Kiss Her Goodbye (23 page)

He closed the diary and pressed it to his chest.

Joe didn't know where to take this. Killing Cooper with his bare hands might have been satisfactory if Cooper's only involvement had been to kill Ruth and frame Joe for the murder. But if Cooper had forced himself on Gemma, Joe couldn't begin to imagine the pain he'd have to inflict on the scumbag for justice to be done. Death was far too lenient.

Joe couldn't understand why he wasn't angrier.

Bile rose in his throat. He stood up and spewed all over the carpet. He doubled up. Folded to his knees. Puked once more. His guts hurt. His damaged ribs were throbbing again. He stayed on his knees, resting his head on the arm of the settee. His head was hot. Thumbs pressed into his eyes. His stomach lurched again. He made a retching sound. He shuddered. His nose was running. His stomach cramped. Nothing left. He wanted to throw up. His pores had opened and sweat coated his skin. His stomach was empty. He retched, croaking like a frog. A moment later, he croaked again.

When he raised his head, Adam was looking down at him. He offered Joe a glass of water.

The diary was still clutched to Joe's chest. He gripped it so hard his fingers hurt. Then he laid it on the settee and accepted the glass from Adam. Joe poured the water down his throat. The cold water salved the tenderness in his gut and diluted the rancid taste in his mouth.

"More?" Adam asked.

Joe wiped his brow. He cradled his head in his hands. When he looked up again, Adam had gone. Joe breathed jerkily. He'd made a mess of the lawyer's carpet. Ronald wasn't going to be too happy.

Adam returned with another glass of water. Ronald and Tina came with him.

"Sorry about that," Joe said, indicating the puke on the carpet.

Ronald disappeared into the kitchen, saying nothing. After a moment, Joe heard the sound of running water.

Adam said, "Was it Cooper?"

"Why do you say that? You don't even know him."

Tina said, "You want to talk about it, Joe?"

Joe looked at her and shook his head. He couldn't hold her gaze. Her nose was puffy and shiny and comical and yet not at all funny. He wiped his mouth. "What's it to you?"

Adam said, "We're all concerned."

Joe told him to piss off.

"If that's what you want." Adam walked towards the door. "Good luck," he said. "See you at the funeral."

Joe looked across the room at him.

"Day after tomorrow," Adam said. "Brewer has the details."

Joe wasn't sure which funeral Adam was referring to. He said, "Gemma's?"

Adam said, "Your lawyer has the details."

"I asked you if you're talking about my daughter's funeral."

Adam nodded.

"Here? In Edinburgh?"

Adam nodded again.

"And Ruth?"

Ronald returned from the kitchen, wearing a pair of rubber gloves and carrying an orange basin. "That's been delayed," he said. "They still need the body."

Adam stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, shoulders hunched. His eyes were focussed on Ronald's attempts to mop up Joe's sick. "You didn't do it, did you, Joe? You didn't kill Ruth?"

Joe knew he should be grateful to Adam for bringing Gem's diary. The guy had travelled several hundred miles to hand deliver it to someone who'd not so long ago been intent on killing him, someone who was also wanted for the murder of his cousin. Someone who — shit! Joe suddenly realized why Adam's behavior had been so strange. Jesus fucking Christ! How could he have believed that for a minute? Joe waited until Adam's fascination with the lawyer's cleaning activities finally wore off. "You thought I had sex with my own daughter," he said, calmly.

Adam opened the door. "I should never have doubted you, Joe. I'm sorry." He hung his head for a moment, then said, "Who was it? Do you have any idea?"

Joe spoke in a monotone. "A friend of mine. Cooper."

Adam looked at him. "What about Ruth? Do you think he was…responsible?"

Joe nodded.

"Can you handle it from here?" Adam asked.

"Go."

Adam apologized again.

Joe watched the door swing shut. "Didn't think you'd have the stomach for it," he muttered to himself.

Tina said, "What did Cooper do?"

"In a minute," Joe said. He tapped Ronald on the shoulder. "Give me the gloves. I can clean up my own puke."

