Face in the Frame (27 page)

Brodie shook his head. “No. That’s what happens when you get pissed, so none of that please. I know I’m not exactly a spring onion but I’m not into necrophilia thank you.”

“Chicken.”

“Who the hell are you calling a chicken?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “The expression is spring chicken you numpty, not spring onion.”

“Oh. Come on then, I need a drink after that bloody conversation.”

Brodie and Pete wended their way down the road together, singing rude songs, ignoring the occasional shout from the darkened houses they passed to shut the fuck up, it was late. They’d trawled all their local haunts, both deciding to get well and truly plastered after the day they’d had. Pete had said he’d get a constable to drive Brodie to the hospital to pick Cass up in the morning, so he could have a good drink. Fortunately he hadn’t tried to matchmake him with an octogenarian either, so Brodie was happy.

“Hurry up, I need a piss,” said Pete as Brodie struggled to get his key in the lock.

“I’m trying but the stupid bastard key won’t stop moving. Or is it the door?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” sniggered Pete.

“Shut it you…ah there we go,” said Brodie triumphantly when the door finally swung open.

“Well done, you can open a door,” said Pete. “Out of the way, police emergency,” he added, shoving him aside and charging into the flat.

“Prick,” muttered Brodie, slamming the door shut and ambling into the living room, trying to walk in a straight line. Pete had convinced him to have a couple of tequila slammers, which he was now regretting. They didn’t go well with red wine.

The sight that greeted him on his living room floor caused him to sober up in an instant. He was so shocked he was still staring at it when Pete wandered in, wearing a big smile of relief.

“That’s better. Close call there.” He frowned at Brodie standing there with his jaw hanging open. “What’s up with you?”

Brodie turned to regard him incredulously. “What’s up with me? Some detective you are, you’ve not even noticed the dead body lying on my floor.”

“What are you talking about you daftie? Jeezo,” he cried when he finally saw the source of Brodie’s amazement. “Did you put that there?”

“Oh yeah,” he snorted. “I decided to kill someone, leave them in my flat then bring back a dippy detective inspector to take a look. Are you mental or something?”

“Alright, calm down.” Pete went quiet as he gazed at the mess before him. It looked like the man had been hit by a steamroller. “Do you recognise him?”

“He’s one of Big Malc’s goons. He was at the pub when me and Tam went to see him, he let us in.”

Pete blinked at him. “Tam McVay? What were you doing hanging around with him?”

“I didn’t want to be there. Toni threatened you and Cass if I didn’t go.”

“What were you doing there?”

“You know I said Big Malc was setting up operations against Toni?”

“Yeah.”

“Well it seems Tam’s in on it too. It’s not just a rivalry, he’s after taking over the family.”

“Jesus Brodie, you’ve landed yourself right in the middle of a gang war.”

“Toni dragged me into it and I don’t know why.” It was worrying him the way Pete was looking from himself, to the body and back again. “Don’t nick me Pete. Don’t you dare bloody nick me.”

“Alright, keep your hair on.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Seriously, jokes now, with a corpse on your living room floor?”

“It’s my defence mechanism.”

“Well it’s shite, get yourself another one. I’m not going to nick you, I know you didn’t do him in. The question is, who did and why?”

“Either Tam or Toni McVay. Possibly Big Malc.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.” Brodie thought furiously, trying to puzzle this one out. “Unless they’re not trying to set me up. It might just be a warning.”

“Tam knows you know what he’s up to and he wants you out of the way,” said Pete. “Or Toni is just having fun with you. She likes you but she’d probably find it funny if you got arrested for murder.”

“She would, the bitch but it makes more sense that it’s Tam. He knows she sent me to go with him to spy on him and he’s probably after a bit of revenge. Toni said she’s bringing the Maguires and Laws up here in her fight against Tam and Malc.”

Pete’s eyebrows shot up. “And when were you going to tell me about this?”

“It slipped my mind after the fifth glass of wine.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” sighed Pete, kicking at the armchair.

