Frank
Next morning Maureen adopted an English accent and phoned the Northern from Leslie’s house. She asked reception to put her through to Frank in the office.
As soon as he lifted the receiver she realized that she should have thought it through beforehand. She didn’t know who she was going to pretend to be, she didn't even know what story she was going to tell. She asked him whether he had seen the article about the superannuation mix-up, it was in the newsletter, he had probably read it. Well, Frank said, he remembered something about that, yes. Stunned that the story was hanging together, she staggered on: obviously it wasn’t her fault, she had been called in to sort out her predecessor’s mistakes, wasn’t that always the way? Frank agreed vehemently. Maureen couldn’t imagine Frank being called in to sort piss from shit but she didn’t say so.
He agreed to get her a printout of the names and national insurance numbers of the full-time medical staff spanning ten years from 1985 to 1995, excluding agency, and Maureen would send a courier to pick it up at two that day.
She looked at the phone before she put it down. Martin was right: Frank was really stupid.
Frank finished his sticky blueberry muffin and played another three games of Tetris. This was a bit lucky. If he did them this favour they might remember if he applied for a job at the regional office. A job in a real office. An office where you wouldn’t be surrounded by bloody loonies.
At ten past two she walked into the office wearing a crash helmet and Leslie’s leathers. Frank handed her a brown envelope. Curious as to how far she could push it, she made him sign a receipt for a novel she had bought a couple of weeks before. She walked down the back stairs and out of the hospital with her visor down, feeling untouchable, like a movie hero. Leslie had kept the engine running and the stand up on the bike. Maureen swung her leg over the seat and Leslie turned, spraying grey gravel. The lights further down the road changed, causing a break in the traffic, and they pulled out into the road.
Back in the Drum they broke open a quarter bottle of whisky, took a slug each and opened the envelope. Frank had printed out a single sheet from his files, all medical personnel employed at the Northern covering the years 1985 to 1995, excluding agency. It was a list of national insurance numbers. No names. Frank really was a stupid bastard.
As they finished the whisky Leslie showed her how to sharpen the end of the stabbing comb into a point. She drew the long handle of the comb across a black wedge of silicon carbide, backwards and forwards, turning it over at the end to sharpen both sides, dragging it on the diagonal to give it an edge. She wrapped a J-cloth over the teeth and gave it to Maureen to have a go. She scratched the handle over the block, turning it over and drawing it through. She kept going until she brought it to a neat point with an inch long sharpened ledge on either side of the tip. Leslie rubbed margarine into it to disguise the scratches.
Maureen thought about the stabbing comb as Leslie drove her back to Maryhill and Benny’s house, she thought about it and it warmed her, as the remembrance of a great love would.
Leslie dropped her at the bollards in the Maryhill Road.
Benny was in the hall, on his way out to the library. ‘Maureen, where were you yesterday?’ he said, and hugged her.‘How’re ye keeping?’
She stood stiff in his arms, trying to remember how she used to react to him when he touched her. She pressed herself into his chest and guessed.‘I’m fine, Benny,’ she said, drawing back and looking him straight in the eye, holding his cheek with the flat of her hand. She looked at him, willing them away, but her suspicions about him refused to subside.
He squeezed her shoulders.‘Good, wee hen.’He grinned. ‘That’s good. You’ve changed your hair It’s really nice.’
‘Yeah, I got it cut.’
‘God, is that whisky on your breath?’
‘Um, yeah.’
‘Maureen, watch yourself, it’s only three in the afternoon.’
‘I’m watching myself,’ she said resentfully, and pulled away from him ‘I’m just . . . I just wanted some today, that’s all.’
‘Naw,’ he pulled her back by the arm,‘don’t be like that.’ He hugged her again and she found herself more uncomfortable than the first time.
‘Just see ye don’t end up like me, that’s all I mean,’ he said, and let her go.‘Spending your days and nights in smoky rooms with a bunch of old alkis.’
