Hit and Run (8 page)

Sitting in the Micra outside the Whitehouse place he watched Adele walk round the corner on her own. She looked impeccable as ever and she was walking fast, her hand twitching at the arm of her sunglasses as she turned into the driveway.

Billy got out of the car and beckoned for the dog to follow, making encouraging noises. He was delighted to see that she did exactly what she was told. He guided the dog across the road and ushered her in the direction of the Whitehouses’ drive.

He could hear the crunch of Adele’s feet on the gravel up ahead.

‘Adele,’ he called.

She jumped and turned. Just like the first time they met, her on the steps, glamorous and unknowable, him scurrying up the drive.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I came to make sure you were OK.’ Billy was out of breath.

‘It’s dangerous.’ She looked round. ‘You being here. It could get us both in a lot of trouble.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you think I mean? Dean.’

‘Where is he?’

She looked exasperated. ‘At the police station, I presume. They’ve just released me after two hours in a hot, sweaty room.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You must’ve told them something.’

‘It has nothing to do with you.’

‘I heard you and Dean from outside the back door.’

She wasn’t flustered. ‘All the more reason to stay away.’

Her attention was distracted by the dog.

‘What’s that?’ she said.

‘A collie.’

‘I know that, idiot, what’s it doing here?’

‘I got it from the Dog and Cat Home. I thought maybe you and Ryan could have it.’

‘Are you insane?’

‘You said Ryan was missing Rebus.’

‘And you thought . . .’

‘Mummy.’ The front door opened and Ryan ran towards the pair of them. Adele scooped him up into her arms and gave him a hug, holding tight for a long time.

‘Oh my beautiful boy, how are you?’

‘Fine.’

Her question was loaded with love, his answer was offhand kid talk.

‘Where have you been?’ he said, only vaguely curious.

‘I had to go out for a bit, that’s all. But I’m back now.’

‘Where’s Uncle Dean?’

‘He’s talking to the police at the moment, darling.’

‘Has he been naughty?’

‘He’s helping them find out what happened to Daddy. Remember we talked about that?’

Ryan was distracted. He pointed at Billy. ‘Who’s that man?’

‘I’m Billy.’

Adele put Ryan down. ‘Never mind about him, go back inside.’

Billy noticed Magda standing in the doorway, face tripping her.

‘Is that his dog?’ Ryan said.

‘Yes,’ Adele said. ‘Now run along and play with Magda for a minute, there’s a good boy.’

‘I don’t want to, it’s boring.’ Ryan looked at Billy. ‘What’s your dog called?’

Billy stared at him. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know your own dog’s name?’

‘Maybe she doesn’t have one.’

‘That’s just silly, all dogs have names.’

‘Well, what do you think she should be called?’

‘Is it a girl dog?’

Billy nodded.

Ryan thought about this for a while. He reached out a hand and the dog came and sniffed, tail whipping the air. After a moment she wandered off to examine some flowerbeds.

‘You should call her Daisy. There’s a girl in my class called Daisy who’s nice.’

‘Maybe I will call her Daisy, good idea.’

‘She looks a bit like our dog. But Rebus isn’t here at the moment, is he, Mummy?’

Adele was trying to push Ryan up the steps. ‘Go and tell Magda you can watch a DVD.’

That grabbed his attention. ‘
Kung Fu Panda
?’

‘Sure,
Kung Fu Panda
.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes, all of it.’

‘Yes.’ Ryan made a celebratory fist as he reached the top of the steps. He turned and waved at the dog, which was sniffing in some bushes.

‘Bye, Daisy,’ Ryan said, then looked at Billy. ‘Maybe you could bring her back when Rebus is here, so they can play together.’

‘That’s a great idea.’

Ryan took Magda’s hand at the door and went inside.

‘Get out of here,’ Adele said.

‘What?’

‘Dean will be back any minute.’

‘So?’

‘Do you think it’s that easy to replace someone?’

‘I didn’t think . . .’

‘No, you didn’t. There’s still a chance Rebus will turn up.’

‘I’m sorry, you’re right.’

Adele sighed. ‘Look, it’s just . . . it’s all getting a bit much, you know?’

Billy heard the crumpling noise from the roof of his car in his mind, felt the knots in his shoulders, the needles of pain in his hands.

‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

He reached out and touched her arm, but she flinched and pulled away. ‘Not here.’

‘Then where?’

