The Barbershop Seven (132 page)

Well, as the night slowly lingered its way around to an early morning, the sun rising behind banks of grey cloud, and the Indian summer came crashing to its knees, both Benderhook and Malcolm were dead. One with a bullet in the brain, much in the same manner as the late Honeyfoot; the other, the unfortunate Malcolm, his head rather brutally panned to a pulp with a beautiful bedside lamp he'd picked up in a Christmas market in the southern Belgian town of Dinant.

They had both been guarded by the requisite two policemen, men who were obviously ineffectual in either case. Benderhook's guards were completely oblivious to their charge's murder, or disappearance, as it appeared, until he didn't materialise for breakfast the following morning. Malcolm's guards, much to his murderer's discomfort and guilt, had had to be surgically removed before the head pulping sesh had begun.

In the case of Benderhook, his killer had dispatched the Deputy First Minister with precision and panache, and had then turned and legged it for Malcolm's house. That the body of Benderhook would then be removed, so that it looked like the man might've just nipped out for a McDonald's breakfast, would be of no surprise to her.

However, with the bloody bludgeoning to death of Malcolm, and the completion of her night's work – indeed the completion of her task as a whole – the killer had decided that perhaps it was time to discover the identity of The Undertaker. And so, she'd faked her departure from the scene, on the assumption that she was being watched, and then had crept back to hide in the shrubbery and await The Undertaker's arrival. And her marginal sneakiness would be rewarded, for at last, after eight Cabinet murders, the identity of the person cleaning up after her heinous crimes, would finally be revealed to her; and it would make no sense whatsoever...

***

T
he slaughter of the innocents of the Scottish Executive Cabinet had come to a conclusion. Eight of the originals down, only Winona Wanderlip and Jesse Longfellow-Moses remained. And although it was of virtually no interest whatsoever to the people of Scotland, Wanderlip would at least feature in one newspaper story the following day:

WINNIE IN NIPPLEGATE SHOCKER

Phworr! As Labour stunna, Winnie Wanderlip, stepped out into the cold last night, on her way to a select Edinburgh nightspot, passers-by drooled at her breasts, as her corking nipples walked down the road at least four inches in front of the rest of her. 'They were like pine cones,' gasped stunned pedestrian, Wullie McGinest, 18.

Several people called the emergency services, as chaos threatened to engulf the city centre.

'We've just never seen nipples like them,' claimed shopkeeper, Alvin McAndrew, 36. 'Traffic ground to a halt, and I saw several people almost killed by drivers distracted by her enormous protrusions.'

Wanton Winnie was last night unavailable for comment, but a close friend told us, 'Winnie is really proud of her nipples, and loves to show them off. She's a big tart really.'

Last month, Wanderlip issued a statement denying having had collagen injections in her nipples, and several other parts of her body. She is 38.

Lovely stuff.

––––––––

B
arney watched the Scottish news the following morning. They actually led with the murders of Malcolm and Benderhook, although they treated it more as a comic cuts type of thing, the presenter ending the report with the words
'who'd be a cabinet minister, eh?'
and a wry smile. Barney wondered if Solomon had immediately put a tail on Blackadder, and whether she would now be exonerated. Or would he have moved at the pace that the rest of the police force had moved? The Chief Constable had been on that morning, and had excused his Force's poor performance in the investigation up to that point with the statement; 'Obviously we're putting all available manpower into the investigation. However, with the visits of Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones to play golf in recent days, and the award of an honorary doctorate in 'Cool' to Sir Sean Connery at Heriot-Watt University, we have had to prioritise. Once the Daniel O'Donnell and S Club 7 concerts are over, we'll be able to place more manpower onto the protection of what is left of the Executive, but I think at this stage that most people will understand that it would be extremely bad for the city of Edinburgh, and Scotland as a whole, if anything was to happen to a celebrity.'

Can't argue with that, Barney had thought, as he'd tucked into his bacon, eggs, black pudding and sausage. (His honourable intention of moving onto healthier breakfasts after a few days, had dropped by the wayside, to accompany his vague feeling that he really ought not to be here at all.)

