Kiss Her Goodbye

by Allan Guthrie

  The plan, however, was a crock of shit.

  "I know I shouldn't be surprised," Ronald said. "But I didn't think he'd go for it that easily. As soon as I said you'd be at the pub, his attitude completely changed."

  "I told you he would," Joe said. "Monkman's one of the more predictable individuals I've come across. He doesn't like me very much."

  "It's definitely on, then?" Tina said.

  "He said he'd see what he could do."

  "That means yes," Joe said.

  "What's going to happen when you don't turn up?" Tina asked him. "Monkman might barge into the pub and ruin everything."

  "There's no reason for him to do that." Joe looked at Ronald. He was still smiling. Joe continued, "To begin with, he'll just think I'm late. He'll wait. He'll expect me to turn up. By the time he's figured out that I've stood you up, he'll be riveted to your conversation with Cooper and won't consider interrupting it. Breaking up your date won't serve any purpose."

  "You seem pretty sure that Cooper will agree to meet us."

  Despite the fact that Cooper had killed his wife and raped his daughter, Joe couldn't help but believe that he still knew what made Cooper tick. "He wouldn't miss it for the world."

  What Joe didn't say was that although Ronald had been led to believe that Cooper might boast about what he'd done, Joe knew that Cooper wasn't that stupid. He was, however, driven by his hormones and there was little chance he'd say no to a free fuck.

  "We're going to get you off the hook," Ronald said to Joe. "Anybody want a drink?"

  Joe desperately wanted a drink, but it was the last thing he needed. What he needed was to get the lawyer out of the way. How did you get rid of somebody you didn't want hanging around? Hard enough when you weren't a guest in their house. One look at Tina was enough to inspire him.

  Joe said, "I can think of a better way to celebrate." He leaned towards Tina. She turned her cheek towards him. He kissed her once. Reached for her hand. She let him hold it.

  "I'll give the drink a miss," she said. "But I could really do with something to eat. I'm starving."

  Joe's stomach lurched at the thought of food.

  Ronald looked at his watch. "That time already? What do you fancy? I don't have much food in. Tend to live on takeaways. Fancy Indian?"

  Joe felt his esophagus burn, but he saw the intent of Tina's comment. "You know," he said, "I have a real craving for fish and chips."

  "Yeah?" Ronald said. "How about you, Tina?"

  "Sausage supper. And none of that disgusting brown sauce."

  "Salt?"

  "Just vinegar."

  "Joe?"

  "Salt and sauce." He dug in his pocket. "Get you some money."

  "On the house," Ronald said. "Be back in a few minutes."

  As soon as he left, Tina said, "Two things. You didn't pay me. And, even if you had, I don't kiss."

  Joe folded his arms. "You want me to pay you for your time with Cooper tonight?"

  "That's not business," Tina said. "That's strictly pleasure." She rummaged in the shiny white handbag that dangled over the back of the chair and fished out a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?"

  "I think Ronald might."

  "Shame he's not here to ask." She lit up. "Are you going to tell me what you really want me to do? Or am I supposed to guess?"

  Joe wanted to kiss her again. He didn't fancy her. Just a peck on the cheek. But he stayed planted in his chair, elbows firmly on the table. "When you get there," he said, "start off playing it as we planned. Get Cooper as hot and excited as you can."

  "You still want me to get him to talk?"

  "He won't."

  "You know him that well?"

  "I think I do," Joe said. "In certain areas, at least."

  "Fair enough. I get him steamed up. But I don't try to make him talk."

  "No, no. By all means make the effort. I'm just saying it won't work. But to fool Monkman, you're going to have to pretend. Can you do that?"

  She laughed. Smoke caught in her lungs and she started to cough. When she stopped, tears in her eyes, she said, "You're seriously asking me if I can pretend? What do you think I spend my evenings doing?"

  "What if Cooper wants to kiss you?"

  The buzzer rang.

  Tina's eyes darted from side to side. She whispered, "Should we answer that?"

  Joe shook his head.

  The buzzer rang again.

  "Might be Ronald." She was still whispering. "Forgotten his keys."

