Blood Tears (19 page)

Inside the flat I have a quick tour of the place and I’m well impressed. I was expecting lots of boys’ toys, beer cans and clothes flung everywhere, but this is like something out of
Ideal Home
. Lots of wood, stone and natural fibres. And very tidy.

The shower beckons.  Needles of heat sting my shoulders as steam condenses on the glass wall of the cubicle. I lean against it and savour the feel of water pouring over my body. There’s a bottle of Calvin Klein shower gel sitting on a shelf, none of your soap on a rope for our Daryl. It foams up rather nicely as I rub it all over me.

Dried and wrapped in a towel, I rake through Daryl’s drawers. I find some clean underwear and ignore his stash of porn. Sad bastard. Living on his own and he still feels he needs to hide it in his sock drawer.

Clean, clothed and sipping a cup of coffee, I sit in his leather chair in front of the plasma TV and consider my options. There really is only one person I can call right now, so I pull Daryl’s mobile out of my pocket and give Kenny O’Neill a call.

‘Ray!’ He sounds happy to hear from me and wary at the same time. I explain what I need.

‘Give me your number and I’ll call you back.’ He ends the call. Doesn‘t hang about, our Kenny. Sitting back in the chair I put on the TV and settle in for a long wait.

The phone rings. That was quick.

‘Hello?’

‘Ray, you better not be driving and talking on the phone at the same time.’ It’s Daryl.

‘Listen, Drain, I’ve got more to worry about than a Dangerous Driving caution.’

‘Where are you? Doesn’t sound like you’re driving.’

‘I’m at your place.’

‘Fine. Help yourself.’

‘I just have. Nice porn stash.’

‘Fuck off. If there are any more pages sticking together I’ll know who to blame.’

We both laugh. I’d forgotten what it sounds like.

‘How did you know I was under the car?’ I ask.

‘The smell. You were fuckin’ mingin’ man.’

‘No, really. How did you know?’ I’m all laughed out already.

‘We saw you,’ he paused. I could almost hear him decide to tell me the truth, ‘Allessandra saw your foot sticking out when she was in the car park with Peters. He totally missed you. Wanker.’ He laughs. ‘There’ll be no cop of the month award for him then, eh? She came back in and told me and we decided to give you a hand, so to speak. It was touch and go, mind,’ I heard his smile, ‘It would have been funny to see how you reacted if we set the dogs on you.’

‘I’d have kicked their arses.’ I am suddenly overwhelmed with everything; my stay in the cell, being under suspicion, the booze, Theresa. And now Daryl and Allessandra’s kindness.

‘Listen, Daryl,’ my voice is thick with suppressed emotion, ‘you’ve no idea how grateful…’

‘No worries, big man,’ Daryl sounds embarrassed. ‘Whatever else you are, you’re no killer, Ray. Allessandra and I know that. The whole team knows it.’

‘Well, not the whole team.’

‘Peters is an arse and Campbell wouldn’t know a criminal if he came up and fucked him.’

I laugh in agreement, ‘I’m going to go away for a while, Daryl,’ and now I’m all business. ‘Do you mind if I keep a hold of your phone? I’ll keep in touch. Oh, and I’ll put the keys for your pride and joy back where I found them.’  He hangs up.

This chair is so comfortable. I put my feet on the coffee table and close my eyes. Sleep would be a blessing right now. The phone rings.

‘Hello?’

‘Ray. I’m outside.’ It’s Kenny.

In the car, he’s all concern.

‘So you’re a suspected killer then?’

‘Looks like it, mate.’

‘What you going to do?’

‘Find the real killer. Lock the fucker up. And get my life back.’ 

‘Hey, this is nice,’ I hear myself say as I walk in the door of Kenny’s flat. Fuckin’ hell, McBain, you’re on the run, a suspect for murder and you’re coming across like a daytime TV presenter.

One of the walls has a large window that looks like it opens out to a balcony, the floor is laminate wood and the furniture is modern and sparse.

‘Glad you like it,’ Kenny smiles. ‘It just became vacant this morning.’ His smile hints at the more “practical” side of his nature.

‘Is some poor sod out on the street because of me?’

‘I was just looking for an excuse,’ he shrugs. ‘The prick was having too many wild parties. Upsetting the neighbours.’

‘Nice view,’ I walk towards the window and get the back view of what looks like a church. To my left and right sandstone dresses the walls of the apartment blocks. This all looks very desirable. I look back at the church. It’s also starting to look very familiar.

