Blood Tears

by Michael J Malone

  Did some fucker come up from behind and lamp me one? My eyes open a little more and notice the corner of the coffee table. I wince as if in delayed sympathy with my head while my fingers rub the black ash tabletop.

  So I’ve fallen, or I was pushed by Devlin. My head hit the table and it’s Goodnight Govan.

  Where did Devlin go? How long have I been out for? After all of the shouting and barking and running that was going on before, this house is now very quiet. Remarkably so. It reminds me of how everything goes quiet just as the snow begins to fall. Or when, in the movie, the hunter becomes the hunted and all of the forest animals lie as still as death.

  McCall. I jump to my feet and close my eyes to the fresh wave of pain in my head. He could easily find his way back. If he finds me in this state, I’m a goner.

  Memory provides me with a fair idea of where the sofa is, so I locate the edge of it with a heel and with a slight change to my direction I fall on to its cushions. This makes me more aware of the wetness of my shirt. I stretch across with my left hand and feel it. It’s soaking wet. There is a faint tang to it. I bring my hand to my nose. A metallic tang. My eyes open by their own volition.

  Several pictures flash to my brain like an MTV horror flick. The two most prominent are the blood on my fingers and the body stretched out on the table before me. Arms wide. Her mouth open in a silent scream.

  Chapter 35

  While one part of my brain goes into a corner and retches, another part, the part whose sole purpose is self-preservation, swings into action. If the police find any trace of me in this house, I may as well douse myself in perfume, then they’ll have something nice to smell while they ram a life sentence up my arse.

  The time is 01:20 according to the green light blinking on the DVD player. I have to be thorough, but quick. Whoever did this, and it has to be McCall, wants to set me up. So surely the police would have been contacted in the hope that they find me blood drenched, in situ.

  The possibility that I am to blame for the corpse on the table is sent to the corner with the screams.

  If I’m quick I can clean up and go. And hope none of the neighbours see me leaving. The hope that none saw me arriving is plenty slim. They would have definitely heard me giving chase to McCall. In most neighbourhoods that would have been cause for a phone call to the local police station, but if you live around here I expect all you do is shout like fuck and look forlornly at the phone.

  I take a quick inventory of my person. The only blood on me is on the arm and shoulder of my shirt. It will have to go. I pull it off and roll it into a ball. Carole is bound to have a few extra T-shirts upstairs.

  Back-tracking my movements, I clean each surface with my shirt. Thankfully I haven’t been through too much of the house. It really was just the living room. I did run through the kitchen, but didn’t I lay a finger on anything. From experience I know of the care I need to take. Our forensic boys are shit hot. If I even leave as much as a partial print or a fibre behind they could place me here.

  Right, okay, I survey the room. Everything seems to be clean. I run upstairs with my hands in my pockets. That way I won’t touch anything. All three doors from the landing at the top of the stairs are open. The first one is a toilet so I can ignore that. The next room is as bare as a nun’s cell. A single bed lines one wall and a tall chest of drawers is placed against another one. This room looks like no-one has slept in it for years. Must be McCall’s.

  In the next room I am disabused of this notion. There’s a poster of Partick Thistle on one wall and one of Pamela Anderson on the other. All very mundane and non-murderous. A baseball cap has pride of place on a chest of drawers that matches the one in the other room. Next door must be Carole’s room.

  I retrace my steps and pluck a piece of black material from a drawer, hold it up, yes it’s a T-shirt, push the drawer closed and use the material to wipe the handle dry of any possible print.

  With baseball cap pulled low over my forehead, a quick glance at my watch — it’s 01:30 — I leave the house as silently as I can. There’s nothing I can do for Carole now, I reason. No sense in going back and making her look more comfortable. The best thing I can do for the poor cow is find the bastard that did this and find a nice uncomfortable cell for them. That is, if I can keep my hands to myself.

  Back at the hotel, Calum is lying on top of his bed, fully clothed, hands behind his head.

  ‘Nice T-shirt,’ he says. Three loaded syllables. The fact that he doesn’t actually remonstrate with me for sneaking out while he was in the shower somehow makes me feel worse. I could have lost him his job.