“Oy, careful,” scowled Brodie.

“What do you care? It’s knackered anyway.”

“It’s not knackered, it’s comfortable.”

“Your arse nearly touches the floor when you sit on it.”

“Can we get off my armchair and back on the dead body please?”

“I’ll have to call it in.”

“I know,” sighed Brodie, raking his hands through his hair. “This is going to be embarrassing.”

CHAPTER 25

Every officer who turned up at Brodie’s flat was one of his ex-colleagues, all experienced officers with a penchant for taking the piss.

“What did he do Brodie?” said Detective Sergeant Findlay, a barely concealed smile on his lips. “Call your clapped-out rust bucket of a car a shitehole?”

“Ha ha you fucking clown. Like I need you right now.”

“Pathologist reckons he’s been dead for no more than two hours after being beaten to death. Where were you?”

“I was with Detective Inspector McLaren getting pissed, unless you want to call him a liar?”

Findlay reluctantly turned to his superior, who was glaring at him with challenge in his eyes. “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” said Brodie. “You always were a wanker Fiddly Findlay.”

“Love you too,” he retorted, pursing his lips in a kiss, not taking offence. Findlay, like all his colleagues, had huge respect for Brodie MacBride. He’d been a good DI, firm but fair, and an exemplary copper.

“It seems Mr MacBride has got caught up in gang warfare,” said Pete, throwing a glower at Brodie.

“Dragged into it more like,” he retorted. “They’re trying to set me up.”

“You’re lucky I was with you tonight. If you’d gone wandering about on your own, which you have a tendency to do, you’d be right in the shit now.”

“I know, I know,” sighed Brodie, shaking his head.

“Well you can’t stay here,” said Pete. “Want to doss down at mine for the night while CSI flash pants here sorts out the scene?”

Two men in crinkly white suits looked up at him with a frown.

“Aye, I suppose I’ve no choice,” said Brodie, sounding put-upon.

“Oh you’re welcome,” said Pete sarcastically. “DI Dickhead will be here soon. I don’t want to be here when he arrives but unfortunately, thanks to you, I’m a witness, so I have to stick around and watch him strut about like a fat ugly peacock.”

“Oh boo hoo. I’ve got a dead prick on my floor,” exclaimed Brodie.

“Ladies please,” said Findlay when they started to bicker, smile falling when they both turned to glare at him.

“Two hours. I can’t believe it,” sighed Brodie as he and Pete were driven to the latter’s house in a quiet, tree-lined street with no dog jobbies.

“DI Dickhead is a proper little Hitler,” commented Pete. “Just wait till all this is wound up, I’ll take him down a peg or two. Actually I’ll drag him down it, ensuring I give him a boot in the danglies on the way.”

Brodie let Pete ramble on and get it out of his system, perfectly assured that he’d shut up soon. He glanced at his watch and sighed. It was four in the morning. “I have to be back at the hospital in five hours to pick Cass up.”

“No problem. Marcus here can take you, can’t you Marcus?”

“Aye I suppose Sir,” he reluctantly replied.

“Good boy,” smiled Pete. “God it’s good being a DI.”

“I’ll be where you are one day Sir,” added Marcus.

“What, pissed in the back of a polis car after being interviewed as part of a murder inquiry?” quipped Brodie.

“I’d be proud,” said Marcus with an indignant sniff.

Brodie barked with laughter. “That’s fucking priceless. You’ve got a fan Pete.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed through the rear-view mirror. “You wantin’ a lift in the morning?”

“You can’t back out now, your lord and master has ordained it,” said Brodie, staring out of the window, already tiring of the conversation. The McVays had tried to set him up for murder and done a piss poor job of it and it worried him what else they had in store for him. Thank Christ Pete had come along and demanded they go drinking together otherwise he’d probably be banged up in a cell by now wearing nothing but a paper suit.

