Garnethill by Denise Mina (35 page)

Maureen took Siobhain's hand. "Do you want to go home and have a lie-down?"

Siobhain shut her eyes and nodded.

The dark-haired man yanked her into her windcheater. Maureen took her own coat from the suited woman and held Siobhain's arm, leading her out of the day center and into the street.

It could have been a flashback — a rapist would hardly walk into a day center in broad daylight. The staff hadn't seen anyone else in the room except Gurtie. From her own experience of flashbacks Maureen knew how difficult it is to tell them from reality and she knew they were triggered by stress. Maybe this was an after-effect of the interview with Joe McEwan. Maureen looked around the street for pedestrians or occupied cars. The only car in the street was a blue Ford but two people were sitting in it and they were chatting to each other quite casually.

They walked slowly around the corner. "Not Gurtie," whispered Siobhain.

"I know it wasn't Gurtie you saw, hen. Can you say his name to me?"

Siobhain jackknifed stiffly forward, squeezed her eyes tight together, and vomited stringy white lumps of bread and spit onto her shoes.

Maureen tried to help her upright. "I'm sorry, Siobhain, I'm sorry."

Maureen stopped at the edge of the pavement, waiting for a pause in the traffic so that they could cross to the phone box, but Siobhain tugged her sleeve. "I was going to phone Leslie," said Maureen.

"Home," said Siobhain. "Home."

"But I can't stay here all day and I think you should have someone with you."

Siobhain ignored her, tugging her sleeve. "Home," she said, walking on and turning into her close.

A small boy with a wedge haircut and a football was standing in the close. He had a Man United shirt on. He flattened himself against the wall to let them pass, watching Siobhain shuffle up the stairs. When they had passed he began his game again, headering the ball against the inside wall of the close. He was playing keepy-uppy, leaving round muddy marks on the cream wall. He was six or seven, too young to go out on his own.

The smell of heather wasn't as strong as Maureen remembered it: she must be getting used to it. She made Siobhain a cup of tea, listening all the while to the rhythmic thump, thump of the boy's ball game in the close below. She took the tea bag out and stirred three sugars into the cup.

Siobhain drank a mouthful. "Sugar," she said.

"It's good for shock," said Maureen, putting her fingers on the base of the cup and tilting it to Siobhain's mouth.

Siobhain drank quickly as she stared at the carpet, taking big gulps, leaving a brown smile at the corners of her mouth. Maureen took the cup and put it on the floor. "I really think you should go to Leslie's house, Siobhain, you shouldn't be on your own. The only thing is you'll need to go on the motorbike—"

"No," whispered Siobhain, shaking her head slowly. "No."

"Siobhain, I can't stay here all day and I don't think you should be alone just now."

"Stay."

"I really can't, Siobhain, I have to attend to some things."

Siobhain pursed her lips and turned her head, staring Maureen out with hurt, angry eyes. "Stay."

"I can't stay here, Siobhain. Can't I take you to Leslie's house instead?"

Siobhain turned her face away. "Stay."

"Siobhain, I can stay for a couple of hours but I can't stay all day."

Siobhain's fat face turned red and convulsed with impotent fury, her neck tight, her mouth open in a terrified silent scream. She stood up and shuffled forward, pushing and slapping at Maureen's arm and making her stand up. Tugging and pushing and nudging, she hassled Maureen out to the hall and opened the door, shoving her over the step and into the close. She shut the door. Maureen stood still, surprised to find herself in the cold close. She could hear Siobhain breathing heavily on the other side of the door. "Siobhain, at least lock the fucking thing."

Siobhain turned the snib and leaned against the door.

"I'll wait out here, okay?" said Maureen, addressing the door. "Okay?"

Siobhain didn't answer. Maureen could hear her shuffle back down the hall to the living room. Downstairs, the wee boy stopped playing and climbed up the first three stairs. He looked through the banister and caught Maureen's eye. He grinned at her. His front teeth were missing. She smiled back and he went back downstairs and began his game again.

Maureen sat down on the top step and smoked a cigarette to calm herself. She couldn't hear anything inside the flat. She knocked on the door, slowly so as not to scare her, and opened the letter box. "Siobhain, are ye there?"

The dark hall was still. The pool of light cast onto the carpet from the living room was steady. She wasn't moving.

