Two-Way Split (17 page)

He shook his head. "A mistake."

"There been many of them?"

He said, "Not recently," and sank into the nearest chair. He let his head drop. A slow throb had replaced the jabbing pain in his stomach. "Mum was fond of reminding me I was a useless great pillock." His eyes stung and his head pounded and he needed some rest. He massaged his temples. "Where Julie was concerned, Mum was absolutely right."

He felt Ailsa's warm hand on his arm, just below his wrist. "You want to go to bed?" she asked him.

His throat was dry and his voice cracked when he said, "There's no time."

She stared at him. After a while she moved her hand from his wrist. She crossed her arms, resting her hands on her biceps. "I meant—"

"I know what you meant." He pushed the base of his mobile with his finger. It swivelled. He pushed harder and the phone turned full circle. He rotated it the other way. When he looked up she was still staring at him. He glanced back at the phone and traced the crack in the case with his fingernail. "There's a lot to do," he added.

"Sure."

"I've got to get Cooper's money to him."

"Yeah."

"Before our lunch appointment with Joe-Bob."

"Aha." She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, supporting her chin in her cupped hands. "You should have a nap. You look exhausted."

"I don't nap."

She sat up. "Sleep, then."

"When I'm asleep," he said, "I stay asleep. Nothing wakes me."

"I'll wake you."

He looked at his watch. "I've got to get moving." He made for the door.

"You want to take the gun?"

He turned. "No point. Got no bullets until this afternoon. You keep it safe for me." He took another couple of steps towards the door.

"Pearce?"

He stopped. This time he stayed facing the doorway, one hand resting on the handle. "What?"

"Do you think Pete Thompson's really gone for good?"

He took his hand off the handle. "You still worried?"

"When you're here I feel okay. But I know the minute you walk out the door I'll begin to have doubts."

"I'm pretty sure he got the message," Pearce said. "But I'll go see him again if you want. Just to make sure."

10:36 am

He ambled down the path towards the red door, hands thrust in his coat pockets, looking, to any casual observer, perfectly relaxed.

The entry buzzers were arranged in two rows of six. Taking his right hand out of his pocket, he pressed the buzzer that said SOUTAR.

"Is that you?" The voice sounded familiar, but it was badly distorted by the phone speaker. He waited. After a while the buzzer sounded and he pushed the door open. He stepped inside and watched the door swing shut behind him.

The walls in the communal staircase were shit-brown in the dim light. An overpowering smell of ammonia hung in the air. He started up the stone steps. They were damp. A mop in a bucket rested against the wall on the first floor landing. A bike was chained to the railing. On the second floor the light was a little better. Looking at the roof he could just make out a small oval skylight. The smell didn't seem so strong now. Or maybe he'd just grown used to it.

He stopped outside E. Soutar's door. The brass nameplate gleamed in a rare shaft of sunlight. Anticipation made him bite his lip. He slipped off his gloves and crammed them in his pocket. He rang the bell.

Seconds later the door opened.

"Where's the money?" The man who asked the question was blonde, in his late twenties. The collar of his white shirt was open and his sleeves were rolled up. His left hand was bandaged. His mouth stayed open after he'd finished speaking.

"Mr Soutar?" There was something familiar about him. "Is – I've come about – is, is Robin here?"

"Robin?" She appeared behind Soutar.

"I'm looking for Robin Greaves."

"Don't piss about. Where's the money?"

He looked at Soutar. He looked five or six years older when he narrowed his pale blue eyes. "What money?"

"Oh, shit," the girl said. "What's your name?"

"Don," he said and smiled.

"Oh, Jesus Christ! This is just what we need."

"Shut up, Eddie."

"What are we going to do now?"

"Shut up, Eddie. I'm trying to think."

"He's flipped again, Carol, hasn't he?"

"Shut the fuck up, will you? You're not helping."

"You want me to go?" Don asked. "If now isn't a convenient time…"

Carol shook her head. "Where's the money, Don?"

He shrugged. This persistent questioning was becoming irritating. "I don't want to answer any more questions. I'll leave now."

"Stay."

"Maybe another time."

She said, "Don't let him go, Eddie."

It happened so quickly Don didn't have time to react. Somehow Eddie was behind him, arm around his throat, and Don's wrist was locked behind his back. The door slammed shut. Carol ran ahead into the sitting room. Don flapped his free hand at the forearm slowly choking him. Eddie pushed Don's arm further up his back. The bandaged hand didn't seem to be much of an impediment to him. Eddie's hot breath tickled the back of Don's neck.

