Bad Samaritan (20 page)

‘You didn't find him, did you?'

‘No. Praise the Lord. It was Dave who found him.'

‘I bet it was,' I say before I can stop myself.

‘Dave was kindness itself during those last few days with Robert.' Father Stephen pales. ‘His solicitude towards a grieving man was inspirational. Any doubts I might have had about that man vanished as I watched him help Robert deal with Ken's death. He was a real Samaritan.'

My mind is racing through the possibilities and I don't answer. Identical twins die within days of each other. An accident and a suicide. Leonard had a part to play here, I'm certain. My worries about what he might be doing since the nun's death at Bethlehem House had been ignored. I didn't have the fortitude to think them through. I tucked them away in the same box I placed my concern about Joe McCall.

* * *

Thoughts, theories and suppositions chase through my mind as, wordless, I make my exit from the priest's residence.

‘Well?' asks Kenny. ‘Thought you were never coming out of there.'

‘I can't…' What do I say? I'm a despicable human being.

‘Oh aye,' says Kenny looking over my shoulder. And then there's a rap on my window. I turn. It's Martha. Kenny presses a key and the window opens.

‘I heard everything in there,' she says. Her mouth is tight. All the lines on her face seem to radiate from it, like it's the centre of her being. ‘That man was
wrong
. Just wrong. Father Stephen has a particular view of the world, and it doesn't allow him to see people like that the way they really are. Leonard? You called him Leonard?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Didn't trust him for a second. Didn't look at me. Looked
through
me as if I wasn't even there. And what he was up to with the Fords? I thought he was maybe trying to worm his way into their wills. No kids…' She sniffs. ‘But then he vanished as penniless as he arrived, so that wasn't it. He did help people, but it felt that his motivation was never altruism. A Samaritan? A bad Samaritan for sure. Kindness was never his agenda, but I couldn't work out what he was after. And all that time he spent in front of the computer? It wasn't healthy. Probably doing that masturbation stuff,' she spat.

I can't take in what she's saying. My mind is a storm. I close my eyes against the feeling of self-loathing that rushes in on me like a tidal river bore. That these men died is down to me. I stayed silent, allowed McCall to take the blame.

Permitting Leonard to carry on hunting.

37

Leonard follows the youth out of the bookshop. He takes a right and a right again before walking up Union Street. His pace is leisurely, which suits Leonard. Makes it less likely that he's going to lose him.

Davis reaches the crossing outside a coffee shop. Waits for permission, like a good boy, and then when the traffic has paused before him, he walks across and up the stairs at the entrance to Central Station.

Before he does so, he stops, engages the
Big Issue
seller standing there and buys a copy of the mag. Leonard wants to drag him off and end it there and then.
This boy is too decent for his own good
, he thinks.

Kind deed done for the day, the boy speeds up the stairs like he has been energised by his own thoughtfulness. His speed has increased so much, it takes him through a family clustered at the top. They accept his waved apology with the good humour of the newly arrived tourist. Glasgow has some renown as a friendly city, and these guys want to match that.

‘No problem, buddy,' the patriarch of the group hollers at Davis's back.

Their crossing of the concourse is uneventful after that as Davis has slowed down somewhat. Although he does take the occasional slide along the marble floor. Just because he can. And each time he does it, Leonard's contempt for him increases. Fingering the knife in his pocket, it occurs to him that he would take him here under this famous vaulted roof if he could get away with it.
Perhaps it if was just a little bit busier
, he thinks as he avoids an elderly couple supporting each other along to their platform. Their suitcase being pulled behind them like a warning. Ambulant but slow. A crowd can be every bit as effective as the darkest of alleyways. A quick thrust with a knife and he
'd
be away through the crowd before anyone could react.

The thought gives him such a thrill, his eyes narrow and his senses close to a narrow note of pleasure. With reluctance, he opens his eyes, takes in the hubbub. The shuffle and stamp of feet, the huff of breathing, the high and happy chatter. Sounds that blend and echo at the same time. An orchestra of travel.

It's too much for Leonard, and he stops to take stock. Then he realises he's lost the boy.

He rushes forward, almost tripping over a stocky, bald man and his rolling suitcase. Cursing the man's laziness, he dodges to the left and searches the bobbing heads around him.

There. Just in time. Davis is heading to the far end and the low level trains.

Acknowledging his forethought in buying a ZoneCard, the rest of the journey is much easier. Leonard even takes a seat on the train right behind the boy. Staring at the pale skin on the back of his neck.

