Blood Tears (26 page)

‘After we’ve bonded and all that,’ Allessandra is wearing an impish smile, ‘if you don’t mind me saying so, Ray, you look great.’

‘Thanks.’ I’m not immune to flattery.

‘Who’d have known that under all that blubber there was such a good-looking guy?’

‘Blubber? Was I that fat?’

‘Can we get down to business?’ asks Daryl. ‘Or are you two going to carry on with this love-fest?’

‘Feeling left out?’ I ask. ‘Poor Daryl. Nobody loves him.’

‘Don’t you worry about me, Ray. I’m getting plenty.’

‘So what’s been happening down at the cop shop?’

‘As far as suspects go, you’re it. No-one else has been investigated.’ Daryl grimaces.

‘Great.’

‘Most of our time has been spent trying to find a link between you and the two other bodies,’ answers Daryl.

‘And looking into your past for clues as to why you might have turned out like this,’ Allessandra adds.

‘Aye, caused a bit of a stir when we found out you’d spent some time in a seminary studying to become a priest,’ says Daryl. I feel like I’m at Wimbledon and I’m following the ball across the net as I look from one to the other as they speak.

‘Have you found anything incriminating?’

‘Plenty for the psychologists when you get round to speaking to them. But nothing for the courts,’ Daryl answers. ‘I’m serious, by the way, about the shrinks. They want to get you in front of one.’

‘And?  Standard practice in a case like this. Make sure I’m fit to stand at my trial.’

‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘It is a well used defence…’

‘No fucking way,’ I say. I know why he’s saying it.
If
I get caught and
if
I get locked up it might be easier for a policeman to be in an asylum than a prison. Makes it easier for the suits as well.
Policeman goes nuts and kills
is simpler for the damage limitation guys than
policeman killer is as sane as you or I
.

‘I take it my flat has been searched?’ Time to change the subject.

‘With a fine-tooth comb.’ Allessandra says. ‘And you know how you serial killers like to take trophies from your victims? We found bugger all.’ Her tone is light, probably to atone for Daryl’s serious comments.

‘Fancy that.’

‘So we, as in the royal we, think you have somewhere else. A kill zone. Somewhere you take your victims, do your stuff and hide your sordid wee mementos.’ Her tone tails off into serious as she realises that what she is saying is a spot of black humour too much, even for cops. Real people are suffering here and unless we find the mad bastard who’s doing it, more people will follow.

‘Is my flat being watched?’ They both nod a yes. Just a thought. If I was the killer and I wanted to use me as a patsy it would help my case if I were to hide incriminating evidence where the police are sure to find it.

‘Any reports about me being in Manchester?’ Again with the nods.

‘What about my appearance? Was that commented upon?’

‘No, thankfully,’ answers Daryl. ‘The coppers down there obviously didn’t realise its significance.’

‘Well that’s something. Anything else?’

‘There was one thing. A card we found in your car. It was a business card for a Financial Adviser. We called him and he didn’t know you. The good news is he offered you a free Financial Health Check.’

‘A what?’

He shrugs. ‘But on the back of the card someone had scribbled the name Maggie Gallagher, and a phone number.’

‘Never heard of her.’ I try to put a face to the name.

‘We went to see her.’ Daryl is wearing that smile. A smile of teenage proportions that demands to know — who’s he been shagging?

‘Turns out you and her had a sleepover at your place.’

‘And?’ I don’t rise to the bait, but I’m getting a face. A face that I shouted at and told to fuck off. She only wanted to help.

‘That was it. She said to tell you she’d like to meet up with you again.’

‘Right.’ That’s all I need, another romantic interlude.

‘Yeah,’ said Allessandra. ‘She sounded quite keen on you. You want her number?’

‘Surely you’re not thinking of pimping for a shag while this is going on?’ asks Daryl.  I can’t decide whether Daryl’s impressed and jealous, or incredulous and critical. But I couldn’t give a toss. Maggie Whoever is not on my list of suspects. Therefore she can go and take a flying fuck for all I care. Preferably with someone else.

Maggie Gallagher greets me with a smile as wide as the Clyde and is all but bouncing up and down in her excitement at meeting me.

‘Ray, Ray, is that really you? Wow, look at you. I’m amazed I recognised you. You look pure stunnin’.’

I’m in the reception area of the Radisson, just across the road from The Heilanman’s Umbrella in Argyle Street. Just popped in for a coffee on the way back to my hotel.

