Two-Way Split (6 page)

"You asked if Ailsa was okay. She's worried about her daughter." Pearce waited a moment. "Becky walked into a wall. Broke her jaw."

"Pete?" Tony said. "You promised, you prick."

Sweat was beading on Thompson's forehead.

"Ailsa got scared," Pearce continued. "Bought herself a gun. She thinks Pete's somehow responsible for Becky's little accident."

Thompson opened his mouth, closed it again. He shook his head. "Wasn't me, Shithead. Tell him, Tony, you useless knob. And, by the way, don't call me a prick again. Well? Tell him."

"Incredible," Tony said. "Teach him some manners, will you, Pearce?"

Behind him, Pearce heard Tony shuffling towards the door. "She was all set to put a bullet in you, Pete. Until I persuaded her that killing you might be a bit excessive." Pearce pulled out a chair. "I thought we could talk. Man to man." He sat down, aware that Thompson was looking over his shoulder, still hoping that Tony would intervene. "Be reasonable about this."

"Tony? Where are you going?" Thompson's Adam's apple bounced up and down as if he'd swallowed something that was still alive. "You're fired." The door clicked shut. "Tony?" Ailsa's boyfriend said in a strangled voice. "Cocksucker."

"Stop it," Pearce said. "That's not nice, Pete." He rubbed the back of his fingers over his chin.

Thompson said, "What do you want?"

"What Tony said," Pearce answered. "Teach you some manners."

11:27 am

Because the car was running smoothly, Eddie had time to think.

A right pair of lunatics, both thinking the other was crazy.

First impressions of Robin were that he was, well, a bit neurotic. Messed up, no doubt, by his brother dying so young and all. According to Carol, he pissed the bed until he was in his teens. And there was that business with the water pistol. A big joke, maybe, but you could see how it happened with a father like that and the medical problems with his hands and the disappointment with his musical career. You could see how it led to him going schizo.

Carol, of course, was hardly Miss Sanity herself. The result of what she called her "quirky" childhood. She grew up on a farm in the Borders, a solitary child with elderly parents and no near neighbours. She wrapped dead animals in kitchen foil and buried them in her private graveyard at the bottom of an untilled field. Apart from weasels. They were in the privileged position of having their desiccated bones and tiny sharp teeth collected and stored in jam jars under her bed. What disturbed Eddie was that she had started with animals her dogs or other wild creatures had killed and then moved on to doing her own hunting. Setting traps. Snaring rabbits and things. Nothing too big.

The question was, did that make her crazy? Who was to say that, in similar circumstances, Eddie wouldn't have amused himself in the same way? He'd known her for a long time now and if she was crazy he'd have noticed. Obviously she wasn't completely stable or she wouldn't have had that spell in the psychiatric unit where she met Robin. But everyone gets depressed, don't they? More than just a letter's difference between sad and mad. Well, that was his opinion.

Until last night. He had little doubt now that Carol was as crazy as a lobotomised bug. He wished he could talk to Robin about it. Perversely, her husband was the very person who could shed some light on the question of her sanity. But if he knew that Eddie and Carol were….well, Eddie didn't want to go there.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Chew your lip."

Eddie stopped chewing his lip and started thinking about the night they'd spent together.

She had woken him up, screaming. He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist.

She shrugged his arm off and scrambled out of bed. She wouldn't shut up. He pulled the quilt over his head, but it was no good. He could still hear her. He pulled back the quilt and yawned and swore and switched on the bedside lamp. The bedroom was cold and his mouth tasted of rotten eggs. He rubbed his eyes. The bookcase swam into focus, the umbrella plant leaning against it. Discarded clothes lay jumbled on the rug. Carol was standing in the corner with her face in her hands rocking backwards and forwards like something, well, like something let loose from a lunatic asylum. Her nightdress was wet and clung to her left leg.

He swung his feet out of bed and stumbled towards her. He stepped on a hairbrush and swore. When he reached her he grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands away from her face. Her slender hands wriggled out of his grip and went straight back to her face. "What's the matter?"

She stamped her feet like a toddler having a tantrum. He clamped both her wrists in one hand and squeezed until she yelled. He slapped her. He didn't want to, but he couldn't think what else to do to calm her down. When he let go of her hands she immediately shielded her face with them again. He reached out and grabbed her. Her hands were slippery.

It took about ten minutes and the same number of slaps to calm her down.

He asked again, "What's the matter?"

"It was touching me." Her breathing was jerky. The words came out as five distinct syllables punctuated by sharply drawn breaths. She said it again. "
It was touch-ing me
." She looked at him with her smoky grey eyes. "It woke me up. Scared me."

"What was touching you?"

Her face looked like invisible fingers were clawing at it, scratching holes in it from which tears streamed out.

It was 02:31, according to the alarm clock.

By 02:54 he had an answer.

