‘stand back and watch the fireworks. Or three, we confront her with it and demand answers.’

‘What is it with you women and numbers?’ I ask.

She ignores me. ‘My choice would be the latter. The less time it takes to find this Hepburn woman the better.’

My belly is rumbling like the warning of an approaching storm. And my bladder is under a serious amount of stress.

‘How long have you been here?’ asks Alessandra.

‘Long enough to grow a couple of gray hairs.’

‘Want to…?’

‘Think I’ll go find somewhere to eat. Preferably with a toilet. Need anything?’

Alessandra shakes her head. ‘I’m good.’

She gets out of my car and walks over to hers. I can’t help but notice how well her trousers sit on the firm cushion of her buttocks. What can I say? I’m a guy, we notice these things.

I drive down to the main drag, walk into the first pub I see and take a leak. Next door we have a fast-food place. A kebab is the first thing I see on the menu. A large lump of meat spins in a vertical roasting position, with fat dripping on to the tray below. Why is it when you are trying to take care of what you place in your mouth, the world conspires against you? I can feel an artery harden as the meat slowly turns. I order one. And hedge my bets with a can of diet Irn Bru.

Minutes later I’m back in position with Alessandra. As I drive past the house I see Hogg’s car in the driveway.

‘When did she arrive?’ I ask Alessandra, while wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. I can feel a line of grease from my less than healthy snack.

‘The minute you drove away.’

‘Figures. So she’s been in there what, ten minutes?’

Alessandra nods.

‘Let’s go. She’ll be spooked that we’ve arrived not long after she has,’ I say.

I knock on the door. Silence. I knock again. Hard enough this time to bruise my knuckles. I can hear her coughing as she comes downstairs to answer.

‘I’m very sorry, I was just looking for …’ her smile falls when she sees who has come to visit. ‘DI McBain, this might be construed as harassment.’ Her mouth has formed a tight line of irritation. She coughs.

‘We can do this here,’ I say, ‘or we can take you down to the station.’ I love saying that.

Without a word she stands aside to let us in. As I walk past the telephone shelf I see that the notepad is still in position. Alessandra and I pause in the hallway and allow her to lead us into the living room. Mrs Hogg walks over to the side of the fireplace. Her stance tells me that we are not welcome and this visit will not be long.

‘Where is she, Mrs Hogg?’

She appears distracted. As she stands in front of me her head is moving back and forth as if she is mentally trying to track some object in the house. ‘I have no idea what you are …’

‘My advice? Don’t waste any more of our time. It will not look good when this comes to court.’

‘My…I…’ she blusters, her face red with a number of emotions; anger, fear, confusion. She knows that I know something. Her face tells me that she is hoping fervently that I don’t know enough, while she fears that I do. She crosses her arms and sucks in her upper lip. I take in her appearance. Her eyes are heavy and dark. She looks like she’s been on the go all day. I couldn’t help noticing as I followed her into the room that her blouse had a number of creases in the horizontal, the way it might if you had been seated in the one position for a reasonable amount of time. Her trousers are similarly creased in the groin area.

‘Here’s the thing, Mrs Hogg,’ I pause and give her The Stare. The trick is to appear confident that you have
all
the facts. The scribble on the notepad and the call to the bank gel into an enticing whole just as I speak. ‘I know that you are just back from Troon. You met with Lucy Hepburn and you attempted to pay her off with a large sum of money.’

‘That’s …that’s nonsense. Utter nonsense.’ She takes a step back and all but falls into an armchair. Then she gets louder, stronger. Desperation lends her strength. ‘Who do you think you are coming to my door, time after time …’ Her speech is interrupted by a sustained bout of coughing.

‘Do you need a glass of water, Mrs Hogg?’ asks Alessandra. Hogg waves the offer away with her hand. I give a look at Alessandra that says now is not the time to play nice cop. Her answering look is defiant.

‘This needn’t involve you beyond tonight, Violet. Just tell us where she is and we’ll be out of your hair,’ I say.

She’s gone white now. Her mouth keeps opening and closing as if she can’t find the words to tell me any more lies. I watch in silence. She’s played me for an idiot so far. Each time we’ve met she’s manipulated me like a master. It ends tonight. I am not leaving this house until I know where Hepburn is.

‘I didn’t want to do this, Mrs Hogg, but you’ve left me no choice.’ I stand up and walk over to her. As I do so she shrinks back in her chair. I reach into my pocket and pull out the photograph. I hold it out to her. Even from her angle she recognises it instantly. Her mouth opens. The skin on her throat flowers into red blotches. Her hand stays on her lap. I’m guessing she doesn’t even want to touch it, so I drop it on to her hand. She turns her head to the side and screws her eyes shut. A tear leaks onto her lashes and I suddenly feel a class one prick. I acknowledge a hot stab of guilt as I observe the shock in Mrs Hogg’s face. Who am I to be in the position of morality judge? There are things I’ve done that I’m not proud of, things I’ve done under cover of cloud and night.