Lomas was a different matter. His initial burst of speed must have drained what reserves he had and he was flagging. Davie also slowed, prepared to stop when Lomas did in order appear unthreatening. Davie hoped the man would talk without the need to get physical.
The man halted in front of a stand of trees. He leaned forward, hands on knees, struggling to catch his breath. Davie moved to within five feet, far enough to give the guy his space but not so far that he couldn’t launch himself if need be.
‘Why’d you run?’ Davie asked.
‘Why the fuck… you think?’ Panted Lomas, manoeuvring round to face him. His face was red and sweaty, Davie saw. He didn’t think Lomas had much run left in him, let alone fight.
‘I just want a word.’
‘Aye,’ said Lomas, taking a deep breath and wiping moisture from his upper lip, ‘I know your kind of word, Davie McCall.’
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘Sure – and my heid buttons up the back.’
‘I just want to know why.’
Lomas squinted. ‘Why what?’
‘You know what.’
Lomas nodded, his breathing a bit more regular now but his hands still shaking. ‘You’ve spoken to that shitehawk Harris.’
Davie nodded and waited. Lomas raised a trembling hand to his face again, this time to scrape his knuckles against the sweat on his brow. He stared at the damp smear on his hand as if it was a sign. ‘Ach, fuck it – I was paid to set you up.’
‘Who by?’
Lomas smiled. It was the same smile he’d seen on Harris earlier, the smile of greedy men thinking they could make a buck. ‘What’s in it for me?’
Audrey had given Harris money. Davie had no intention of giving Lomas anything. ‘Tell me and you stand a good chance of walking out of this cemetery.’
Lomas’s smile froze and transformed into a scowl. ‘You’ve no changed, McCall. You’re still a fuckin ned.’
‘You’re the pot, I’m the kettle, Lomas. Who paid you?’
Lomas shook his head. ‘You’ll get no name from me. There’s people out there scarier than you.’
Davie said softly, ‘They’re not here, Lomas. I am.’
Lomas was fully aware of the threat but shook his head again. ‘You’ll hurt me, sure. You’ll maybe even hurt me bad but see these folk? They’ll have me killed. You’re no killer, Davie McCall…’
There’s a first time for everything
, Davie was about to say, but then he saw the figure loom from the trees. A hand wrapped over Lomas’s mouth and he was dragged back into the shadows. It was very swift, very fluid and Davie was shocked for a moment but then he ran forward, his eyes searching the darkness for the two men. He became aware of the two shapes ahead of him being enveloped by the gloom, then heard a muffled squeal. He followed the sound, moving slowly, every nerve on alert for an attack.
‘Lomas,’ he whispered.
A soft groan floated through the darkness followed by the crump of something hitting the ground. There was a rustle as somebody squeezed through bushes, then silence. Davie followed the sounds, ears straining for a footfall, eyes alert for an attack.
He found Lomas on the grass a few feet away, his eyes open and staring at the sky. As Davie knelt beside him he knew the man would never see anything again.
He didn’t touch the body for fear of leaving something of himself on it that could lead the police to him. He scanned the area around him, still expecting some kind of attack, but saw nothing, just thick green bushes and the trees behind. Hairs prickling on the back of his neck made him think someone was watching.
Watching, waiting.
‘I know you’re there,’ he said, softly.
A breeze made the bushes tremble, but no-one answered.
‘So you’ve turned chib man now, eh?’ He didn’t need to turn the body over to find the wound. He could tell by the way that Lomas had been dragged back that a knife was being buried into his back. And even though he hadn’t seen the assailant clearly, he knew who it was.
‘You always told me weapons were for losers,’ Davie went on, trying to goad some kind of response. He stood up, slowly spinning 360 degrees, expecting his father to rush out of the bushes at any moment. But the only thing that disturbed the leaves was the waft of a gentle breeze. Then he heard a flutter of wings, as if something had been disturbed, so he turned in their direction, prepared for an attack. But there was only darkness.