Pete’s house did nothing to lift his spirits. It was devoid of anything personal as well as half-empty of furniture, making it feel cold and unlived in. Not that he spent much time here anyway but it was still depressing. His ex-wife, the dragon queen, had got almost everything in the divorce, a fact that still made Brodie’s blood boil.

“Right, I’m off to the fart sack,” announced Pete with a stretch and a yawn the moment they were through the door. “You can kip in the spare room.”

“Look at the time. Is there any point going to sleep?”

“It’s alright for you being your own boss, coming and going as you please but some of us have responsibilities and a job they want to keep. I have to be back in work at eleven and I’d like to be reasonably awake. If it hadn’t been for you I could have been in the land of nod hours ago.”

“Fair enough,” said Brodie, watching him stomp upstairs.

Rather than go to sleep Brodie plonked himself down on the couch and switched on the telly.

“And you can turn that bastarding thing off,” Pete bellowed down the stairs at him.

“Sorry,” he called back, leaving the television on but putting it on mute. On the screen was some crap American comedy that was actually funnier with the sound off.

The next thing he knew he was being woken by the blaring of a car horn.

“What prick’s making that noise at this time?” he grumbled before turning over and flopping face down on the couch, hoping to sink back into oblivion quickly to escape his stonner of a headache. Daylight was filtering in through the window and he had no wish to look at it.

“What fucking dick is making that racket at this time of morning?” stormed Pete, thundering down the stairs in just his boxer shorts, his huge hair mussed up and flopping about his face.

Brodie raised his head and grimaced at the sight of his friend’s nakedness. “Urgh. Whoever it is is going to bring their breakfast back up.”

“Shut it you sarky prick,” shot back Pete, peering out of the window. “Oh look, it’s PC Prat.”

“You mean kissy-arse? Is he back all ready?” mumbled Brodie, already dropping off again. “Argh,” he cried when Pete violently shook him. “Stop it, I’ve got a headache.”

“Tough, Princess. Get your lazy arse up and out the door before that tit wakes up the entire street. He’s here to take you to pick up Cass.”

Just as Pete knew it would, this statement had Brodie leaping up off the couch.

Once upright he clutched at his head. “Ow, ow, ow.”

“I’ll get you some Paracetamol,” sighed Pete, wandering into the kitchen.

“It’s all your fault, you and your bloody tequila,” Brodie shouted after him before wincing again.

“You’re such a delicate little flower,” said Pete, returning with a packet of tablets and a glass of water.

Brodie snatched them off him, tossed two tablets into his mouth and gulped down the water in one go.

“Better?” said Pete.

“Jeezo, give them time to work,” retorted Brodie.

“Now you’ve enjoyed my hospitality you can bugger off.” When Marcus beeped his horn again Pete stormed to the window, threw it open and bellowed a string of expletives at him. A neighbour added to the cacophony by telling him to keep the noise down. “And you can shut it too,” Pete yelled back at him before releasing a grunt of annoyance and retracting his head back inside. “Do one Brodie before I have the locals on my doorstep with torches and pitchforks.”

“Aye I’m going, you tetchy ogre,” he said, a final parting shot before departing, slamming the door shut on a fresh string of expletives.

“Oh crap, did I piss the boss off?” said Marcus when Brodie jumped into the passenger seat.

“Yep, big style but he’ll get over it.” When Marcus just sat there and chewed his lip with an anxious look Brodie added, “don’t worry, he’ll only make you suffer for a little while, just until he retires.”

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” he replied, setting off a little too quickly, eager to escape the wrath of his superior.

Brodie walked into the hospital alone, telling Marcus to wait in the car. He didn’t want to freak Cass out with a uniform, she was going to be feeling fragile. Brodie was proud of how sensitive he was being. However, when he arrived he found her having a row in her room with someone, looking the complete opposite to fragile.

“You, do one,” Brodie told a purple-faced Oliver.

“Not until she admits she’s lying,” he cried, pointing at Cass.

“You think I made this up?” she said, gesturing to her stitched jaw.