The day ahead read like most others. It was Thursday, so JLM should have been in parliament for questions, but with that having been brought forward a day, he was taking the opportunity to get back out amongst his people, which he loathed doing, but felt was probably necessary. He would get his face in newspapers and on television, and he could spread the word of his grand vision, not only for the country, but for the entire world. So, given that he was visiting a shopping centre in Perth (where he would stand on a box and preach), Stirling Castle, and a cheeky wee tea shop in Drymen, he was going to have to have good hair. Barney was on call, due for his first session in a little under twenty minutes.

He was just watching a football report on Rangers' new signing – a West African who, it had transpired, had never played football in his life, which made it embarrassing that Rangers had just given him a £2m signing on fee. 'The main thing,' claimed McLeish, 'is that he's not Scottish' – when there was a small scraping sound from behind. He swivelled round, and saw a small piece of paper on the floor, having just been pushed under the door.

He dashed to the door, swung it open, leaving the paper on the floor, and looked along the corridor for the unexpected mailman. Whoever it was, however, had gone, and Barney was of no mind to go chasing after them.

He lifted the paper, closed the door. Returned to his table, took a slurp of tea and another piece of toast, then unfolded the message. It was typed on a piece of A5 stationery from JLM's office, as follows:

The end to this is in sight. Come to conference room 12, Assembly Building, at eight o'clock this evening. Tell no one.

Not surprisingly it was unsigned. That would've given the game away a bit.

The end to this is in sight. Barney bit into another contemplative piece of toast and let the paper fold itself back over. The end to the murders he presumed, but then, it was nothing to do with him. He'd been partially drawn into it because of the interference of Solomon and Kent, but he still didn't feel part of it. Why drag him off to a conference room? Unless, of course, he was to be the next victim.

He dabbed his lips with a napkin, eyed the last piece of toast like a velociraptor eyeing up Sam Neill, then pounced on it like an unfettered tyrannosaur swooping on the baby lamb that was a lumbering diplodocus, armed with butter and strawberry jam.

***

T
here was a bit of an uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. Winona Wanderlip had come to see JLM, hoping to get him on his own, but they were together in his inner office with Parker Weirdlove, and the inevitable Amazing Mr X.

'There are only two of us left,' said Wanderlip, stating the blindingly obvious.

JLM, however, displayed the fact that he had been thinking about his grand vision for the world, by answering, 'Two of whom?'

'The cabinet!' she barked, turning round from the window, where she had been looking out, chewing endlessly on what was left of the nail on her left-hand ring finger.

JLM and Weirdlove exchanged a glance between boys, of the 'here goes the premenstrual woman again.'

'There's Eaglehawk and McPherson,' he said. 'And we'll sort out the other appointments over the weekend, won't we Parker? Either promote the deputies, or find someone else if the deputy is only window dressing, like Patsy whatshername. Don't worry, Winnie, I won't land it all on your plate.'

'Exactly, sir,' said Weirdlove.

'Jesus,' said Wanderlip, 'is it just of no concern to you that all these good people are gone, probably murdered? The Executive is in complete disarray. Christ, there's this monumental shambles.'

'Winnie, Winnie, Winnie,' said JLM, and she could've swung for him, 'there's only a shambles in government when people perceive there to be a shambles. Let's face it, there are only two ministers in the Executive that anybody in the public could pick out of a line-up. You and me. We're both still here, aren't we? I mean, really, politicians don't actually do any work, do they? It's the Civil Service that does the work. How many Civil Servants have been killed, Parker?'

'None,' said Weirdlove, as they moved easily into their Sir Humphrey routine. Wanderlip seethed.

'So has the work of the Executive been affected at all?' said JLM, smoothly.

'Not at all, sir,' said Weirdlove. 'Of course, that might be because the Executive doesn't actually do anything.'

'Whatever,' said JLM, engaging Wanderlip in the eye, and being so condescending he was kicking condescension on the arse, 'all politicians are here for are to make decisions and appear on television. The fact is, and I think I can say this because we're among friends here, none of that lot ever got to make any decisions because I wouldn't let them, and any time the networks want someone to appear on the TV, it's either me or you and your premenstrual routine.'

'Jesus,' she muttered.