  ‘Sorry, Calum. I just had to…’ I’m speaking to his back as he goes into the toilet. He leaves the door open and I undress to the drizzle of his piss and subsequent flush of the pan.

  We’re both in bed. I turn off the bedside lamps and speak into the first burst of darkness before my eyes are able to discern any shapes. ‘Anybody phone?’

  ‘No.’ I hear him turn on to his side. Fuck you then, I think. Huffy bastard. My sympathy has a short shelf life these days.

  Sleep is like a distant, hateful relative tonight; he doesn’t visit very often, but when he does it’s very brief and a bit of a nightmare. When daylight stretches in through a chink in the curtains I feel every bit as tired as when I went to bed several hours before and my eyes feel as if they have been dipped in sand.

  Thankfully, I don’t remember any of my dreams, but I’m left with a residue in the form of hairs on end along my arms. For the long hours when I wasn’t asleep, one phrase ran through my mind.

  ‘I didn’t kill her… I didn’t kill her… I didn’t kill her.'

  I go over and over the events of the evening. McCall must have come in behind me when I was arguing with Carole and knocked me out and then did his dirty work.

  So why is the lump on this side of my head? The side furthest away from the door. Did he push me on to the coffee table, hoping that it would do his work for him? There’s just too much uncertainty about all of this. Did I clean up enough? Were there any other signs of me being there? Think. Think. One thing I am sure of is I didn’t do it.

  I didn’t.

  Calum stirs, stretches, kicks his legs over the side of the bed and faces me. He slips one hand inside his black briefs and rearranges himself.

  ‘Pubes caught in my foreskin,’ he offers by way of apology. He’s all hard curves; shoulders, pecs and abs. He’s too close and too male. Thank Christ the days of living in a dormitory are well behind me. I couldn’t put up with much more of this. He has his other hand on the phone.

  ‘Bacon rolls do you?’

  No health kick this morning then? ‘Aye.’

  Order made, he puts the phone down and walks over to the trouser press. After liberating his threads he stretches one leg after another into them. While he zips up he asks me, ‘What’s on the cards today?’

  I sit up and look at him, ‘Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday, Calum. I know Kenny would take a dim view of you losing me. But I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again. The best I can say is that I’ll keep it to a minimum.’

  ‘The best you can say is, “Calum, why don’t you come with me?”’

  ‘If I did that, you might become implicated in a murder.’

  He doesn’t even flinch. What has this young man witnessed in the line of duty with my pal Kenny?

  ‘Wherever you go, I’m there. When you go for a jog, I’ll be a few steps behind. When you go for a drive, I’m riding shotgun. When I go for a shower, you’re sitting on the shitter. No argument.’ His tone is quiet and all the more impressive for it. It doesn’t allow for any disagreement. He’d grown sloppy for a minute and it isn’t going to happen again.

  My mobile phone rings. It’s Daryl. He’s early. It’s only 07:55 according to my watch.

  ‘Ray. Allessandra and I are on the way over.’ He realises that his voice is too business like and he adds. ‘Get the kettle on.’ Shit. It’s not good.


  ‘The pigs are coming,’ I warn Calum.

  ‘I’ll make myself scarce.’

  Allessandra and Daryl file into the bedroom and both take a seat by the table. No conversation. No wisecracks. They know something and they are more than concerned about it.

  ‘The coffees and bacon rolls are on the way up, guys.’ I ordered extra when I realised Daryl and Allessandra were on their way. As I say this I’m tidying up some socks and underpants that decorate the floor. This is what Maggie would describe as displacement activity.

  Acid bubbles in my stomach as I consider what to say to the guys. Do I come clean? Or do I act the daft laddie? I owe a lot to these guys. A debt that I doubt I could ever come close to making good on. Still. Do they have to know the full truth of last night? I don’t know if I could stand it if their eyes were to take on the light of suspicion.

  I sit on the bed and breathe deep. ‘Before you start, guys. I have…’

  ‘Carole Devlin is dead, Ray,’ says Daryl.

