McCoy decided he needed a walk. Needed the air and the time to think. Most of all he needed to be away from the shop and the thought of Ronnie Elder hanging in his cell.
He found himself walking along Great Western Road. Thought he may as well head for Cooper’s. The lights changed and he crossed Park Road. A gaggle of student types passed him. Long-haired boys in cut-off denims and T-shirts, girls with cheesecloth shirts open over bikini tops. They were carrying a couple of bottles of rosé, no doubt heading for Kelvingrove Park. Looked like they didn’t have a care in the world. Wondered what they thought when they passed him. Just another sad old guy in a suit probably. Depressing, but they weren’t far wrong.
Couldn’t get the image of Elder hanging there out his head. Raeburn should have put the poor bugger on suicide watch. Too busy celebrating to think of it, and even if he hadn’t Wattie should have. Too busy burning with injustice to pay attention to his job. Supposed it was what the young did. Tried to fight the big fights while forgetting the people they were supposed to be fighting for. There’d be an inquiry, automatic with any death in custody. Had the feeling no one was going to come out of it very well.
He crossed the road at the lights, stopped. There was another one on the wall by the subway station. Same red spray paint, same big letters.
‘BOBBY MARCH WILL LIVE FOREVER!!’
Shook his head, was regretting giving that boy the money. He had March’s bag now, not that it was doing him any good. Nobody seemed to care much about what had happened to Bobby March, not his dad certainly. Papers had moved on. Alice Kelly was all they cared about. Was beginning to think it might be better to just let Bobby and his overdose fade away into the background.
He turned into Hamilton Park Avenue, could see Cooper’s ugly big house at the end of the road. He noticed his lace was undone, bent down to tie it and saw what looked like spots of Ribena or something on the pavement. Looked closer. It wasn’t Ribena, it was blood. The street was empty but for a wean sitting in a big Silver Cross pram on the pavement opposite. The baby looked at him, smiled. He smiled back, waved and then he heard a moan.
Then another.
He looked round. Saw a leg coming out from under Cooper’s neighbour’s hedge, black baseball boot on the end. He bent down, pushed the hedge aside and suddenly he was looking at Laura Murray. She was pale, breathing shallow, blood running down her face and a pool of it between her legs, skirt stained red.
‘Fuck sake! Laura!’
She opened her eyes, tried to smile at him.
‘McCoy,’ she said. ‘Thank God. I couldn’t make it to the house.’
Then her eyes closed and she sank back into the leaves.
*
An hour later McCoy was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the stairs. Dr Purdie had turned up half an hour ago, muttering something about ‘having a proper job, you know’. Soon shut it when McCoy told him he could take another five hundred off his debts. Since then he had been in and out Laura’s room, sending Iris for water, towels, all sorts. When Iris came out the bedroom carrying a dripping blood-soaked towel that was more than enough for McCoy. He’d retreated downstairs, sat at the table, smoked and waited.
Laura had come round when he was carrying her into the house. Made him promise he wouldn’t phone the police. They’d tell her parents where she was. McCoy told her he wouldn’t to shut her up, but he was waiting on Purdie to tell him how bad she was; if it was anything serious he would have to call Murray, didn’t have a choice.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and Purdie appeared, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie over his shoulder. He dumped his leather bag on the table, pushed his fair hair back off his face, undid the top button of his shirt and pointed at the sink.
‘May I?’ he asked.
McCoy nodded and Purdie poured a big glass of water and sat down, lit up.
‘Is she okay?’ McCoy asked.
Purdie nodded, blew out a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, waved it away.
‘She’s a bit battered and bruised. She’s had a fright more than anything else, but she’ll live.’ He hesitated. ‘I know Mr Cooper is being helpful with my debts, but when it comes to getting involved in assaults on young girls I could honestly do without it. I don’t want to get involved in any sort of crime scenario that—’
‘Maybe when you’re back to owing nothing, you can pick and choose,’ said McCoy. ‘Until then, you do what you’re told. Got it?’
Purdie nodded, looked resigned to his fate. ‘Sorry. Who is she anyway?’
‘A friend’s niece. I’m looking after her,’ said McCoy.
‘What age is she?’ he asked.
‘Fifteen,’ said McCoy.
‘That might go some way to explain it,’ said Purdie.
‘Explain what?’
‘She’s had an abortion.’
‘She’s what?’ asked McCoy.
‘An illegal abortion,’ said Purdie. ‘Not the best idea, but it happens.’
