Strange Loyalties jl-3

by William McIlvanney

  ‘So why are you?’

  ‘Matt, you know what’s happened.’

  ‘Do I? What’s that?’

  ‘Meece is dead.’

  ‘Uh-huh? Siddown, Melanie.’

  The material of her dress rustled through the microphone as she sat. The length of the silence made me wonder if we had lost them. I looked round at Edek. From his position at the open window, he winked.

  ‘So that’s the news, is it?’ Matt Mason said. ‘You came to tell me that?’

  ‘I was livin’ with Meece.’

  ‘I know that. Come on, Melanie. Do you think Ah just arrived on the bus yesterday?’

  ‘I miss him, Matt. I miss him so much.’

  ‘What is it you miss? Your supplier? Is it money you want, Melanie?’

  ‘No. No. I’m tryin’ to come off it.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘What happened, Matt? I can’t understand it.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Let other people do that. Now if you need money, Ah’ll give ye some money. If you don’t, that’s up to you. Either way, you’ll have to leave. We’re havin’ a party here. You’re not exactly addin’ to the atmosphere.’

  I was hoping I hadn’t underprepared. I had simply suggested that Melanie should go to Matt Mason and ask about Meece Rooney, and possibly Dan Scoular. I had chosen not to rehearse her because I was afraid she would give herself away if she tried to follow a script. She wasn’t exactly in shape for handling complicated instructions. Now I wasn’t sure she could improvise a response to such a summary dismissal. I leaned into her silence.

  ‘I can’t leave, Matt,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Ah don’t think you heard me. You are leaving.’

  ‘No, Matt. No.’

  ‘Come on! Get — ’

  The tape-recorder fed us a confusion of noise — rasping sounds, what could have been a chair falling, strange poppings.

  ‘For Nagra read aggro,’ Edek said.

  ‘To hell with this,’ Brian said.

  He put his hand on the ignition. I gripped his wrist. Brian stared at me.

  ‘He’s givin’ her a doin’,’ he said.

  ‘Behave,’ I said quietly. ‘This is a war. It’s not a skirmish. We’d do Melanie a lotta favours breakin’ cover now. The cell door’s open. Sh. Let’s see if he walks in.’

  We waited. I could hear Eddie Foley breathing directly behind me. The first clear sound that came back to us was of Melanie crying. Brian’s look judged me hard.

  ‘Come on, Melanie,’ I said. ‘If just one person turns up and defies their fear, we’ve got a chance.’

  I was watching the house. Three children, two girls and a boy, had come out into the garden. They were playing what looked like an improvised game of tig, a way of touching one another, of learning one another without admitting that’s what they were doing. Receding and approaching, running away and hoping to be caught, they were a beautiful innocence, human relationships at play. Behind them, the house seemed to me menacing, an adult corruption that was already threatening to thwart their lives. They did not know the inheritance the house was giving them, what lay at its heart, the continuing conflict between violence and hurt.

  I stared at the sunny garden, the red tiled roof, the white walls, the shining windows. This was where we were, all right — a place where violence dressed nice, injustice wore legal robes, venom smiled sweetly, unnecessary suffering was ignored and hypocrisy was honoured. I thought of many of the people I had met this week. They lived here, too. And like polite house-guests, they wouldn’t break the rules. Their continued residency depended on that conformity. To break the rules was to put yourself at hazard.

  I realised that nobody I had met had been quite prepared to do that. They might have whispered the odd secret to me but they wouldn’t stand up and risk themselves to challenge the lies of others. If we were to expose the truth of Matt Mason’s life, Melanie was our last chance.

  It was a strange thought. Here was a woman who had more reason than any of us for running and hiding. Life had battered her remorselessly. She had been used by men. She had been on drugs. She was hanging on to what remained of her sense of herself by her fingernails. Who could blame her if she had decided her only allegiance was to herself? It would take a lot of courage to do otherwise.

  We were still waiting. When Matt Mason spoke, I understood that his long silence had been to give her time to compose herself.

  ‘Okay? You ready now?’

  There was another silence.

  ‘No.’

  I could have cheered. That one word was defencelessness refusing to be intimidated.