He wants to reach out and touch it, it looks so fresh. There's a mole there. A bump of imperfection that adds to the overall. Just above it, the hairline begins. Freshly cropped. Tight to the skull. And from there it layers slightly longer, following the curve and swell of the boy's head.

The boy stands. The train slows to a stop. Thankfully a number of people get off at the same time, and they continue their journey out of the train station, up the ramp, through the ticket barrier and out to the street beyond.

They're in an area of the city that Leonard doesn't know, but that doesn't matter. It will be easy enough to get back to his digs from here.

They walk for only a few more minutes before the boy's pace slows and he enters the pathway leading to a small house.

Home for the Davis family.

Leonard walks past, crosses the road and sees a low wall under an overhanging tree. He sits on it and waits.

And is rewarded.

38

From where he sits on the wall, Leonard has a perfect view of the house. The tree is heavy with leaf, and these create just enough of a shadow. He pulls his feet up on to the wall, making himself smaller, even less visible.

He looks up at the sky. It's getting dark. Better and better.

Minutes after Simon enters the house, the door opens and someone walks out. A broader, more muscular version of Simon. From his gait, Leonard can tell this one isn't happy. His fists and face are clenched in anger.

The door opens again and Simon runs out. Speeds to his brother and they're face to face, mouths moving , neither listening to the other. They're being mindful of whoever is still in the house, judging by how they keep their voices low and both throw glances back up towards the front window.

Interesting.

All is not well in the Davis household. Will make it even easier to divide and conquer.

Then, the muscular one pushes Simon and walks away. Simon calls after him.

‘Matt. Matt!'

So that's his name. Simon didn't mention it during any of their conversations.

Matt's pace is fierce. Leonard considers following him, but decides against it when he sees the boy pull some keys from his pocket, aim at a small red car, pull open the door and jump in. Seconds later the car drives off. Fast.

Really not happy.

Leonard settles in to see what happens next. Before long his knees are protesting and he straightens his legs. At that moment a tall figure walks past on the opposite side of the street. Dark jeans. Black top. Hood up. One hand is in his pocket. The other is carrying something. Looks like a letter.

He slows as he approaches the end of the path to the Davis house. Looks left and right. Makes his decision and walk-runs up to the door where he pushes his letter through the letter box. As he walks back down the path to the street, his shoulders are hunched against discovery, and it looks like it is taking everything he has not to break into a run.

Leonard hops off the wall. Crosses the road, and waiting until they are beyond the line of sight of anyone in the house, he approaches the man in the hood.

‘Hey. Talk to you for a second.'

‘Fuck off, mate.' The man in the hood keeps walking. Leonard reaches out and grabs the man's sleeve. He turns. Snarls. ‘Told you to fuck off, mate.'

‘So you did,' replies Leonard. Something in his voice makes the man stop. He turns and for the first time Leonard gets a glimpse of his face, and Leonard knows that whatever this guy can throw at him, he can handle with ease. This knowledge transmits itself to the man, and the hostility leaks from his expression to be replaced mostly by fear. He's still defiant though. Trying to save face. But he's a coward, and they both know it.

‘What did you put through the Davis's letterbox?' asks Leonard.

‘What's it to you, ya prick?' the man replies. Man. Now that they're face to face he can see that he's really still just a boy.

‘I'm a friend,' Leonard says and takes a step forward. He knows the rules of this dance better than anyone. This boy might have some inches on him and some width, but it doesn't matter if the smaller man has more fight in him. Leonard has never even bothered to count the number of people he has killed, and he allows this fact to fill his stance. His body is saying,
I could kill you with as much thought as someone else might stand on an ant.

The boy's voice has a wobble. ‘The Davis boy killed that lassie.'

‘He did?'

‘Aye. And the polis aren't doing nothing.'

Leonard resists the urge to correct his grammar. ‘Is that not what Facebook is for? Means rather than just annoying the family, you also get to show the world how pathetic and ineffectual you are.'

‘Doing that as well, mate. Lets them know, we know, you know?'

Idiot.

‘Which Davis boy and which lassie?'

The boy looks confused. ‘Simon. And his girlfriend, Aileen.'

‘What's it to you?'

The boy's face tightens in confusion. ‘He fucking killed her, mate.'

‘Did you fancy her something?'

‘Went to a few of the same classes, like. She was a nice lassie.'

‘And how do you know Simon did it?'

