Gutted (34 page)

‘Oh, I see, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And you’ll be able to corroborate this, will you?’

‘I can go one better . . . I can hand you the real killer.’

He sighed, shook his head. ‘And that would be?’

I blew smoke. ‘Well, if you and Jonny Johnstone weren’t taking a nice slice of Rab Hart’s activities, you’d have him in here by now.’

Someone had obviously been listening, through the way the door was flung open and Jonny Boy strode in. ‘Now I am fucking warning you, Dury, about your allegations!’ He was – what’s the phrase – fit to be tied.

McAvoy’s eyes widened as J.J. entered. He firmed his shoulders; for a moment I thought he would speak, but he scratched his ear instead. He rose, came round to my side of the desk, said, ‘You are wrapped up in one world of shit, Dury.’

I spun in my chair, said, ‘So, what’s new?’

‘What’s new is I’m now arresting you for the murder of Tam Fulton.’

I HEARD THE
words but they didn’t register for a few seconds.

‘You’re what? . . . Are you serious?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said McAvoy. He shuffled his papers again, gave me the ‘you do not need to say anything’ spiel.

I jumped out of my seat. The uniform pug approached but I flung off his arm and put a halt to any idea that I was taking his shit. ‘Now look the fuck here, McAvoy . . . I know your game. You are setting me up to take the fall for Judge Crawford’s son.’

Laughter from Jonny and McAvoy.

‘Oh, funny is it? Not so funny that Crawford’s hearing Rab Hart’s appeal, is it? How do you think the courts will look on that when I blow it all wide open?’

More laughter. The tape was off now.

‘Dury, who the fuck do you think is going to listen to a washed-up old soak like you? You’re finished. I am going to put you away and that’s an end to it.’

Jonny joined in, ‘Get used to the idea, Dury. It won’t be good for your mental health to be so angry when you’re in stir and I’m in my comfortable home banging your ex-wife every night of the week.’

I lunged at him. My fist got halfway to its target before the uniform pug stepped in and grabbed me round the throat.

McAvoy backslapped Jonny. He was still laughing when his mobi went off. As he answered it his face changed quickly. ‘Whoa, back up . . . What the fuck do you mean Complaints are on the way down?’

The smirk suddenly left Jonny’s coupon. ‘Who’s that?’

McAvoy flagged him down, listened to the caller more intently. ‘Who told them this? Where did they get the money from?’ As the information was relayed to him, McAvoy’s face firmed – his jaws seemed to pop as he clenched his teeth – and then he turned to Jonny and threw the mobile at him. ‘You fucking silly cunt!’ He ran towards him, roaring, ‘You fucking daft fuck!’

Jonny backed up, took a pelt in the puss. It was enough to put him on the floor. McAvoy weighed into him with his fists. ‘You fuck, you cunt . . . you fucking took it, did you?’

‘
What
?
What
?’ Jonny was sliding along the ground, the trousers of his Boss suit creasing up.

The pug holding me suddenly became confused and let his grip slip. He freed me so he could go to the door and call for back-up.

McAvoy hit his stride. He had Jonny by the throat, strangling him on the floor. ‘You thought fifty Gs was too big a fucking payday to pass up so you stiffed me and took it for yourself!’

Jonny’s face was reddening. His arms flapped wildly at his sides as he tried to get a hold of McAvoy, but he had no chance. McAvoy was going like ten men, ready to kill. ‘I’ll fucking do you worse than you ever dreamed of doing me.’

I was ready to take a seat and wait for McAvoy to finish him as a dozen or so uniforms piled in and dragged the pair apart. The door was left open and I contemplated slipping out while the going was good but as I edged closer I was rumbled.

‘Sit the fuck down, you’re going nowhere,’ yelled a uniform.

I did as I was told. The frantic mass left.

The interview room seemed much quieter.

I was alone again.

They gave me a few more hours to sweat. I imagined rows of drink, strung the length of a bar, singing to me. Bottles, barrels, warehouses wouldn’t be enough. I pined for the oblivion it brought.