  ‘I know. I was just about to…’

  ‘And someone matching your description was seen running across back gardens in the area, not too long before Carole’s time of death.’

  ‘If you… if you let me tell you what happened, Daryl.’ There is a knock at the door. ‘That’ll be the bacon rolls.’ I go to the door, open it and let the young waiter carry in the tray.

  He places it on the table and all but runs out of the room. The chill in the room must have got to him.

  ‘I went to see Carole last night.’ On the basis that it is better to get in there first, I fill them in with the details as I experienced them and finish off by displaying the bump on the side of my head. Allessandra winces. Daryl sports an expression that says — serves you right. There is something else in their eyes. Betrayal and for the first time, doubt.

  ‘This is not good, Ray. Not good at all.’ Daryl is on his feet and he is seriously pissed off. ‘This places you at the scene of the crime.’

  ‘I know.’ I’m trying not to whine.

  ‘Tampering with evidence.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘For the second time. That we know of.’

  ‘Daryl, I had to go there. I had to talk to her.’

  ‘So did you learn anything?’ asks Allessandra. Was I imagining things or was there an emphasis on the word “you”?

  ‘Nothing new,’ I go on to detail the conversation I had with Devlin and the subsequent events.

  ‘So you blacked out?’ asks Allessandra.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you can’t remember a thing?’

  ‘Yes. I mean no. I can’t remember anything.’

  ‘Kind of convenient, don’t you think?’

  ‘Convenient for who? The real killer maybe. But not me.’

  ‘Ray we’re really having trouble here,’ says Daryl. ‘Prior to this you were the only suspect. We hear nothing to change that. In fact, you could say it makes the case against you watertight. There isn’t a judge in this country who wouldn’t convict on what we have.’

  ‘Great. Make me feel better, why don’t you?’ I aim for some humour. Judging by the expression shared by my two ex-colleagues, it fails spectacularly.

  ‘This is not about making you feel better, ya prick. It’s about finding out the truth.’ He walks to the window, fists bunched by his side.

  ‘Daryl, we promised we would be calm,’ Allessandra acts as mediator. ‘Ray.’ She turns to me. ‘We have gone out on a limb for you. In fact we are so far out on that limb it’s about to snap. When it snaps we are well and truly fucked. So give us something that helps us. Something that makes our decision easier. Something that lets us know we are doing the right thing risking our careers for you.’

  The enormity of their situation fills my head. If they get caught for helping me, they could face imprisonment themselves. There goes their homes, their jobs, their liberty and the respect of their family, friends and colleagues. Hardly win-win. I can’t continue to put them in this situation. I have no right to. I need to give them some of the truth.

  ‘Connelly was kind of busy while he was working at Bethlehem House.’ I feel myself shrink from the words. But I have to admit it to them. Admit it to myself.

  ‘Oh Ray,’ Allessandra is way ahead of me. ‘No.’

  Daryl looks from her to me, and back again, before the coin drops.

  ‘Holy fuck.’

  ‘Or not, as the case may be.’ See how witty I can be when under pressure?

  Silence. What a conversation stopper that was. While I wait for a reaction my stomach acid burns off a few butterfly wings. I really need the guys on my side. But from a distance. Clamping my teeth against the nausea that threatens I look from one to the other.

  Silence.

  Somebody speak, for fuck’s sake.

  ‘What did you mean about making a decision?’ I have to fill the silence.

  ‘Oh.’ They both look at each other, as if silently debating who is going to tell me.

  ‘The decision on whether or not to make the phone call,’ Daryl finally answers.

  ‘I’d have been exactly the same, guys,’ I say and smile to hide a flicker of anger that they would consider betraying me. The fact is, I would have been the same, so they don’t deserve any anger.

  ‘Anybody going to eat these rolls before they go cold?’ I ask.

  We eat silently, or as silently as you can with Daryl’s open mouth chewing action, and as the food goes down I sense I have my colleagues’ sympathy. It’s not what I want, but preferable to their suspicion.

