The Unburied Dead (29 page)

Points in favour:

Peggy. History; cracking sex; mother of my children; get my family back; I'm forty-four and it's about time I acted it; a warm, loving relationship, especially when the relationship with Charlotte is going nowhere – it'd be foolish to lose Peggy for something that might not last 'til the end of the week; Peggy makes good Jamaica ginger cake.

Charlotte. Sex.

Try to tell myself that sex with Peggy is as good, but there's something extra with Charlotte. It could just be novelty, though. Maybe after twelve years it wouldn't have the same bite. Nothing dulls the appetite like familiarity.

I don't know. Head says Peggy, heart's divided, dick says Charlotte. That's about it. Know what I should do, but like the rest of us under the weight of infatuation, I'm fighting against it with all I've got.

Pick up the phone to Peggy eventually.

'Hello?' she says. Voice wary. Knows it's me.

'Don't hang up,' I say. Immediately onto the defensive before she can speak. Good move, Hutton, you idiot.

She doesn't say anything. Doesn't hang up either.

'Look, I'm sorry. I just couldn't come over.'

'Where were you?'

Never was much of a liar, but I might as well give it a go. Easier over the phone.

'It was late. Middle of the night. And I know what you said, but there was no point. I needed the sleep, babe.' The old familiarity. I bet Brian called her
darling
. 'I'm sorry. It was half-four, I just went home, unplugged the phone, forgot to set the alarm and went out like a light. I know, I should at least have texted or something.'

No immediate reply. Not necessarily a bad thing. Don't say anything else. Wait and see.

'I just wish…' she starts off, stops herself. 'I don't know Thomas. Just be honest, for fuck's sake.' Peggy never used to swear. Must be Brian's influence.

'I'm being honest.' Missing the point as usual. 'Look, I'll come over tonight, I promise.' Close my eyes as I say it.

'Don't, Thomas. Don't...I don't know... I still want you to come. But come when you want. When you mean it.'

'I'll try and come tonight. Promise.' There I go again.

'Don't promise, Thomas.' Click.

Phone call over, just like that. No opportunity for more lies. Shit. Gun at my head right now, and I'd choose Peggy over Charlotte. But it won't last.

Back to work, try to think about Crow and neither of the women. Crow is just not as attractive a thought, however.

*

An hour later, and I've got it. Already early afternoon. Dying for some lunch. Morrow's been in and out, buzzing around like the good little detective. Good thing I like the guy.

Walk into the boss's office.

'Bingo.'

Taylor looks up. The man's actually going over some papers for once – not staring at the ceiling like he usually does. Must be taking his duties seriously. He's been out most of the morning, got in about twenty minutes ago.

'Close the door,' he says.

Do it, stand over his desk. Still feel that tension in the air.

'Hope you've got something, 'cause Morrow came up empty.'

Good.

Getting as bad as Herrod. Have to stop thinking like that. It's not a competition. Hold up the file.

'Crow and Healy. Beginning of last year. Some two-bit rape charge. Crow was the arresting officer, Healy defended the accused. Somewhere along the line Crow fucked up and the guy walked on a technicality. Of course it doesn't say it, but it reeks of pay off. The rapist was some big shot banker. What's a guy like that doing going to a no-hoper like Healy? Put on to him because he knows Healy's a man to do business with, presumably. Payment to Crow, he does the necessary damage, the guy's out of jail.'

Taylor stares at his desk. Rubs his chin with one hand, indicates the chair with the other. I sit down. He's sorting it out. I've already been doing that, and although it's what we were looking for, does it actually get us anywhere?

'So what?' he says eventually. 'What do we have? Healy and Crow know each other. Know the other's bent. How does it apply here? We've got the first half of the connection, now we need the second.'

Think straight, Hutton.

'Right. Crow and Healy worked together on at least one case. There might have been more, we don't know. The murder case last year we know was Crow. But there's no noticeable involvement from Healy.'

'Couldn't find anything on that?'

Shake the head.

'And now, we know Healy murdered Ann Keller and Bathurst,' I continue. 'We don't know if Crow has any involvement. And both men have disappeared. I talked to Crow, didn't suggest there was anything there. He did mention that he'd spoken to Herrod and Bloonsbury earlier this month, however. Now Herrod's dead too. And Bloonsbury's a mess. Might as well be dead.'

'Aye, but that's self-inflicted. I don't think we can go blaming Crow for Bloonsbury's condition.'

Sit up. A cohesive thought. First for three days.

'Maybe Crow is blackmailing him. Maybe that's why Bloonsbury and Herrod went to see Crow, 'cause Crow was threatening to reveal their part in the murder case.'

Taylor shakes his head.

'How could he do that? He was guiltier than the rest of them put together. He was the murderer for God's sake.'