‘Christ.’
‘Exactly. Isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but it’s far from the best. She’s got heavy bleeding, clots. Beginnings of an infection. So I’ve injected her with a big dose of antibiotics, which will hopefully see it off.’
‘Will she be okay?’ asked McCoy.
Purdie shrugged. ‘She’s young and in good health, she should be. Anything else happens, any change in her condition, you’ll need to take her to the hospital immediately, regardless of the consequences.’
McCoy nodded, was still trying to take it all in.
‘Why would someone attack her?’ asked Purdie. ‘By the looks of it she’s been given a fair few kicks in the stomach as well as the bump on her head.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said McCoy. Realised he really hadn’t. Wasn’t much chance it was a random attack, not in broad daylight. But why would someone be after Laura Murray? ‘Is that why she’s, you know, bleeding?’ he asked.
‘Certainly wouldn’t help,’ said Purdie. ‘Kicks seemed to be aimed there, probably knew she’d had the procedure.’
Purdie fiddled with his Dunhill lighter, turned it over and over in his hands. ‘If I was really doing my job, I’d be calling an ambulance now,’ he said.
McCoy got up and took glasses and a bottle of whisky from the shelf, poured them two belts.
‘You know that I am supposed to report this kind of thing?’ said Purdie.
‘Which you aren’t going to,’ said McCoy.
‘Which I’m not going to,’ repeated Purdie. He smiled, looked a bit sad. ‘Just like I don’t report the various slashings and knife wounds I come here to stitch up.’ He took a sip of the whisky. ‘You know, the day I graduated from medical school I told my parents I was going to be a surgeon, specialising in coronary care.’ Smiled again. ‘Was all on track until the gee-gees got me and now I do anything for the money. Fix up dirty abortions, inject Mr Cooper with Seconal to let him ride out his withdrawal symptoms.’ He held up his glass. ‘Cheers, here’s to my brilliant career!’
He swallowed the whisky over and stood up. ‘Time to go back to the practice, back to the important stuff, reassuring middle-aged men with flu that they’re not about to die.’ He dug in his pocket, handed McCoy a small bottle. ‘Forgot to give these to Iris. There’s six in there. Two a day for your friend Cooper. Should be fine when they’re finished.’ Pretended to tip his hat and left.
McCoy watched him go, took another sip of his whisky. Wasn’t sure if he should tell Murray what had happened or not. If he did, he was pretty sure he’d take her back to Bearsden, come hell or high water, and maybe he was right to. If someone had beaten her up, there was a reason and it might happen again. Chances were she’d be a lot safer at home with her mum and dad, no matter what Laura wanted.
McCoy was just about to go up and see how Cooper was doing when Iris appeared, big ball of bloody bedclothes held out in front of her. She stuffed them into the washing machine and sat down. Poured a shot of whisky into Purdie’s glass and swallowed it in one.
‘Christ, I needed a drink after all that.’ She glanced upwards. ‘She’s sleeping,’ she said. ‘Out like a light. Purdie gave her something. So’s Cooper. It’s like night of the living bloody dead up there.’
‘Did she say what happened?’ asked McCoy.
‘No really, says someone came up behind her. She was walking back from getting the messages, heard a shuffle behind her and then something hit her on the head. She falls down, gets kicked a good few times and shoved into next door’s bloody hedge.’
‘Did she see who it was?’ asked McCoy.
‘Naw, he was behind her the whole time. Cowardly bastard that he was. Why’d someone attack her?’
McCoy shrugged. ‘You know about the . . .’ he started.
Iris looked at him like he was mad. ‘What do you think all those bloody sheets were from? The wee bump on her head? Christ, McCoy.’
‘Sorry.’ He poured them another drink. ‘Suppose we know why she didn’t want to go home. Wonder if Donny MacRae knew.’
Iris snorted. ‘What? You think if he hadnae got killed they’d be getting married, painting the nursery? Wise up. She’s young but she’s no stupid. She’d have done it anyway.’ She looked at him. ‘And why are you so bloody sure it was Donny MacRae anyway?’
‘Who else would it be? She have another boyfriend on the go?’
Iris rolled her eyes. ‘Christ, but men are stupid. It won’t be the first bloody time. Fathers, brothers, uncles. A pregnant girl runs away from home. You’re supposed to be a polis, must have crossed your mind.’
