Garnethill by Denise Mina (18 page)

"Tell me, Liam."

"It's nothing."

She had to cajole him all the way through her coffee. "I'm worried that she's been talking to the papers about me, that's why I need to know."

"Maureen, it's got nothing to do with that, it's not important."

"Why won't you tell me, then?"

Liam gave up on his coffee. "I can't drink that."

"Well, leave it, then," she said irritably. "Tell me."

He frowned and shoved his cup away to the side of the table. She caught his arm. "Tell me. Right now."

Liam sighed heavily. "It's to do with Marie . . . and Dad," he said.

"Has Marie remembered something?"

"No."

Maureen stopped dead. "What about Dad?"

Liam sat back and shoved his hands in his pockets, swinging backward on his chair. "Look," he muttered, "I really don't want to tell you. I just think you should stay away from them all, at least until this Douglas thing's settled."

"What is it?"

"Maureen, I—"

"DON'T LIE."

He took a deep breath and looked at her. "Marie doesn't believe you about Dad."

"Marie doesn't believe me either?"

"None of them believe you, Mauri." He laughed nervously, trying to make a joke of it. "They don't believe anything they don't want to."

"I know Mum doesn't but Marie was there when it happened. How could she not believe me?"

"I dunno."

"Which bit doesn't she believe?"

"None of it."

"What about Una?"

"She definitely doesn't."

"But Una was the one who brought it up in the first place. She only recanted to get Mum off her back. How could she not believe me?"

He shrugged.

"Marie was there," squealed Maureen. The other customers eyed them furtively. "She was fucking
there.
She saw Mum pulling me out."

"Mauri, please."

"Those fuckers!" shouted Maureen, curling over the table with fury. "Fuckers!"

A small boy at a nearby table started to cry. Liam pulled at her arm, trying to get her to sit up and calm down. "Keep it down, Mauri, please. We could get arrested for a breach."

She straightened up and took his hand roughly, pulling him forward across the table. "You tell me everything," she said fiercely. "Everything. Why are they bringing this up
now?"

He blinked sharp little spasms and wouldn't look at her. "Mum thinks you might not have remembered about Douglas properly."

"And where did that come from?"

He picked at his fingernails. "There's been all this stuff in the papers about memory ..."

"This false memory stuff? They don't believe me about Dad so I make up everything all the time?"

"Kind of."

She slumped over the table, muttering curses to herself.

"I'm sorry, Mauri, I'm sorry," Liam whispered.

Maureen scrubbed at her eyes, dragging the soft skin on her eyelids back and forward, trying to get it together. "They think I'm completely mental, don't they?" she said.

"I suppose."

"Have they told the police this?"

Liam shook his head. "After the show Mum made of herself at the station the other day I don't think she's exactly got the ear of the police. I wouldn't worry about that. My God, it's not as if you're used to relying on their support, is it? I just think they'll fuck our heads if you go near them. Promise me you'll stay away from them until this Douglas business blows over."

"Let's get out of this place," said Maureen. "It's dirty."

They left the arcade and walked back to the car. Liam pulled the keys from his jacket pocket. He opened the passenger door for Maureen but she didn't move to get in. "Not one of them believes me?" she said.

Liam rubbed his hands guiltily, as if he was implicated in his sisters' duplicity.

"No," he said, "they don't."

"Do you?"

"Yes, totally, completely."

"Why?"

"Because Una told you, because it's all too much of a coincidence and I know you've questioned it so often and arrived at the same conclusion every time."

"Do you believe me when I say I didn't kill Douglas?"

"Yeah, well, I know you're really hard, Maureen."

They grinned melancholically at one another. "And for fucksake," he said, "if you had done it you'd've told everyone by now."

Maureen stepped closer to him, until she could feel the warmth of his skin, and looked over his shoulder. "Liam?" she breathed, desperate for the right answer. "You don't think I could have done it and forgotten?"

Liam held her face in his hands and looked her in the eye. "You listen to me. There's nothing wrong with you."

"But maybe—"

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Maybe . . . my memory . . ."