The police had phoned for her and she was to phone the Stewart Street station. He said he’d made dinner for her and left it in the oven. She shouted a cheerful cheerio after him as he shut the front door behind himself.
She slipped on the oven gloves and took out the casserole dish, feeling the warmth seeping through the cheap gloves. She lifted the lid. It was a mouth-watering cheesy pasta thing. A large portion had been sliced out of it: the fresh cliff of cheese and pasta was collapsing slowly, sliding down and filling the base of the dish. She cut herself a portion and dirtied a plate and some cutlery with it before dropping it into a plastic bag ready for the bin. She arranged the plate and fork on the draining board to look like the disregarded crockery of a happy eater. She ducked into the bedroom and checked the bottom drawer. The CD was still there, unmoved since she put it back.
Her T-shirt was covered in itchy shards of hair from the night before. She went into Benny’s cupboard and found the mustard crew-neck jumper she had brought from the house. She took the jaggy T-shirt off and pulled the jumper over her head, opened her leather rucksack and lifted most of her clothes from the shelf, shoving them into the bag. Her hand hovered over the Anti Dynamos T-shirt. She took it for spite and left a pair of knickers and a T-shirt on the shelf in case Benny noticed everything was gone and got suspicious.
Joe McEwan couldn’t come to the phone but the officer knew who she was and told her they wanted to see her at the station as soon as possible. He offered to send a car for her but she said it was okay, she’d make her own way down. He didn’t object and she took it as a good sign. She collected the bag of food from the kitchen sink and dumped it in a street bin.
She was halfway down the road to the police station when she remembered Jim Maliano’s Celtic shirt and jogging trousers sitting on the floor of the cupboard among the dirty socks. She would have to go back to Benny’s at some point.
*
Hugh McAskill came to collect her from the reception desk with Inness at his back. Inness had shaved off his gay-biker moustache. It may have been because she was used to seeing him with it or because the freshly shaved skin was a lighter colour than the rest of his face but his top lip seemed odd and prominent. Her eyes kept straying to it of their own accord. Inness saw her looking at it and turned his head away to shake off her gaze.
They took her to an interview room on the ground floor. McAskill seemed to be in charge. He gave her a cheeky encouraging look, took a big chocolate bar out of his pocket, ripped the packaging down the middle with his thumbnail and broke the chocolate into squares. He put it down in the middle of the table, sitting it on top of the wrapper like a serving suggestion.‘Wire in,’ he said, sucking on a square. Inness took two and Maureen took one.‘Thanks,’ she said, and wondered why he was always so nice to her.
Inness turned on the tape-recorder, told it who was present and what the time was.
‘Now, Miss O’Donnell,’ said McAskill, swallowing his chocolate and addressing her in a formal telephone voice, ‘the first thing I need to ask you is whether or not you’ve ever seen this before.’
He produced a knife from a crumpled paper bag and put it on the table. It was a new Sabatier kitchen knife with an eight-inch stainless-steel blade and a black wooden handle. She had seen them in shops. They were expensive. A paper tag was attached to it with a piece of string, a long number scrawled on it in biro. It had been cleaned and polished, the blade flawlessly reflecting the fluorescent bulb above their heads, a pitiless slit of light sitting on the table.
Maureen wished she hadn’t taken the chocolate. Her mouth was dry and the sticky paste was stuck under her tongue and up between her gums and cheeks. Her mouth began to water at the sight of the knife in a way she found disturbing.
‘Is that it?’ she asked, staring at it.
‘Is it what?’ said McAskill.
‘Is that what was used on Douglas?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Have you seen it before?’
‘No,’ said Maureen.
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay,’ he said, and handed it to Inness. Inness put it back in the bag. She thought it was a stupid way to keep a sharp knife, blade down in a paper bag. ‘Where did you find it?’ she asked.
‘How do you mean?’ said McAskill uncomfortably.
‘Where was the knife? Was it out the back of the flat?’
‘We found it in the house. Why?’
‘I just thought you’d have asked me about it before, that’s all.’