THIRTY-FOUR

Despite an apparently thorough cleaning, the carpet still stank of vomit. Joe had sluiced disinfectant straight onto it and the smell of antiseptic-masked sick had driven the three of them into the kitchen where they now sat round Ronald's kitchen table. Joe and the lawyer faced each other. Tina sat between them.

"Thanks for telling us," she said to Joe.

Joe stared at his hands. He'd washed them, but they still felt sticky from wearing the gloves. "My trusting friend Adam knows about it," he said. "Why shouldn't you two?" He flexed his fingers. He could still make out the faint scar where he'd broken the whisky glass that night at Cooper's.

"Nothing we can do about your daughter," Ronald said. "She's dead. Any evidence of a rape has died with her."

Joe said, "Is that right?"

"We have to concentrate on Ruth's murder." The lawyer paused, making eye contact with Joe, then switching his gaze to Tina.

Joe felt Tina's hand on his arm. This time she said, "Is that right?"

"Forget Gemma. This is the question we need to address," Ronald continued. "Do we have enough evidence to persuade the police to take Cooper into custody?"

Tina leaned back and studied the young man, her forehead creasing. Joe noticed a tiny shake of her head before she leaned across and slapped Ronald hard on the cheek.

Ronald reeled back in his chair, eyes wide. After a minute he put his hand to his face. "What the fuck was that for?" He rubbed his cheek, his mouth hanging open.

"You want to tell him, Joe?"

"Next time you dismiss my daughter like that," Joe said, "it'll be me who hits you." He paused. "I might even use my fist."

"I'm breaking the law here." Ronald closed his mouth. He kept rubbing his cheek.

"Your choice."

"I'm doing it for you."

"Crap."

"Tina?" Ronald held his hands out, palms upwards. "You know this man better than I do." His face creased in a grimace, lips pulled back from his teeth. Momentarily he looked his age. "What's his problem?" Fingers rigid, his hands balanced invisible weights.

Tina didn't say anything for a moment. Then she reached for Joe's hand and squeezed it. "He told you, Ronald."

"This has nothing to do with Gemma," the lawyer said, sinking back in his chair. He touched his cheek again. "Whatever Cooper may or may not have done to her is entirely speculative."

Joe's fist lashed out, narrowly missing the lawyer's chin.

"Okay, okay," Ronald said, leaning back, breathing fast. "I won't mention it again." He looked at Joe, gaze dropping to Joe's fist, still balled and ready to strike once more. "Okay?" Joe rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. "Okay," the lawyer continued, "but can we concentrate on procuring evidence that'll put Cooper away for the eminently more provable crime of murdering your wife? Face facts. We won't be able to prove that he raped your daughter, Joe. She's" — he spread his hands — "gone. She can't testify. Not to mention the fact there'd be absolutely no way of obtaining physical evidence after this length of time."

Joe wondered. He'd pulled his punch. He didn't really want to hurt the boy. Ronald was genuinely trying to help and he'd put his neck on the line. Not just breaking the law, but offering Joe, a stranger, a possible criminal, a possible murderer, the sanctuary and hospitality of his home. Dubious hospitality, mind you, given the lack of available entertainment. Tina's slap ought to have been sufficient warning, but some people just didn't know when to stop. If Joe hit him properly and knocked his lights out, he'd probably wake up mumbling something about Gem. He was that kind of persistent little bastard. It was built into him.

At least he was honest.

Joe uncurled his fingers. "What makes you think I want Cooper put away?"

Tina said, "You live in a very simple world, Ronald."

The lawyer stared at them both for a minute. "What are you saying?" A slow smile spread across his lips. "Ah, revenge. You want to exact revenge on Cooper, is that it? Christ, help me get him locked up, then. What better form of revenge do you want? Look, if you kill him, Joe, you'll find it damned difficult to prove you weren't responsible for killing your wife."

"Did I say I wanted to kill him?"