"Shut the fuck up. Listen, this isn't about Douglas at all, it's about them not wanting to believe you about Dad. I want you to stay the fuck away from them all."

"You want me to let this go?"

"Keep away from them," he said, strangely emphatic, and let go of her face. "
Please
. For awhile, anyway."

He walked round the car and slipped into the driver's seat. Maureen climbed into the passenger's side and shut the door behind her.

"I think they're all mental," said Liam.

"You're not just saying that to comfort me?"

"I am, a bit." He smiled, caught in fib. "But I know it happened."

"Which is more than I do," she said, heartsore with self-pity.

Liam put the keys in the ignition, pulled the choke and started the engine. "Thing is," he said, "you have to ask yourself what kind of arsehole would even question a memory like that."

Chapter 16

LIAM

Liam parked the car around the corner, out of view of the police station. They walked through the front doors, telling the policeman on the desk their names and who they were there to see.

Almost immediately a gang of four appeared at the top of the stairs. McEwan, Inness, Hugh McAskill and the Seedy Man. They seemed purposeful, certain, as though the outcome of the meeting was already set.

"We were just about to come and find you," said McEwan, letting them know who was in charge.

The Seedy Man said he was going to caution both of them at the same time. He recited it in a British Rail announcer's monotone. McEwan looked smug. He kept looking at Maureen, smiling inadvertently and looking away quickly, as if she would know what was making him smile if she saw it flourish. McAskill was standing three steps back from Inness and the Seedy Man, his hands in his pockets, his eyes darting around the lobby, avoiding Maureen. Liam looked at Maureen, he seemed worried. She meant to make an encouraging face but she couldn't stop thinking about Winnie and Marie and Una. She crumpled her chin and raised her eyebrows, looking blaming and distant.

The Seedy Man finished his recital and Liam shot Maureen an abortive smile. Inness took his arm, leading him away through the double doors on the ground floor. The Seedy Man followed them. Liam didn't look back at her: he walked off with his head bent to his chest like a man about to be taken to a place, there to be hanged by the neck until he was dead.

McEwan watched the door swing after them. "You want to watch the company you keep," he said.

"How do you mean?" she said innocently.

"Your brother and that Benny pal of yours."

"Benny?"

"He's got a record, didn't you know?" He pointed upstairs. "You know the way by now."

They walked up the first flight of stairs. "Naw," she said. "Benny's studying law, he couldn't get into uni if he had a record. You're mixing him up with someone else."

"It was a no pro," said McEwan.

"A what?"

"That means they didn't prosecute."

That made sense of it: he'd have been arrested for pissing up a close or something. "Not worth the hassle?"

"He was diverted."

"I don't know what that means either," she said, tired of his smug jargonizing manner.

"He got a psychiatric referral for alcoholism instead."

"Oh, right, I didn't know about that. We must look like a right bunch of nutters to you."

McEwan smiled enigmatically and opened the door to the interview room. Maureen sat down at the far side of the table and crossed her legs, swinging her foot in manic rhythmic kicks. Something important was about to happen and she couldn't concentrate for thinking about Winnie. They had been in such a hurry to caution both of them.

McAskill slipped into the seat next to the wall and started the tape recorder. McEwan took the outside chair.

"How are you, Maureen?" said McEwan, as if for the benefit of the tape.

"I'm fine, Joe," said Maureen, wishing he'd get to the fucking point. "How are you?" fine.

They paused and looked at each other. Joe McEwan was savoring the moment. Maureen shifted in her chair, sitting sideways and re-crossing her legs. "Are you going to ask me questions or are we going to sit here and look at each other all day?" she said.

"Yes," he said serenely. "I do have some questions to ask you. First, I want you to tell me, in as much detail as you can, what you did from nine in the morning until ten p.m. the day before Mr. Brady was found dead."

She repeated the story, telling him the details about the Pizza Pie Palace and Leslie again, wondering why they were asking about the evening. McEwan asked her if she was sure about a couple of the times she had given them and then sat back confidently, looking her up and down.

"Anything else?" she said rudely.

"Yes," he said. "A number of things. I want to talk to you about your harassment of Mrs. Carol Brady."

