Garnethill by Denise Mina (27 page)

"Thanks for the offer of the lasagna," said Maureen politely.

"My mum told me to do that," he said. "She said that's what neighbors do when there's a death." He blushed vibrantly and apologized for mentioning that.

"Not at all. I appreciated the note, Jim, it was kind of you."

Jim turned back to the coffee machine, now spluttering the treacle liquid into cups. He opened a cupboard and took out a set of saucers and a side plate. "There was a policeman outside your door for days," he said, lifting a packet of amaretto biscuits out of a food cupboard. "The journalists arrived in the close the day after it happened. They were here all last week, asking everyone about you. I didn't think they could print anything about a court case that was coming up."

"There might not be a court case," said Maureen. "They haven't got anyone for it yet."

"Oh, that's great," he said, looking relieved. "I knew it wasn't you." He put the plate of amaretto biscuits on the table. They were individually wrapped in blue, red and green tissue paper, twisted at the ends like big sweets.

She was trying hard to like him, if only he weren't so affected. She asked him to describe the journalists and recognized the two men who had taken pictures of Liz. "They came to see me at work," she said. "We had to shut the office because of them."

"Yeah, those two were the worst," said Jim, handing them each a cup of coffee and standing on the other side of the table as he sipped his. "They knocked on old Mrs. Sood's door for ten minutes one night. She was terrified. I think the police should have told them to stop it, I mean, there was an officer outside your door the whole time, it wouldn't have taken much effort." He leaned forward and took a biscuit, unwrapped it delicately and bit through the middle. It wasn't big enough to warrant more than one bite. Maureen wanted to stand up and ram the rest of it into his mouth. "It's a good job you didn't come up yourself," he said, "or the journalists would have caught you."

"What do you mean?" said Liam.

"Well, the night they were banging on Mrs. Sood's door" — he gestured to Maureen — "that was the same night your pal came up and went into the house."

Maureen spoke slowly. "Which pal was this, Jim?"

"Didn't you send your pal up to the house?"

"No. Why do you think it was a pal of mine?"

Jim looked thoughtfully at Maureen as he ate the second half of his biscuit. He sat down at the table. "Listen," he said, watching his hands as he spread them on the table in front of him, "I know I sound like a nosy neighbor or something but it didn't seem right. I left the note under your door because I wanted to tell you about it." He smiled slyly. "It was a bit of a ruse. It wasn't really that I'd made too much lasagna although I've got some if you want it—"

"Just tell me what happened," said Maureen, curtly.

"Well," said Jim, "I heard a noise in the close, they were banging on her door and I was watching out of the spy hole and I saw your pal, the guy that comes up sometimes."

"What does he look like?" she said.

"Dark hair cut short, tall, about six foot. Broad on the shoulders. He had a leather jacket on."

"What did the jacket look like?"

"It was brown with a zip up the front," said Jim. "Wee collar and pockets at the side."

"That's Benny!" exclaimed Liam.

"Whisht a minute, Liam," said Maureen, and turned back to Jim. "Wasn't there a policeman at the door?"

"Yes, a uniformed officer, but as I was watching he left and your pal came up the stairs."

"Did they talk to each other?"

"No, no," said Jim. "I'll tell you what happened. I was listening to them banging, and watching through the spy hole, when I heard a couple of loud bangs in the back court and the policeman heard them too. He kept bending down to look out the landing window and I saw him talking into his walkie-talkie and go downstairs. The journalists were still banging on her door. I was waiting to see if the policeman would tell them to stop it when I heard someone walking up the stairs dead fast, like they were in a big hurry. So I looked out, expecting to see the policeman again but I saw that guy in the leather jacket and he was holding something in the jacket and looking at your door with his back to me but he was acting suspicious.

He went like this —" Jim cocked his head to the side like someone listening for something, but he was enjoying being the center of attention and smiled serenely, rolling his eyes heavenward like an ugly cherub with a stupid hairdo. "See?" continued Jim. "He was listening to my door to see if there was someone in here, so I knew he wasn't a policeman. So, anyway, he let himself in and came out again in a minute or so—"

"He let himself in? You mean he had a key?"

