Blood Tears (25 page)

‘Eh?’ I manage.

‘The noise. The screams coming from this flat…’ she steps into the room slowly and looks around her, like a deer approaching the scar of a road through her forest. ‘It sounded like the sound effects department of a horror movie. Like somebody was being murdered.’

‘I, eh…’ My mind is starting to settle back into the here and now. ‘As you can see, there are no dead bodies.’ With a smile on the highest setting I can manage, I indicate the floor around me with open palms.

‘A dream… a godawful dream.’ I slump to the floor like I’m a puppet and my strings have just been cut. I can’t shake the feeling of being violated. I want to scrape every inch of my skin off with a cheese grater. I want to bathe in bleach.

Sue is now at the door and I don’t want her to leave. I’d do anything for her not to leave. Her hand is poised over her throat. Something else is being displayed on the theatre of her face. Pity, I can’t handle.

‘What’s that?’ Sue asks and steps towards me, her hand out-stretched. She pulls something from the corner of my mouth and holds it out to me. On the surface of her palm, about the size of a staple, lies a single, white feather. 

Allessandra is sent on another errand by Campbell. If the convent isn’t able to shed any light on McBain’s early days as a psycho killer, perhaps the seminary can?

Allessandra is certain that there is plenty that Mother Superior is not saying. She is equally certain that she doesn’t want to hear it.

‘What kind of a guy flunks priest-training college?’ Peters demands at that morning’s meeting in the squad room.

‘Someone who realises that a life without women is a living death,’ answers Daryl Drain.

‘Naw,’ says Harkness, ‘life without women would be heaven, where do I sign up for the priesthood?’

‘Too late,’ Allessandra says. ‘You’re totally fucked.’

While entering the banter Allessandra asks herself for the millionth time why she hasn’t told Campbell about McBain faking the wounds of Christ on his hands. And why did she go along with Daryl Drain when he went to help McBain with some information?

She’s getting in too deep here.

Because he is a good man, she answers herself. And that’s not just because he reminds her of her father. The evidence is there. Hadn’t he looked after her since she joined the team? Apart from the whole convent list thing of course, he had made her feel welcome. Made her feel like one of the boys. You just have to look at his eyes to know he isn’t a killer. There is too much sadness in there. People with that kind of loneliness in their lives don’t hurt other people. They save the worst for themselves.

Wouldn’t they?

Talking of her father, what would he do? Would he speak to the powers-that-be and bring McBain in? Or would he help his colleague?

Allessandra makes her decision, mentally giving herself the sign of the cross and prays that her father is looking down on her with a smile.

‘Sir, should I be going to speak to these people on my own?’ Allessandra asks Campbell.

‘Good experience for you,’ he answers. ‘And in case you missed it, we are a tad low on staff. You are just gathering information at this point. If we need a statement taken, you can go back with a pal another time.’

Allessandra studies her feet to conceal her irritation. What a patronising prick.

The man who greets her at the door of the seminary could have doubled as a lamppost in his spare time. All he needs is a big, powerful, hat-sized bulb. Long fingers stretch out towards Allessandra in the offer of a handshake.

‘Father Joseph,’ he introduces himself with a lop-sided smile and a voice that should be reading the nine o’clock news. Looking up at his face Allessandra is struck by a series of sharp points, Adam’s apple, chin and nose.

‘Follow me,’ Father Joseph says.

The walls of the room she is led in to are lined with oak panels and in the middle of the room sits a long table, flanked by high-backed chairs, all of a similar forbidding tone. A large crucifix hangs on the far wall.

All we need is a welcome mat, a pair of slippers and some Gregorian chants in the background, thought Allessandra, and I will feel right at home. Not.

‘You want to know about Ray?’ Father Joseph folds his long frame on to a chair and rubs his head. It is bald apart from a few strands of silvery hair. The effect is as if he had walked through a cloud of dandelion seeds and a handful had stuck.

‘Were you here when he was a student?’

A nod. ‘I remember him well. And not unfondly.’

Unfondly
? Is that even a word, thought Allessandra? She decided to leave her notepad in her pocket and listen to the man talk.

‘He was a thoughtful boy. A good student; nothing remarkable. Would have made a good priest.’