  "Whoever it is, they'll leave in a minute."

  The buzzer rang again. It rang in three long bursts. As if it was a pre-arranged signal.

  Tina said, "Whoever's out there knows somebody's home."

  Seconds later the phone rang.

  Joe said, "Leave it." He walked into the hallway and Tina followed him. They watched the phone as if it was a dangerous animal.

  The door buzzer sounded again. Three long bursts. Three short bursts. Three long bursts. The phone kept ringing.

  When silence eventually returned, Joe heard a phantom ringing for a few seconds. Then a crash.

  Tina grabbed his arm. "What was that?"

  The noise had come from the sitting room. Joe looked around. Couldn't see anything at first. Then he noticed a small stone surrounded by glistening glass fragments nestling in the carpet. A small piece of glass lay near the damp patch where he'd spewed. He looked towards the window. Several hairline cracks spread from a small hole right of center in the bottom left hand pane. He edged his way towards the window.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Adam looked over his shoulder. Walking out of his hotel room in the middle of a conversation with a police detective probably wasn't the smartest move he'd ever made. But the policeman's charm and good manners were proving a lethal combination and he could feel himself allowing the policeman to gain his trust. Adam was starting to like him and it felt horribly wrong.

  "If I don't agree?" he'd asked the detective.

  Grove placed his cup on its saucer. He pinched his nose between finger and thumb and said nothing.

  Adam watched him for a moment, then asked, "Are you going to arrest me?"

  "My boss would be very impressed if I catch your cousin's killer. I think you can help me."

  A shiver wriggled down Adam's back. "If you're not going to arrest me then please leave my room."

  "I don't like fancy coffees, you know," Grove said. "Lattes and mochas and frappawhatevers. I was brought up on tea. A family of tea drinkers, my lot. Mainly Assam and Darjeeling. Indian teas. Ceylon. My mother went through a Kenyan phase. Never liked green tea much. Can't stand coffee. Even instant gives me a headache. I can't imagine what an espresso would do. I like my tea weak. And not too hot. Don't like it too milky either. You mind if I help myself to another cup?"

  "If you won't leave, then I will." Adam turned towards the door.

  "One moment," Grove said. "Work with me to catch this man."

  "Goodbye," Adam said.

  "Wait." Grove marched towards him, reaching into his jacket pocket. For a moment Adam thought he was going to slap handcuffs on him and drag him off to the nearest police station. Instead, he handed Adam his card. It read: Detective Sergeant Arnold Grove, Lothian and Borders C.I.D. His mobile phone number was written along the bottom. "If you find out where Joe is, call me."

  "You really think I'm likely to bump into Joe?" Adam said. "Anyway, he isn't guilty."

  "And how would you know, Mr. Wright?"

  "I just — I just have an instinct."

  "Fortunately, we don't rely on instinct in the police force."

  "Can I go now?"

  "One more question, Mr. Wright, if you can spare the time. If I were Mr. Cooper I'd be very nervous. Have you seen him recently?"

  "I don't know anybody of that name."

  Outside the hotel Adam stared straight ahead, scarcely registering that a taxi had just rushed past. His fingers gripped the card in his pocket as he crossed the road. He walked past a couple
of newsagents and an African restaurant and a pub blasting some kind of thudding music with what sounded like a cement mixer for a vocalist, and stopped in front of a rubbish bin. He took the card out of his pocket. Then put it back again.

  He stood by the side of the road. When another taxi approached, "for hire" lights on, he flagged it down.

  In the back seat, he closed his eyes and tried to see the pond at the foot of his parents' garden. No joy. It was as if his imagination had closed down. He concentrated on the garden, trying to picture the row of gooseberry bushes. "Take one," he'd say to his new friend. And his new friend would take one of the swollen fine-haired berries, and bite into it. His friend would cry out in disgust and grimace and spit out the berry. Few passed the test. None came back. His mother advised him to stop it or he'd never have any friends. Once, when he was eleven, he yelled at her: "Why can't I go to school like other children?"

