Blood Tears (34 page)

I hear feet shuffle on the carpet in the hall, then they slide on the wooden laminate of the kitchen. There’s no lift to the stride, just the foot being pushed along the floor.

‘Daryl. Or whatever your name is…’

‘It’s Ray.’ The skin on her face has lost all colour and elasticity. It looks like I could stick my finger in her cheek and leave a dent that would still be there in a week’s time.

‘Why, Ray? Why? Why would someone kill Hutch and make it look like Lenny?’

‘Don’t know yet, Ruth.’

She’s looking at me. Barely even blinking. ‘Who are you, really? There’s something about you. You’re not… acting like you should. Why are you so interested in convincing me that the body is Hutch? Shouldn’t you just be running off and checking what you need to check. Who the fuck are you?’ She ends with a shout.

‘C’mon, have a seat. I’ll make us a coffee and tell you everything.’ I put my hand on her shoulder and lead her back into the living room.

Once there she shrugs it off, like there was a satellite delay to her reaction. ‘Don’t… don’t bloody patronise me. Who are you? And why are you involved in all of this?’

What do I tell her? The full truth, nothing but the truth? So help me. God, if I were her would I be able to listen to my story at this point, with a sympathetic ear?

‘I am a policeman. My name is Ray McBain. Detective Inspector Ray McBain. But I have recently… been wrongly charged with murder.’

Her face screws up with confusion and she looks in the direction of Hutchison’s flat.

‘But you never even knew Hutch. I’ve never seen you before. Why would you be under suspicion of killing Hutch?’ She’s taking two and two and making up lottery winnings.

‘Not Hutch. I’m not connected with this killing. But the real killer is, and through…’ Oh fuck. This is confusing me. How is she going to feel? I take a deep breath. ‘There is a connection with the man identified as deceased and a series of other deaths.’

‘Oh,’ she holds her hand over her mouth, ‘I thought your face was familiar. You’re that cop that’s wanted for murder.’

‘Yes. That’s what I’ve been saying.’

She stands up and moves away from me, ‘I’ve got a murderer in my house. I’ve got a murderer in my house. I’ve got a…’

‘I’m not the murderer. The police have got it wrong, love.’ I walk towards her, hands out at my sides, palms facing up. The body language of the honest.

‘But you look different. You were in the news for ages.’ She is backing up towards the kitchen. Why there? Is she looking for a phone? For a weapon?  ‘Did you kill Hutch? What have you done with Lenny? Did you kill Hutch, you bastard?’ She screams before she turns and runs towards the far wall of the kitchen. I follow her, aiming for a non-threatening pace. A mobile phone is plugged into a socket beside the kettle. She reaches for the phone with one hand and with the other pulls a bread knife out of its hole in a wooden block.

‘I’ll call the police if you lay as much as a finger on me, you bastard.’

‘They’ve got the wrong man.’ My voice is calm and even, while my mind is racing. Why did this all go so wrong? I need her on my side, not phoning the cops. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘So why are the police after you then? Fuck it, I’m calling 999.’ Three sharp electronic tones sound from the phone as she punches in the number.

‘No,’ I shout. Two steps and I’m beside her. I wrench the phone from her hand and as my thumb presses on the “end call” button she slashes with the knife across the ridge of my knuckles.

‘Owww,’ I howl and drop the phone. ‘What did you do that for?’ The back of my hand feels red hot. I hold it up to look at the wound. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to have cut too deep, but the blood is flowing freely.

‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’ Ruth punctuates each word by taking a step towards me and then taking another step back. She wants to help me and is equally terrified of any retaliation. She looks at the phone on the floor, where it fell from my hand ‘I didn’t mean to…’

I sit on a stool. ‘Have you any plasters or bandages?’

The knife is still on her hand and its point is still aimed at me, but my response is clearly puzzling her. Her mind is beginning to work again. I’m not sure what has calmed her down, the sight of blood or my demeanour. Her eyes stray again towards the phone. She wants to go for it but is afraid to take her eyes from me.

‘Go on then. Call the cops,’ I laugh. ‘Don’t know what’s worse, being wrongly accused of murder or being slashed on the back of the hand by a girl.’

‘So you’re not…’

‘No, Ruth, I’m not the killer. Sadly, and not for the first time, the boys in blue have got it badly wrong.’

‘If your former colleagues don’t believe you, why should I?’

