The Accused

by Owen Mullen

  By the time I got to Glasgow I wasn’t in the mood for work. Reluctantly I climbed the stairs to the space Alex Gilby had given me to compensate for losing the office above NYB, which had been finished in a got-a-great-deal-on-this-paint colour. Nothing else explained the dodgy shade; the smell hung in the air. When he’d told me the decorator he intended to use was an old friend called Matt Black, I only just managed to keep my face straight.

  ‘Matt Black? Good, is he?’

  ‘The best. Been in the game all his life.’

  ‘Matt Black.’

  ‘Yeah. Why, do you know him?’

  Alex didn’t get it. Sometimes things were so obvious we were blind to them – like why three seemingly unconnected witnesses would perjure themselves in the common cause of convicting Dennis Boyd. Because, if Boyd was innocent of killing Joe Franks, that was exactly what had happened.

  I sat down, tilting the chair so my head could rest against the wall, closed my eyes and searched for the link between Hughie Wilson, Liam McDermid and Willie Davidson: ‘nonentities to a man’, to use Pat Logue’s phrase. Taken together, the power of their testimony sealed Dennis Boyd’s fate.

  An hour later, no nearer an explanation, I walked round to NYB. Patrick was at the bar with the dregs of a pint in front of him. Usually, he’d have the next one lined up ready to go. Today, he was pacing himself, spinning out his money. The reason was behind the bar: Michelle. I tapped him on the shoulder and drew him to a seat away from the distraction of the new barmaid’s cleavage.

  He faked interest. ‘What gives, Charlie?’

  ‘Nothing, and that’s the problem. Been out to Barlinnie visiting a guy who’d love to be doing what you’re doing right now.’

  ‘Dennis Boyd.’

  ‘The very same.’

  Pat Logue still wasn’t paying attention; he shot a glance over my shoulder to Michelle chatting to a guy in his late twenties. Patrick said, ‘How’s Boyd holdin’ up?’

  ‘Better than I would be. Bloody case has hit a brick wall. Be a good moment to change that, otherwise Boyd’s going away for a very long time.’

  I had his attention at last.

  ‘Can I take it you haven’t found anything?’

  ‘Sorry, Charlie. Nada.’

  ‘Meet me in my office in ten minutes.’ I pointed towards Michelle. ‘And bring your brain with you.’

  He accepted the criticism and nodded. ‘Wee head’s been doin’ the thinkin’.’

  ‘Unless we find something, Boyd has no chance.’

  ‘I’ll finish my pint and be right with you.’

  I was cramping Patrick’s style; it couldn’t be helped. I needed his mind on the job. If it wasn’t, he was no use to me. He was headed for trouble – if Gail caught him, likely as not, she’d throw him out – but it was his own business. Mine was proving Dennis Boyd was innocent.

  Ten minutes after I arrived in Cochrane Street the door opened and Patrick came in, pulled a chair up to the desk and sat down. ‘Okay, I’m here.’

  ‘The original case against Boyd was based on circumstantial evidence.’

  ‘A bloodstain and the diamond in the back seat of his car.’

  ‘Convincing so far as it went, though probably not enough to get a conviction. The testimony of three witnesses – strangers to each other – put the verdict beyond doubt.’

  Pat said, ‘There has to be a connection, doesn’t there?’

  ‘Right. What did a bouncer, a joiner and a barman have in common fifteen years ago? Start with the bouncer and the barman.’

  ‘Already did, Charlie.’

  ‘I realise that, Patrick. This time dig deeper. Go all the way back. Did they ever work the same gig? After that we’ll see where the joiner fits.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘No word on who bought Joe Franks’ diamonds?’

  ‘Not a whisper. Problem is, it wasn’t yesterday.’

  ‘Then make a list of dealers. Maybe one of them will talk. Come back to me as soon as you get anything. Anything at all.’

  ‘Understood.’

  His fingers drummed the table. I recognised the sign; he was about to ask for a sub. In the end he thought better of it and got up to go. ‘What would men be without women, Charlie?’

  ‘You’re going to tell me.’

  ‘Scarce.’

  ‘Who said it?’