She removed her glasses. He was surprised to see her eyes were wet. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ She looked at the house. Magda was in the living room holding a DVD box and staring out the window at them. ‘Now go, and take your stupid dog with you.’

*

He parked the Micra outside the flat. He reached past the dog and opened the glove compartment, rattled through the medication blister packs crammed in there. He hadn’t realised he’d been through so many. Not enough, though, not the way he felt. He rummaged around, pushed out a couple of greens and two oranges. He was pretty sure one was amphetamine, the other morphine. Did it matter?

The dog tried to lick the pills in his hand.

‘Not for you, girl,’ he said softly. He swallowed the pills.

He had no idea how to look after a dog. Food. A basket? Collar and lead. Toys? He thought about how his mum had never let them have one. He pulled down the driver’s side sun visor. Tucked inside was a battered old photograph. He slid it out. He and Charlie kept it there to remind them. It was the three of them on Porty beach. Billy was only six or seven. He remembered it being taken, they stopped a man walking his dog on the way past. The dog was friendly and he and Charlie nagged Mum for a few minutes, giving up when she put her foot down. They knew she wouldn’t change her mind. They played on the sand, building castles, digging trenches, paddling in the icy waves, Mum relaxing on a towel in shorts and a T-shirt. They were a unit then, comfortable, content.

He stared at the picture. All three of them were squinting into the sun. Mum had her hand up, shielding her eyes. It looked as if she was trying to see into the future, peering at him now, wondering what had happened in the years since her death.

He turned to the dog.

‘I don’t think the name Daisy suits you.’

The dog responded by pushing her ears back keenly.

‘I think we’ll call you Jeanie, after Mum. How about that?’ He rubbed her nose. ‘You like that, Jeanie? Yeah?’

She nuzzled him as he rubbed between her ears.

He glanced one last time at the photograph of the happy family and put it back in the sun visor, folding it away. He opened the car door.

‘Come on, then.’

The dog stayed in the car.

‘Walkies?’

She bolted out the door, suddenly alert, tail swishing, ears pinned back, walking in tight circles.

Billy laughed. ‘Walkies it is, then.’

*

Queen’s Drive was still closed, but there were no police about.

Looking down from the Radical Road, he was struck by the quiet. No swishing car noise, no city chatter, just the occasional buzz of insect wings, the gentle padding of Jeanie’s paws on the gravel and grass as she followed various smells.

He sat down on the edge of the precipice, his legs dangling over the side like a tiny child on a giant sofa. His legs felt so weary, heavy beyond words. His shoulders felt crushed by the atmosphere, hunching him over like an old man. He had to give up. He wanted to confess. Surely it would be easier than this. He tried to think about the repercussions, but his mind got lost in a haze of endless possibilities, infinite universes branching off into oblivion, each one taking an atom of his fractured brain with it. He touched the lump on his temple, the evidence of the crash there for all to see. It seemed to have hardened further. It felt alien to his body, an interloper in his system. Weren’t bodies supposed to attack outside agents, protect the organism at all costs? He rubbed at the bump as Jeanie crouched close by and went for a piss. The soft patter of urine on grass, a trickle running on to the path.

‘Lovely evening.’ It was a middle-aged woman out walking her dog.

Billy nodded as she passed.

‘Nice and quiet, with the road closed,’ she said.

He tried to imagine walking into a police station and telling them everything that had happened.

He struggled to his feet, his body lurching with the pills and the pain, with everything else.

‘Come on, girl.’

He made his way back down the road, Jeanie at his side.

He had the key in the door when his phone went. Jeanie was sniffing around the weeds poking up between cracked paving stones in their front garden. He pulled his phone out. Rose.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Nothing at the Dog and Cat Home.’

‘Never mind that, we’ve got another breakthrough. It was a hit and run on Queen’s Drive, for sure.’

Billy felt his throat close up and he struggled to swallow. ‘How do you know?’

‘They found blood on the tarmac across from where Frank’s body was found. It matches his blood type.’

‘Shit.’

‘I know. They also found tiny fragments of car paint at the same place. Red. They went back and checked the body – sure enough, matching paint chips on Frank’s clothes.’

Billy took his key out of the door and walked down the path to the street. He stared at the Micra parked there.

‘So it looks as if someone hit him on the road, then panicked and legged it. Or maybe they moved the body. Either way, it doesn’t look like he was dead straight away. My guess is he got up and staggered away for a bit, then collapsed.’