‘Has to be him. She dumped him, and he can't handle it. Goes postal. Kills her.'

Leonard takes a step back. Give the boy space, let him relax and he'll get more out of him. As for Simon being a murderer? No way. Not the boy he's been following all day. Hasn't got it in him. Now, the boy he's just seen running from the house to the car? He's an entirely different story. Strength, aggression and the cold get-the-job-done attitude coming from him was evident. Even from across the street.

‘Tell me more,' Leonard says.

‘Thought you were a friend?'

‘Only of the distant variety.'

‘Eh?'

Leonard curbs the urge to lash out. ‘I'm an old friend of the family. Just looking out for them.' He guesses that this is not the first time this boy had been at the house. Makes a leap. ‘Mrs Davis told me that some little dick was leaving her messages.'

‘Aye, well. Feel sorry for her an' that. Can't be easy when your son turns out to be a killer. But I'm thinking of Aileen's family. Her dad has gone crazy. Ran under a bus, man.'

‘What's their family name?' This is familiar. He sees McBain's face in his mind, talking to the cameras. A name trips from his tongue at the same time as the youth speaks.

‘Banks.'

‘How do you not know this? You being a family friend?'

‘The word is
why,
not how,' says Leonard. He reaches into his trouser pocket and feels the heavy weight of his flick-knife. He was thinking about letting the boy leave unharmed. But he has seen his face. Might recognise him again.

Before confusion at Leonard's statement can form on the youth's face, Leonard reaches out faster than he can blink. Cold steel punches into warm flesh just under the chin.

39

We're driving away from the priest's house and Kenny looks at me.

‘You didn't think he would actually be there, did you? Life's never that easy.'

‘Aye. True,' I manage to say and offer a smile as if to say,
look at the idiot who thought it would be that simple
. Find the priest. Drive to his house. Pick up the maniac and drive him to a quiet spot in the hills before driving a stake through his heart.

All very gothic.

And satisfying. And would surely bring this whole chapter of my life to a close. Perhaps then I could find some peace.

Disappointment sours in my mouth, pulls on my shoulders. Did he know we were coming? Nah, no way. How could he possibly have known we were on to him? Where the hell could he be now? We'll never find him. I have a trail of thoughts, all on a similar vein, but I don't give them voice. I
'd
just sound like a whiner.

I want to get away from my own head. Give my thoughts, my worries, my black hound to someone else. And it was almost all over. A day earlier and we would have had Leonard.

‘Don't worry,' says Kenny. ‘We'll get him, mate.'

‘You didn't answer my question last night.' Time for some deflection.

‘Which one was that?'

‘If you had ever killed anyone.'

Kenny says nothing. Looks from the road, to me and then back again. Chews on it some. Decides not to even bother with the
What kind of question is that
face.

‘Came close,' he says. ‘This evil prick was … nah, let's not go there.' He shakes his head. ‘Best to let that one go, mate.' He exhales, loud and slow. ‘Narrow escape. I've found the threat that I
could
has been enough, so far. Hope to fuck it stays that way.'

‘If Leonard had been there, I'm certain the day would have ended with either him or me bleeding out. I've got to bring all of this to an end. Can't take much…' I tail off. Not going there.

‘What about Maggie?' he asks.

‘What about her?'

‘You've got a good woman there, Ray. Don't leave her out.'

‘Yeah. Right. The man who can't have a relationship unless there's a fee negotiated from the start is giving advice.'

‘Shut it, McBain. Even a blind man can see that Maggie's good for you.'

‘Maybe I'm not good for her.'

‘She has to be the judge of that.' Kenny shakes his head. ‘Arse.'

My phone sounds an alert in my pocket. Saved by the buzz. I pull it out. It's a text from Ale.

‘DNA sample in. No match on the system.'

‘OK. Thanks for letting me know.'

‘Also. Dead body found in a garden across the road from the Davis's house. Stabbed in the throat.'

We both know that when it comes to murder, there's no such thing as coincidence. There has to be a connection. We just have to find it.

‘Has the body been ID
'd
yet?'
I send.

‘Yeah. Wallet was still in his pocket. With a student's ID card in the name of Ian Cook.'

‘Rings a bell.'

‘That's cos he was one of the lads we chatted to at the Horseshoe'

My mind provides a mental image. The quieter one. Interesting.

‘Murder weapon?'
I send.

‘Nothing on the scene.'

‘Where did he live?'
I text. How quickly we adapt. The boy is meat on a cold slab, and we're talking about him in the past tense.