‘Because you’re a good deal smarter than they are?’ I grin. Her arm drops to her side and I judge that this is time to turn on some more charm. ‘Hello. Dripping on your good lino here. Can you get me a cloth or a bandage?’ I lick some of the blood from the wound and wince. ‘And some needle and thread might not go amiss.’

‘God. I’m so sorry,’ she’s beside me now, knife having fallen to the floor while she grabbed at a kitchen towel. ‘Here.’ She presses on to the wound with the cloth. Blood seeps through the material in a growing red cloud.

‘God. The blood. I am so, so sorry. But you did scare the shit out of me.’ Her eyes are large. Fear, grief and confusion swim in the film of unshed tears that line her lower eyelashes. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice is a whisper.

‘Hey, it’s okay. You were quite scary yourself you know. I wouldn’t want to have been the real killer. You’d have made mincemeat out of me.’

She manages a laugh. ‘Yeah, don’t mess wi’ me.’ And leans against the worktop before she keels over. ‘What is happening? The world’s gone pure mental.’

‘I know how you feel. The world’s been pure mental for me for weeks now.’

‘So you think it might be Hutch that’s dead?’ she whispers.

I nod. Time for a little more truth. ‘One of the murders happened to someone who had a link to my past. I hid that link so that I could carry on investigating the case. I got found out, so the police took that as an admission of guilt. The thing is, there has been more than one death. Similar murders have been happening for a few months now and I need to find the bastard who is doing it and put him away for a very, very long time.’

Throughout my speech her eyes remain fixed on mine. When I stop talking the stare continues for a long minute. The silence is begging to be filled, but I ignore the urge to speak knowing that if I do speak first, I lose.

‘Hutch needs to be given a funeral. People need to mourn.’

‘The body needs to be identified correctly first.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘With difficulty. He may have been buried by now. Let’s hope they didn’t cremate it.’

‘It’ll be too late for a visual identification anyway, won’t it? Decomposition and all that.’ As she says this, her hand goes to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. Hutch.’ Tears push out on to the lower rim of her eye. She steels herself. ‘How else can we identify him?’

‘The first thing we need to do is convince the authorities that this needs to be looked into. They’re bound to ignore anything coming from the number one suspect.’

‘Aye, but they’re not going to ignore a hysterical girlfriend.’ Her smile is weak. ‘Besides, technically he’s been missing for over a month now.’ She turns her face up to mine, her eyes lit with false hope. ‘Maybe this is all a dream. We’re… imagining things. Deluded even. He is there. He’s alive and well and he… just doesn’t love me anymore. That’s why he hasn’t been in touch.’ Various emotions vie for space on her face as she works with this notion and simultaneously fights the guilt of preferring him to be dead, to not being in love with her anymore. I put my hand on her shoulder again. I don’t know what to say.

The phone rings. It’s Allessandra.

‘Sloppy, Ray. They were sloppy. They couldn’t find anyone to give a visual ID. He was an orphan and there was no other family they could find. He had a wallet on him, with all the personal effects of one James Leonard.’ I can almost see her shrug of explanation.

‘No dental or medical checks?’ I feel relieved to be speaking about work-related matters. There is comfort and a distance in procedure that helps both the loved ones of the deceased and the messenger.

‘None.’

‘Thanks, Allessandra.’ I hang up. ‘Ruth, you need to contact the police. Convince them that the body they have is not who they think it is. They went with the ID in his wallet. Leonard’s wallet. That was DC Allessandra Rossi. I’ll give you her number and you can give her a call. She’ll start the official ball rolling.’

It’s the next morning, I’m back in my hotel room and I can’t shake off this feeling. That somebody is watching me. Despite the room’s thermostat being on full, I can’t seem to heat myself. I’m wearing a big, woolly jumper and my leather jacket and still I feel cold. I’ve got to get out of here. Where the fuck has Calum gone to? Still no sign of him. Gone off chasing pussy? Nah. Doubt it. He always appeared to be a professional. With a capital P. Maybe Kenny has called him in.

I dial his number. Just in case. ‘Kenny. You seen Calum?’

‘No.’ Pause. ‘Sorry, Ray. I’m in the middle of something. Let me get back to you. Soon, okay?’

Fine. I think. Except it’s not just him I’m worried about. The fact that I’m alone in this building crowds in on me. No-one would hear me scream and come to rescue me. Can it, McBain. You’re sounding like an old woman. It must be the room. I’m out of here.