JLM let the smirk drift casually from his face, let the look of superiority slide from Weirdlove's oozy visage, which took a little longer, let the near explosion of rage from Wanderlip die down.

'There's about to be a new dawn in Scotland, Winnie,' he said, and Weirdlove raised an eye at him.

'What d'you mean?' she asked.

'You can either be with us, or bow out of government, it'll be up to you,' said JLM.

'What are you talking about?' she asked with greater insistence. 'A new dawn?'

JLM did something fiddley with his hand, as if he was Gandalf or something.

'All things will be revealed in good time,' he said mystically. 'I do think, however, that the slaughter is over.'

The words fell softly from his lips. Wanderlip felt the hairs rise suddenly on the back of her neck and press against the collar of her maroon blouse. She glanced at The Amazing Mr X, but the big fella was staring out the window, away off in one of his dream worlds. She looked at Weirdlove, and the look he returned was as impenetrable as ever; and for some reason, the phrase 'the eyes of a killer' popped into her head. She shivered, turned back to JLM, who was half-smiling at her in that vacuous way of his.

She played his words back in her head. Were they just the empty hopes of a politician, hollow words meant to put her at ease? Or was there something more sinister? Was Longfellow-Moses armed with some prior knowledge? That was what she had felt, but even then, ten, fifteen seconds later, the moment was gone and the statement seemed innocent once more.

'You know something?' she asked.

JLM laughed that big, booming laugh of his. Of course, thought Wanderlip, nothing to make you laugh like all your political colleagues getting murdered.

'I'm a political animal!' he said, the voice loud on the tail of the laugh. 'You have to admit, Winnie, I'm this thing. I'm Jesse Longfellow-Moses. I'm not just the First Minister of the Scottish Executive, I'm a major player on the European stage. Schröder, Berlusconi, Blair, they've begun to look to me for wisdom and leadership.'

JLM had looked away from Wanderlip and was staring at some indistinct point on the ceiling as he spoke, and God knows what he was seeing there. Wanderlip and Weirdlove exchanged a look, but JLM's ADC remained inscrutable.

'Jesus,' he continued, 'I even had Lord bloody Robertson on the phone to me yesterday.' It had actually been Lord Roberston's private secretary, telling JLM that George was getting his hair done for the foreseeable future. 'Next week I'm off to Italy and Switzerland, and I'll be popping into Berlin on the way back. That's the position we're at, Winnie. I can just pop in to see these people. I'm a player, Winnie, a player. I'm at the top table, no question. Even Bush wants to meet me, but I'm putting him off, you know. No rush, eh? And the Pope, he's another one, but I'll tread lightly there, you know. Don't want to piss off one half of Glasgow at this stage. Leave it a while. I said to the lad, Pope, 'sorry mate, but you'll just have to wait.''

He was meandering spectacularly, as he was prone to do when he became carried away with his own august majesty. He suddenly snapped out of it, as he came down from his cloud. Looked at Winnie, and she could see that the flicker of madness was still there.

'What was I saying?' he said.

'You lost me,' she said, caustically.

'Yes, yes, champion,' he said. 'I'm a political animal, I know things, feel them in my gut. It's why I'm here and why you're just the Minister for Enterprise. Christ, Winnie, people don't even know what you mean by that. Anyway, I know you're not of my calibre, but I hope I can make you understand. I'm a political predator. I feel things, I know what's happening, even if I don't know all the facts. Do I know who's been killing off the cabinet? No, absolutely not,' he said, and she noticed the slight unconscious movement of the eyes as he said it, 'but do I genuinely believe deep down in my bollocks that these killings are over? Yes, I do. You have my word,' he added with finality and a certain triumph, his eyes once more firmly engaging hers.

Wanderlip studied his face for a few seconds as he stared at her intently. She looked at Weirdlove. She nodded her head. The hairs on the back of her neck had long since calmed down, during JLM's coronation speech, but the feeling of disquiet was still there; the room still stank of the atmosphere of unease which had pervaded since his seemingly glib statement about knowing that it was all over.

Head still nodding like a plastic dog in the back of a car, lips pursed, she walked slowly past them, opened the door and passed through into the outer office, closing the door behind her.