‘He was from Dumfries. Rented a flat in the city centre.'

Meaning he was quite a way from his home. I look at the clock on the dashboard and assess how long it will take to get back to the city.

‘Be there in 45 mins.'

‘What will I tell Peters?'

‘That I cancelled the dentist. Bottled it.'

I pocket my phone and look over at Kenny.

‘What's up?' he asks.

‘Need to get back to the office, big man. So don't spare the horses.'

* * *

Ale is waiting outside the interview room when I arrive. Her eyes are so bright there are almost sparks flying off them.

‘We're getting close, boss,' she says. ‘I can feel it.'

‘Simon's in the room is he?'

She nods.

‘Swabbed?'

‘First thing we did when he arrived. It's been couriered over to the lab as we speak.'

‘Are they giving us any idea of how long it will take to do a comparison?'

Ale shakes her head. ‘Got the usual “we'll do our best” answer.'

Which could be anything between an hour and a week. We need this fast. Simon has an alibi for Aileen's murder, so we have nothing to detain him on.

‘Does Simon know about Cook?'

‘Only if he's the killer. There's an incident tent over the site, so he can't have missed that. It's almost straight across from his house. It was on the news, but with the usual “no name until we notify the family.
”
'

Good. That means we'll get an honest response.

‘What about Peters?'

‘Held up.' She makes a mock sad face. ‘Could be a while.'

‘You are a naughty girl, DC Rossi.' I don't know what she's done to get him out of the way, and I don't want to know.

‘By the way, Simon was in his house all night last night. With his mum. He couldn't have been the one to do Cook,' Ale says.

‘Mmm. Couldn't be too difficult to sneak out without mummy knowing.'

I lean my back against the wall. Thinking this all through. But I can't waste too much time before Peters' fool's errand is over and he's down here wondering what the hell is going on.

‘Also, don't know if this is connected, but Helen Davis said she got one of her hate letters last night. Same night as Cook was killed. Could be linked?'

‘Yeah, but what the hell does it mean?'

I enter the room with Ale on my heels. Simon is sitting as if he got into that position when we put him in the room and he hasn't dared to move an inch since. His legs and arms are crossed. He's shrinking into himself. He acknowledges me with a nod of his head.

‘Good afternoon, Simon,' I say. ‘Thank you for stopping by.' He murmurs in reply, and I can't help but be reminded of the difference between him and his twin brother.

‘We just want to ask you a few questions.'

‘Sure,' he manages to say and coughs as if that might clear the nerves from his throat.

‘Could you tell us the last time you saw Ian Cook?'

‘Ian Cook?' He sits up straight. The questions has thrown him. He was anticipating more queries about Aileen. ‘Haven't seen him since…' He casts his eyes to the ceiling. If I could remember which position the eyes were supposed to be in when recalling something or making it up, I
'd
be able to work out if he was lying or not. ‘I can't remember when I last saw him,' he finishes, and his face flares to full blush.

‘For a boy who blushes so easily, you really shouldn't lie to the police,' says Ale.

‘Sorry.' He looks from Ale to me. ‘I'm not…' He scratches at his neck. He must be feeling the heat generating from there.

‘Simon, save us all time. When did you last see Ian Cook?'

‘It was the same day that Aileen's dad had a go at me. He came up to me in town and spat in my face. Called me a murderer.' His voice trails off with that last word. Like he can barely get his tongue around the necessary syllables. ‘I promise you,' he is pleading with us now, ‘I didn't kill Aileen. I loved her.' He starts to cry softly. His head is down. Shoulders moving to the rhythm of his sorrow.

We give him a minute.

‘Would you like some water, Simon?' I ask.

He shakes his head. Wipes his face with his sleeve.

‘What can you tell us about Ian Cook?'

Simon leans back into his chair. Shrugs. ‘Don't really know him all that well. Him and his mate. Jack, I think? Used to stare at me when I was out with Aileen. I think they both fancied her and wondered what she was doing with a geek like me. And, after, he sent me a couple of messages on Facebook saying pretty much the same thing.'

‘Our sources tell us that after you fell out with Aileen, she was seen snogging both of them at the student's union,' Ale says.

‘Right,' Simon says, wearing an expression of defeat. ‘It's a free world. She was single.' Gets defensive. ‘So what? Doesn't make her a bad person.'

‘Might make you jealous?'