‘You can see the pigs on their way to get you,’ Kenny is wearing a huge grin. The irony of the situation and the location I find myself in is tickling him so much he’s about to explode and decorate the walls with his insides.

‘This is St Andrews Square, ya bastard.’ The church in front of me was recently converted into an upmarket dance hall. In the basement it has a café/bar which is frequented by the lawyers, police and court workers who attend the court buildings around the corner.

‘Aye.’ He is actually jumping up and down in an attempt to contain his mirth.

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

‘Look. Calm down, Ray.’ He walks over to me and places a hand on my shoulder. I want to take it and break every one of his fingers.

‘Where is the best place to hide? Where is the last place they are going to look for you? Right in their midst. That’s where.’

‘I suppose…’ I say weakly.

‘We’ll just get you a wee disguise and you’ll be as safe as houses. No-one will give you a second look.’

‘Aye, right.’

‘You got any stuff?’ he asks, all officious now that the funny business has been taken care of.

‘Nope. Homeless, jobless and… stuff-less.’

‘Make a list of what you need and I’ll see what I can do.’ He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a pen and throws it to me. Then he walks over to the kitchen.

‘Cuppa?’

‘Love one.’ I spot a pad of paper by the telephone and begin to write. Water rushes into the kettle and I hear the clink of a switch.

‘What’re you going to do now?’ Kenny’s voice is muffled behind a cupboard door as he pulls out mugs and a jar of coffee.

‘Not sure,’ I mumble with the pen resting on my bottom lip. ‘But there’s a few people I need to speak to.’

We’re both sipping at our mugs when Kenny asks, ‘You lost weight?’

‘Fuckin’ funny.’

‘Naw, seriously.’ His expression is stretched as he attempts to convey his honesty. ‘You look slimmer.’

‘Mind you,’ I pull at the fabric of my waistband. ‘My trousers do feel a little bit looser.’

‘You should capitalise on that.’

‘What, go and get myself a woman?’

‘Naw, ya tosser. You’re on the run from a group of colleagues who know you very well. Do you not think it would be advisable to change your appearance a wee bit?’

‘Ah…right. Now I see where you were going with the disguise malarkey…’ I think about this.

‘Stay here for a few weeks. Grow a beard. Dye your hair. Lose some more weight. Then you’ll be able to go about without worrying you’ll get spotted.’

‘I dunno. It’s all a bit Secret Spy, is it no’?’

‘Better Secret Spy than playing I Spy with your new cell-mate.’ He raises his eyebrows, ‘His version will involve sticking his Jap's Eye up your jacksie.’ He rocks his hips back and forward in a lewd motion. ‘I Spy this!’

‘Aye, okay. Enough. I get the picture.’

‘How did you lose the weight?’

‘A steady diet of no food, little sleep and lots of alcohol.’

‘You’ve gone to the dogs, man,’ Kenny displays the compassionate side of his nature. ‘We need something even more radical than that.’

‘Eh? What’s more radical than that? A holiday spa in Eritrea?’

‘Heard of the Atkins Diet?’

‘Who hasn’t?’

‘Give it a try then.’

‘I hate diets. Know why? Take away the T and you’re left with D.I.E.’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’

‘The new me will need some clothes.’

‘I’ll get you some down at the market.’  He stands up. I’ve finished writing so he takes my piece of paper. ‘Time to go for the messages.’ I walk him to the door.

‘Kenny,’ I place my hand on his shoulder. He turns to face me. ‘I just want to thank you for… everything.’

‘No problem, Ray. You saved my arse twice. I’ve been waiting for a chance to pay you back. And this…’ he grins, ‘is kind of ironic. You being the criminal for a change.’ He turns and walks towards the lift with a cheeky wave.

Now that I’m alone in the flat the enormity of what has happened in the last few hours kicks me in the gut. I’m a fugitive from the very people I’ve dedicated my life to. My stomach is a roiling sea of acid. Holy fuck, McBain. You’ve only gone and done it. You’re a wanted man.

My whole way of life is under threat: I’ve no job, probably about to lose my home. I’m due to be locked up for the rest of my natural… unless I find out what happened to Connelly.

Relax, Ray. You work better when you are relaxed. I slide down in my seat and close my eyes. I take a deep, slow breath. My nose fills with the scent of leather from the settee. Exhale nice and slow. In again… and out. My mind is still. Now I imagine my consciousness expanding to take in the room, I’m looking down at myself, then I’m out of the room and above the city. I see buildings, parks, roads and people. Which one of you is the real killer? I can see the River Clyde snaking under bridges, stretching for the sea and freedom.