What had happened was this. He had been snuggling up against her in his sleep. He slept naked. At some point during the night he got an erection. She had woken up, felt his penis pressing against her and proceeded to wet herself.

No big deal. His cock touching her had scared her so much she'd pissed herself. Now why was that? He couldn't begin to understand. And she wouldn't discuss it. Still, no big deal, eh?

Carol's public persona, the one he thought he'd fallen in love with, was as false as the blue varnished fingernails of the hand now gripping the stolen car's steering wheel. As false as the two blue varnished fingernails that clamped the cigarette she raised to her lips. The real Carol was a crazy woman with a penis phobia. God, but Eddie wanted her. Blood rushed to his cock. If only he could unbutton his trousers and whip it out, yeah, whip out his cock and invite her to wrap her lips around it. The thought made him giddy. Oh, sweet Mother of Christ. But his cock was repulsive, remember? Instantly, his penis shrank. He lowered the window and let the wind bite into his cheek. Before long the whole side of his face was numb. He closed the window and the car soon filled with smoke.

"How's it handling?" he asked her.

"Good."

"Thought you'd like it," he said. "You got on well with the Sierra we used last time." Eddie had put false plates on the car and he'd stick the taxi sign on the roof later. They were heading west. He looked at his watch. Less than an hour and a half to go.

"Think we should head back to town?"

Eddie leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "Took the words out of my mouth," he said. "Wake me up when we get there."

11:42 am

Pearce walked over to the window. Thompson turned in his chair. Pearce put his hand into a gap in the blinds and spread his fingers.

Thompson's office looked out onto an abandoned church. Behind a low wall ribbed with black spiked railings, thistles flanked a cement path leading to an oak door.  Above the door, a stained glass window had been smashed and subsequently boarded up. All that remained of the original design was a single pane depicting a circular object, possibly a halo. Two drunks sat on a stone step beneath the window, shivering as they took alternate swigs out of a can of Special Brew.

Thompson coughed.

Pearce continued observing the winos. One of them got up and pissed where he was standing. Heels planted solidly on the ground, he moved his toes from side to side, spraying urine this way and that, until his bladder had emptied. He shook himself dry, sat down and reached for his beer. His shoulders rocked when his friend pointed to his groin and he realised his dick was still hanging out. He got to his feet again and sorted himself out.

Apart from the drunks in the churchyard the neighbourhood was deserted.

Pearce said, "Quiet around here."

"Yeah," Thompson said, a wobble in his voice. "It is."

"You in a hurry?" Pearce stepped away from the window.

Thompson shook his head and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Pearce unclipped his mobile and selected number two in the phone's memory. Number one was his mum's home number. Number two was her work number. Her boss, Denise, answered and went to fetch her.

A short time later, sounding breathless, his mum said, "We're busy."

"Don't let them work you too hard."

"What did you want?"

"Just returning your call."

"Oh." She paused. "I'd forgotten. It was nothing really," she said. "Just a feeling. Oh, I don't know." She paused again. "Seems silly now. Probably nothing. You didn't hurt Willie Cant, did you?"

He could see her expression. Frowning, tight-lipped. The look she wore when he'd been bad. Like when he strangled that girl at school. Isla somebody. Even though it was an accident. They were playing a game. Kiss, Cuddle or Torture. He caught her, pinned her to the ground and tried to kiss her. She struggled.  In preventing her escaping he'd managed to choke her half to death. Looking back on it now, that was probably when he became aware of his own strength.

An accident. Nobody believed him. Not even Mum.

Thompson's chair squeaked.

Pearce looked at him and the poor bugger flinched. Pearce said to his mum, "Can I meet you for lunch?"

"That would be nice. I'm on an early shift. Get off around one. Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll come and get you."

"Listen, I've got to go. Denise is covering for me and she won't like it." She made a kissing noise and hung up.

Pearce dug into his back pocket and pulled out the piece of paper Cooper had given him. Of the four names listed, there was only one left. Corrigan, Domenic hadn't been at home. Cant, Willie he'd seen. Ditto Lillie, Ailsa. Which left Muirton, Jack. Address in Sighthill. No phone number.

Thompson was gnawing at his thumb.

"You got a phone book?" Pearce asked him.

The sauna manager almost fell off his chair in his eagerness to oblige. One by one he hauled out each of the four desk drawers. "Sure there's one somewhere," he said, after determining that the last drawer was empty. He slammed it shut, opened the top drawer and started searching again.

"Doesn't matter." Pearce dialled directory enquiries.

"But it's here." Thompson pulled out the drawer and tipped the contents onto the floor. A Gideon's bible landed with a thud. A box of matches spilled open. A packet of chewing gum rolled under his chair. Various other items bounced out of sight under the desk.

"Muirton," Pearce said into the phone. He spoke to Thompson: "Can I have that pen?"

Thompson stooped to pick up the biro that had come to a halt against Pearce's steel toe-capped boot and handed it over.