‘We only just found it,’ said Inness.
‘A week and a bit afterwards?’ said Maureen.
‘It was quite well hidden,’ muttered Inness, lifting another square of chocolate and putting it in his mouth.
Maureen wondered how well hidden anything could be in a flat the size of a fifty-quid note with ten men raking through it.
‘Can I ask you something else?’ she said, addressing McAskill this time.
‘Depends what it is,’ he said carefully.
‘Have you any idea who did this?’
‘We’re following a number of leads,’ he said, shuffling his papers.
‘One more question?’
He smiled kindly.‘Go on then, try me.’ ‘Did you talk to Carol Brady?’
‘Aye,’ he said.‘She’s not your greatest fan.’
‘Yeah, I know that.’
‘She’s convinced you blackmailed him for that money.’
‘I didn’t even know it was there, honestly.’
‘We’ve seen the security video at the bank,’said McAskill. ‘Douglas paid in the money himself.’
‘When?’
‘First thing in the morning on the day he was killed.’ Maureen could almost see the time-lag security video, blurred and grey, Douglas jolting across the floor to the teller like a bad animation.
‘Can you think of a reason for him to pay that much money into your account?’ asked McAskill. ‘Sorry?’
‘Why would he do that? It was pretty obvious the other day that you had no idea it was in there. What would he give you money for?’
‘I don't know.’ She looked at the table and wondered, ‘Maybe he wanted me to pass the money on to someone else and he didn’t get the chance to tell me about it.’
McAskill nodded but didn’t seem convinced.‘Okay,’ he said.‘We’ll look into that.’
‘Did you find out who’d told Carol Brady where I was staying?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ said McAskill stiffly, rolling his eyes and nodding at the tape-recorder. Maureen didn’t understand the signal. He nodded at it again. Maureen leaned across the table and pressed the Stop button on the tape-recorder.
‘No!’ said McAskill, lurching over the table and pulling her hand away.‘You have to tell us you want the tape off and we need to say we’re going to, right?’ He switched it on again.
Inness said,‘The tape was turned off at five-thirteen by the interviewee, Miss Maureen O’Donnell. Miss O’Donnell, did you just turn the tape off?’ ‘Yes, I did just turn the tape off.’
‘Do you want me to turn the tape off before we continue the interview?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Miss O’Donnell has requested that the tape-recorder be turned off at this point in time,’ said Inness.‘I am turning it off at five-fourteen and the interview will continue.’ He flicked the switch and turned excitedly to McAskill.
‘I don't particularly want a tape of me telling you this,’ said Hugh,‘but a young officer’s facing disciplinary action over it. We went to see Brady and she gave us his name.’
‘Without blinking an eye,’ said Inness, taking another square of chocolate.‘She just said his name and shut the door.’ He popped it in his mouth. ‘Nice lady,’ said Maureen. McAskill smiled.‘Lovely.’
‘Where did the money in my account come from?’ Inness jumped in.‘Mr Brady emptied his own account. Took out thirty-odd thousand in big notes.’
‘God,’ said Maureen.‘How does anyone get that much money in their account in the first place?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ said Inness defensively, his incisors smeared brown. Maureen looked at his bald top lip. He lifted his arm stiffly, rested his elbow on the table and cupped his hand over his mouth.
‘He’d saved it over a number of years,’ said McAskill.
‘His wife didn’t even know he had the account until he died.’
Maureen took out her cigarettes and lit one. The smoke mingled with the sweet chocolate in her mouth turning both tastes bad.
‘Where do you think the rest of the money went?’
She shrugged, mulling over the lump of money in Siobhain McCloud’s handbag. The other fifteen thousand couldn’t be in there: it would take seven hundred and fifty twenties to make it up and the roll couldn’t possibly have had that in it.‘I dunno where it went. I suppose I’ll have to give the money back?’
‘No,’ said McAskill.‘He gave it to you. It’s yours.’ She didn’t know why Douglas had given it to her but she had a bad feeling about it. She didn’t really want the money. ‘Does Mrs Brady still think I did it?’
