Garnethill by Denise Mina (8 page)

"Not really."

"Mauri, do you really think I'd do that to someone?"

"Auch, no, Liam, no. But I know you're protective of me since I was in hospital."

"Protective?"

"Yeah, protective."

"And I'm stupid enough to think carving up your boyfriend in your own living room is going to protect you from something much worse? Like what? Like falling out with him?"

"Aye, right enough."

"Anyway." He smiled at her. "I'd hardly do it when my alibi would get me arrested, would I? I'd be smarter than that, anyway."

"Auch, I'm sorry, Liam." She smiled back at him. "I'm a bit bewildered today."

She cut a bite out of the bridie and put it in her mouth. It hadn't been microwaved properly and undissolved fat still clung to the slimy inside of the cold pastry wall. She bit down onto a lump of gristle and made a face. "That's disgustin'." She spat it out into a napkin, wrapping it into a little bundle and putting it in the ashtray. Her appetite was gone.

"I'm so fucked," said Liam. "I can't tell them where I was."

"It might have happened at night. That time-of-death stuff isn't a set science, it's just a good guess."

"Did the police tell you that?"

"No," she said. "But the heating was on in the house this morning— it was belting out. I wondered if that could change a time of death."

"How?"

"Well, they work it out by comparing the temperature of the body to the surrounding temperature. What would it be if the person was alive — say, ninety-eight point six degrees?"

"I dunno."

"Anyway, what if the surrounding temperature wasn't constant? That would change the rate of heat loss. What if the heating was turned right up and set to go an hour or so before he was found? That would heat up the house but wouldn't be enough to heat up a body. The police would take his temperature thinking he'd been in a warm house the whole time he'd been dead. They'd think he'd died earlier than he actually did."

"Maureen, what are you rambling about?" said Liam seriously.

"They could have got the time of death wrong. It could have happened in the evening."

He looked confused. "Wouldn't the police think of that, though?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, but even if they did it would still be hard to work out the times: they couldn't know what the temperature had been before the heating went on."

"And did it occur to you that if the murderer did that deliberately they'd need to know how the police work out the time of death? Where did you hear all that science stuff anyway?"

"I saw it on
Taggart
"

Liam giggled at his plate. He could tell he was making Maureen angry but couldn't stop himself. He put his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, Mauri—"

"Yeah, fuck you."

"Yeah." He sniggered. "Okay, fuck me."

"I read it in the paper as well, Liam."

"So it must be true."

"What were you doing that night?"

"I was with Maggie at her mum and dad's."

"And were they in?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if I was right they could vouch for you."

He grinned at her as if she was mental. "Okay, Dr. X."

"Don't take the piss, Liam."

"I'm trying not to but you make it so hard." Maureen looked downcast.

"Did you tell the police that?"

She looked even more miserable. "I tried," she said.

He suppressed a smile. "And what did they say?"

She didn't answer him.

"Well," he said, jabbing at a chip, "I'm sure they'll find whoever did it soon enough. Buccleuch Street's always busy. Someone must have seen something."

Maureen picked at her chips. They were soggy, limp and warm. She should eat something. "I don't know why I keep coming here, the food's horrible."

"Good fry-ups, though," said Liam.

"Did they tell you anything about the cupboard?" she said, trying to catch the waitress's eye. She limped over to their table. Maureen ordered an ice cream and a coffee. They looked to Liam for an order. He was eating his chips eagerly now, spearing three at a time with his fork and swirling them around in the mess of ketchup on the side of the plate.

"Does sir want anything else?" asked the waitress.

Liam looked at her. "Nope."

As she limped away to the kitchen Liam stabbed Maureen gently with his fork. "What was that about a cupboard?"

"They found something in the cupboard."

"Which cupboard?"

"The hall cupboard."

"The cupboard I found you in?"

"Yeah."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"I don't know what it means."

He watched her. "It could just be an accident. It isn't necessarily significant that you were found in it."