‘I know you’re still there,’ Davie said. ‘Why don’t you come out? We’ll finish it right here.’
Davie waited but saw nothing, heard nothing. He backed out of the circle of bushes, through the trees, body tensed, nerves alert, towards the path. He stood for a few seconds, peering into the deep shadow of the foliage, still expecting to see a face not unlike his own staring back at him. But nothing appeared.
He was beginning to relax when he heard a movement behind him and he whirled, right fist clenched, ready to lash out. Audrey cried out in shock, stumbling backwards and almost losing her footing. Davie grabbed her just in time, pulling her closer to him. Despite what had just happened, she felt good.
‘Davie,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘Where is he?’
He held her by one hand, his other arm around her waist. Her fingers felt cool, her body warm and soft. He didn’t want to let go but he did. He tried not to look back at the bushes as he said, ‘We have to go.’
Her worry gave way to suspicion. ‘Davie, what happened?’
He pulled her away. ‘Never mind. It’s best you don’t know.’
She planted her feet firmly on the cement path and peered over his shoulder to the bushes, trying to see what it was he didn’t want her to see. ‘Tell me, Davie…’
He knew she would not budge until he told her. ‘Lomas is dead.’
Her suspicion gave way to shock. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. He knew thoughts would be flooding her brain, one uppermost. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said.
She gazed into his face, searching his eyes for a lie. ‘Who then?’
This time he did lie. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t get a clear look.’ He didn’t need a clear look. He knew.
‘There was another man, following you. That’s why I came after you.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Couldn’t really see him well enough. About your height, dark hair, maybe going grey. Dark jacket, thick wool, collar up. That’s all I saw.’
He placed a hand on her back and gently propelled her away from the bushes again. He had to get her away from this place. He looked across the graveyard wall towards the city glowing in the dark, at the silhouette of the tower blocks, broken up by squares of light. He didn’t think anyone would have seen anything, not in the dark graveyard, but it wasn’t a good idea to hang around. As they walked he said softly, ‘You were never here, understand? Anyone should ask, you were never here.’
He glanced at her face as they moved and saw her mouth was fixed in a tight line and her eyes were wide and staring. He berated himself for letting her come with him. But addiction was like that.
As they walked away, he heard someone whistling somewhere back in the darkness. He couldn’t make out the tune, but it was slow and sad and floated through the tombstones like a ghost.
18
AUDREY DIDN’T ASK
Davie any questions as they drove from Sighthill to Sword Street. He knew her mind would be reeling and suspected that she did not fully believe him when he said he’d had nothing to do with Lomas’s death. That saddened him, but there was nothing he could do about it. Seeing her today had proved more painful than he could imagine, but there was no future for them. Even if she hadn’t been married, there was too big a gulf between them. She now knew he had told the truth about Donald Harris. But tonight’s events would mean she could never completely trust him. He couldn’t blame her.
She stopped her car at the mouth of Sword Street and he climbed out without a word. But he couldn’t leave without saying something. He leaned back into the open door. ‘I didn’t do it, Audrey.’
‘I know,’ she said, not looking at him. But she didn’t know. She couldn’t be sure. He could tell by the way she stared intently through the windscreen, by the way her hands were wrapped tightly on the steering wheel, by the way the muscles on her jaw clenched and unclenched.
‘It’s best you stay away from me,’ he said, his voice sounding very far way. This was the last thing he wanted to say. ‘It’s not safe. Not around me. Not just now.’
She turned to face him then and he saw her green eyes swimming. ‘That’s just it, isn’t it, Davie? It’s never safe around you. You’re like some sort of magnet, attracting violence and death. And you stroll through it all unscathed, untouched. How can you live like this?’
He had no answer for her. He stood at the side of the car silently. Then he carefully closed the door and said, ‘Goodbye, Aud.’
A tear broke from her eyes and trickled down her cheek. She looked as if she might say more, but thought better. She threw the car into first gear and drove off.