  ‘Mark Twain.’

  On his way out the door I tossed one of his own lines at him. ‘“Keep it in your trousers.” Who said that, remind me?’

  34

  The guy with the syringe had come later than usual. When he’d finally shown up, Kim was in agony, eyes rolling crazily in her head, clawing at herself, tearing the ropes tying her to the bed. Crying. Pleading. Begging. As the high had faded, she’d fallen into a dwam and gone to sleep, weaker than ever. Nothing mattered any more. Not even her daughter. What she’d done wrong – whatever it was – had cost her everything. And still Sean wasn’t satisfied. For him, revenge was like sex; he always needed more. With Vicky’s help, he’d reduced the mother of his child to a junkie. What remained of the beauty queen was a shell, sad and sickening to watch, and Vicky had to get out of the room.

  Downstairs, Noah’s piggy eyes studied the titty magazine in his hand. He knew his boss was there but didn’t look up. Savages like him never learned: he had no better angels to appeal to. In the long run it wouldn’t go well for him. Somebody would fight back – a short, violent, unexpected struggle, leaving blood on his leather jacket and a pair of scissors sticking out of his neck. That day couldn’t come soon enough for Vicky.

  She stood on the front steps worn down by countless male feet, the blue neon sign above her still blinking in and out. She breathed the cool night air, forcing herself to be calm. The conversation with Sean had finished her; she’d come to the end of the line. Tony had asked her to leave Glasgow and go away with him more times than she could recall. She’d seen disappointment cloud a little deeper in his eyes with each refusal and despised herself for hurting an uncomplicated guy who couldn’t begin to understand how she felt about Vicky Farrell.

  Except, the excuses didn’t make sense any more, even to her. Noah wasn’t the only one it would end badly for: she remembered Rafferty’s threat and shivered with fear.

  get it done, Victoria

  Vicky fingered the mobile in her hand, reluctant to make the call that would draw Tony into her world, knowing if she did there was no going back. When he knew the truth – the awful sordid truth, worse than anything he could imagine – the decision would be his.

  Hearing his voice soothed her. She said, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Just dropped off a load in Carlisle. Why?’

  ‘When can you get here?

  At half past two in the morning, under a starless sky, Glasgow was a drab collection of empty roads, stationary cars, and darkened shop windows. Noah hadn’t been on the desk in Renfrew Street – probably off forcing his attention on another poor unfortunate – and Vicky had been able to slip out unnoticed. She wasn’t happy leaving Kim alone in case the animal decided to try his luck a second time. But there was no other way. They were in the end game. Twenty-four hours from now, Rafferty’s broken wife would be desperately selling herself on a corner of Blythswood Square to anybody who’d have her, her addiction snapping at her heels like a rabid dog. Sean would remember Vicky questioning him and turn his malign focus on her; she’d be the one whimpering for the guy to stick the syringe in her arm. And it would begin; everything she’d witnessed – the pain, the humiliation, the unspeakable degradation – all of it, would be hers.

  Kim would survive without her for a little while – she’d have to.

  Vicky found a parking space and walked to the all-night café near Woodlands Road she’d been in with Tony seven or eight months earlier, when he’d asked her to marry him and received the first of many rejections. He’d gone quiet when she’d answered and for a week, Vicky hadn’t heard from him. Maybe it was his silence or
perhaps she’d got used to having him around, but she’d called and suggested they have dinner. Since then, turning him down had become a running joke between them, though Vicky suspected that, inside, Tony wasn’t as amused as he pretended.

  At twenty past two in the morning the place was busier than she expected. Tony was already there, the cup of muddy coffee on the table almost finished. He kissed her and anxiously searched her face. ‘What’s going on, baby?’

  Vicky burst into tears and hid her face behind her hands. ‘I’m so ashamed.’

  Tony let her cry it out. When she was done, she wiped her eyes and looked across at him, self-loathing staring out of her. ‘How can you possibly want to marry somebody like me?’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Because you’re a good person and I love you.’

  ‘I’m not good. Nothing like good.’