"It could make it look like me," she said softly, "if they find out I was found in there. They might think I did it and then went and hid in there again. They might think I was in there all night and that's why I didn't phone them."

Liam worked the final bushel of chips into his mouth and thought about it. "Yeah," he said. "They're more likely to think it's significant if you don't tell them and they find out from someone else later."

"Who knows that except you and me?"

"You, me and any one of the mental-health professionals who've seen your psychiatric notes."

"It's not in my notes. I've seen my notes. It says I was hiding in the house, it doesn't mention that cupboard. Louisa at the Albert doesn't know."

"What about that guy at the Rainbow?"

"Naw, Angus didn't know either. I never discussed that time with him."

"So that leaves you and me."

"Yeah."

"I didn't do it, Maureen."

"I didn't mean that. I meant who knows that? Did you tell anyone?"

"Like who?"

"I dunno."

"Well, I dunno either." He looked at her. "I didn't do it, Maureen."

"I'm not saying you did. I didn't for a minute mean that it was you, Liam, I didn't mean that."

"Did ye not like the bridie?" The waitress was at her side with a portion of ice cream and a coffee. She put them on the table and lifted Maureen's dinner plate.

"I'm just not hungry," said Maureen quietly. She slid a spoonful of ice cream and raspberry sauce into her mouth, rolling it under her tongue, letting it dissolve slightly before swallowing.

Liam took the teaspoon from her coffee and started eating her ice cream. "So you were at your work when it happened?"

"Yeah," she said, frowning at her ice cream. "Someone phoned work yesterday. Liz thought it was Douglas but it might not have been. She told him I wasn't in and I wouldn't be in all day."

"So?"

"He phoned three times. Same guy."

"It probably was Douglas," said Liam.

"No, I don't know if it was. They were phoning from a phone box and he should have been at work. I don't think he'd have called back when she said I was out. Wouldn't want to seem too eager."

Liam stole another spoon of ice cream. She pushed it toward him. "You have it. I don't want it."

The sugar and caffeine were finding their way into Maureen's system. The shaky feeling evaporated like a hangover after a whisky and she felt relatively calm. She sipped her coffee. It was bitter and hot. She took out her cigarettes and lit one.

"Do you think you're being set up?" asked Liam.

"Maybe. I don't know what the cupboard thing means yet. If I could find out what was wrong with the cupboard . . ."

"Stop trying to find things out, pet. Leave it to the police," said Liam, without a hint of irony. "They'll sort it out."

"I'm just . . . I'm thinking."

"Keep out of it. You don't want to get involved in this."

"I'm already involved."

"Okay," he said. "You don't want to get
more
involved, Mauri. Don't meddle."

"I was only thinking."

"Leave it, Maureen."

"There's no harm in thinking about it."

Liam was exasperated. "Look, some scary fucker cut Douglas's throat when he was helpless and tied to a fucking chair. Nice people don't do that. These are unpleasant, dangerous people. This isn't
Taggart.
Bad things happen to the good guys."

"Bad things happen on
Taggart
"

"Maureen," he said, "there are very nasty people in the world. You're not like them, you're not fit for them. You've no idea what people are capable of doing to each other, no idea."

"But how are they going to catch the right person?"

"Do you think that's what the police are about? Catching the right person?" He ruffled her hair. "You're not fit for these people, Mauri. Just stand back and shut up and you'll be all right."

On the way back to Benny's Maureen stopped at the cashpoint and took out the last twenty quid from her account. If the bank withdrew her £100 overdraft facility before the end of the month she wouldn't be able to pay her meager mortgage.

She waited until Benny had gone to bed before she lay down on the settee and did the breathing exercises she had learned in the Northern. They were supposed to help her sleep but each time she started to relax images and phrases from the day flashed in her mind, startling her awake.

Chapter 6

WINNIE

Liz was reveling in the drama of it all. The mustachioed policeman had been to the office and questioned her, asking her to sign a statement to the effect that Maureen had not left the office for any longer than five minutes during the previous day. The walk to the house took ten. Maureen had been in the toilet for fifteen minutes but Audrey had spoken to her. Liz said wasn't it lucky Audrey was a chain-smoker.

