The Barber Surgeon's Hairshirt (Barney Thomson series) (4 page)

‘Christ, it’s not as if the muppet didn’t deserve it. He’s lucky I pure didn’t get them both.’

Proudfoot held the pen upside down between her second and third finger. Tapped. Had
The Girl From Ipanema
playing in her head. Stopped tapping before she had to arrest herself.

‘Did you stab James McGuiness in the testicle with a knitting needle on Monday evening?’

‘What? What are youse asking me that for? Youse know I stabbed him. I’d do it again, ‘n all.’

You might not want to say that to the judge, thought Proudfoot. Didn’t care. She’d had enough of the likes of Senga-Ann Paterson.

‘Why did you do it?’

Paterson fumbled another cigarette from the packet. Her white fingers shook. Nervous; bitter. She lit up, thin lips sucking. Hollow cheeks.

‘Why d’you think? He’s a pure bastard. You know what he went and done?’

‘Go on.’

Paterson opened her arms in an expansive gesture, almost setting fire to the curtain behind.

‘He went and shagged Ann-Marie.’

‘Oh.’ Should have known. ‘And she is…?’

‘She was my best pal. Still is, I suppose. I mean, I’m not blaming her, or nothing. James is a brilliant shag, ‘n that. It’s every slapper for herself out there. He shouldn’t have shagged her, but.’

‘When was this?’

‘Saturday night. I’m stuck with the weans watching the telly, thinking he’s down the boozer with his mates. You know, Arnie the Baptist and Bono and No Way Out and that lot. But he’s not, he’s snaking my best mate!’

‘How did you find out?’

Long, nervous draw on the cigarette. The chewing gum smacked inside her mouth. As she exhaled, Proudfoot could see it through the smoke, passing between tongue and teeth.

‘Would you credit that Ann-Marie phones us up and tells us. Gallus as hell. I’m pure raging and she’s talking about what a brilliant shag he is. Jesus, you think I don’t know that? What else am I going to be doing with him? You think it’s for his looks? You seen him?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Pure stank. Looks like yon bastard on
Beauty And The Beast
. You know, the big ugly cunt.’

Proudfoot nodded. That would be the Beast, then. Couldn’t get
Ipanema
out of her head. Started tapping the theme from
Mission Impossible
to try to shift it.

‘You confronted him with this?’

Paterson rolled her eyes.

‘Pure right I did. And you know what he says? You know? He says, “There is no infidelity when there has been no love.” I mean, can you believe the neck of the guy? Quoting Balzac of all people. Cheeky cunt.’

A knock at the door. It opened. Proudfoot turned.

‘Up the stairs, Sergeant. Two minutes.’

The door closed, Mulholland was gone.

Proudfoot turned back to Paterson and shrugged.

‘Got to go, Senga. We can continue this later.’

‘That you getting your arse kicked?’

Proudfoot smiled. ‘I doubt it,’ she said, although she wondered what was going on. Maybe she could sign Mulholland and Ferguson up as a double act. The Delinquent Dicks. The Bratwurst Brothers.

She stood up. Said, ‘Interview suspended at nine twenty-five,’ and switched off the tape machine. The two women looked at each other.

‘Balzac, eh?’ said Proudfoot.

Paterson nodded. Thin face, a slight movement of the safety pins. Pink hair.

‘You might get off yet.’

***

She sat across the desk from Mulholland, trying not to look at him. Annoyed at herself for finding him attractive. Had never gone for authority figures, but he was young for his position, as was she herself. Beneficiaries of the vacancies at the station, caused by the slaughter of four detectives the previous March.

He looked up. Eyes that changed colour with the light.

‘Busy?’ he asked. This was work, and he couldn’t sit there feeling stupid just because he disliked her and fancied her at the same time.

Daft question, she thought, although it was probably pointed. Couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been busy.

‘The usual crap, sir,’ she said. ‘Insurance fraud, assault, knitting needle in the testicle. The normal stuff.’

Mulholland winced, said, ‘Aye, I heard about that.’

Paused, tapped the file in front of him. The poisoned chalice.

‘Something come up?’ asked Proudfoot.

Mulholland nodded slowly, a slight movement of the head.

‘Barney Thomson,’ he said.

Oh. Barney Thomson. She bit her lip; her heart beat a little faster. She knew all about Barney Thomson. Everyone in Scotland knew all about Barney Thomson. The Barber Surgeon.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s ours.’

Ours?

‘How d’you mean that exactly?’

‘Ours. Yours and mine. You and me have to find him.’

We’re not a couple, she thought. Ferguson will be pissed off. Masterson as well. Hated it when one of his DSs got taken.

‘What about Ferguson?’

‘M wants a woman on the case. We all know he’s anal about the fact he’s got no female DCIs. You’re the closest he’s got, so you’re on it. With me.’

‘What about Woods? I thought it was his case?’

Mulholland breathed deeply, stared at the floor. Felt pity for Woods. He was an idiot, but you had to give people the chance.