‘Right.’ Billy knelt in front of the car, looking along the edge of the bonnet. The metalwork was rusty along the rim, flakes and patches of it on the grille too. He picked at a bit and it came away in his fingers.

‘Question is, was it deliberate or a genuine accident? I guess this could get the Mackies off the hook if the police can’t find the car and link it to them, and if their alibis hold together.’

‘Have they any idea what kind of car it was?’ Billy stroked the bonnet. It was warm against his palm. Jeanie came to the pavement and looked at him with her head askew, inquisitive.

‘Not yet. They might get more info with further tests, but they don’t seem too sure. They reckon it’s quite old, apparently they can tell stuff like that from oxidisation of the metal and paint or something. Don’t ask me, I’m not a scientist.’

‘It could still be the Mackies though, couldn’t it?’

‘It might well be, Scoop. We need to do more digging. This story is not going away any time soon. Which brings me to the other reason I called.’

‘Yeah?’

‘How do you fancy a free pint?’

Billy suddenly felt a searing thirst. ‘Could do.’

‘Good. I have a request from our good friend Detective Inspector Price. He wants to meet you for a drink.’

‘Why?’ Billy’s voice came out higher than expected.

‘Take it easy, he just wants to talk to you about Adele Whitehouse.’

‘Adele?’

‘They had her in for questioning earlier about the Jamie Mackie shooting. She’s Dean Whitehouse’s alibi, apparently. Very convenient. She was ice cold, gave nothing away.’

‘What has that got to do with me?’

‘Stuart was impressed with your merry widow interview. As we all were. I think he wants a chat about what she was like, why she might’ve opened up to you, all that.’

‘Right.’ Hesitation in his voice.

‘I’ll come along and hold your hand, OK? It’s completely off the record and informal.’

‘Well . . .’

‘Good. How about The Montague in half an hour?’

‘I guess.’

‘See you there, Scoop.’

Billy ended the call and stared at the Micra. Mum’s car. Now a murder weapon. He turned towards the house.

‘Come on, Jeanie.’

The dog trotted after him as if she’d known him all her life.

He let them both in quietly. The sound of the television in the living room. One of those
CSI
things. He walked to the doorway. Charlie and Zoe were on the sofa next to each other, beers in hands. They hadn’t heard him over the television. They looked completely untroubled.

‘Comfy?’ Billy was pleased when they both jumped.

Charlie bolted out of the sofa. ‘Here he is, the lunatic little brother.’ He was trying to sound casual. ‘What was that all about, coming to the hospital today?’

Was that today? Billy was losing track of time.

‘I told you about Jamie Mackie in confidence, you dick. I didn’t expect you to bring the
Standard
 ’s crack crime reporter round to give me grief.’

‘It’s my job, Charlie.’

Charlie shook his head. Zoe was standing up now and she seemed to be mirroring Charlie’s movements. It was like they were his mum and dad, and he was a naughty toddler. They were always together. Every time he came home, there they were, fresh from talking about him. He had wondered earlier how Zoe was, now he couldn’t stand to look at her.

‘Charlie told me what happened,’ she said. She reached out a hand, but she was too far away to touch him. ‘I think you should take a break from that job, maybe even quit altogether.’

‘Quit? I thought we were supposed to act as if nothing had happened? How’s it going to look if I suddenly quit my job, right after getting the best interview the paper’s had in months?’

Zoe looked at Charlie, clearly wanting him to speak. Charlie cleared his throat.

‘We’ve been discussing things,’ he said.

‘I bet you have.’

Charlie put a hand on Billy’s arm.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’

‘I don’t want to sit down.’

Charlie looked nervously at Zoe, then back again. ‘Like I said, we’ve been talking, and I think you might be suffering from PTSD – post-traumatic stress disorder.’

Billy stared at his brother, then at Zoe. The television blared too loud in the background. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Like war veterans?’

‘Kind of,’ Charlie said. ‘In your case, from the accident.’

Billy shook his head. ‘I’m not suffering from anything except guilt because of killing someone and covering it up.’

‘See, this is what Charlie is talking about.’ Zoe stepped towards him. ‘We all feel guilty, of course we do, but . . .’

‘But I was driving,’ Billy said.

‘Yes,’ Charlie said. ‘We know. We were there, remember?’

‘Don’t fucking patronise me, Charlie.’

Charlie had his hands held out in a peacemaking gesture. ‘I’m not patronising you, Bro.’