"Uh-huh, he had a key. I didn't know who it was but when he came back out he turned round and I saw his face."

"Okay," said Maureen patiently. "Did he have the thing in his jacket when he came back out?"

Jim thought about it. "No, he had two free hands when he came out." He waggled his hands in illustration. "Did he steal something? Is that why he was there?"

Maureen said she didn't know, she hadn't looked. "When was this, Jim?"

"Last Monday night," said Jim. "About eight."

Liam looked at her inquisitively. "What was going on then?"

"It was the night we watched
Hard Boiled
," said Maureen.

"He came in with the jacket on that night," said Liam. " 'Member?"

"It just didn't seem right to me," said Jim, trying to get their attention again.

"Are you sure he had a key?" asked Maureen.

"Aye."

"You said he had something under the jacket. What sort of thing?"

"Well, he was being careful with it, he was holding it at the bottom, like this." Jim held his hand across his body and made a fist, as if he were holding a pole upright.

"How long was it? Could you see through the jacket?"

"I could see an outline. It looked about ten, twelve, inches long. It was like he was holding a stick or something."

"Jim," said Maureen, avoiding direct eye contact in case her dislike became too evident, "you've been such a help, really . . ."

"I did think there was something wrong about it all," said Jim. He looked about to launch into another monologue.

"We have to go," said Maureen. "Thanks again."

When they left the house Jim asked her to remember to bring his Celtic top back.

"Oh, Jim, of course," she said, "and the jogging trousers."

"You take care of yourself," he said, avuncular and pitying. "I'll see you when you come home."

He gave her a peck on the cheek. His lips were damp.

The white Volkswagen got stuck in the filter lane for the M8 motorway and the policemen had to split up. One ran after Maureen and Liam on foot while the other waited out the jam.

Maureen and Liam walked back toward the West End in silence, oblivious to the minor drama unfolding behind them. It was drizzling again; Maureen's hair was stuck to her head and she didn't have her scarf with her. Swirling damp rain was getting in at the neck, softening the scratch scabs, ripening them for the rough collar of her overcoat. Liam looked normal now, as if his head was bent against the rain. Maureen started crying noiselessly, knowing that the soft rain would cover for her.

When Liam finally spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper, but he was so close that she could hear him perfectly over the noise of the fast cars slashing past. "What does this mean?" he said.

She took a deep shaky breath to stop herself crying. "Well," she said, checking that her voice sounded okay, "it doesn't mean we're cozy safe and among friends, does it?"

Liam hooked his arm through hers. "Are you crying, Mauri?"

"A bit," she said.

"What's making you cry?" His voice was gentle and she was afraid she might start bawling in the street.

"That was the worst-told story I've ever had to sit through," she said.

Liam squeezed her arm with his elbow. Maureen squeezed back. "You don't seem surprised about Benny," said Liam.

"Naw, I'm not."

"Why?"

"Auch," she sighed. "It's a bit of a long story. Benny lent me a CD and it was in my flat when I went back up to get some stuff. I found it in his house the other day so I guessed he'd been at mine."

"That was stupid."

"Well, I thought I'd given it back. Before Jim said that he was sneaking about I thought maybe he was in cahoots with the police and they'd given it to him."

"And that thing in his jacket, do you know what it was?"

"I think it was the knife. The police were in the house for over a week and they didn't find it and then suddenly it turns up."

"Did you see the actual knife?"

"Yeah, it was fucking huge, and when I asked why it took them so long to find it they acted funny."

"How did Benny get a key to your house?"

"Well, he didn't get it off me," she said, into her chest.

Liam's voice was whiny and defensive. "I didn't give it to him," he said.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Liam, I wasn't hinting at that. I meant that he has the missing key — he has Douglas's key."

They stopped at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the busy road. Maureen let go of Liam's arm and pressed the yellow pedestrian button three times in quick succession. Liam slipped his arm back through hers. She had never known him be so tactile. "You're getting good at this, Mauri," he said. "McEwan asked me about the evening Douglas died. Ye might be right about the time as well."

Liam had more or less admitted he was wrong three times in the past week. Strange times. She poked the pedestrian button impatiently. "I don't think these things do anything," she said. "I think they put them there to keep you occupied so that you don't just chuck yourself across."