‘You know what M’s like. Woods has had two weeks. The boss is like a football chairman whose team loses its first two league games. So, Woods is out on his ear, I’m next in line.’

Proudfoot nodded. No surprise. She considered Woods a nice enough bloke, but effectively brain-dead. Everyone knew it. The chances of him finding a nefarious mastermind like Barney Thomson were virtually nil.

‘Is Masterson not going to be pissed off?’

‘Doubt it,’ said Mulholland. ‘He’ll probably get Jack Hawkins, someone like that. He’s a misogynist bastard anyway. He’ll love having a bloke to play with instead of you.’ Unconscious pun, potentially true with Masterson. ‘Anyway, this is it. The Barney Thomson file. Pop quiz, Sergeant. Thirty seconds, everything you know about the man.’

She breathed deeply, gathered her thoughts.

‘Right. Killed his two colleagues. Don’t remember their names. May have killed six others, but there’s some talk of it having been his mother. Not sure.’

Mulholland tapped the file again. ‘The mother’s looking favourite. Least, that’s what Woods has come up with. Whatever, if she killed them, it was the son who disposed of the bodies.’

She nodded, presumed she was expected to pick up the story. ‘He made it look as if one of the guys he worked with was the killer. Porter, that was it. Left all the other bodies to be found, disposed of his. The investigating officers at the time all thought they were looking for Porter. And they all ended up dead.’

‘Aye, bloody right they did. Besides Loch Lubnaig…’

‘Which is where Porter’s body turned up two weeks ago.’

‘Exactly. So, did those four officers shoot each other as the inquest found, or did Barney Thomson do it?’

She shook her head. Looked down. She’d liked Robert Holdall, had had a brief thing with Stuart MacPherson.

‘It’s all circumstantial, though,’ she said. ‘Has Woods produced anything solid?’

‘Everything he’s got is right here, but nothing concrete. All we have to go on is that the minute Porter’s body was found and Woods turned up to interview him, Thomson did an OJ Simpson. We need to find him.’

She nodded. Sounded right. You don’t run unless you’ve got something to run from. She’d been avoiding reading the papers, avoiding talking about him at the station. She had enough crime in her life without adding to it. But sooner or later it had been bound to come her way.

‘Where do we start?’

Mulholland pushed the file towards her across the desk.

‘You start by having a look at this. Take your time. Later on this morning we’ll go and talk to the wife. Agnes. See what she’s got to say for herself. You never know with these people. After that we’re going to Inverness. Thomson withdrew money from a machine up there on the first evening he went missing. That’s just about all we’ve got.’

‘Surely Woods went up there. The locals must’ve looked into it?’

Mulholland sat back, shrugged. ‘Aye, but not the Chief Super’s latest all-star crime-fighting duo.’

‘Brilliant. Batman and Batgirl.’

‘Aye.’

They stared across the desk at one another. Tried to ignore the singular mixture of contempt and attraction. Enough complications in life without having that kind of thing getting in the way.

‘Right then. Get back to the Batdesk and read up on this guy before we go after him.’

Proudfoot lifted the file; their eyes met across the desk. A moment, nothing said, and she turned and walked from the room.

The door closed, Mulholland was left alone in silence. A crap job; a miserable wife; dumped with Barney Thomson; landed with Erin Proudfoot. He sat in the same chair that a year earlier had been occupied by Robert Holdall, and felt Holdall’s ghost crawl slowly down his spine.

‘But, Bleach! Surely you knew that Wade was married to Heaven before he fell in love with Summer? That was why Solace left Fox for Flint before she ran off with Lane!’

Bleach staggered; her hands covered her eyes. Oh, what a fool she’d been! All those years loving Wade, all those years denying Zephros, which had finally forced him into the arms of Saffron, only to discover that Dale had been lying about his relationship with Leaf and that Moonshine had given birth to River’s baby, Persephone.

Bleach leant back against the hard kitchen table – the table where once she had been loved by Bacon. Her eyes glazed over, she began to sob. Her chest heaved, her lips contorted, the late morning sun shafting in through the ornate New England window highlighted the grey hairs in her fringe. Tears streamed down her cheeks, great rivers of water, turning her face into a cruel burlesque of Angel Falls.

Through the flood she stared at Taylor, the bearer of bad news. Never shoot the messenger, wasn’t that the cliché? Well, damn them, thought Bleach. Damn all messengers!

Slowly, with unbearable tension, she pulled the .7mm Beretta from her pocket. She aimed directly at Taylor’s heart. Taylor gasped.

‘Why, Bleach!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is so unlike you. Have you seen your therapist today?’

‘Hah!’ blurted Bleach. ‘Eat dirt, Bitchface!’

And, with the credits rolling at the close of the most exciting episode of
Herniated Disc Ward B
in living memory, as the gun had begun to shake in Bleach’s trembling hands, the doorbell rang. Agnes Thomson stared at the door, heaved a long sigh.