The Night the Rich Men Burned (36 page)

He has to wait another twenty seconds before the door slowly opens. It’s a young woman looking back at him. She looks scruffy but pretty. Didn’t someone say she was a hooker for Marty Jones? Wearing a T-shirt and jogging bottoms. Greasy dark hair tied back. She has a cloth or duster in her hand. Looks like she’s been cleaning up. A woman taking care of her home. Quaint. A reminder of Norah. Not quaint. Hard to take.

Disappointing that the girl’s here. Always easier without some squawking woman thinking she has to defend her man. That’s the problem with them. They always defend their man, even when he’s wrong. And even if they don’t get physically involved, they can raise the dead with their shouting. Certainly raise the alarm. That’s Holmes’s experience of them, anyway, but his experience with women has made him sad. Not bitter. He knows it was his own fault.

‘I’m looking for Alex Glass,’ he’s saying. You wouldn’t know he was drunk to hear him. Maybe if you knew him well, but otherwise he would sound strong and in control. Takes a lot of practice to be able to control yourself that well whilst brimming with alcohol.

‘He’s not in,’ she’s saying, and moving to close the door.

You don’t take them at their word. That’s not instinct, that’s just common sense. People who owe money become good at hiding. Practice makes perfect there too. They know when to shut the door and when not to. They have instincts of their own. Holmes is sticking his boot in the door and shoving into it shoulder first. He’s not as big as he used to be. Lost a bit of weight. Not eating properly. Still a lot bigger than Ella, doesn’t take much force to push her backwards.

‘Hey. Bastard.’ She’s stepping back and letting him in. She can complain, but there’s no point fighting back.

Holmes is inside the flat, looking around. Not much of a flat. Door opens into the living room, and you can see the door through to the small kitchen. No hiding places. There’s a little corridor off to the side that he’ll have to check. No sign of Glass at first glimpse.

‘Where is he?’

‘I told you, not here. He has a job. Something or other, I don’t know what. Just for tonight. I don’t know where.’

Holmes is ignoring her. If the answer isn’t within the flat, then he doesn’t want to hear it. He’s going into the kitchen. Dishes in the sink, but no Glass. Out into the living room again. Along the corridor and pushing open a door. A bedroom. Small, with only a single bed in it. Doesn’t look like it’s used. Pushing open another door. Bathroom. Nobody hiding there. Into the final room. Second bedroom. Bigger, more furniture, a bed with a dishevelled look about it.

If he’s hiding in the flat, then it’s in this room. No room under the bed. Lifting up the quilt and looking under. Nope. Last-chance saloon is the wardrobe. Otherwise he’s not here and Holmes is going to have to make a return visit. Opening the wardrobe doors and finding nothing but clothes inside. Damn it all. Shit. They can never just make it simple. Now he’ll have to come back and go through this again. He’ll get the job done late. Might not even get it done tonight. Then Peterkinney will be pissed off with him, and he’ll be struggling to hang on to another job.

He’s slamming the wardrobe door shut. It’s not a door designed to be slammed. The wardrobe is shaking and doing its level best not to fall apart under the assault. Holmes is marching out of the bedroom, along the corridor and into the living room. Looking furious. Ready to pick a fight with anyone over anything. Just a good old-fashioned fight. It would make him feel better.

‘Where is he?’

‘I told you. I don’t know.’ She’s getting fed up of this now. She doesn’t know, and even if she did, it’s obvious she wouldn’t tell this gorilla.

‘When’s he going to be back, huh?’ Almost shouting now.

A sigh. ‘I don’t know. Don’t know where he is, don’t know what he’s doing, don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s doing a job. Trying to make some money, okay. So that he can pay some back. But it was all rushed, and I don’t know what it was.’ Trying to be persuasive, but running out of patience. ‘He shouldn’t be long. You can come back in an hour. There’s no need to be so angry about it. I don’t know what your problem is.’

That’s it. That’s just enough to spark a rage. ‘You don’t know what my problem is? Do you want to know? Eh? Will I tell you what my fucking problem is? It’s people like you and your wee guy. Your Alex Glass. Borrowing money you can’t afford to pay. And then I have to come and collect it cause you’re all so fucking daft. And your fellow ain’t here to pay. Big fucking surprise there, eh. Always hiding. Always hiding.’ He was shouting at the end, spitting as he did.

Ella’s just glaring at him. ‘He’s trying to earn money to pay you back. And you don’t need to be shouting at me, I don’t owe you anything.’