"Are ye there?"

The wee boy stopped playing and came back up to look at her through the banisters again. He grinned at her. Maureen nodded. "Right, son?" He held up his football for her to look at.

"That's smashing, son. Away you downstairs now and play for a wee bit."

The boy disappeared again. She pushed the letter box open again. "Siobhain?"

She could hear Siobhain saying something, speaking very quietly in the living room, whispering almost. She had to concentrate hard to hear it, pressing her ear to the letter box. Siobhain was reciting the Saturday TV schedule to herself.

She phoned Leslie at work. "Hen," she said, "s me. Big fuck-off emergency, Siobhain's scared shitless. She thinks she saw the Northern man. I don't know if it's a flashback or what. I need a lift to Benny's and a body to stay with Siobhain while I go and do some stuff. Can you get away?"

"Where are you?"

"Phone box by Siobhain's house. She might not even let ye into the house, ye might be sitting outside her door. She chucked me out."

"How long'll it take?"

"Days, weeks, a month, I don't know."

Leslie thought about it for a minute. "I'm there," she said, and hung up.

Maureen came out of the phone box. She needed to take Leslie away for twenty minutes and didn't want to leave Siobhain alone, on the off chance that it hadn't been a flashback. She thought about the wee boy. She nipped across the road quickly and looked in the close. He was still there. "Hey," she said. "Wee fella? How long're you going to be here?"

"Till my tea," he said.

"What time's that?"

The wee boy looked blankly at her. He was six or seven, for fuck-sake, he didn't even know how to tell the time.

"Look," she said, "never mind about that." She took a quid note out of her pocket and held it in front of him. "See if a man comes past and goes up to that lady's house and tries to kick her door in. You come outside here and start shouting and get folk up there. Could you do that, wee man?"

"I'm not allowed out the close," said the wee boy, looking at the pound note.

"Can ye stand in the close mouth and shout, just here?" She gestured to the top step.

"Aye," said the wee boy. "I can do that."

"Remember, if a man goes up there and interferes with the door you've to come out here and shout like mad, okay?"

"Aye. How have I to? Is her man gonnae give her a doing?"

"Not if we stop him."

The boy looked at the pound note and back at Maureen, his eyes wide with surprise. "Can ye stop a man giving a
mammy
a doing?" He looked up at her, his face old and wondering, waiting for the answer.

"Ye can phone the police," she said. He bounced his ball once, shook his head and smiled cynically. "Ye can tell other people about it. That'll embarrass him."

He bounced his ball. "Right," he said, nodding and thinking about it. "Very good."

"Anyway, see the lassie upstairs? See if he comes and you shout loud, I'll give ye another pound when I get back."

He grinned at Maureen as though she had given him eternal life. "I'll shout dead loud," he said.

"And get people up to the door, eh?"

"Dead, dead loud," he said, and went back to playing keepy-uppy.

Maureen ran back up the stairs and held the letter box open. Siobhain was still whispering times and programs to herself.

LESLIE WAS PARKING OUTSIDE the close when she saw Maureen coming toward her.

"How did you get away?" asked Maureen.

"Said my mum was ill. So we're off to Benny's?"

"Yeah, I need to get my sick line and post it in or I'll be sacked. And then if you could come and wait with Siobhain — or get her to go to yours, that'd be best."

Leslie gave Maureen the spare helmet from the box and they drove up through the town, past the cathedral and up the Great Western Road, cutting up a side street to Maryhill.

Chapter 28

BOLLOCKS

Leslie drove through the bollarded end of Scaramouch street and stopped the bike. The usually empty street was packed with big new cars. They took off their helmets and looked around. These were company cars.

It sounded like a rumble. It was coming from one of the tenement closes. Suddenly, a belch of men staggered backward, spilling out of Benny's close, taking photos over their heads and shouting questions and instructions. Maureen shoved the helmet back on, scratching her rough tartan scarf down the back of her neck, knocking a dry scab off and making the skin throb. Leslie put her helmet back on and buckled it under her chin.

Joe McEwan was in the center of the crowd, his head down, fighting through them. McAskill was behind him, following in his wake. The journalists put their arms out, trying to hold them back, jostling and shouting at them. Maureen and Leslie stood at the end of the street and watched as McEwan single-mindedly worked his way through the journalists and headed for a blue Ford.