  ‘Yeah, you are. You don’t see it. I do.’ He sighed. ‘Vicky, grow up. Do you seriously imagine I haven’t checked it out? Of course I have. Eight months ago. I figured you’d walk away when the time was right. For you. For us. And now, we’re here.’

  She whispered, ‘I’m scared, Tony. Really scared.’

  ‘Scared? Of what? What’s going on, Vic?’

  Vicky couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud and he reacted. ‘That settles it, you’re not going back. We’ll leave now. This minute. In a few hours, we’ll be hundreds of miles away. You’ll be safe.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, no.’

  ‘Then we’re staying here until you explain why not. Putting your life in danger makes no sense. I won’t let you do it.’

  Vicky got herself under control. Tony loved her. He deserved the truth. She’d no wish to hurt him more than she already had but it couldn’t be avoided. Describing the shabby room in Renfrew Street, the woman shackled to the bed and the guy with the syringe was hard for her to do, hard for him to listen to. Anger and revulsion in his eyes; Vicky wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

  Tony didn’t interrupt or avoid her gaze. When she came to the end of her story, she lifted her chin defiantly. ‘So, there it is. If you still want me, I’m ready to go, but I’m not leaving without her. I owe her that much. And you have to know what you’d be getting into. This is only the beginning.’

  ‘Only the beginning of what?’

  ‘Of Rafferty’s revenge.’

  ‘Revenge on who?’

  ‘Me. I defended Kim, spoke up for her. That puts me on the other side. Anybody who isn’t for Sean Rafferty is against him.’

  do better or get another gig

  She folded her arms. ‘You don’t understand – how could you?’

  He sensed they were about to lose each other again. ‘Yes, I do and I love you even more for it. Leaving Kim would haunt us for the rest of our lives. Sooner or later, it would tear us apart. We could go to the police.’

  ‘With what I’ve done? No, impossible.’

  This had been coming from the moment he’d asked if he could buy her a drink in the bar on Miller Street. And Vicky was right; he couldn’t deny it. She waited for his answer. Tony toyed with his coffee and looked round the café. ‘Then we get her out ourselves.’

  ‘When?’

  He pushed the cup away and put money on the table. ‘How about right now?’

  35

  It made sense to take her car and leave the lorry. On the open road it was a beast, in the city, a cumbersome liability. Vicky studied Tony out of the corner of her eye, only too aware what he was risking. He stared ahead, his expressionless face pale and shadowed in the street light, maybe having second thoughts. Who would blame him? How many guys would do this for a prostitute? If they got caught, retribution would be swift and final – they’d both die horribly. Silently, she made a promise to herself: when this was behind them, she’d marry Tony, live wherever he wanted them to live, and be the wife he deserved.

  He said, ‘Don’t try to bring anything. In and out, like we agreed.’

  ‘She’s weak, hardly able to stand. She may not be able to walk.’

  ‘I’ll carry her. If we get separated, meet me back at the café.’

  Vicky reached across and found his hand. ‘Don’t worry about me. Whatever happens, get Kim away. It’s her Sean really wants.’

  ‘I will, but if we get—’

  ‘The café, yeah, I’ve got it.’

  She parked in the aptly named Hill Street, pulled Tony to her and kissed him. ‘I love you, you know that, don’t you?’

  He smiled. ‘Finally.’

  ‘I didn’t say yes the first time you asked me, because—’

  He put his finger to her lips. ‘I understood then and I understand now. Let’s do this thing so we can get on with the rest of our lives, eh?’

  ‘If Noah’s on the door, let me handle him.’

  Tony smiled. ‘No,’ he said, ‘that bastard is mine.’

  There was no sign of the doorman; his titty magazines were there but he wasn’t. They climbed the stairs, bare boards groaning beneath their feet, echoing against the peeling walls. Vicky shivered, more afraid than she’d ever been. Behind her, Tony tested every step, not trusting his weight to it until he was certain it wouldn’t betray them, listening for the shouts that would mean they’d been discovered.

  Without him, without his courage and strength, Vicky would’ve run, even though she’d never forgive herself for deserting Kim Rafferty.