Defiance. Not much, but enough for Holmes. ‘Oh, you don’t? Well, your man does. He’s yours and so is his debt. You owe.’ He’s moved towards her, pushed her shoulder. Not violent, but looking to provoke violence.

‘Stop that. Just leave. Please, just get out.’

‘What did you say to me? You telling me to get out? That what you said?’ Lashing out with a slap, catching her hard on the side of the head.

She didn’t see it coming. Holmes was always a fighter, since he was a little kid. Always had a quick hand. It’s the surprise as much as the force that’s knocked her sideways. Knocked her off her feet and onto the floor. Lying on her side. Shaken, sore, but no permanent damage. But she’s staying down. Convinced that if she gets up, she’ll get hit again. She’s been hit before. She knows how this works. Let them see they’ve won. Let them see that they’re more powerful than you. When they see they’ve won their power game, they can back off. So she’s staying down and hoping that’ll be enough for him.

But it won’t. Not for Holmes. He’s not like her clients. Not trying to make himself feel big. Feel like a winner. He already knows he’s lost. He’s drunk and angry and remembering that time Glass smashed his way into his house. He’s remembering all the failure that followed. Remembering Glass and Peterkinney at the bottom of the stairs in the old house. Standing there and kicking him while he lay on the floor. Now he can make one of them suffer.

He’s lashing out with his boot. Not holding anything back. Hitting her in the stomach, his boot scuffing along her side. Didn’t catch her square, but it felt good to him. Good to be kicking out. Good that he can make Glass suffer.

‘You feel that?’ he’s shouting. ‘You ask your boyfriend if he remembers. You ask him. I remember. You ask him if he does.’

Kicking her again. Hard as he can, all his weight behind it. Square in the stomach this time. Knocking her onto her back. She’s rolled onto her other side and stopped moving. He’s making to kick her in the back this time, but stopping. Instinct. Walking round to the other side of her. Looking at her face. Her eyes are half shut, her mouth half open. There’s no movement. Her arms are down on the floor, not raised to defend herself.

‘Come on. Come on, get up. Come on.’ Holmes is bending down, grabbing her by the hair. Lifting her head half an inch and letting it drop onto the floor. There’s a faint groan. Her eyelids flicker. But that’s it. ‘Shit, come on. I didn’t . . . you’re not that badly hurt. Come on.’ Getting angry with her now.

Taking a step back and looking around. A deep breath. What do you do? Instinct says run and right now instinct is all he’s got. He’s out the front door, just aware enough to pull it shut behind him. Down the stairs and out into the night. Breathing heavily, in real need of a drink. This need isn’t just pesky old alcoholism. This is fear that needs to be drowned before it hurts him. That girl was in trouble. He went too far.

5

Arnie’s sitting in his living room, watching TV. Skimming through the newspaper for reasons of habit. A boring quiet night, until the phone starts ringing. He’s looking at it with suspicion. Nobody phones him in an evening. There aren’t many who phone him at all. This is going to be something annoying, he’s sure of it.

‘Hello, Arnold Peterkinney.’

‘Arnie? Arnie.’

He knows already that it’s Glass. Young voice, emotional. Sounds like he’s looking for help.

‘Alex, is that you? What’s wrong?’

There’s a pause and heavy breathing. ‘It’s Ella. She’s not moving. She’s just lying on the floor and she’s not moving.’

He instantly assumes drugs, and then stops himself. She’s a good girl. Didn’t think she would be. Thought she would be the biggest problem in Glass’s life. Nope, not her. She was helping Glass. She was the one with sense in the relationship. Okay, she does a job she shouldn’t. Arnie doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like to think about it. Knows what it does to Glass to think about it. He tried to talk her into changing career, but she wouldn’t. Stubborn wee thing. Only way she knows to make money. But she wasn’t a waster. Not a boozer. Not a druggie. Oliver was wrong about her. She wasn’t the problem. So not drugs. Must have been a client.

‘Listen to me now, Alex, listen carefully. What happened? How did she end up on the floor?’ Worried now that Glass might have been involved. Worried that something bad could be about to turn into something horrendous.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I just came home. I did that job for Mr Currie that you got me. I parked the van where he told me to and walked back. I came into the flat and she was just lying there. Lying on the living-room floor. She’s not moving. She won’t wake up. She’s not . . . She won’t move for me, Arnie.’