'Aye, but look at the guy. He's wasted, down there in his dingy little cottage. You think he's going to think straight? Maybe he threatens Jonah with it. Jonah can't pay up, he knows he's about to be found out, and he does what any self-respecting drunk does. Hits the sauce. Meanwhile, Crow clears out so that when the shit hits the fan he isn't around to catch any of it.'

'So, why hasn't the shit hit the fan yet? He's been gone three days.'

'He stopped somewhere to have a pint and is still stuck to the bar stool? Who knows? The guy's a fuck up.'

'And where does Healy killing Herrod fit in?' he says.

'I don't know. But if we can sort out the police end, we might find out. Where is Jonah?' I ask. 'If we just come straight out and ask if Crow is blackmailing him, do you think we'll get a straight answer?'

Taylor rubs his forehead. 'Jesus, I don't know. I doubt it. Haven't seen the guy today.'

'She hasn't suspended him, has she?'

He shrugs.

'Maybe just taken a day off to try and sober up. Who knows? Maybe he'll come in tomorrow wearing a blue and red skin tight jump suit, with big yellow pants pulled over the top.'

'So, how about we just go round there and ask him if Crow is blackmailing him over the Addison case?' I say.

'But so what if he is? Where does Healy killing Ann Keller fit into it? If there is something going on between Crow and Bloonsbury, it doesn't have to involve Healy. A connection between Healy and Crow on a small time rape charge over a year ago doesn't mean fuck all, Sergeant.'

Deep breath. He's right.

'Anyway,' he says, 'the fact is that Healy killed those two women and now he's disappeared. He's the guy we've got to find. Any connection with Crow might be entirely coincidental.'

'So where do we start looking?'

'No idea, Sergeant.'

'So, how about we go and speak to Bloonsbury about Crow. It might get us somewhere. If it doesn't, we're no worse off.'

Looks at his watch. Hope he's going to mention lunch. He doesn't.

'All right, we'll go with it. I'll go and see Bloonsbury. There's no point in us both turning up there like a delegation from Fucked Up Coppers Anonymous, and if you go on your own he'll tell you where to go.'

Nod. Fair enough. I'll get some lunch.

'You go and talk to your big shot banker rapist,' he says. 'See what he knows about Crow and Healy.'

'He's not going to tell me anything, is he?'

Stabs his finger at the side of his forehead.

'Use your napper. Be subtle, for Christ's sake.'

Subtle? I'm Scottish.

Stand up, ready to go.

'And you should call Peggy. She was looking for you last night after you left.'

Shite. 'What time?'

'I don't know. 'Bout two, maybe.'

Shite. Caught with my pants down. Every time. I'm such a useless liar. Walk out. Humble pie for lunch.

Be subtle.

Sitting in the waiting room outside the bank manager's office. Feels like a dentist's waiting area, except the magazines are more business orientated and the goldfish in the goldfish tank aren't goldfish – being of an altogether more exotic nature. Thick carpet – maroon, no pattern – cream walls. Wonder how I'm going to play this if I'm to get anything out of him. As detectives go, I've always been reasonably good at sorting things out in my head, seeing possibilities, that kind of thing. However, when it comes to making witnesses give up that little extra, I'm useless.

The secretary appears. Late forties, hair in a bun, blue suit. Wearing four pairs of knickers, although that's only a guess. Leads me through the door into the banker's office, announces me as if I was attending some royal court, then closes the door behind. Doesn't offer coffee.

The banker stands up from behind his desk.

'How do you do, officer? Please come in. Sit down.'

Check out the office as I walk to the chair. Expensive paintings, big plants, massive fish tank, the same rich carpet as the waiting room. Money. This is no banker dealing with the guy on the street and his deposit account of a hundred and thirty-five quid.

'How can I help you, Sergeant Hutton?'

'Won't take much of your time, Mr. Montague.' Had a geography teacher in first year called Montague. Hated him. Used to skelp you over the arse with the blackboard eraser. I could probably sue him now, if it wasn't for the fact he was murdered by one of the sixth years. 'Just like to ask you a couple of questions about Ian Healy.'

He looks vaguely curious, like he doesn't recognise the name.

'Your lawyer,' I add.

'I think there must be some mistake, Sergeant. All my affairs are handled by Harper, McCalliog and Brown of Ingram Street.'

Affairs? Harper, McCalliog and Brown? Bastard. Feel like arresting him for being an annoying bastard with a posh accent.

Subtlety edged to one side.

'Rape case, last year. Janie Northolt, one of your employees. Harper, McCalliog and Brown didn't handle that affair.'

Patronising smile disappears off face.

'Oh, him,' he says. 'What about him?' Looks at his watch. 'I really am rather busy, Sergeant.'

'Perhaps then you could come down to the station later to answer some questions?'

Gives me the look. That one always shuts them up. Trying to throw his weight around, but he ought to know better. No one gets away with that for long in Glasgow.

'Very well, Sergeant. But I really don't see how I can be of any help.'