  After what seemed like an age, they reached the third landing and tiptoed to the room. The house was still, devoid of the usual mating noises, and they began to believe they were going to get away with it. Vicky turned the handle, gently pushing the door open, half expecting the loathsome Noah to be waiting on the other side, smiling his broken-toothed smile. He wasn’t. In the weak light, Kim lay semi-conscious on the bed, more dead than alive. The high had lasted a mere ten minutes before her eyelids fluttered and closed and she passed to the land of the lost.

  She hadn’t returned. Maybe would never return. Vicky couldn’t allow herself to believe that.

  Kim’s once flawless skin had the pallor of old cheese; livid cold sores marked her cracked lips, each shallow breath like a death rattle.

  Vicky cradled her thin frame in her arms, whispering reassuring untruths. Tony untied the ropes fastening her to the bed. Her eyes opened, no recognition in them, and Vicky redoubled her lies, frantically trying to reach her.

  ‘Kim, Kim, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe. We’re getting you out of here.’ She took off her coat. ‘Help me get this on her.’

  Somewhere outside, a car door slammed, then another. Vicky went to the grimy window; three men were heading for the house. Further down, a Mercedes turned the corner into Renfrew Street: Sean. How could he have known?

  She yelled to Tony. ‘Go! Go! There’s a back door, use it! The keys are in the ignition.’

  He lifted Kim up. ‘No chance, Vic. Not without you.’

  ‘I’ll be okay. Do it!’

  ‘I can’t leave witho—’

  ‘We haven’t time for this.’

  ‘Rafferty isn’t a fool. He won’t believe you. And if he doesn’t, he’ll—’

  ‘He will. Yes, he will. I’ll make it look like somebody took her. For Christ’s sake, before we all die in this shithole. Please, Tony!’

  ‘I love you, Vicky.’

  ‘And I love you, too.’

  The instinct to survive kicked in. Tony was right – convincing Rafferty his wife had been abducted was her only hope. Vicky knocked the table over, grabbed the grubby bedclothes and dragged them onto the carpet, as if there had been a struggle. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  She wasn’t brave, far from it – she had no choice. Vicky steadied herself, heart thumping, not sure she could go through with it, images of Kim’s ravaged body, physically and mentally broken, flashing through her mind. They’d do the same to her and worse. The hurt in Tony’s eyes when she’d forced him to leave her behind haunted Vicky. This was her fault. Her doing.
He was a good guy – too good for a scrubber like her – who should never have been part of this filth.

  If she ever wanted to see him again, just one dreadful option remained. Vicky stepped back, took a deep breath and smashed her face as hard as she could off the edge of the open door: the blow bit into her forehead like an axe, cutting through the flesh on the brow to the bone, instantly mutilating her. A bomb exploded in her head, blood and unimaginable pain blurred her vision and she dropped to the floor. Somewhere in her brain, angry voices drowned in a storm breaking against an ancient shore; Vicky recognised the metallic taste in her mouth.

  Then, nothing.

  36

  She came to on the floor surrounded by strange faces. Across the room, Sean Rafferty sat in the chair where she’d watched his wife’s descent into a dark place, his fingers steepled in front of him. He tilted his head and spoke to one of his men. ‘Get her a glass of water.’

  Vicky’s clothes were covered in blood, her head felt like it was coming off her body and one side of her face was numb. She mumbled, ‘I couldn’t stop them, Sean. I tried. There were too many.’

  Rafferty played with his ring. ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘Not really, it all happened so fast.’

  He put his hands together, applauding slowly, and came towards her. The punch rocked her head back on her shoulders; fresh pain lanced her brain and Rafferty hunkered down next to her. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Victoria. I mean, really disappointed. Let me ask, because I’m curious. What is it about me makes you believe I’m a fucking idiot, eh?’

  ‘Sean—’

  ‘Shut it, bitch! Don’t lie to me. There’s been somebody on your tail since you started having second thoughts about the job. Knew you were building up to something. You and your boyfriend. I hoped you wouldn’t be so stupid.’ He sighed and held out his arms. ‘But there you go.’

  Rafferty paced the spartan room, shaking his head. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence with your fairy stories. We go back a long way, said it yourself. Knowing what you know about me, I’m surprised you’d try that crap on.’