Calm down and come up with some ideas. Need to relax. But I can’t. My shoulders feel as if I’ve been giving Arnold Schwarzenegger a piggyback and my arms are rigid. Maybe if I distract myself with something else. I jump to my feet and walk to the window. Watching the traffic flow up the Saltmarket might induce some sort of trance. But they’re moving too slowly. There’s a nice Beamer, a few nice Mercedes and quite a number of four-wheel drives. I wonder how much metal goes up and down that street every day in financial terms. A couple of million pounds worth of car? The rats in the race are setting themselves up quite nicely these days.

Anger bunches in my jaw, grinds my teeth. How can these men who should know me better treat me like this? Where was the benefit of the doubt? No, instead it’s straight into a cell for you, McBain. Bastards!

This staying calm thing is really working, eh?

The need to act has me pacing up and down the floor. Think of a solution, not the problem. The solution not the problem. Who do I need to speak to? Theresa. Another friendly face around now wouldn’t go amiss. Who do I need to go and see? Devlin’s stepson. There’s a story there and I need to find out what it is. Where is he? Manchester University. A few days south of the border might be just what the doctor ordered.

He’s never so much as laid a finger on a woman. Before today. He was brought up a nice boy. Ha Ha. You don’t hit girls. You are stronger than they are. You could really hurt them, they all said. So he didn’t. Until today.  He looks into the mirror and smiles. He tastes the sensation as lips slide across teeth and his cheeks stretch. The row of white gleams under the strong light. He practises his smile, again and again, noticing the smacking sound his lips make as he does so. The last smile he leaves in place, fixes it as if waiting for a photographer to take a snap. Say hard cheese, you’re dead.

She’d put up an even better fight than Connelly. Spirited old biddy. She’d even scratched the back of his right hand. Came away with quite a bit of flesh. He traced the long divot of torn flesh with his right index finger and allowed the shudders to work their way through his body.

And so much for the higher pain threshold that women were supposed to have, she’d squealed enough for ten stuck pigs. It was too much, went beyond pleasing to downright irritating. Still, she’d mercifully passed out when he broke her jaw.

The sensation that this memory provides has him gasping for air. Every nerve end on his body is thrumming with life. This is what it’s like to be alive, to really live. Everything is crisper, clearer… harder. He can count every pore on the skin that stretches across the bridge of his nose. He can see through the enamel of his teeth, through to the nerve below. His prick is about to burst if he doesn’t…

A door slides shut and I’m out of my chair as if it was a gunshot.

I fist my eyes.

‘Fall asleep?’ It’s Kenny and he’s got company. One of the walking knuckle-dusters I saw him with previously. They are both carrying branded plastic bags from the local supermarket.

‘There’s plenty here. I got everything on your list, I think.’ He rustles through one and plucks out two boxes. ‘As well as these.’

‘What’s that?’ I squint trying to read the box.

‘Hair dye and hair clippers.’ He points his minder towards the kitchen and motions lifting things out of a bag, is if to say to the big man to put everything away. ‘Oh and this is Calum, by the way.’

‘Hi, Calum.’ I say to the broadest back I’ve ever seen. Calum’s social graces could do with some work judging by his lack of response, but I guess that’s not what he’s employed for.

‘The instructions are on the packet,’ says Kenny.

‘What, for Calum?’ I try for a result. Nothing.

‘Naw, stupid. For the dye.’

‘I feel a bit daft dying my hair.’

Kenny turns to the side and humps at the air, ‘I Spy?’ He lifts up the small box, ‘Or hair dye?’

‘When you put it like that.’ I walk over to him and accept the box.

‘Oh. And the food is all healthy junk. None of your processed carbs here.’ He grins. ‘We’ll soon have you licked into shape. Talking of which, there’s a nice girl I know called Precious. If you want I’ll give her a call.’

‘Thank you, but no.’ I don’t fancy having a session with Kenny’s current favourite vice girl. He looks at me disbelievingly and not wishing to hurt my saviour I rush to explain. ‘It’s just that I can’t think about sex right now.’

‘It would do you the world of good, man. A good blowjob is the best tension reliever known to man.’

‘I’m sure Precious is a lovely girl, but I’m going to have to decline. Unless,’ I wave the bottle at him, ‘she’s a trained hairdresser.’