Maureen looked up a couple of times during the day and caught Liz staring at her with undisguised awe. She asked three times about going to the police station. Maureen didn't want to talk about it. She had woken up on Benny's settee with trembling hands, a throbbing headache and a terrible sense that the worst of it wasn't over. It felt like her night terrors. She wanted to be at work, pretending it was a normal day, but Liz was desperate to be part of the show. "I think friends should trust each other," she said, over lunch.

"I need a piss," said Maureen, excusing herself as only a lady could.

Mr. Scobie seemed more traumatized about it than either of them.

When Maureen went off to hide in the toilet during the morning she saw him walking toward her down the corridor. He looked panic-stricken and ducked into a cloakroom to avoid running into her. She thought about going after him, just for badness' sake, but decided against it.

In the afternoon he shuffled nervously into the ticket office, keeping his back close to the wall, and handed them their wages. Maureen had a tax rebate in hers and the brown envelope held £150 in tens and twenties. "I'm sorry to hear about your trouble, dear," said Mr. Scobie.

"Thank you, Mr. Scobie."

"Will you be taking any more days off?" His voice cracked mid-sentence. "Or can I leave the shifts as they are?"

"You can leave them as they are." fine.

He scuttled back out. Liz sniggered when she was sure he was out of earshot.

Winnie phoned late in the afternoon. "Please come and see me," she said. "Please do. Just to make me feel better because I'm worried about you."

Maureen agreed to come over after work.

"Now, promise me, you won't get a bus or anything, just get into a taxi and come here and I'll pay it at the other end."

"You don't need to do that. I can pay it."

"I insist," said Winnie. She sounded stone-cold sober.

Maureen didn't want to go. Sober Winnie was almost as much work as Very Drunk Winnie and Very Drunk Winnie was a lot of work. She was angry and vindictive, shouting carefully personalized abuse at whoever happened to be in front of her, casting up any failure or humiliation, however petty, always going straight for the jugular. It was her special talent, she could find anyone's tender spot within minutes. Sober Winnie was an emotional leech, demanding affection and reassurance, bullying them with her limitless neediness, crying piteously when she didn't get her own way. She shit-stirred between the children, rumor mongering and passing on distorted comments. When anyone tried to stand up to her she cast herself as the victim and rallied the other children to her support, causing schisms. Liam said she had a rota written up somewhere and victimized the children in turn. It had worked better when they were younger: Maureen and Liam only pretended to buy into it all now, faking shock at Una's unkind comments about Maggie, pretending to care when Marie said Maureen would never recover from the hospital. But Una still played along fully and if Maureen didn't go and see Winnie today then, as sure as a fight at a wedding, she'd get a worried phone call from Una tomorrow, asking her why she was avoiding Mum, what had Mum done, couldn't Maureen see she was upsetting her.

There was a time when Very Drunk Winnie was the best of a bad choice for Maureen: it was a straight fight and she could take it because Winnie didn't know anything about her. She had been careful never to discuss the things that mattered to her in front of the family, Liam excepted. She told her friends that she didn't have a phone and wouldn't let boyfriends come to the house. She lied about where she was going at night, she even lied about her 0 grade subjects. So when Winnie went for Maureen's jugular she was slagging her about fictitious habits, friends and events. What happened between them in hospital had changed all that. Now Winnie had more to cast up to Maureen than the rest of them.

Winnie behaved strangely during the hospital visits. She brought an endless succession of inappropriate presents like earrings and makeup and fashion magazines. She monologued about the neighborhood gossip, who had died, what was on telly last night. She wouldn't acknowledge the fact that they were in a psychiatric hospital or talk to the staff. But Maureen was bananas at the time and lots of things seemed strange. Leslie had read up on familial reactions to abuse disclosure and said that it was normal for the non-abusing parent to feel incredibly guilty, maybe that's what was wrong with Winnie.