‘Why do you think he didn’t?’

‘Most of the boys at some time in their stay here rebel a little. Just because they wish to join a religious order doesn’t stop their bodies from producing hormones. They take up with a girl, go for drinks, listen to rock music. Ray was no different.’ He crossed his legs and held his hands on his lap. ‘Why he didn’t become a priest? I don’t know. We do have a number of… how shall we put it? Renegades? Some boys just come to the realisation that a life of holy orders is not for them.’ His wide, bony shoulders move in a shrug. ‘Perhaps Ray was one of them?’

Allessandra suddenly feels the weight of her inexperience. What else should she be asking? How can she get this man to open up and help her? Is DI McBain the wrong man, as she hopes he is? Or is he a sick bastard who needs to be put away for the rest of his natural?

Perhaps sensing her uncertainty the priest helps her out. ‘Ray was slightly unusual in that he came here from an orphanage run by the Church. We worried at the time that moving from one religious institution to another should not be his path. And so it turned out, I’m afraid.’

Watching this big man speak, Allessandra is struck by insight. This man cares about the men under his care. He would have been a good role model for the young Ray.

‘Why did you think moving from the convent to here might not have worked?’

‘To be more effective as a priest one should have some experience of family life. Ray had none. The Church might have become more of a dependency for Ray than was healthy for him.’

Allessandra considers the young man Ray McBain might have been. No parents or siblings. Any friends would be left behind in Bethlehem House. Becoming a priest would have been the only link he had to security. And from what Father Joseph was saying, they didn’t really want him.

‘Don’t get me wrong, DC Rossi. We didn’t turn Ray away without good reason. There was an incident,’ his great head slumps in sadness, ‘Ray injured his best friend. Grievously. He went completely berserk and later offered no explanation. He left us with no choice.’ 

 I’m in the car, bulleting up the M74, almost back in Glasgow. There’s no place like home when you are feeling like the inflow to a sewage works. Except I can’t go home.

As I near Glasgow I consider where to go. Kenny’s flat is out. McCall knew who I was. How did he know? Had he been keeping tabs on me? If so, he must not only know what I look like, but where I was staying. Does that mean he knows Kenny as well? Shit. That might mean he saw Theresa coming and going. And then there’s Daryl. I can’t go to him. His job would be on the line. It’ll have to be Kenny.

‘Kenny. Ray here.’

‘I know who you are, ya daft bastard.’

‘Shut the fuck up and listen.’ I tell him of the latest turn of events, but I miss out the part about the dream… and the possibility that I was one of Connelly’s victims. I can’t quite accept that yet.

‘Right. Find a hotel. Any hotel, as long as it’s big and central and close to the motorway. When you get there, phone me back and I’ll send Calum round.’

I’m sailing along the M8 when I remember the new hotel that opened up at the motorway end of Argyle Street. That’ll do nicely. I can always take my bodyguard shopping if I get too bored.

I find the hotel, park and enter the wood-panelled reception area. My room is ready, I am told by the receptionist, as she hands me the key.

It is a good size, with twin beds and a large TV. Calum appears, like an extra room fitting.

‘Naw. You need to get your own room,’ I order.

He shrugs. ‘Orders are to stay as close to you as possible. That this McCall guy might be after you.’

‘Can I go to the shitter on my own?’

Save your anger for McCall, I think. But Calum is right, why else would McCall be boning up on me?

I’m on his hit list.

Or have I become convenient to him? Could it be that when I was arrested and charged, I presented an opportunity to him? He could dovetail his crimes into my life? Set me up as the perfect patsy. In that case he should want me to live.

There was a threat inherent in those… what would you call them… dreams?

No way was I abused by Connelly. It didn’t happen. These were dreams. Warning me that my life was in danger.

For fuckssake listen to yourself, McBain.
A dream told you
. Next thing you’ll be on Oprah having written a book about how a dream saved your life. There has to be a more practical solution. Science and good old plod will provide the solution, not dreams and fucking hocus pocus.

Could be false memory syndrome. That happens, doesn’t it? People experience a hard time and go through a dose of denial and blame displacement. They blame somebody, anybody else.

There is a problem here though, just what am I in denial about?