After a moment, Ronald said, "I assumed that's what you were getting at."

Joe didn't reply.

Ronald tapped his fingers on the table. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"I don't think you should be part of it," Joe said.

"I'm already in this up to my eyeballs."

"Good reason not to get in any deeper. Another few inches and you'll be in over your head."

"Look," Ronald said, "you can't do anything without me. I'm your go-between. I can talk to the police. I can talk to Cooper. Whatever you want." His voice lowered. "Don't shut me out, Joe." He stood up and walked towards the window. He looked out.

Joe glanced at Tina. Her nose looked to have swollen some more. He grinned at her, sensing he might burst into hysterical laughter at any moment. She sucked her teeth, forcing her lips into a pout.

The lawyer continued to stare out the window.

Joe ran his hand through his hair. He didn't know what to do about Cooper. Death was too good for him. Joe wanted to make him suffer and he couldn't suffer unless he was alive. Cooper had murdered Ruth. Then he'd tried to frame Joe. Unknown to Joe, by that point Cooper had… Joe felt sick again. He swallowed and breathed out. Cooper had raped Gemma. That's how it was. He'd raped her. And as if that wasn't bad enough, in doing so he was responsible for her subsequent suicide. Indirectly, Cooper had killed her. Indirectly, yeah, but he might as well have shoved a knife into her heart. Might as well have shot her in the head. Might as well have beaten her to death with a baseball bat like he did Ruth.

Joe wanted Cooper to suffer all right. The question was how best to achieve it.

If Joe wanted him dead all he had to do was call Park and agree on a fee.

The outrage of Cooper's betrayal gripped Joe by the balls. A pain struck low in his belly, just as if somebody was squeezing his nuts in their fist. One of the first times he'd slept with Ruth, she'd ran her fingers across his stomach and he'd tensed up like this, muscles knotting. His dick slumped and he hated it and her and himself. He'd cried out and she'd wondered what the fuck was wrong with him.

Joe felt Tina's hand on his arm. "Don't," she said.

The warmth of her fingers soaked through his shirt. He let go of the fistful of hair he was trying to rip out of his scalp. Odd sensation, her warm fingers.

He'd never slept with Tina. She kept offering him her body, or her services. He was paying for it, she said. But he'd always refused. The one occasion they went to bed, they just slept. Well, she slept and Joe listened to her breathing, listened to raindrops kissing the window. He was drunk, but his brain was buzzing. After a while, only the occasional swish of night-time traffic punctuated the damp silence. He thought about Ruth, wondering who she was sleeping with, wondering why he'd grown to hate her, wondering why he didn't want to find out who she was sleeping with, wondering why he didn't give a fuck, wondering why he couldn't fuck even if he wanted, wondering if lying here with Tina counted as infidelity, wondering how Ruth justified her extra-marital sex to herself, wondering if he should leave her now that Gemma had left home, wondering if he'd ever fuck Tina, wondering what it would be like if he really didn't give a fuck.

The reason he couldn't fuck Tina was because he was married. And he couldn't fuck his wife because she was fucking somebody else and he couldn't get the thought out of his head.

He couldn't blame everybody else, though. He had to take responsibility for himself. He turned on his side and took his cock in his hand. It was daylight before he got to sleep.

"Stop it," Tina said.

Joe let her steer his arm towards the table. She placed her hand on his. Her fingers were warm. He slid his trembling hand out of her grasp.

His thoughts shifted back to Cooper. Joe considered the tantalizing option Park had dangled before him. If Joe wanted Cooper dead, all he had to do was phone Park and convince him he was good for the money. Ruth's life insurance, the house. More than enough. He'd never get close enough to do it himself. But did he want Cooper dead? Maybe, like Ronald said, prison was a better punishment. It wasn't so personal, though.

Ronald turned and walked away from the window. "What's on your mind, Joe? What's your great plan?" When Joe said nothing, Ronald continued, "You won't get near Cooper. The police will arrest you on sight."

Joe pressed the palms of his hands together. "What do you propose?"