53

I leave my meeting with Elaine Gibson feeling utterly drained. Whoever said that confession was good for the soul was full of shit. I just want to take a shower and go back to pretending that everything is just fine.

I walk past the entrance to the footbridge. Think about taking a walk over to the other side, to revisit the scene of my near suicide attempt. Shrink from it in case the water’s invitation still stands.

Oh, c’mon tae fuck, I tell myself. Need to face your demons, Ray. I look back at the door to Gibson’s office. Then over to my left and the safety of my parked car.

Fuck it. Take a walk, Ray.

I pass under the arch and on to the bridge. A man passes by on my left. He’s tall, lean as a post and whistling. He pulls his cigarette from his mouth, squints a smile through the smoke. ‘Fucking brilliant,’ he says.

Right, I think. Get me whatever this guy’s on. My own face twists into a smile in response. Bloody hell, it’s catching.

A couple of steps on and another guys passes. He’s wearing a dark suit, white shirt, dark tie. He’s bald, with thick spectacles and carrying a briefcase. I pass on the greeting from the previous guy.

He glares in response.

‘Can’t win them all,’ I say out loud, now suspicious of my lift in mood.

A couple of men standing in the middle of the bridge catches my eye. The younger one seems familiar, even from this distance. I take a few more steps forward. Jesus, it’s Simon Davis. What the hell is he doing here?

I look at his mate. There’s a similarity in height and build. A relative? There is a similarity about the eyes. Then recognition sparks, and I’m off running.

When I reach them I push the older man away.

‘Leonard, what the hell are you doing here?’ My mind is coming up with all kinds of links. A chain of thought that I dismiss in seconds. Each of them as confusing as the last. The scars on my wrists burn. Adrenalin sparks in my scalp.

‘McBain,’ says Leonard. ‘The proverbial bad penny.’

‘Simon, get away from that man,’ I say and step up to Leonard. ‘He’s a murderer.’

Simon looks from me to him and then back again. His mouth falls open. He manages to speak. ‘What?’

‘Get away from him. He’s murdered…’

Something gleams in Leonard’s hand. He lunges towards Simon, pulls him into a hug and whispers something in his ear. The boy falls to the ground and Leonard spins and runs off.

He’s here within my grasp. Fuck. I’m torn between checking on Simon and chasing off after Leonard.

Simon groans in pain. I look down at him and the blood that’s spilling from a wound in his side to flower on his grey t-shirt. I make a decision. Kneel down. Press on the wound with one hand and pull my phone from my pocket with the other.

‘You’ll be fine,’ I try to reassure him. My mind is like a row of spinning plates. Any one of which holds the truth. I dial a number and hold the phone to my ear. ‘We’ll have an ambulance here for you in a minute.’

The boy begins to sob.

‘Are you in pain, Simon?’ I ask.

He nods. ‘A little.’ He tries to shift into a more comfortable position. Grimaces at the pain. ‘Who is that man, really?’

‘Jim Leonard. He’s wanted by the police for a series of murders,’ I answer. Or he would be if I had told them the truth.

‘What the hell does he want with me?’ he asks, his face pale.

‘Who knows how that sick fucker’s mind works.’

‘Do you think he was going to kill me?’

I think over the moment of violence just passed. ‘Normally, people don’t survive an encounter with that man. He deliberately stabbed you somewhere non-fatal. It was an attack meant to distract me and allow him to get away.’

‘Why?’

I sense that Simon’s question is more fundamental.

‘What did he say to you? Just then. It was like a hug. Then he whispered in your ear. What did he say?’

Simon shifts his position. Grits his teeth against the pain. His legs are visibly shaking. As I wait for him to speak, I feel a spit of rain on the back of my neck. Then another.

‘He said, “Sorry, John”.’