‘It’s Maggie, isn’t it?’ I ask, and look at the door behind her, wondering if it would be too rude to do a runner. This is all I need.

She hugs me as if we’re old friends. ‘I was so hopin’ we would meet up again.’ There wasn’t even a trace of awkwardness and plenty of friendship on offer. Which was strange given the fact that all our relationship consisted of so far were a drunken evening, a failed fuck and a one-sided shouting match in the confines of my car.

If she notices my reticence, she’s not letting on

‘What brings you here, Maggie?’ I stand as stiff as a board until her arms fall down to her sides.

‘Oh you know, passin’ through.’ She is blushing slightly and her line of sight is moving from me to the wall behind and then back to me. ‘Actually,’ she stands taller, ‘I saw you lookin’ in a shop window in Argyle Street and I’m like… is it? No, can’t be. But it is.’ She beams. ‘You look stunnin’.’

We stand and look at each other for a few moments, each wondering what to say. I’m thinking how can I get the hell out of here and she looks like she wants to get to know me better.

‘I just popped in for a coffee.’

‘What a nice idea,’ says Maggie, ‘don’t mind if I join you.’ This last statement had more the aura of a command than the tone of a request.

Not sure how I can extricate myself from this situation gracefully, I follow her to a table. She’s just too happy to see me to be rude to. From the large plate glass window we can see the traffic ebb and flow as it meets the crossroads.

The table is about knee high and is dark expensive wood. The seats are single, with curved backs and covered in plush purple velour. We are silent while we each have a look at the drinks menu. A waiter comes across and takes our order. We sit in silence until he leaves.

What the hell am I doing here?

‘Look, Maggie…’ I shift forward in my seat as if I am about to stand up.

‘You look fantastic, Ray. Look at all that weight you’ve lost,’ she says. I stay where I am. ‘You should write a book,
The McBain Diet
. It would outsell that Atkins guy,’ she gushes.

Yeah right, I can just see it on the bookshelves:
Become a Suspect for Murder
,
Lose your Job
,
Go on the Run from the Police and See the Weight Melt Off!

‘So how have you been, Ray?’

She must be able to read my expression. ‘Any better and I’d be twins,’ I answer. ‘Just wonderful. Fantastic. All that’s missing is the balloons.’

Her face sags a little with concern.

‘Oh Ray. I have been worried about you.’

‘You barely know me, Maggie.’ I’m trying really hard to be pleasant.

She follows the passage of a car going up Argyle Street as if her life is dependent on it, and then her concern for me overcomes her hesitation. ‘The police came to see me.’

‘So that’s it then. You see me on the news. The police visit you and you’re all curious to know what’s going on.’ What would be the suspected murderer’s equivalent of a fag hag?

‘No, not at all. I…’ she pauses. ‘You were on the news?’

‘Do you not watch TV?’

‘Don’t even own one.’

‘Do you not buy newspapers then?’

‘Nah. Full of bad news. Life’s hard enough without looking for the bad stuff.’

Christ, this is perfect.

‘Well, if you had read the papers or watched TV, you’d know that you were sitting with a murder suspect.’

She laughs. Her head thrown back to display a row of fillings on either side of her mouth. ‘Is this another one of your stories?’ She looks at me. ‘Ray, first you were an entrepreneur. Now you’re a murder suspect.’ She laughs again.

‘Maggie. I’m not joking.’

She sobers when she sees my complete lack of humour. Her hand goes to her mouth. ‘Holy shit. Murder?’ She repeats herself.

Not long after I’d left the seminary I told a girl I was training for the priesthood in order to get rid of her. If this weren’t true it would be even funnier.

‘Holy shit… Murder?’

‘Yes. And don’t speak so loud.’ A few faces turn to look at us. I stare them down.

‘Sorry, Ray. Ray, how awful for you. But shouldn’t you just give yoursel’ up? The police are bound to realise they’ve got the wrong man. Eventually.’ While she speaks she openly appraises me. Her eyes are looking deep into mine as if they display my darkest secrets and, what’s more, she can read them. There’s obviously a good brain in this head, which is easy to discount if you don’t get past the tits and the hair.

‘That’s just it. They think they’ve got the right man. So now you know… if you want to walk away and never have anything more to do with me, I’ll understand.’ I cross my arms and my legs and take a sip of my coffee. All the while thinking, go woman, go. She sits back in her chair, uncrosses her arms and looks from my face to the traffic outside and back to my face.