In the passageway my door clicks shut behind me with an air of finality. Like it’s never going to open again. The corridor stretches on either side of me and is empty. And silent. I walk to the lift and feel a spasm on my neck, just where it meets my shoulder, just where a blade would cause maximum damage. I stop and turn. Nothing. The corridor is still empty. Silent. I press the command button for the lift. I can hear its electronic whirr somewhere inside the shaft. C’mon. I press the button again. Hurry. Should I take the stairs?

The door to the stairwell is to my right. Through the small glass section in the door it appears well lit. I take a step towards it, when with a musical ping the lift announces its arrival.

Bracing myself against the back wall of the small metallic box, I will the doors shut. They do and as the box falls I feel my anxiety lessen. On the first floor it stops with a lurch. A young couple get in. Couldn’t you walk down one flight of stairs? I want to shout at them. Instead I take a step towards the corner to my right, so they can have the rest of the space. They don’t even acknowledge me. Joined at the groin, they’re both wearing that “Just Fucked Each Other Stupid All Night” glow. They simply stare into each other’s eyes and all but lick at each other’s smiles. Still. It’s company, of a sort.

That’s what I need. Company. When the lift stops I’m out of the door, almost barging the male out of the way.

‘Arsehole,’ he hisses. Wouldn’t do to appear weak in front of the girlfriend. I turn round and shoot him the finger and wink at his girlfriend.  She giggles. I hear him remonstrate with her as I march through the lobby.

A broadsheet newspaper is on display at the door.
Free Copy
, reads the sign. Let’s see if there’s anything in here about me.

Outside, I breathe deep. Boy does it feel good to be out of there. It felt like the hotel housed my own private haunting. Relax, Ray, you’re thinking nonsense. You're just tired, that‘s why you‘re so spooked. Relax. But I can’t relax. I need to do something. I need to find McCall. I need to find out what happened to Leonard. And where the fuck is Calum, my so-called minder?

Company. I need company. Theresa. What’s she up to today? It would be nice to see her. Wouldn’t be the first time we’d had a mid-morning sexual snack. A Coitus Elevensus, she used to call it. My lips curve in a smile as I hear the little giggle that sugared the comment. But it’s not really the sex I’m after is it? It’s her. Or there’s Maggie. She would be company. Nah. She’ll do all that spooky stuff. Fuck that.

Theresa. We haven’t spoken since she ran away from Kenny’s flat. I shouldn’t contact her. It might not be safe. Maybe it’s seeing that couple together in the lift that’s getting me all antsy. I think if I hadn’t been there they would have joined the lift equivalent of the Mile High Club. It wasn’t their obvious lust for each other that pissed me off. It was more than that. They were so into each other. They looked as if five minutes out of each other’s company would have been too painful to endure. I can’t remember ever having had that.

Good grief, McBain. You are all over the place tonight. First you want to get out of that hotel as if your life depends on it and now you’re standing in front of it all doe-eyed.

The front page of the newspaper has a photograph of some ugly fucker of a politician, hair like my granny’s fur hat and teeth that look like they’ve been surgically enhanced.

Should’ve just got a haircut, pal.

In lined blocks, down the side of the page we, the earnest/ bored/faux-intellectual readers are enticed inside with “Male victims of drug rape” and “Scottish Executive on ID cards”.

“Police admit stalemate in Crucifixion Killer case” is at the bottom of the page. Apparently in an attempt to get into the mind of the deranged ex-CID Detective Chief Inspector Ray McBean (arseholes can‘t even get my name right), 38 (and still getting the age wrong), Strathclyde Police have brought over the big boys from America. On account of serial killers being busier over there, don‘t you know. The story is continued on page three. Big Breasts page in some newspapers.

Except in this rag it’s my old colleagues who are left looking like tits.

I wonder what their experts will say: abused during childhood, deprived of love, all of that kind of stuff. He is a reflection and a product of the society we live in. Blah, blah.

Anyway, back to me.

And Leonard. This new discovery has thrown everything in the air. What is the connection between McCall and Leonard? There has to be something. A body, with Leonard’s wallet is found with all of the usual wounds, pointing to the so-called Crucifixion Killer. How the press boys love alliteration and how convenient for the soulless bastard to make it easier for them.