Davie watched the car’s rear lights grow smaller as it moved down Duke Street. He felt something hard and painful blocking his throat. She was right, he realised. He was a magnet for violence, for death.
But he didn’t come through it untouched.
* * *
Frank Donovan was waiting in his car at the closemouth as Davie approached. Davie recognised him immediately as he climbed out, a welcoming smile on his face, and his first thought was whether Donovan had seen Audrey. He decided that the junction with Duke Street was too far way to make her out, although he must’ve seen her car. Then he wondered if Lomas had been found already and they’d somehow linked him to it. But the smile was friendly enough, even if Davie didn’t return it. He didn’t feel much like smiling and he hadn’t forgotten that Donovan was a cop.
‘Good to see you, Davie,’ said Donovan. ‘But I’m getting a hellish feeling of déjà vu.’
Davie knew what he meant. It had been a night like this, although a lot warmer, that Donovan had spoken to him on this very spot about Joe’s death. Later that night Clem Boyle shot the detective. Davie was surprised that Donovan was even back here. Showed guts. Even so, he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. ‘Why you here?’ Davie asked.
‘To thank you for what you did that night.’
‘Didn’t do it for you.’
‘I know that, but I thought I’d thank you anyway. You helped bring that bastard Boyle down.’
‘All I did was fight him. Your boys did the rest.’ Armed police had shot Boyle, just before he was about to shoot Davie, but he had never felt the need to thank them for saving his life. Yet here was Donovan, thanking him. He suspected there was something else behind this visit.
‘I’ve been asked to have a word with you, Davie,’ said Donovan, his smile vanishing. ‘My bosses want to know what you’re going to do now you’re out.’
‘They going to offer me a job?’
Donovan gave a small laugh. ‘Not likely. They think you’re going to go on some sort of revenge mission. Over Joe.’
Davie nodded in understanding. So the police didn’t think Jazz was working alone either. Interesting.
‘Do we have something to worry about, Davie?’
‘No.’
Donovan stared at him, just as intently as Audrey had earlier, trying to spot a lie. Davie stared back, seeing doubt in Donovan’s eyes. Eventually, though, the cop exhaled deeply and nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said, but in that one word he told Davie that he remained unconvinced. He wasn’t stupid, this cop.
‘One other thing,’ he said and Davie thought,
there always is
. ‘Does the name John Keen mean anything to you?’
Davie shook his head. ‘Who is he?’
‘A ghost,’ said Donovan and he looked as if he meant it. ‘Maybe a killer. The girl killed the other day up Springburn way, you hear about it?’
Davie nodded. He’d read about it in the paper.
‘If you hear anything, I’d appreciate a call. This was a nasty one.’
‘What makes you think I’d hear something?’
Donovan hesitated and Davie knew he was battling the impulse to say something he shouldn’t. ‘You never know. It’s a funny old world.’ Donovan turned back to his car, then stopped. ‘You watch your back, Davie. Things are different now. The world’s changed since you’ve been away.’
‘So I keep hearing,’ said Davie.
* * *
Davie climbed the stairs to the flat, suddenly weary. It had been a busy couple of days and he wasn’t used to this much activity. He’d have to pace himself, ease himself back into old ways. After all, as everyone kept telling him, the world had changed since he’d been away.
The white envelope was stuck to his door with sticky tape. He unpeeled it, careful not to remove any paint, and ripped the envelope open. Inside was a series of five Polaroids, each showing the same room, the same scene from different angles. He felt something inside him lurch when he thought he recognised the room but then realised it was different – wallpaper wasn’t the same, furniture wasn’t the same, but similar. It was what the pictures depicted that was familiar. The overturned chair, the ironing board, the glow of the fire, the standard lamp on its side.
And the woman’s body near the wall, behind the old kitchen table. Blood on the wall beside her. There was no shot of her face but Davie knew it would be nothing more than a bloody pulp.