And the terrible thing was that until that moment it hadn’t. McCoy suddenly felt like the ice was cracking under his feet. Suddenly it all seemed so obvious. Her dad not wanting the police involved. Murray telling him not to dig too deep. Laura telling him, ‘Even good old uncle Hec couldn’t fix it this time.’ It had been there all along and he’d missed it. No wonder nothing was going to make her go back home.
‘You all right?’ Iris was peering at him. ‘Look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
McCoy sat up in his chair. ‘I’m fine, fine.’ He dragged himself to his feet. ‘I’ll just go up and see how she’s doing.’
Iris narrowed her eyes. ‘Purdie told you, no questions. She needs rest.’
He held his hands up. ‘Couple of questions, that’s all, I promise.’
She shook her head. ‘On your own head be it.’
McCoy stopped at the doorway. Turned.
Iris looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Just in case you think I’m that daft, Iris, I know you either did it or you sorted it out. How else is a nice teenager from Bearsden going to get in touch with a back-street abortionist?’
The blood drained from her face. ‘Don’t know what you’re bloody talking about.’
‘Let’s hope you just put her in touch. Because if something happens to her, if this gets worse, it won’t be me that’s after who did it, it’ll be Chief Inspector Murray.’
Iris stood up, walked towards him, put her face right into his. He could smell her perfume, the whisky on her breath.
‘What is that, McCoy? Some kind of threat? You think I’m scared of you or that fat arsehole Murray? You must be joking. And if you think I’m going to stop helping women in trouble you’re very much mistaken. Because I’m sick of men like you. Stick it anywhere you want, then fuck off when she gets up the duff. You’re all the bloody same, leaving some lassie’s life ruined all because you wanted your hole and she was stupid enough to believe your shite.’
She was getting angrier as she went on. Spitting it out now, face screwed up with contempt.
‘I’m fifty-three. I work in a shitty shebeen. Do you think I give a fuck if you try and send me to jail? I don’t care. I’m proud of the women I’ve helped and given my time again I’d do the bloody same. So before you start issuing threats, why don’t you try and find out who really gave her the baby. Happens all the time. Even in leafy bloody Bearsden.’
She was furious now, hands in fists. McCoy wasn’t sure if she was going to hit him. But she sat back down, screwed the top off the whisky and poured herself another, hands shaking so much she spilt most of it.
McCoy stood there, feeling like a wee boy who’d been given a row. The worst thing was most of what she’d said was true. She looked up at him, took a swig of the drink.
‘Beat it, McCoy,’ she said, sounding tired. ‘Just get out my sight.’
*
Laura was awake when he went in. The bedroom was dim, warm, light coming through a crack in the closed curtains. Laura looked tired and very, very pale.
McCoy sat on the side of the bed. ‘You okay?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘Dr Purdie told me to leave you to rest, but I need to know a couple of things, Laura. It’s all getting too serious for me to be polite, okay?’
She nodded again and pulled herself up on the pillows, effort making her grimace.
‘Whose baby was it?’ he asked
She looked at him, surprised. ‘Donny’s,’ she said. ‘Who else’s would it be?’
‘Are you sure?’
She looked at him puzzled. ‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve only had one boyfriend. What are you asking me that for?’
McCoy took a deep breath. ‘You ran away from home, you were fifteen and pregnant. Things happen in families, Laura. Things that aren’t right.’
She was looking at him with shock. ‘You thought it was my dad?’
‘I had to ask,’ said McCoy
‘No, you didn’t, but it wasn’t him, I swear on my life. You happy now?’
She turned away and looked at the wall. McCoy felt like a bastard doing it, but he had to keep pressing, he needed some answers.
‘So are you going to tell me why you really won’t go back?’
She didn’t turn round. Was almost a whisper when she said it. ‘It’s not my dad. It’s my mum.’
‘Your mum?’ he asked. Was the last thing he expected.
She took her arm out from beneath the covers and pulled up the sleeve of her nightie. There were burns all up her arm, some faded, some still angry red welts. Scars too. Deep slashes across her forearm.
‘Burns are from the poker,’ she said. ‘It’s one of her favourites. Cuts are from anything that comes to hand, bread knives are what she usually uses. You want to see my leg too?’
McCoy shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think . . .’
‘I’m not going home,’ she said. ‘Not now, not ever.’
She kept her face to the wall but McCoy could hear her sobbing. He left her, shut the door behind him and stood on the landing. Seemed leafy Bearsden could be just as dangerous and brutal as anywhere else in Glasgow.