  He pictured the vegetable patch bordering the left side of the lawn, the greenhouse on the right, and at the foot, under the shade of the sycamore tree, at last he made out the pond. He closed in on the image. Fingers of sunlight caressed the surface of the water. A breeze rustled the sycamore's leaves. The splash took him by surprise. He saw it, but heard nothing. It was like watching a video in slow motion. Silently, twists and ribbons of water rippled towards the edge of the pond. Exposed, on the grass, the sole of a naked foot. Slender ankle. Thin calf. Thigh descending into the water. The torso was submerged. Beneath the water, tiny nipples thrust out of pubescent breasts. Dotty's eyes were open, her hair fanned out like a shell. The water lapped over her.

  He looked up. The taxi was cruising towards the Meadows. "Let me out," he said.

  "You what, pal?" the taxi driver said.

  Adam tried the door handle, pulling it hard.

  "Hold on to your pajamas, mate." The taxi pulled into a bus stop, braking fiercely.

  Adam tried the door again. It was still locked. "Let me out."

  "Six pounds thirty."

  Adam's wallet was empty. He found some change in his pocket, but it wasn't enough to pay the full fare. He dropped a pound coin and it rolled across the floor. He stooped to pick it up. "You take credit cards?"

  "What do you think this is? Edinburgh's smallest supermarket? You see any tins of soup in the back there?"

  "Well, where's the nearest cash machine?"

  "I'm not letting you out until you've paid."

  "I don't have enough money."

  "Should have thought of that before you got in."

  Adam waited a minute and said, "What do you suggest?"

  "Dunno. If I had ideas, I'd be an inventor, wouldn't I? Give me the fare. Six pounds thirty. I've stopped the clock and you can be grateful for that."

  "Take what I've got." Adam handed over a fistful of change.

  The driver accepted the money, then started to count it. When he was done, he said, "You're two pounds sixteen short."

  "So let me go to a cash machine."

  "You're not getting out."

  "How am I going to get the money to pay you?"

  "Can't help you there. I'm not a financial adviser."

  Adam reached through the partition and grabbed the driver by his shirt collar.

  "Two people I know have died recently." He tightened his grip on the driver's shirt. "My patience is running low. And I think you're being bloody unreasonable. So let me out before I get angry."

  The driver ran his tongue over his lips and nodded.

  Adam let go of his shirt. When he tried the door again, it opened.

  "If I see you again," the driver said, as Adam stepped outside, "I'll kick the crap out of you." He floored the accelerator, tires screeching as he pulled out of the bus stop. Failing to indicate, he narrowly missed an approaching Land Rover. It slowed just in time, the driver blaring his horn. The taxi driver replied with a fanfare that didn't stop until he was out of sight.

  When Adam called Dotty, there was no answer. He tried again. Still no answer. He wondered when Dotty was planning on leaving. Was this it? Would she fly down tomorrow, and not return? Was that her plan? A one-way trip to Edinburgh? What about her stuff? Would she be able to fit all her belongings into a suitcase? Was she leaving Orkney? And why was she doing this, anyway? What was the point? She didn't have to leave, not on account of their feelings for each other.

  He tried her phone once more.

  She answered, breathless.

  "Where are you?" he said.

  "Busy."

  "You sound like you've been running."

  A pause. "What is it, Adam?"

  "Please don't leave."

  "I have to."

  "Because of me?"

  "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I don't want to have this conversation on the phone."

  "It is because of me."

  "Can't we just leave it?"

  "What did I do wrong?"

  "You didn't do anything wrong."

  "I must have. Otherwise you'd be staying."

  "You're a lovely man."

  "Then what's responsible for making you want to leave? Tell me and I'll fix it so it isn't a problem any more."

  "It's nothing you can fix."

  "If it's not me, what is it?"

  "Please don't get upset. Can't we speak about this tomorrow? Please?"

  "Tell me now." He waited a minute. "Tell me, Dotty. Whatever it is, I'd rather know."

  Her voice was faint. "Okay," she said. She said something else.

  He couldn't make it out. He was waiting to cross the road that curved round the Meadows. Vehicles surged past, nose to tail. "I can't hear you, Dotty. Hang on a second."