“Lucas said you slipped in the bathroom and banged yourself. He was only trying to help.”

“What a load of shite,” shot back Brodie, glad the Paracetamol had kicked in because he intended to do a lot of shouting. “That prick is a complete freak. Those faces in his exhibition were real you know? Well, not all of them. Some of them were casts but some of them were real live people.”

Oliver blinked at him in astonishment. “Have you actually lost your mind?” He grimaced and wafted the air around him. “Or drunk more like. Go home, you’re a mess. I’m talking about the allegation of assault this tart has made against Lucas.”

Brodie grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back against the wall. “Your innocent wee pal almost took down me and one of my associates single-handed. Tough career criminals and respected hard men have tried that and never got close to what he did. Now I know what you meant about his violent outbursts.”

Cass rounded on Oliver. “You knew what he was capable of, didn’t you? Why didn’t you warn me?”

Oliver’s shocked expression dissipated into nastiness. “You never deserved him and finally you’re done. He’s seen through you, you cheap slag. You toyed with his affections then you dumped him.”

“I did not dump him, I love him,” she exclaimed before checking herself. “I mean I used to loved him, I just didn’t want to move to London. Did that deserve having my face cut off? No but he thought it did because Brodie was right - Lucas Thorne is a murdering bastard and one day we’ll prove it.”

Oliver’s smirk was positively reptilian. “No you won’t.”

Brodie banged him off the wall. “You know, don’t you? You know what he’s been doing. Admit it.”

“Brodie,” said Cass.

He recognised the warning in her tone and hastily released Oliver when a nurse entered the room.

“I’d appreciate it if you would leave,” said the scowling nurse. “Miss Carlisle is free to go and we do not tolerate violence on hospital grounds. This officer will escort you off the premises.”

Brodie burst out laughing when a sheepish Marcus walked into the room. “Thanks hen, he’s our lift.”

“What happened to your car?” Cass asked him. “Finally collapsed did it?”

“I’ll explain later.” Brodie looked back at Oliver. “We’re not done.”

“Yes we are. Lucas’s lawyer will have him out in no time.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. Come on Cass, let’s get away from the stink.”

Together they walked past the bad-tempered nurse, Marcus trailing behind.

“What is going on?” said Cass.

“Later,” said Brodie, indicating Marcus with a nod of the head.

They didn’t speak until they’d been dropped off at Cass’s flat and they were safely ensconced inside together.

“So you going to tell me what’s going on now?” said Cass.

“You sure you don’t want to rest first?”

She cocked her eyebrow. “I was a soft jelly yesterday but that was the shock. I’ve not broken.”

What a woman
he thought. “Okay hen, sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He sat her down and explained everything, Cass’s eyes widening as he went on.

“Oh shit,” was all she said when he’d finished.

“Yep.”

“But why set you up? I could understand Malc and Tam setting up Toni or vice versa but why you?”

“Buggered if I know but no doubt I’ll find out at some point.”

“Well, if Jez Law and Mikey Maguire are coming to town the body count’s only going to get higher.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “You’re finding this exciting, aren’t you?”

“Well, maybe a bit. At least it’s taking my mind off Lucas.” She looked across the room and all the blood drained from her face.

“What is it?” he said, slightly panicky, hoping she didn’t have a dead body in her living room too.

“That’s Lucas’s shirt hanging over the back of that chair,” she said sadly, nodding at the small table with four chairs in one corner of the room. “He spilt red wine on it the last time he was here. I washed it for him and never got the chance to give it back.”

“Want me to get rid of it?”

“Please,” she said quietly.

“I’m so sorry hen. I just want you to be happy.”

She gave him that odd searching look again before saying, “thanks.”

He spotted a large piece of paper spread out on the coffee table before them and picked it up. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” she said, hastily reaching for it but she was too late.

Brodie stared at the paper, feeling his temperature sore. It was a charcoal drawing of Cass. And she was completely naked.