"This is seriously bad timing", Eddie said, leaning against him.

Through the open door Don could see that Carol was now posing by the window, hands on hips, face expressionless as Eddie escorted him towards her. Casually she tapped a cigarette out of a packet on the window ledge. She lit it and sucked in the escaping cloud of smoke as it was about to drift out of her mouth.

She was small and pale-skinned and the way she smoked excited him. He knew just by looking at her that she was someone he could fall in love with.

Eddie shoved him. He fell, landing at her feet.

"What are we going to do with you?" she said.

"You know how to handle this?" Eddie said. "I certainly don't."

Don raised himself into a seating position. "I don't know anything about any money."

"Shut up."

"Yeah, shut up."

Don rubbed his wrist. "Whatever you say, guys."

She took a step away from him into the centre of the room. She bent down, picked up a dark blue handbag off the floor and set it on the coffee table. "You're Donald, huh?"

"You can call me Don if you like."

Eddie stuck his hands behind his back and wriggled like a man with a terrible itch. His face contorted. His teeth were crooked and he had a slight overbite. When his hands reappeared one of them was holding a gun. He pointed it at Don. "Your name's Robin, you raving lunatic." The gun shook dangerously.

Sweat trickled down Don's back, irritating his skin. This Eddie character had problems.

Carol said, "You can put your hands down."

Don put his hands palm down on the floor on either side of him.

"Ask him about the money, Eddie?"

"Why me?"

"Give you something to focus on. Keep your finger off the trigger."

"Don't tempt me," Eddie said. "Where's the money, Don?"

"I don't know anything about any money. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Carol said, "Of course you know where the money is. Think. Where did Robin put the money?"

Don said, "For heaven's sake—"

Eddie waved the gun at him and yelled, "Where is it?"

"I don't know." And suddenly he remembered why he was here. "I came to ask Ms Wren here about her experiences with certain prescribed pharmaceuticals."

"Is that right?" Eddie said. "I thought you were looking for Robin."

"I was. They're married, aren't they?"

"Don't get smart. Can't you do anything, Carol?"

"It's hopeless," she told Eddie.

"Try. Maybe you can find a crack."

She asked Don, "Why me? Why Robin?"

"You're on our company's list."

"How did you get our names?"

"Royal Midlothian Hospital. From the time you were admitted for treatment. Don't worry. The information's confidential."

"How did you find me?"

"I spoke to Robin yesterday. He said you'd both be here."

Eddie was chewing his lower lip. He stopped for a moment to ask, "What pharmaceuticals?"

Don tried to remember their names. He saw the bottles in his hand, clearly enough to read the labels. "Sulpiride. Mellaril. We're studying what we call paradoxical side effects."

Eddie said, "What's that?"

"It's what we call it when a drug does the opposite of what it's designed for."

Carol said, "I don't think this is leading anywhere."

Eddie lowered his gun-arm. "Fear might snap him out of it." He raised the gun again and said, "Talk."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Don said. "I've already explained."

Carol said, "Please tell us."

Don looked at her. "I know nothing about any bloody money." He started to hunt for his wallet. "Let me show you my business card."

Eddie rolled his head back and said, "Christ, you'd swear he was genuine, Carol."

"He is," Carol said. "Absolutely."

Eddie tried again. "Is the money in your car?"

The persistent bastard wasn't going to give up. "You think I'm stupid, Eddie?" Don was fed up with this. He decided to give Eddie something to think about. "I left the money at home."

"I told you you should have brought it, Carol." Eddie took a step towards Don and offered him the gun. "You shouldn't have let it out of your sight."

"He was fine earlier."

Don stopped fiddling in his pockets. Was the gun some kind of peace offering? Maybe Eddie was letting Don see that the gun wasn't loaded, his way of indicating that Don was never in any real danger. It was all a game. Eddie rotated the weapon one hundred and eighty degrees and held it by the barrel. Eddie raised his arm. Don shivered as a more realistic interpretation of his plight flashed into his mind. Eddie wasn't offering him the gun after all. He groped for the gun with his outstretched hand, but he was too late. The butt struck his skull half-an-inch to the left of his crown. His vision turned red, then purple. His ears roared and he grunted. The second blow hit him further forward.  The front of his head exploded with white light. He fell forward and the last thing he remembered was the salt taste of the floor.