I sit on the lip of the bath, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. Take a deep breath. Got to sort yourself out, Ray.

‘Ray.’ Calum knocks at the door. ‘You all right in there?’

‘I’m havin’ a crap, ya cunt. Fuck off and leave me alone.’ That was a wee bit harsh. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Count to a hundred and ten if that’s what it takes. You are in a strange situation and calling people names is not getting you anywhere. Aye, but it feels good.

I try to ignore the shiver that runs along my skin like an electric current every time the dream comes back to me and I have to force it out of my mind.

Concentrate on the facts, Ray. What do you know? There’s fact and then there’s opinion. I deal in facts. I only work with conjecture till it leads me to a fact.  Fact: it was only a dream. Fact: McCall knows who I am. Fact: I didn’t kill Connelly.

I didn’t.

Fact: unless I get my act together sharpish, I’m fucked.

In the morning I send Calum to get himself a coffee. If he is upset at me calling him names last night he’s not letting on. I expect in his line of work that it was pretty tame.

A knock at the door. I look out of the spyhole and then open it. Daryl smiles and walks in the door.

‘Before we start,’ Daryl nods at the window and the car park beyond. ‘There’s someone outside who would like to say hello.’

‘Tell her to come up and not to be so stupid.’

Daryl smiles and pulls a mobile phone from his jacket.

‘Come on up. Room 441.’

Before long the door opens and Allessandra walks into the room.

‘Come in, Allessandra. How have you been?’ I ask like I’m on a team night out. What the fuck was that?
How have you been
? You stupid arse, McBain. Don’t know what else to say. How about,
sorry, I may have ruined your career
?

She looks at me and her surprise at my change in appearance is quickly masked. This is not the time for compliments.

‘Listen, Allessandra…’

‘Listen, Ray…’

‘You go first,’ I say trying to be gentlemanly.

‘No, you go first, sir. Oh, sorry… Ray.’

‘For fuckssake,’ Drain jumps in, ‘you’re both sorry about what happened. But Allessandra, you’ve no need to be.’ He looks at me with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, because we both know I don’t have a leg to stand on.

‘Aye,’ I say looking at Allessandra. ‘Daryl’s right.’

‘First time for everything,’ Allessandra aims a smile in his direction. ‘But I did want to say sorry, ’cos if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have ended up in jail, charged with murder.’

‘Correction, Allessandra. If it wasn’t for me keeping my name off that list, I wouldn’t have ended up in jail. I put you in an untenable situation. And for that I am deeply, deeply sorry. I’m also proud of you. Proud that you had the balls to go to the high heid yins. What if I was the murderer? And you hadn’t? People would have lost their lives because of you. No. You have nothing to apologise for and plenty to be proud of.’

‘If you say so,’ she says. A thought flits across her face. She clenches her fists and relaxes them. She’s still conflicted about this whole situation and I need to try and reassure her.

‘I say so.’ To emphasise this I step towards her and give her a hug. We both then step backwards trying to deal with the awkwardness of the moment. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And there was nothing sexual in it. Unless you count the thought that entered my head in that split second I was holding her.

‘Pals,’ I say. She nods. I’m not completely convinced but say nothing more.

‘Let’s sit down before we all curl up and die with embarrassment,’ grins Daryl. ‘Ray McBain has a soft side. Fuck me.’

‘No thanks.’ Allessandra and I say at the same time, catch each other’s eye and laugh.

They sit at the small table thoughtfully provided by the hotel management for those guests who might want to write their postcards. You know the kind of things,
bought too much
,
ate too much
,
didn’t have enough sex
.

Perched on the edge of the bed, I ask them to tell me what’s been going on. But first I want to know why. Why are they both risking their careers, and possibly everything they own, to help me?

‘I’ve known you for a long time, Ray. And no way are you a murderer.’

‘Me too, Ray… I mean I agree.’ In the light of her eye I can read some uncertainty and… what, pity? Is she doing the right thing? she’s been asking herself. Who wouldn’t in her situation? New to a job, new colleagues, new boss. Then the man you want to trust the most goes on the run for murder. Allessandra Rossi has a lot to be wary of and I am even more impressed that she is here. This woman has balls.