"My what?" Her voice was straining high. She made a mental note to calm down.

"Mrs. Brady told me that you'd contacted her and insisted that she meet you. She wouldn't be specific about the nature of the meeting—"

"It was lunch."

"I meant what was said."

"I'll tell you what was said." She sat forward. "Same thing as Elsbeth said—"

"And that's another thing," he interrupted, "stay away from her too."

"Look, they both approached me, I didn't go looking for either of them. You were there when Elsbeth asked me to wait and you gave bloody Carol Brady the address I was staying at."

"I most certainly did not."

"Well, she told me she got it from the police. Her assistant turned up at the door and nearly scared the living shit out of me." She was talking very fast, very angry.

McEwan looked at McAskill. McAskill looked confused and shook his head.

"We'll look into that," said McEwan.

"And you told her that my family were
unsavory
." She was glad to be on the offensive, glad she had something to pull him up about. "We're as savory as any other family in this city . . ." She sounded ridiculous.

"As I said," McEwan reiterated, "we'll look into it. If someone did give her the address it was against my express orders. Anyway, I made it perfectly clear I didn't want you to wait for Elsbeth. Why did you talk to either of them?"

"Look," she said, "I'm a failed Catholic woman, I feel guilty all the time anyway. I was shagging her husband and Carol Brady's son died in my living room. What the fuck am I going to do when they ask me to speak to them? Spit?"

McEwan warmed at the mention of Catholicism. McAskill didn't look up. He might be a Protestant. He might not give a shit. Maureen hoped it was the latter.

"When did Carol Brady approach you?" asked McEwan.

"Urn, Saturday night. She sent her assistant to Benny's to tell me I was having lunch with her the next day. I was freaked enough as it was. Those bloody journalists had been at my work—"

"Did you give them the picture that was in the paper yesterday?"

She moved her chair back and recrossed her legs. "No, my mum did."

"Did you tell her to do it?"

"No," she said, uncrossing them.

"Why did she, then?"

Maureen held up her hands. "The ways of Winnie are many and varied."

McEwan suppressed a derogatory snigger. "I spoke to your mum."

"Oh, yeah?" she said, wanting to slap him for implicatively slagging her mammy. "I heard she was in here. She's a bit of a live wire."

McEwan grinned unkindly. "Yeah," he said. "She is."

"
Unsavory,
" said Maureen. "Anyway, both Elsbeth and Carol were asking if Douglas gave me money."

"Did he give you money?"

She noticed that the conversation was getting faster and faster and she was wiggling about in her chair. Slow, slow, she told herself, slow. "No," she said, probably too slowly. "No. He tried to pay my mortgage a couple of times but I wouldn't take it."

"He 'tried'?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't let him."

McEwan was perplexed. "Why?"

"I didn't want to be beholden to him."

He frowned, tried to understand for a millisecond and then gave up. "I thought that was one of the good things about being a woman," he said flirtatiously.

"But nothing's for nothing, is it?" she said, puzzled by his attitude. And it hit her. That was how certain he was: he was talking fast and flirting with her, letting his guard down every which way. He didn't give a shit what she thought anymore. They'd cautioned Liam, too, and McEwan thought he had them.

She faked calm and glanced at the tape recorder. Her eyes fell on McAskill's hands, one on top of the other, resting on the table. He lifted a finger, signaling to her to look up. His face was sad and soft. He blinked his blue eyes slowly and when he opened them again he was looking at the table.

"Are you a feminist?" asked McEwan, acting surprised and dragging her back to the game.

"Yeah," said Maureen, feeling genuinely calm, as if she'd absorbed some of Hugh's tired dignity.

McEwan laughed. "I thought you liked men," he said.

"Yeah, feminists don't like men and Martin Luther King picked on white people. You don't know many feminists, do you, Joe?"

"No," he said, oblivious to her supercilious attitude, "but I know what they look like and they don't look like you." He pointed openly to her large tits and looked away, leaving Maureen — and McAskill — aghast. He knew he'd offended her but he didn't give a shit. "Still, your political beliefs would allow you to accept cash."