Maureen and Leslie jumped back onto the bike. "Follow him," said Maureen.

McEwan's car drove out of the far end of the street. Leslie put her foot down, spun the bike in the opposite direction and sped over the pedestrian dead end onto the Maryhill Road, turning a sharp right.

"No," shouted Maureen, over the noise of the bike, "
follow
"

Leslie didn't react. Maureen panicked. They were screaming up the Maryhill Road toward a red traffic light, going in the opposite direction from McEwan. She banged Leslie on the thigh. "
The blue Ford
."

Leslie stopped the bike sharply. The back wheel leaped an inch off the road surface, bumping Maureen high off the pillion. "The fucking Ford. Follow the blue Ford!" she shouted.

Leslie pointed to the empty outside lane next to the bike. Just then the blue Ford cruised alongside them and stopped. McAskill was driving, McEwan was sitting in the back next to McMummb. Leslie rapped on the window and pointed behind her, McEwan peeked out and recognized Maureen's tartan scarf. He pointed eagerly down the road. The lights changed and the Ford pulled off with the bike behind it.

A couple of miles up the road the car pulled into a side street. Leslie followed and parked ten feet behind it.

"Sorry," Maureen said to her. "I lost the head there for a minute."

" 'S all right, doll."

McMummb and McAskill got out of the car and walked over to Maureen and Leslie, standing next to the bike. McAskill looked happy: his coat was flapping open and he was swaggering, stepping lightly, swinging his hips. He walked up to the bike and stood close, grinning broadly, showing off his gappy teeth. "He wants to see you in the car," he said to Maureen.

"What are you so happy about?" she asked, slipping off the bike and taking off her helmet.

"Had a wee bit of good news," he said, and turned away as if the conversation was over.

Maureen walked over to the car, leaving Leslie with McMummb and McAskill. McEwan opened the passenger door as she approached, waving her into the backseat with him. "I want to talk to you," said McEwan.

"Were you looking for me at Benny's house?" asked Maureen, unwinding her itchy scarf and feeling a little bloody patch on the back of her neck.

"No, we were looking for Brendan Gardner."

"Are you going to question him?"

"Maybe," he said. "We want his prints. You're not surprised."

She shrugged. "What were the press doing?"

"Brady told them you were there. They think there's a big story. She told them off the record that there was some sort of cover-up."

"I take it I'm the subject of this cover-up."

"She said it, not in so many words, but they got the message. She told them about your brother as well."

"And you're supposed to be protecting me?"

McEwan smirked. "Yeah, I'm putting my career on the line because I like you so much."

Maureen didn't smile back.

McEwan sucked his teeth while his eyes raced over the back of the driver's seat. "We found fingerprints at the locus in the Northern."

"Do they match anyone?"

"No one we know."

She looked out of the window. They were in a suburban cul-de-sac of prissy little bungalows. "The fingerprints were on the back of Martin Donegan's neck," said McEwan.

"On the back of his neck?"

"Aye. He had his hand looped around the back of Donegan's neck while he stabbed him. He watched, at the most, from a foot away while he stabbed Martin Donegan's face."

"Why are you telling me that?" snapped Maureen, disgusted at the details. "No one'll tell me anything for weeks and then suddenly you tell me that."

"I told you because I know what you're doing and I want you to stop it."

Maureen opened the door of the car and shouted to Leslie to give her a fag. Leslie swaggered over. She took the lit cigarette out of her mouth, handed it in through the door and went back to her bike. McEwan watched her walk away. "She picked up the list from the clerk at the Northern then?"

Maureen took a drag on the cigarette.

"I think you're trying to find the guy who did these murders and I think you're putting a lot of innocent people in danger."

"Oh, that's ridiculous," she said, and blushed. "I'm not stupid, Joe, I wouldn't do that. I'm just unlucky, that's all."

Maureen could see his jaw muscles rippling as he ground his teeth in annoyance.

"We've been following you every inch of the way, Maureen. Even if we hadn't been we'd still know what you've been up to. Does the name Jill McLaughlin ring a bell? She's on the list Martin Donegan gave you. We've just phoned her. She said that you'd phoned her asking all sorts of questions."