‘Yeah,’ McAskill said.‘She’s not interested in any evidence, she’s just certain it was you.’
‘Certain,’ echoed Inness, picking up another piece of chocolate.
McAskill nudged Inness and jerked his head towards the tape-recorder.‘Okay,’ he said,‘I’m going to put the tape back on now, Maureen, if that’s all right with you. I need a record of me telling you this next thing.’ ‘Sure,’ said Maureen.
He turned on the tape.‘Anyway, Miss O’Donnell, we have finished our examination of the house and you are welcome to return at your convenience.’
‘Right,’ said Maureen tentatively,‘What happens about the mess? Do you clean it up or do I?’
‘It’s down to you, really. It should be covered on your home insurance. We only clean the place if the person living there can’t clean it on their own, like a disabled or an old person.’
‘Right,’ she said, her heart sinking at the thought of her minimal house insurance.‘I see. Is that it, then?’
McAskill looked at his notebook.‘Yes,’ he said.‘That seems to be all for now.’
On the way down to the lobby she asked them if she could see Joe McEwan. Inness smirked.‘I don't think he’ll be too happy to see you,’ he said.‘You weren’t very ladylike the last time.’
‘I know. I wanted to apologize about that.’
‘We can tell him;you’re sorry,’ said Inness.
‘Well, I’d really like to see him about something else as well.’
McAskill disappeared through the double doors under the stairs. Inness gave her a dirty look, for no reason, and wandered off to chat to the policeman on reception. When McAskill came back he was, smiling.‘You’ve got two minutes,’ he said to Maureen.
McEwan followed him out of the door.‘What can I do for you?’ he said sharply.
Maureen led him away from the other two.‘Listen, I wanted to ask you about something. Remember you said something about Benny’s no pro case? Could you tell me what he was arrested for?’
‘I certainly could not,’ he said, looking at her as if she’d just suggested he fuck a pig while she stab it.‘I can't tell you what was on someone else’s police record.’
She should never have called him an arsehole.‘Just asking,’ she mumbled.
‘Was there anything else? I’m busy finding out about your brother.’
‘My brother didn’t do it, Joe.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, meanly.
‘Come on, he’s got an alibi for the whole day.’ He ignored her comment. Was there anything else?’ he asked.
‘No, nothing else.’
‘Fine.’
McEwan swanned off back through the double doors, leaving them swinging, saloon-style, in his wake. Inness was still chatting to the officer on the reception desk. McAskill sidled up to her, looking at the floor.‘No pro,’ he said, his lips moving hardly at all, his voice a breathy whisper.‘Inverness nineteen ninety-three. Committed a breach outside a warehouse. Demanding money from a man. Six months afterwards the same guy was arrested for running a stolen credit-card operation covering the whole north east. Your friend was very, very lucky he was done for breach. His case was decided before they found out what it really meant. He must have been working with the big boss.’
‘Could the psychiatrist who saw him have known this?’
‘If your pal didn’t tell him at the time he’d know afterwards. It was all over the papers.’
Maureen loved nonsensical stories and when Benny first got sober he used to keep her up nights telling her about his drinking. If it was an innocent incident he would have told her about it.‘Thanks for telling me that, Hugh,’ she said.‘It makes sense of some things.’
He was showing her out of the door when she turned to him.‘Hugh,’ she said,‘why are you so nice to me?’ ‘I’m not that nice.’
‘But telling me about Benny, and the chocolate and stuff.’
‘You could have found out about your pal, it would just have taken a long time but it’s all a matter of public record.’ ‘No, I mean, they all think I’m a mental bitch, why don’t you?’
He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. ‘Ever thought about an incest survivors’ group?’ he said softly. ‘Eh?’
‘Tuesdays. Eight p.m. St Francis, Thurso Street. Round the back.’ He let the glass door swing shut behind her.
She looked back into the station lobby. He was walking away.