‘Okay. Steady on, now. Listen to me. You have to hang up and call an ambulance. Dial 999 and tell them what you told me. You got that now, Alex. Call an ambulance. I’ll come round to the flat, okay. I’m on my way now.’

‘Okay. Okay.’

Arnie’s hanging up the phone. Running to the hall, grabbing a coat. Out of the flat and along to his neighbour’s front door. Knocking loudly, making sure they can’t possibly ignore him. The door’s opening, a confused neighbour looking back at him.

‘Arnie?’

‘I need to borrow your car. It’s an emergency, really, or I wouldn’t ask.’

The neighbour’s nodding. Arnie’s a reliable guy. He’s not going to go off and trash the car. And he doesn’t ask for much. Doesn’t ask for anything, actually. If he was the sort of neighbour who borrowed a lot, Arnie might not get what he wants right now. But the neighbour’s fishing in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys.

‘I won’t keep it long, I promise,’ Arnie’s saying. He was going to say something about filling up the tank before he takes it back, but he hasn’t. Too much of a hurry. Also, it’s a nice thing to do, and nice things cost money. He’s not sure he has any of that on him.

He’s down to the front of the building and into the car. Driving quickly through the streets, hoping he can get to the flat before the ambulance does. He wants to see Glass. Wants to see the situation. It’s a terrible thing, but he’s hardly thinking about Ella at all. He’s only thinking about what this might do to Glass. How he might react to this. Worried that he might get into all kinds of trouble if this is serious.

Little traffic, and he’s there quickly, but he’s not there first. There’s an ambulance outside the building. Arnie’s parking out of the way and running up the stairs. Struggling a bit. Wheezing as he gets to the door. The two paramedics are down on the floor, on their knees beside Ella. One of them is talking to her. The other one is fiddling around her mouth and neck. Glass is standing behind them, hands at his sides, just staring.

Arnie’s walked past the paramedics, over to Glass. Putting an arm on his shoulder. Glass is noticing him for the first time. Just looking at him and looking back at Ella. He doesn’t look emotional. Doesn’t look like this has hurt him. But that’s what worries Arnie. This kid was emotionally all over the place after getting beaten up in that nightclub and turning up on his doorstep. Now he’s not reacting at all. Before he was damaged. Now he’s broken.

The girl looks bad. Can’t see what’s wrong with her. The medics are still working on her. One of them is lifting her T-shirt. Arnie assumes they’re looking for puncture wounds, but they’re not. They’re looking for a larger injury and they’ve found one. Her stomach and side are red, heading for purple. The medics are talking in whispers to each other. One of them getting up and running down to the ambulance.

‘We need to get her to hospital now. Have you a car to follow in?’ the remaining one is asking Glass. Doesn’t have a friendly tone in his voice. He knows what caused this injury. He suspects he knows who. Usually domestic. That’s why he wants the boy in a car, not in the back of the ambulance with the girl.

Glass is nodding. Unsure.

‘I do, I’ll take him,’ Arnie’s saying. He wants to stay near Glass. Wants to make sure he doesn’t react badly to this. Start talking and get himself in trouble.

The medics are moving her down on a small stretcher. Going fast. There’s a new sense of urgency about them now. Glass staying close, Arnie close to Glass. Arnie’s watching them put her in the back of the ambulance, Glass standing beside him. Watching his girlfriend. Watching them close the ambulance door.

‘Come on. Alex, let’s go,’ Arnie’s saying. Needing to provoke him into action. Glass is following him to the car. They’re driving behind the ambulance, through the quiet streets of the city.

The next hour is a disquieting blur to Arnie. They rushed her in and about ten minutes later a doctor came out to talk to them. Came out to tell them that Ella had died. That she had suffered internal injuries after a blunt trauma. There was silence for a long time. Arnie and Glass sitting together in a private room in the hospital. Arnie didn’t know what to say. What do you say?

‘Someone killed her,’ Glass is saying eventually. Talking in a whisper.

He’s right, but Arnie doesn’t want this conversation to go any further in that direction. He knows where the road goes. Someone went round to the flat and killed her. Not like there are many obvious candidates. There’s an obvious candidate that Arnie doesn’t want to think about. He wants to move Glass in another direction.

‘Would she have had someone back to the flat?’ he’s asking quietly. Trying to put the thought in Glass’s head. Try and persuade him that it might be a client of Ella’s. Try and persuade him that the dead girl introduced her own murderer into the situation. Anything to convince him that it’s not the obvious option.