I imagined myself walking into the rain, rattling from bar to bar. I didn’t even bother to shield myself from it. I wanted to be soaked, wet through. As I paced, my imagination fed hallucinations. There were people all around me, scurrying on either side, but none could touch me. Where I was, there was room for only one. Did I face a life of pacing like this? Pacing an empty flat, listening to music, alone. Fearing the future, alone. Eating frozen dinners, carry-outs, alone. And the worst: watching television, seeing people enjoying themselves before your very eyes, taunting you. Christ, comedies, on television, how could I watch them? To watch a comedy, laugh, escape yourself and then hear the sound of your own laughter and know there was no one there to share in it. Would there ever be?

A key turned in the door.

Pug yelled, ‘Get out.’

‘That it?’

Fat fingers grabbed my shirt, a yank. ‘Move yer fucking arse.’

In the corridor I caught sight of a familiar face shaking hands with Fitz the Crime. Judge Crawford had his hand on his son’s shoulder as he led him from the interview room. The boy looked fraught, on edge. I knew Fitz would have another collar to his credit soon enough, maybe more than one.

I muttered under breath, ‘Nice one.’

I felt a prod in my back.

‘C’mon, move it.’

I turned to face the pug. As he shoved me towards the desk sergeant I managed to straighten my shoulders. As I progressed along the corridor, I came face to face with the judge and his son. The boy’s head was bowed, facing the floor. For a second his father didn’t register my face. When he did, he followed his son, dropped his eyes.

I tutted, shook my head, leaned into Fitz’s lapels, said, ‘Kids today . . .’

Fitz glowered at the pug, yelled, ‘Get him the hell out of my sight!’

I didn’t recognise the plod on the desk. He handed me my shoelaces, belt, lighter and wallet. Said, ‘That you off to get blootered?’

I frowned. ‘What is it with you lot – is that line in the manual?’

Outside a force-ten was blowing. Rain battering the plastic roof of the entrance. I turned up my collar, lit a tab.

As I started to walk, I caught sight of Debs hunkering down in the driver’s seat of a brand-new Audi. She’d spotted me, I could tell, but she didn’t know how to react. What the hell was she doing here?

I crossed the street, tapped on the door.

She lowered the window.

‘Debs, you’re here?’

She seemed agitated, looking round me. ‘I, well . . .’

‘Tell me you’re not . . . Whose car is this?’

She sighed, twice, then, ‘It’s Jonny’s – he only just bought it.’

‘Och, for fucksake, Debs . . .’

She turned in the seat. The rain was blowing in; she had to shield her eyes from it. ‘Gus, it’s not what you think.’

‘How have you fucking bought into this guy?’ I threw down my cigarette. ‘Deborah, I credited you with more sense.’

She shook her head, took the key from the ignition, opened the car door and stepped out. ‘Gus, I’ve been waiting here for hours.’

‘Don’t waste your time, Jonny Boy’s had his collar felt.’

Debs looked confused. ‘You don’t know, do you, Gus?’

‘Know what?’

She smacked her hand off the door. ‘Gus, I-I . . .’

‘What is it, Debs, you’re having a jailhouse wedding?’

She fired up, ‘Fucking shut it and listen . . . I shopped him.’

I stared right at her. ‘You what?’

Debs poked me in the chest with the car key, yelled, ‘You know, Gus, it’s not all about you and your childish fucking one-upmanship. I did the right thing for once in my life. I found the
money
, Gus. Jonny had a carrier bag full of used tenners stuffed away in the back of the wardrobe . . .’

I kicked a car tyre. ‘It was you . . . all the Complaints stuff in there was down to you?’

She calmed, nodded. ‘I called Fitz.’

I looked back at the station.

I knew I should be smiling, laughing, but I felt a cloud of Presbyterian gloom rising. I heard the old predestined apophthegm – ‘Man plans, God laughs’. Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I watched Debs, I felt sure she’d only one reason for doing this, but I needed to ask her: ‘Why?’