‘Newsflash, I'm human,' he says, and for the first time I see a little bit of fight. Makes me warm to him. A notion I quell instantly. I can't afford to be anything other than objective with this guy. ‘They acted like a pair of dicks to me, and Aileen couldn't see that and falls for their chat. So, no I didn't like that. Yes, I was jealous when I heard. Doesn't make
me
a bad person.'

‘Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Ian?'

‘What?' he asks. I read his expression. He's either a very talented actor, or he's completely unaware of last night's killing. ‘What do you mean by hurt him? He's a bit of a dick, but as far as I'm aware he's not into anything suspect.'

‘He was murdered last night,' I say.

Simon's mouth falls open.

‘Right across the road from your house.'

‘What?' he asks, as if the words are reaching his ears through the mouth of a translator speaking a different form of English. ‘Across the road? What the hell would he be doing there?' He looks from me to Ale as if either of us might know the answer.

‘We hoped you might be able to tell us that,' Ale answers. ‘He didn't pop in for a blether? A wee shot on your Xbox?'

‘No.' He shakes his head. ‘Why would he … I told you, I haven't seen him since that day he spat on me.' His eyes dart around the room as if the answer is caught up in the light that hits the corners.

He makes a connection at the same time I do. ‘Mum said that we got one of those letter last night,' he says. ‘You don't think, Ian…' He tails off as he realises this gives him, or one of his family, a motive.

‘We're getting prints taken,' I say.

‘Man, this is fucked up,' he says, and I realise this is the first time I've heard Simon swear.‘Where was Matt last night?' I ask.

‘In the house,' Simon answers. ‘Went out for a wee while in the evening. Probably to the gym. Came back and didn't leave.'

Time for the silent treatment. I sit back in my chair and cross my arms. Ale reads my cue and does likewise. We both give him the stare. He stares back, looking like a lost little boy.

‘You don't think Matt killed him?' Simon asks.

‘We just want to know what Ian was doing outside your house last night. If he was the one responsible for the hate mail, it gives you motive. Particularly when added to his previous activity. Do you think Matt killed him?' I ask.

Simon snorts. ‘That's ridiculous. I've never known Matt to be aggressive.'

‘You're telling me he's never had a fight?' asks Ale.

‘Of course he has.' He makes a face. ‘Push comes to shove and he can look after himself, but he never goes looking for it.'

‘What about you, Simon?' I ask. ‘You ever go looking for it?'

He snorts again. ‘Matt can look after himself. He also looks after me.' He blushes again. A number of emotions play across the screen of his eyes. The lead one being shame. ‘I'm a bit of a fearty. Used to get bullied a lot. Matt always stepped in to stare down the bullies.' He offers a weak smile. ‘I'm a lover, not a fighter.' Sounds like an often used line.

‘Used to get bullied?' asks Ale. ‘Why did it stop?'

‘Got some friends? Became anonymous in the crowd? Grew up?' He coughs. ‘I think I lost the look of the victim.' For the first time he meets my gaze, as if saying the words out loud had reminded him that self-preservation requires a certain conduct.

I recall my own youth and the almost constant threat of violence that many young males experience. Facing down that violence with a fuck-you grin while trying to ignore the shake in my knees. Knowing that any sign of weakness would be pounced on by any other boys looking to boost their own personal sense of power. The law of our concrete jungle being, look like a victim and you will get victimised. Sounds like Simon eventually learned that lesson for himself.

‘The fact is, a boy who spat in your face and who trolled you online has been murdered just across the road from your house. It's not looking good, Simon,' I say.

I hear loud footsteps outside in the corridor leading to this room. Someone is walking with purpose, and I
know
it's not with any favours for me in mind.

Simon crosses his arms. Folds into himself. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't say any more until I have a lawyer?'

There's a knock at the door. It opens. DI Peters steps in.

‘DI McBain. DC Rossi. Talk to you outside, please?'

Ale gives me a look. We stand up and follow Peters out. He takes a few steps away from the door and turns. His lips are a tight line of irritation. He manages to open them to speak.

‘He has an alibi for the night of Aileen's murder. He has an alibi for last night's murder.' His ire increases as each word escapes his mouth. ‘I'm the chief investigating officer on this one, Ray, whether you fucking like it or not.' He faces Ale. His expression telling her of his huge disappointment in her. ‘DC Rossi. Escort Simon Davis to the public reception area. His mother is there for him.'

‘But we're waiting…'

‘You might be waiting on Christmas, Ale, but frankly I don't give a shit. Take the boy to his mother. Now.'