  However, this is a connection I’m going to have to break. It’s all very nice and cosy and has been a real help to me so far, but I can’t continue to put the guys at risk. The time has come to make the break and stand on my own two feet. My lies put me in this position, so I have to face the consequences. It would be nice to keep seeing them. Daryl and Allessandra are my links to the only world I know. I truly wish I could keep in contact, but as an old cop who took me under his wing used to say: ‘Ca’ canny in case ye end up growin’ a wishbone instead o’ a backbone.’

  Certainty adds calcium to my spine. ‘Listen guys. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. More than you could possibly know. But I can’t face myself knowing you could lose everything simply by being in the same room as me.’

  ‘What are you saying, Ray?’

  ‘Well if you would shut the fuck up, Daryl, maybe I could tell you.’

  ‘You better not be saying what I think you’re saying.’

  ‘Aye,’ Allessandra adds.

  ‘Fuckssake. Let me finish. This is hard enough as it is.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘I need to go on from here on my own. I can’t afford to be worrying about you guys.’

  ‘Too late, Ray,’ says Allessandra. ‘If you were convicted of murder, we’re already your accessories.’

  ‘Aye,’ Daryl joins in. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Ray. But in the nicest possible way you can shove it where your dildo don’t reach.’

  ‘I like that,’ says Allessandra.

  ‘Thanks. Me too,’ says Daryl. ‘Just made it up on the spot like.’ He puffs his chest up.

  ‘It goes with that Madonna song,’ Allessandra sings. ‘Papa don’t preach… I’m in trouble deep… Dildo don’t reach.’

  I can’t believe the two of them are sitting there laughing like eejits. Their laughter has notes of irony and worry in it. It’s laughter that’s a smile away from tears. It’s like the laughter you hear bouncing around the walls of a jail.

  ‘Guys, fuck off with the singing. This is deadly serious.’

  Daryl punches me in the arm. ‘If you didn’t laugh you’d cry, Ray. So lighten the fuck up. And forget any ideas about protecting us. We’re both adults. We know what we’re doing.’

  ‘Naw. I’ve thought about this. I can’t have you two on my conscience. If you don’t leave me to it, I’m going to walk up to Pitt Street HQ and give myself up right now.’

  Daryl w
aves his handcuffs at me. ‘Is that so? We’re in this for the duration now, Ray. And if you don’t like it I’ve a nice wee bracelet here that’ll help you see otherwise.’

  ‘Oh look,’ Allessandra waves her set around. ‘Me too.’ They look at one another and laugh.

  ‘You’re both fucking mad.’

  Allessandra’s expression sobers, ‘Ray. We know what’s at stake here. I’ll admit there have been sleepless nights, but it’s too late to back out know. Even if we wanted to.’

  ‘Aye. So can we cut the noble and ultimately self-pitying crap?’ Daryl vigorously rubs his hands together. ‘We’ve a murderer to catch.’

  Relief wars with irritation that they are so adamant. This is a fight I’m going to lose, so I might as well get on with it. On my terms.

  ‘Okay. What have you got for me?’ I ask.

  ‘We couldn’t find much on Jim Leonard. He rented a room from the fella Hutchison, as you know. A pair of computer geeks. They worked in PC World together,’ answers Daryl.

  ‘The one significant fact we did uncover about him is that he was an orphan and guess where he was brought up?’ asks Allessandra.

  ‘Bethlehem House,’ I answer.

  ‘You must have known that as soon as you heard his name, Ray.’ says Daryl. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Because… I was struggling with the whole convent thing myself at the time and I didn’t want you to go back there and start drawing links back to me. Sorry.’

  ‘No more, Ray. Withheld information not good. We need to know what you know.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Allessandra rustles in her bag. ‘We’ve also got this.’ She pulls out a large brown envelope and extracts a copy of a photograph. ‘It’s a fairly recent photograph of Elizabeth Templeton.’

  ‘And she hasn’t aged a bit,’ I say with my pulse loud in my ears. When I was ten she looked about sixty. That’s about the age she was when this photograph was taken. The hair is all white now, but the glasses are the same standard NHS type.