The rain and the wind lashed us as she spoke; the gale was getting worse. ‘For you.’

I put my arms around her. She smiled, nuzzled into me. I felt the car key press into my chest again. I took it from her. ‘You won’t be needing this.’ I ran the key along the side of Jonny’s new car, then I dropped it into a drain.

‘Gus, that’s shitty.’

‘I know.’

She laughed and we set off into the rain, together.

By the time we got back to the Wall we’d been drenched, sodden as dock rats. But somehow it didn’t seem to matter to either of us.

Mac had Usual resting on top of a bar stool. The dog launched himself at me as I appeared.

‘Down, boy. Down.’

‘Someone’s glad to see you.’

I took off my jacket, took up a bar towel to dry my hair, handed one to Debs.

I pointed to the Guinness tap. Mac got the message, started to pour. My mobi was dead, needed charged. I plugged it in and sat at the bar. Usual came and scratched at my legs.

‘Down, boy. Later, I promise, we’ll go to the park.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Mac.

‘Say what?’

‘That word.’ He spelled it out slowly: ‘P-a-r-k . . . He knows it
now
. Smart animals, dogs, picking up stuff all the time. Like children.’

I saw Debs look at me. She grabbed my hand, squeezed.

I ruffled Usual’s ears, patted him on the head. As I did so I felt a coldness suddenly come over me, like when people say the old phrase
Someone just walked over your grave
.

Mac placed my pint before me, then nodded to the rear of the bar. I turned and saw Katrina Crawford stood behind me, looking like a woman who had recently collapsed in shock. She had holes in her stockings, both knees scraped. Black mascara ran beneath the eyes.

I stood up. Words wouldn’t come.

KATRINA CRAWFORD POINTED
a broken fingernail at me. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done . . .’

Debs stood up, said, ‘Who’s this?’

I waved her away. ‘It’s okay. Katrina, would you like to sit down?’ I walked over to her. Her eyes were distant, a faraway glaze on them. ‘Come on, let’s sit in the snug.’ The poor woman was in bits. I felt a heart scald to think of what she’d been through already with little Chrissy, and now her only son would be locked up. I called out to Mac, ‘Bring her a brandy.’

All the way to the snug, she shook her head, again and again. Her lip trembled as we sat down. I saw her grip the arm of the chair tightly. ‘You don’t understand.’

I took out my cigarettes and lit up. I offered one to her but she just stared at it as though it was an alien artefact. She was lost, in a dark, dark place. I wondered, would I, or anyone, be able to reach her?

Mac brought the brandy and she threw it down in one desperate gulp. Her hair trailed into her mouth, stuck to her wet lips, but she seemed oblivious. I saw the empty glass held so firmly that I thought it might shatter in her hands; I took it from her, placed it on the table. There was an awkward silence between us for some moments, then her eyes rose, and slowly, she began to talk. ‘You don’t understand.’

I spoke softly, ‘Then tell me, Katrina.’

A smile played on her face. She registered amusement at the sound of her name. ‘I’m not her any more.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’

Her smile strayed as she looked to the ceiling. ‘I stopped being her a long time ago . . .’

I knew this was a human being in a place of absolute hurt. I had covered the territory a few times myself, but something about her assured me I’d never been this far gone. I watched her through the rising cigarette smoke. Her grasp on reality seemed every bit as tenuous as the thin wisps of grey floating around us. As I stared at her she seemed to sense my gaze, turned and brought my eyes into her view. ‘I remember the strangest things . . . the strangest things.’

I nodded, sensed she felt encouraged to go on.

‘When she had just turned three we gave Chrissy a little tricycle. It had a bell the shape of a ladybird. She loved that little tricycle; the bell followed us everywhere. For weeks we heard that bell about the house . . .’ She dropped her gaze towards the table, laced her trembling fingers together. ‘We thought about disconnecting it, you know . . .’ A tear fell down her cheek. ‘What I’d do to hear that bell now.’