Billy let out a laugh and looked from one of them to the other. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’

‘We’re worried,’ Zoe said. ‘You seem to be losing perspective, having to cover the story as well. Just listen to Charlie.’

‘How have you been feeling?’ Charlie’s voice was even.

‘How the hell do you think I’ve been feeling?’

‘Any flashbacks or bad dreams?’

‘Charlie, I can’t believe you’re trying to diagnose me with this bullshit.’

‘It’s not bullshit, it’s a real medical condition. Have you been having panic attacks?’

Billy didn’t answer.

‘Amnesia, difficulty breathing?’

Billy remembered fainting in the toilets and at the press conference.

‘What about strange physical sensations?’

Billy thought about his tingling body, his twitching leg, his numb face. The throbbing pain that even now was coursing through his neck and shoulders, making him crick his neck. The solid lump on his temple, pulsing his guilty secret out into the ether.

‘Look.’ Charlie put an arm round Billy. He was distracted by Jeanie entering the room. She must’ve been sniffing out the bedrooms first, checking her new territory.

Charlie and Zoe stared at the dog.

‘What the hell is that?’ Zoe said.

‘I got a dog.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘What the fuck? Why?’

Billy shrugged. ‘I was at the Dog and Cat Home seeing if they had the Whitehouse dog . . .’

‘Wait,’ Zoe said. ‘The Whitehouses have a missing dog?’

Billy nodded. ‘Frank was walking it when…’

Zoe rubbed her eyes. ‘I don’t remember a dog. Was there a dog, Charlie?’

Charlie sighed. ‘Never mind that, what about this mutt?’

Jeanie padded calmly around as if she’d always lived there. She investigated the bin in the corner of the room.

‘She’s not a mutt.’

‘Why the hell would you get a dog? See this is all part of what we’re talking about, you’re losing your grip on things.’

‘People get dogs all the time. They’re not all in the queue for the psychiatric ward, are they?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Zoe was petting the dog now, scratching it between the ears. ‘What’s she called?’

‘Jeanie.’

Charlie took his hand from Billy’s shoulder and moved away. ‘You are fucking kidding me.’

‘What?’

‘You called her after Mum?’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not?’ Charlie was raging. ‘Don’t you see what the fuck is happening to you?’

‘What do you mean?’

Charlie sucked in a deep breath and took something from his pocket. More pills. Billy didn’t recognise them.

Charlie held them out. ‘Ideally, you should speak to a shrink about this, but in the circumstances I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘So you’re just going to drug me up, is that it?’ Billy clicked his fingers to get Jeanie’s attention. She wandered over, unfazed by the raised voices.

‘It’s not like that,’ Zoe said.

‘Sounds like it. What are they anyway?’

‘Mood stabilisers.’ Charlie showed Billy the packet. It had Tegretol stamped on it.

‘Fuck off, I’m not taking them.’

Charlie gave him a look. ‘You’ve been taking plenty of other shit. Without asking. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’ He offered up the pack. ‘Maybe you should lay off the uppers and downers, and try some of these instead.’

Billy stared at the packet for a long time, then reached out and took it from Charlie’s hand.

‘Now let’s all just fucking cool our jets,’ Charlie said.

Zoe came over and rubbed Billy’s arm. He stared at her.

‘I feel like we’ve hardly seen you,’ she said softly. ‘Come on, sit down, I’ll get you a beer.’

‘I can’t.’ Billy pulled his arm away. ‘I have to go out.’

Charlie sighed.

‘I have to meet a copper in the pub.’

Zoe looked at him. ‘Why?’

‘It’s Rose’s fuckbuddy, DI Price. He wants to talk to me.’

‘What about?’

‘Adele.’

Zoe’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why does he want to talk to you about Adele Whitehouse?’

Billy shrugged. ‘Because I got in and interviewed her, I guess. The police questioned her about Jamie Mackie. She’s Dean’s alibi. She didn’t give anything away.’

Charlie rubbed at his forehead. ‘You shouldn’t be involved in this mess. Stay out of it.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You have to, or it’ll kill you.’

Billy leaned down and ruffled Jeanie’s fur. ‘There’s one other thing you should know. The police have worked out it was a hit and run on Queen’s Drive, and they’re looking for a red car in connection with it.’

He left the room, Jeanie trotting after him, tail swishing. He heard Charlie over the sound of the television. ‘Fuck.’