  He ran across the road at the first slight break in the traffic. "What were you saying?"

  "Oh, God. Adam, I don't want to hurt you."

  "You won't. But you're getting me worried. Telling me would be much less cruel."

  "Okay, I know." She paused. Then she said, "I don't fancy you, Adam. Okay? I don't find you physically attractive. I'll never fall in love with you and all I'll achieve by staying here is to cause you pain."

  The silence pressed down on him. He felt like he was under water, a noise in his head like a train hurtling through his brain. He swallowed, trying to make his ears pop. "I can lose weight."

  She sounded like she was about to cry. "There's nothing wrong with your weight."

  "What is it, then?"

  "It's not something tangible. I just don't think of you the way you think of me."

  Another silence.

  "It doesn't matter," he said.

  "Of course it matters."

  "No, it's okay. It doesn't matter, really. I'll see you tomorrow."

  He hung up. Slid the phone in his pocket. He was standing outside Ronald Brewer's flat with little recollection of how he'd got there. He pressed the buzzer. The bastards inside didn't answer. He pressed it again. Why weren't they answering? This was important. They were inside, he was certain. At least, Joe was. He wasn't going to be running around Edinburgh with the police looking for him everywhere. Answer, damnit! Didn't they know this was a bloody emergency? He'd just been interrogated, for Christ's sake.

  He stabbed out an SOS on the buzzer. That ought to register with them. Why didn't Brewer answer the door? What the hell was his problem?

  Adam dug his phone out of his pocket, found the lawyer's home number and dialed it. It rung out.

  He rummaged around in the garden. Found a small stone and threw it at the lawyer's sitting room window. It smashed. That would teach him.

  Joe's face appeared at the window. Then he vanished and a short time later the door buzzed open. Adam burst through the door and climbed the stairs.

  Tina stood in the lawyer's doorway, holding the door open. "You broke the window," she said.

  "Had to get your attention." He was slightly out of breath.

  "What do you want?" Joe stood behind her.

  "You going to let me in?"

  "What do you want?"

 
"I arrived at my hotel," Adam said. "A policeman was waiting there. He interrogated me, asked me where you were and stuff, but I didn't tell him anything."

  "So what are you doing here?" Joe said.

  "I want to help."

  "That's very kind of you," Joe said. "Given what you thought me capable of until recently."

  "I want to make amends for that," Adam said. "But that's not the only reason. What that fucker did to Gemma. What he did to Ruth." He paused. "I need to be there, Joe. I want to see the look in his eyes when he finds out that you know."

  "You're not used to violence, are you Adam?"

  "I've not experienced much, thankfully."

  Joe grabbed Adam by the hair and twisted his head back. "How do I know you won't step in at the last minute," Joe said in his ear. "Like you did in Orkney when Monkman and his mates were giving me a kicking?"

  "Would you pay any attention if I did?" Adam panted. He deserved this. He deserved what Joe was about to do. He screwed his eyes shut. Waited. But nothing happened.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  "You didn't tell Grove I was here?" Joe sat down next to Tina on the settee. He caught a faint disinfectant-masked whiff wafting up from the carpet and tried to breathe through his mouth.

  Adam remained standing, rubbing his head with the heel of his hand. "If I had, you'd be under arrest by now." With the toe of his shoe, he tapped the stone he'd thrown through the window.

  "Maybe not." Joe wanted to believe him, but recent experience had strengthened Joe's belief that everybody was guilty until proven otherwise. He crossed his legs. "Perhaps you told Grove I was here, and he asked you to find out what we were planning."

  "Why would he be interested in that?" Adam kicked the stone again. It rolled a couple of inches across the carpet. He gave his head another rub.

  "Maybe he knows Cooper."

  "You're the one who's wanted for murder."

  "Maybe he knows Cooper's reputation," Joe continued. "Knows that if he dragged Cooper in for questioning, he'd get nowhere." Joe stroked his thumb over the point of his chin and stared at Adam. The man couldn't hold his gaze. Adam looked down at his feet, at the stone he'd used to break Ronald's window. He idly tapped the stone with his toe.