Dr. Yes (33 page)

    'Mother,
how did you even get into the house?'

    'With
keys, how the hell do you think?'

    'But
where did you get them from?'

    'What
do you mean? I have my own keys.'

    'Mother,
I took them off you, and I changed the locks.'

    'Well
I borrowed yours and had copies made, didn't I, you dozy kipper? What sort of a
son takes the keys to her own house off his own mother, and then changes the locks?
I ought to throw you out, and then where would you go, you little shit? Move in
with that scrubber?'

    'That
would be me?' Alison asked from the door.

    Mother
had never, to the best of my knowledge, been taken by surprise in her whole
life before, but this was the second occasion in a matter of minutes. She
hardly blinked.

    'When
are you going to stop abusing my son and marry him?' she snapped out.

    'Soon
as he asks,' she snapped back.

    Alison
and I sat at the kitchen table, sipping Slim a Soup. Mother was in a
sherry-induced coma and Jeff was in between precarious columns of books in one
of the spare rooms throwing up into a plastic basin.

    'This
is exactly why no really good fictional detective ever has a family,' I said, although
I knew that wasn't strictly true. I could get away with saying it because
Alison wasn't and never would be as well read as I was, but it was my way of
saying that we were never going to get married.

    'Your
mother is like a salmon, swimming upriver, determined to get home to spawn, no
matter what.'

    'Devil
spawn,' I said.

    'But
she made a fair point. I would hate to bring shame on the family.'

    She
smiled, and hugged her mug.

    I
hugged mine and said, 'Let's talk about the case.'

    She
said, 'You can't keep sweeping it under the carpet.'

    I
said, 'There's two bodies out in the woods and a killer at large. Let's focus.'

    'Whatever.'
She sighed. 'Okay. Do we go to Robinson?'

    'He's
useless.'

    'What
if Buddy's at the airport, fleeing the country?'

    'We
don't want the monkey, we want the organ- grinder.'

    'We
want both. Robinson could stop him, Buddy could spill the beans on Dr Yes, case
closed.'

    'Buddy
is a contract killer; he's professional, he's cool, he's not going to spill any
beans. He won't be at the airport. Or at least not at George Best or the
International. He'll be at a small airstrip somewhere, or across the border.
He's no mug. And we have these . . .'

    I
took out the mobile phone and wallet we'd recovered from Rolo's jacket. Two
calls had come in from

    Pearl
since we'd taken possession of the phone; his ringtone was the theme from
Captain Pugwash.
She had left two messages, each asking Rolo to call, the
second shorter and more urgent than the first. A check of the call history
showed that Pearl and Rolo were the only ones using the phone, which suggested
that it had been purchased purely for that purpose. The wallet contained two
twenty-pound notes, and nothing else. A phone that could be thrown away, and a
wallet without identification. Rolo probably wasn't his real name.

    'Dr
Yes is no mug,' I said. 'Everything comes through Pearl, and in the end he'll
sacrifice her as well. For the moment we don't know for sure who was being set
up in Tollymore.'

    'If
Buddy is as cool and professional as you say, he wouldn't have fled the way he
did, leaving Rolo half buried and the fire still going. He would have tidied
up. But he was taken by surprise, he was betrayed. So what would you do in that
case?'

    'Me?'

    'No,
I know what you would do: you would hide under the quilt. Buddy, what would he
do, what would he really do, bearing in mind what he does for a living?'

    'He'd
be angry, so angry that he's gotten sloppy with the murder scene.'

    'And
if he's angry, he's not going to go gently into the night, is he?'

    'You're
right. He'll be looking for whoever set him up.'

    'Pearl.'

    We
looked at each other. I was noticing how cool and calculating Alison's eyes
were.

    'Maybe
we'll be doing the world a favour if we let him sort her out/ she said. 'She's
rotten to the core.'

    'Just
sit back and let her be murdered?'

    'One
less bad guy to worry about.'

    'You
wouldn't really, would you? Just because you don't like her.'

    'That
has nothing to do with it.'

    Her
gaze did not waver. Mine did, obviously, but only because of my dysfunctional
tear ducts.

    'No,
Alison.'

    She
drummed her fingers on the table. Then she pushed Rolo's pay-as-you-go phone
across to me. 'Maybe we should establish if she's still alive?'

    I
picked up the phone. 'And if she answers?'

    'Do
what your heart tells you.'

    'That's
...'

    'I'm
only winding you up. Call her. Do what you think is best.'

    'There
you go again!'

    'I
mean it! Do the right thing
for the case,
Sherlock.'

    'With
no comeback?'

    'We'll
see.'

    I
sighed. She winked. I shook my head. I dialled. It was answered on the third
ring.

    'Rolo!
Where the . . . ?'

    'Rolo's
dead.'

    'What?
Who . . . ?' 'It's me.'

    There
was a few seconds of silence. And then: 'How did you get his phone?'

    'It's
a long story, Pearl, you wouldn't believe it . . .'