  ‘Get up and get out of here.’

  ‘No. I need to understand what happened to Meece. I feel as if my life’s over.’

  ‘Not yet it’s not. But that can be arranged.’

  On the wildness of that remark I heard the conversation swing in the direction we needed it to go. The weird experience of a helpless woman defying him had made Matt Mason careless. This didn’t happen and, since it didn’t happen, his reactions lost their judgment.

  ‘I need to know about Meece,’ Melanie said.

  ‘You know about Meece. Everybody knew about Meece. He was a piece of shit. You know what he was up to. You were in it with him. Ye’re lucky ye didn’t join him. Thank me for that.’

  Brian looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Eddie Foley sighed behind me. The children were still playing in the garden.

  ‘Meece? I’ll tell you about Meece. What were ye doin’ with him, anyway? You used to have a bit of class. Remember Dan Scoular? The love of your life? That was a man at least. Remember what I did for you? I brought you to my house. Ah let ye meet real people. Look at ye now. Listen. You want to mourn for somebody, mourn for Dan Scoular. He’s dead, too.’

  I assumed that Melanie’s distraught state would conceal the fact that the information came as no surprise.

  ‘You know who killed him? Meece. The demon driver. That’s right. It’s not him you should mourn for. He took out as real a man as I’ve met. Just for the money. Only the wages weren’t enough, were they? He’s got to give himself a regular bonus. He thinks he’s too important now. He’s got a hold on us. A special case. He was a special case, all right. So I put him in one. Wooden.’

  The only sound for a time was Melanie crying. The shock of what Matt Mason had told her must have been severe. He wasn’t finished.

  ‘So now you know.’

  A matronly woman appeared at the French windows, drinking a cup of tea and watching the children.

  ‘You’re lucky to be alive. Ever say anything about this and you won’t be.’

  The conjunction of the homeliness of what we were seeing and the savagery of what we were hearing was hard to bear. I heard Eddie Foley gasp faintly and I realised that the woman was Millie, his wife. It was as if she were standing unaware in the crossfire of contradictions that were his life.

  ‘Who would believe you, anyway? Hophead. Get out.’

  There were sounds of movement, of breathing. The stillness in the car was total. We saw Melanie appear at the end of the driveway. She was walking blind. The machine went dead. I looked round at Edek. He made a wiping gesture with his hand. He had decided her tears were private. I was glad she had remembered to turn left out of the driveway. Bob Lilley would be waiting for her round the corner. She went out of sight. The children were still playing in the garden.

  ‘Nice man,’ Edek said.

  ‘I think it’s a good idea for Melanie to leave the country,’ Brian said. ‘Mason might get nervous about what he’s said.’

  ‘He won’t have time to,’ I said.

  I turned round to look at Eddie Foley. He was pale.

  ‘A woman as brave as that deserves to be protected,’ I said. ‘Some woman, eh?’

  Eddie Foley stared at me. He nodded infinitesimally. I took it as thunderous applause.

  ‘What, we going
in for him now?’ Brian said.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘We keep to the arrangement. We go to the Getaway.’

  Brian drove. Once we were well into the city again, Eddie touched me lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘Pull in anywhere here, Brian,’ I said. ‘We’ll let Eddie off.’

  I got out of the car with Eddie and we walked a few yards away. We stopped. I waited.

  ‘So what is it you want from me?’ Eddie said.

  ‘You know what I want, Eddie. Matt Mason’s just put himself in the nick. You heard him do it. There’s nothing you can do for him. But you saw Millie. She was enjoying the view. Though her view is a bit restricted. You don’t want to open her eyes too wide, do you? You can maybe still convince her you were a dupe.’

  ‘What price?’

  ‘Somebody else has to go inside with Matt Mason. We know Meece Rooney killed Dan Scoular. Who killed Meece Rooney?’

  ‘There were two of them,’ he said.

  He looked along the street. He was taking his farewell of what he had been.

  ‘Tommy Brogan and Chuck Walker.’

  Both were known. He looked into my face. I nodded. He turned away. He became just a part of the busy street.