‘Ray, I didn’t tell you when we met but I was in that bar for the first time in my life. Do you remember my pal, Amanda?’

‘Christ. If it wasn’t for the fact that I woke up naked beside you, I wouldn’t remember you.’

‘Long black hair. Pure glam. No?’

I shake my head.

‘Well, anyway. Amanda and I used to work together in the Tarot Card call centre. Big mistake. Big con. Don’t ask.’ She flaps her hands theatrically. ‘When I left the dump, we lost touch. She phoned me out of the blue and asked if I’d like to go for a drink with her. Her boyfriend had chucked her, didn’t love her any more. But she was still mad about him and she wanted to go out for a drink, pure casual like, somewhere he drinks, but with a mate so as not to look like a mad stalker…’

‘Is this going anywhere?’

‘Don’t worry, there is a reason for all this preamble. Anyway… before I was rudely interrupted.’ She smiles, and I can’t help myself but respond in kind. She has to have the most infectious smile. Her smile wavers. ‘But I can’t.’ She slumps back in her chair.

‘You can’t what?’

‘This. Can’t do this. When I saw you…’ she swings her head round and aims her gaze in the direction of Argyle Street, ‘… and as I was kinda stalkin’ you,’ another smile, big in size but weakened by the worrying thoughts now going through her head. A cough. ‘… over there I was rehearsin’ all this stuff in my head. And now I can’t do it. You’re wanted for murder.’ The smile is gone now and it looks like it’s not coming back any time soon.

‘You think I’m a murderer?’ I push back into my seat and throw my hands to my sides, palms facing up. Then I curse myself. Why am I trying to win her back? Lose the woman, McBain, and fast.

‘No,’ she leans towards me her face full of contrition. Then when she notices my gaze fall from her face to the cleavage on display, she sits back and places a hand over her twin attractions until she is sure my eyes have returned to her face.

‘It’s just… a woman can’t be too careful. There are a lot of nutters around, you know.’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘Of course you know, Mr Policeman,’ she smiles in a self-deprecating manner. ‘Just having a blonde moment.’ She leans forward to pick her handbag from the table, a voluminous pink thing that would have taken half a cow to make. As she does so my eyes are drawn back to her tits. And I am amazed at how easily I can be distracted. My way of life is in danger here and I behave like a teenager over a flash of pale soft skin.

‘I really should…’ She stands up.

I stay seated. ‘So what were you rehearsing as you were stalking me?’ I smile. Charm on at force ten. If she is suspicious of me I can’t let her leave until I know just how suspicious she really is. I can’t have her phoning any helpline or, God forbid, Crimestoppers. So I’ll act calm and collected while all I want to do is push her down into her seat and convince her of my innocence as forcefully as is legal and decent.

‘Stalkin’ is a bit strong.’ She flicks her hair and it occurs to me that she fancies me. Doh. Who is having the blonde moment now? She went to bed with you when you were a lot fatter and a lot less sober than you are now. Of course she fancies you.

‘So how would you put it?’ As I smile, I realise that some of the strain of the last few weeks has faded. Like some of the colour has leaked from an indelible stain on my soul. Maybe I fancy her just a little too. Theresa’s face superimposes itself on my mind and I give myself a lecture. Flirting isn’t fucking.

Maggie sits back down. Very slowly. Her knees bending as her nicely curved and ample backside gets nearer to the cloth of the chair while she gives in to the desire to stay and ignores the impulse to get on her mobile. She laughs and flicks her hair again.

‘Now, wouldn’t that be funny… I mean if you really were a murderer… and I was actually stalkin’…’ she stops talking and it is a few moments before I realise what is happening.

I look at her face and see that her eyes are aimed at my groin. I cross my legs noting a feeling of discomfort. You can take the boy out of the convent, but it seems that it is still difficult to work on the reverse. I’m surprised at how coy I am feeling.

‘It gets very tiring, very quickly, when men talk to my boobs.’ Maggie is thin-lipped. ‘How did you like it when I stared at your crotch?’

I uncross my legs defiantly but before I know it my hands are on my lap. ‘Not all men would be uncomfortable with a woman openly checking out their lunchbox.’ I smile my apology and change the subject. ‘So what were you rehearsing when you were on your way to talk to me?’