    'Tell
me.'

    'I
can't . . . there's no way of knowing who's listening . . .'

    'You
think someone is?'

    'I
don't know! This is way out of my league! I don't know what's going on exactly,
and I'm not sure I want to know, but there are dangerous people out there and I
don't think you know what you're involved in . . . I think I was right all along,
Pearl, it's Dr Yeschenkov, I think he's a killer, he's using a hit man called
Buddy Wailer . ..'

    'Buddy!'

    'Yes!'

    'But
that's impossible, Buddy's ...'

    'I
have the evidence, Pearl. Come and see for yourself. We need to talk this
through. I said we were partners, and we are. I trust you, and we can work this
out together, but you have to tell me the truth.'

    'Yes.
Of course. You're right. I've been sucked in to this and I don't know how to
get out. You're a good man, Mr No Alibis, I do trust you. I have to see you.
Will I come now?'

    'No,
it's not safe. They're watching. Tomorrow, come to the shop tomorrow, tomorrow
at noon. I'm having a little get-together, book stuff, but we can talk after, find
somewhere private, yeah? Will you trust me on this?'

    'Of
course I will. And thank you. I had no idea . ..'

    'Just
come.'

    'Slick,'
said Alison. 'But I don't follow. What gathering? Why bring her to the shop?'

    'Because
it's that time again.'

    'That
time?' She studied me. 'Oh.
That
time. The time when all the cogs begin
to turn and you sit up all night until the solution comes spewing out of you.
Does that mean you have an inkling already, and if you do, is it roughly in
line with what we've been thinking?'

    'Yes
and no.'

    'Is
that all I'm getting?'

    'Things
will be clearer in the morning.'

    'And
if they're not?'

    'They
will be. Trust me.'

    'I do
trust you. But not with Pearl. Not going somewhere private with her. Wherever
she goes, I go too.'

    'That's
fine, absolutely. I'm not the slightest bit interested in her.'

    'Man
dear, that doesn't matter. If she wanted, she could have you for breakfast and
you wouldn't have any choice in the matter.'

    'I
don't think so.'

    'She
walks through a room, men stand to attention. And I don't mean they stand to
attention.'

    'Not
me.'

    'Yes
you.'

    'I
have erectile dysfunction.'

    Alison
patted her tummy. 'I think otherwise.'

    'I'm
not convinced it was me.'

    She
put her hands on her hips and sighed. 'Well, when he comes out looking like a
twerp, we'll know for sure.'

    'You're
sure it's a he?'

    'No,
I'm sure it's a twerp.'

    'You're
funny.'

    She came
to me and kissed me. Then she whispered in my ear, 'So's your face.'

    Alison
was still coming up with questions as I ushered her out of the house. I told
her to go home and get some rest; she was eating for two, she might as well
sleep for two as well. That didn't go down well. She called me names and I
called her them back. When she saw that I was serious about being left alone,
she offered to make sandwiches and bring them in the middle of the night. I
declined. She offered roast beef. I declined. She offered cottage pie. I
declined. She offered chicken casserole. I declined. Obviously she could have
continued until the end of time. Finally I just shoved her out of the door and
told her to leave me alone. Two minutes later she banged on the front window
and bellowed: 'Spaghetti bolognese?'

    I
pulled the blinds, I bolted the door. The house was quiet. Mother and Jeff were
both asleep. I looked at my watch. It was ten p.m. I got a can of Coke from the
fridge and a bag of Opal Fruits from the cupboard. I sat at the kitchen table
with my laptop in front of me, Rolo's mobile phone, a notebook and pen. I
opened the can and the bag. I emptied the sweets on to the table and threw the
blackcurrant ones behind me. Then I sorted the greens, oranges and reds into
three lines; they would be eaten in that order, at timed intervals, through the
night.

    At
last I was ready to begin. You will know that I have a great facility for
remembering figures. I had solved the
Case of the Musical Jew
by
accurately remembering the numbers tattooed on the arms of two old people even
though I had only observed them for a couple of seconds. Similarly, I now
recalled the phone number that Buddy Wailer had texted from when responding to
Liam Benson's request to meet on the towpath, which DI Robinson had very
briefly shown me to me on Liam's mobile phone. I also knew his home number,
following our visit to his house, but I thought it much more likely that he
would be on the move.

    I
called him. I was not afraid. An hour ago I might have been.

    I
don't know if Rolo's name flashed up on his phone or even if he knew Rolo was
the name of the man he had killed, but even his one word answer: 'Yes?' sounded
strained.

    I
said, 'Buddy?'

    'Yes.'

    It
was time for me to step up to the plate, take control, be imposing. I could do
that, at the end of a phone.

    I
know you killed Rolo.'

    'Excuse
. . . ? You must have a wrong—'

    'You
shot him in the woods and now you're fleeing the country.'

    'I
don't know who you are or what you're talking about. Now if you don't mind I'm
trying to get some work ...'