  36

  Bob Lilley was standing outside the Getaway when we arrived. The three of us came out of the car. Edek had his recording equipment in a leather shoulder-bag.

  ‘Melanie’s inside,’ Bob said. ‘So it was good?’

  ‘She was good,’ I said. ‘The rest just followed.’

  ‘So?’ Bob said.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘Brian knows the score. You and him can go and get the clearance. And we will proceed in a very direct direction. Tommy Brogan. Chuck Walker. Matt Mason last. You’ve got to build the cage before you catch the tiger. Okay, Brian?’

  ‘We’ll get back-up, Jack,’ Brian said.

  ‘Sure. But you and Bob should make the pinches. It’s your case. You do it yourselves. I just want to be there.’

  ‘We’ve really got them?’ Bob said.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘It does look slightly promising.’

  Edek and I came into the Getaway. The place was quite busy, mainly with young people. It was good to be reminded that other things were happening besides my preoccupations. While we were looking round, a voice spoke behind me.

  ‘What are you doing here at this time? It’s hardly your scene.’

  It was Ricky, mine altruistic host.

  ‘They let me out the Eventide Home for the day,’ I said.

  ‘Marty’s over in the corner.’

  ‘You do us a favour, Ricky?’ I said. I gave him a tenner. ‘You get somebody behind the bar to bring us a pint of Eighty, a whisky and water, a gin and tonic and whatever Marty’s drinking? And one for yourself.’

  ‘You want table service now?’

  ‘Just this once, Ricky. And a drink for whoever brings them over?’

  ‘I’ll put it to the committee.’

  Marty was brooding over a whisky that was dark enough to be a Jack Daniels. None of the young people had claimed the seats at his table, perhaps because the battered authority of his presence discouraged them. With his rough face and the eccentric pony-tail, he looked like somebody who had come to his own terms with experience and might act unpredictably out of them. We sat down with him.

  ‘How’s Melanie?’ I said.

  ‘Not so good,’ Marty said. ‘She’s in the toilet. Doin’ repair work. She had a bad time?’

  ‘Threats were made. But they won’t be carried out.’

  ‘Ah hope not.’

  ‘Melanie’s going one place, Marty,’ I said. ‘Matt Mason’s going another. Never the twain shall meet.’

  ‘Ah don’t know. Malice can wait a while. An’ it’s got long arms. You’re goin’ to have to use the tape.’

  ‘Maybe not. We’ll see.’

  A young man arrived with the drinks. While we were sorting them out, Melanie came out of the toilet. She was dressed in her jeans and jacket again. She was carrying a couple of plastic bags which she offered to Edek. The small plastic bag contained Edek’s microphone and transmitter, which he put in his leather shoulder-bag. I took the larger plastic bag and looked inside. It contained the dress and the coat.

  ‘Why not keep these?’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You looked good in them. You like them?’

  ‘Yes. They felt good to wear.’

  ‘Then keep them. They might remind you of the day you did something really brave. Said, to hell with being a victim.’

  Edek looked at me.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ I said.

  ‘Not out of police funds,’ Melanie said.

  ‘Out of the pocket, Melanie,’ I said. ‘It’s not a bribe. It’s a gift. Personal. All right?’

  She smiled and nodded. Taking the bag back, she put it on the floor beside her chair. There came a brief, good time like a furlough from the front. Melanie was just about due to go for her flight and the excitement of where she was going softened the bleakness of where she had been. In spite of herself, she became animated. It was good to see. Marty’s worries for her seemed to relax. She said she was glad to have confronted Matt Mason and to know the truth of the recent past. It might make the future less haunted. When Marty gently chivvied her about catching the flight, I saw, as she glanced round the room, a glimpsed fragment of the girl she must have been — interested in everything, nervous as a thoroughbred mare. We all stood up with her. We said our goodbyes. She embraced me.

  ‘You’re some Melanie McHarg,’ I said. ‘You did it all. The rest of us have just been on the sidelines. Good luck.’

  ‘The odds are against me, aren’t they?’

  ‘The odds are against us all. So what?’

  Then she said a nice thing to me. It was about time somebody did.

  ‘Why weren’t you the first policeman I ever met?’ she said. ‘It might have made a difference.’