"Does this mean Benny killed Douglas?" asked Liam.

"Dunno," she said. "Douglas and Benny would need to be connected somehow."

"Yeah. There would have to be a reason for him to do it. Benny isn't mental unless he drinks."

She told him about the psychiatric referral from Inverness. "Douglas could have been the psychiatrist who saw him. It sounds as if Benny was involved with some dodgy geezers up in Inverness and he might not have wanted anyone to know about it."

"Why?"

"It was a fraud ring. It could ruin his legal career."

"So that would give him a motive?"

"Yeah, but I can't believe Benny would do that."

"Didn't think he'd sneak about and creep into your house either, though, did you? And how could he get a key—" Liam flinched suddenly and jerked his arm away from her. "God, shit, yes, Mauri, oh, fuck!"

"What? What?" she said, and tugged at his elbow, making him jerk his neck to the side. He yowled and slapped his hand to it, groaning at the sharp pain.

"I told Benny about the cupboard," he whispered, bending over with the pain, both his hands wrapped around the sore side of his neck.

Maureen was standing stunned beside him, her hands limp at her sides, the cold rain running down her face, dripping off her nose and chin. She spoke quietly. "You told him that?"

"Aye," said Liam, still cringing from the pain.

"You said you didn't tell anyone," she said.

He straightened up slightly and, looking at her, said, "I forgot."

"Did you tell him which cupboard?"

"I pointed it out one day when we were in the house. God, Mauri, I'm sorry."

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, slipping her arm back through his. "There's no reason for you to be sorry, Liam. No reason at all."

They walked on in silence, Liam keeping his free hand on his neck. Maureen was holding his arm too firmly, pressing it tightly against her side, pinching his skin in the cup of her elbow. He could feel her tiny walnut biceps digging into his arm and her intensity frightened him. "Why would he plant the knife?" he asked.

"Well, if it's found in the house it looks like I did it because I didn't go out, yeah?"

Liam nodded. "Right, but why leave it so long?"

"That I don't know. Maybe he wasn't working alone and it wasn't his idea to do it. Maybe someone else told him to do it and he couldn't refuse. He told me on the first day that it would look like me if they found it in the house. He wouldn't have told me if he was thinking about doing it. I think he must have mentioned it to someone else and they told him to go up there and do it."

"He's a cunt," said Liam. "Even if he didn't kill Douglas, even if he didn't put the knife there, even if he took my key or your key and just got in to get his CD, he's still a cunt."

"Aye," she said. "But he's the closest thing I've got to a lead at the moment so I don't want you to say anything to him."

"I want to batter him," said Liam petulantly.

Maureen disentangled her arm. "Don't you dare breathe a word about this. Not a single word to anyone. You'll fuck everything up. Just act normal with him and if you can't do that stay away from him."

They walked on.

"We've known Benny forever, Mauri."

"Yeah," said Maureen. "And it wasn't long enough."

WHEN THEY GOT BACK to his house Liam fitted the answer phone and got clean towels from the upstairs bathroom while Maureen made a pot of tea. She dried her hair roughly and followed Liam as he carried the tray upstairs to the nice room on the second floor.

She lay down on the Corbusier chair. Liam sat on the desktop, gasping as he tried to dry his hair without jerking his head. "God, that's sore," he said. He poured out the tea and turned on his computer. "Do you fancy a game of
Doom
?" They looked at each other and sniggered miserably. "Not really, Liam, no."

The doorbell rang downstairs. "Fuck," said Liam. "If that's Pete . . ." He put the pot of tea down, walked across the room and peered out of the window. He waved down to someone on the front steps. "Fuck me if it isn't himself," he muttered.

Maureen stood up and looked out. Benny was standing on the stairs waving up at them cheerfully. She waved back.

One hundred yards farther down the road a wet policeman and a dry policeman were sitting in the Volkswagen. They recognized Benny as the third party seen leaving the Scaramouch Street residence on Thursday morning. They guessed rightly that he was the householder, Brendan Gardner. The dry officer turned to the wet officer. "This guy keeps coming up, doesn't he?"