  I found an envelope in my pocket and wrote my name and number on it. I tore off the piece of paper and gave it to her.

  ‘You’re in trouble,’ I said, ‘you ring. Over there or back here. If it’s just talk you need, we’ll talk. If things are getting heavy, we know ways to get heavier. Don’t be afraid.’

  ‘An’ what about me?’ Marty said.

  ‘If you could just learn to behave yourself, Marty, you would do us all a favour.’

  He pouted a kiss at me.

  ‘While Ah’m waitin’ for you, Jack. I will. I promise.’

  As they were leaving, Edek looked at me. He nodded towards Marty.

  ‘Does that mean what Ah think it means?’

  ‘I don’t think he was serious.’

  ‘Ah know, Ah know. But — ’

  ‘Yes. That’s Marty’s tendency. He just deals with it on his own terms. The way he does with everything else. Anyway, who stole your scone? You’ve been very quiet. What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ Edek said, ‘that I’m glad I’m a sound recordist.’

  ‘Explain the mystery of your utterance, wise man,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll explain all right,’ Edek said. ‘You’re going to do yourself in, Jack. That stuff at that house today. You think you can handle that and stay yourself? No chance. Ah don’t even want to go near it. I want to do my job and have a pint and be with Jacqueline. Maybe climb the odd Munro at the weekend. You ever tried hill-climbing? You should. Each Munro is over three thousand feet. That’s high enough for me. You like risk too much.’

  ‘What’s the risk?’

  ‘The risk is to you. You’re spending your life in a contagious diseases unit without inoculation. What have you got in your life to counteract the bad things you live among? No marriage. No structure to your life. Why do you do it?’

  I began to wonder if he had been talking to Jan. I was glad that Bob and Brian came in.

  ‘Officialdom is with us,’ Bob said. ‘Shall we go?’

  I nodded. Edek was still looking wo
rried about me as we left. I didn’t realise I was about to find out why.

  37

  Oedipus lives. I had spent a week demanding that the malefactors come forward and show themselves. I hadn’t thought that I might be one of them.

  Brian Harkness had an address for Tommy Brogan and one for Chuck Walker. But Chuck Walker might be a problem. He was a younger man, in his thirties, and where he was on a Saturday afternoon could be a lot of places. He might be at the football. He liked gambling. He might be with one of the women who had discovered the expertly concealed secret of his attractiveness. He had been involved with many women, usually briefly. I had wondered about that. I had sometimes thought that his girlfriends had all been determined to prove once and for all that romantic love really doesn’t exist, so that they could get on sensibly with their lives. If that was what they wanted to learn, they had come to the right teacher.

  ‘I’ve put Macey on him,’ Brian said in the car. ‘If he can find him, he’s going to phone in with the word. I hope it’s not to tell us he’s part of a football crowd.’

  ‘That would be all right,’ Bob said. ‘He would be in the stand. These days, Chuck sees himself as above the terracing.’

  ‘Right enough,’ Brian said. ‘Macey’s word is that he’s involved with a high-tone woman. He’ll be drinking daiquiris next.’

  ‘In a pint dish,’ Bob said.

  ‘Then I hope he’s had a few by the time we get to him. Might make him easier to handle. I don’t fancy one to one with him.’

  ‘We’ve got the two back-up cars.’

  ‘That’s right. If one car just stuns him, we can always knock him out with the other one.’

  Tommy Brogan should be easier to locate. He had the social life of a leopard. Wanting only the company of his nearest and dearest, he lived alone. He had been briefly married but announced his equivalent of a Muslim divorce suddenly one night in a pub by dismantling a man who spoke to his wife: ‘I batter thee, I batter thee, I batter thee.’ His wife’s punishment was to be banned from his company forever, which was a bit like exiling someone to the Riviera.

  His was one of the bleakest spirits I had so far met. He had done some boxing at one time and something in him was still waiting for the final bell. The staple diet of his life was keeping his body fit. A treat would be using it against someone else. I remembered Frankie White telling me that he had trained Dan Scoular. That must have been a strange convergence for the big man: welcome to the planet Mars.