How To Kill Friends And Implicate People

by Jay Stringer

  There was another pause. Alex realised Kara’s meeting with Sam hadn’t finished.

  ‘Right, sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you kids carry on. I was just wondering,’ he touched Kara softly on the arm, ‘if you wanted to go out for dinner, maybe?’

  Kara leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got another couple of meetings after this. I should be home in time for us to get a good takeaway in, though. Watch a film?’

  ‘Sure.’ Alex managed to hold his smile in place and not look disappointed. ‘No problem.’ He put his hand up in a half wave at Sam. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  On his way back down to the car, Alex smiled. The rest of his plan had just come to him. He’d seen how bad Kara had been about explaining why Sam was there. She’d fumbled, and then told a lie, and there had almost been a sign above her head announcing that she wasn’t telling the truth.

  No way would she be able to go along with pretending he was dead. She’d give the game away in a second. The cops, the doctors and, especially, whoever it was that came looking for the money, they’d know something was wrong. It would be better if she believed it. Just to begin with, until the heat died down.

  So. Okay. That was the plan sorted.

  He needed to fake his own death.

  And he couldn’t tell Kara he was doing it.

  SEVENTEEN

  SAM

  18:00

  I’d never known what to make of Kara Pennan.

  The club had first hired me to look into some threatening letters sent to them. She’d been friendly and gracious to me at the time. That changed once I started fooling around with Milo. I was a threat to the business. They still wanted my services as an investigator, but she became cold and aloof, and treated me with the kind of polite contempt that I assume they teach at schools down in London.

  Standing in front of me at that table, she was shifting between the two. One second, the mask would be in place, the next I’d be seeing something else, something more nervous and tender. Then the mask again. It was like she was fighting to decide which version of herself to present.

  I went with the only response I could think of.

  ‘The little shit. What makes you think that?’

  She liked that. She gave me a very real smile and then waved for me to take a seat. I pulled back a chair and sat at the round table. Kara sat down beside me. She made a show of picking up her phone and turning it off, so that I knew I was getting all of her valuable time.

  ‘He’s been acting odd,’ Kara said. ‘He’s out all hours, and when he comes home he either smells of alcohol and nightclubs or, worse, he smells of nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  I understood what she meant, and why it was a bad sign, but sometimes it’s best to pretend. Kara liked to be in control, and I would get more out of the conversation by letting her lead it.

  She fixed me with an aloof expression, putting me in my place. ‘You’re single, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Excellent. That meant she was buying it.

  ‘Well, if he comes home smelling of nothing, at the end of a long day? After being in the office in his suit? And then wherever he’s been after that? To not smell of any of it? It means he’s had a wash. It means he’s covering something.’

  ‘He could just be working late, washing at the office because he doesn’t want the first thing you see of him each day to be a tired and sweaty guy.’

  ‘He has a phone that he thinks I don’t know about, too. A second phone. It doesn’t show up on his bank statements, so I think it’s pay-as-you-go. I’ve seen it a couple of times, it’s a small black thing, flip top. It’s got buttons.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Right? He goes out of the room sometimes, touching the pocket that it’s in, like he’s about to take a call or answer a text. Other times, I’ve seen a big stack of mail come through the door in the morning, but later on about half of it’s gone, like he’s hiding some bank or credit card statements from me.’

  Did married people spy on each other’s bank statements? Not for the first time, the whole marriage thing seemed alien to me. I’d never been with a man that I really trusted, certainly not one I’d want to share my life with, but I clung on to the idea that marriage should be to someone I did trust.

  Kara continued. ‘He had a couple of travel brochures come through the door recently. Holiday destinations. But he never mentioned it, and the brochures disappeared.’

  ‘And how have you two been getting on? I mean, you’ve listed a load of stuff there that sounds bad, but it’s all in how the two of you are, aye? It could all be innocent.’

  ‘He’s been distant in the last couple of months. He’s always looking over his shoulder when we’re out, and he doesn’t talk much. It used to take a gag to get him to shut up, he always wanted to share his opinions.’

  ‘He’s from London, too, aye?’

  ‘Yeah. We came up for his work. He’s never liked it here. He thinks everyone’s out to get him, because he’s English. But I keep telling him, I’m English, too, and I love it here.’

  There was something off in what she was saying. More to the point, it was in the way she was saying it. The confusion I’d noticed at the start, between the two different personas, had carried on. She was switching in and out, sometimes in control, sometimes nervy. The more she did it, the more it felt like a performance. Was she playing me?

  The door at the far end of the room opened, and a man in a suit walked in. He looked familiar, like maybe I’d met him at a club party or something. He seemed tired, and a little empty, but he hid it all under a fake tan. He saw Kara before me, but then I couldn’t help but notice he kept looking at me more.

  Kara stood up, and after a few seconds so did I.

  He looked from me back to Kara. ‘Hi babe.’

  When he leaned in to kiss her, I figured out he was the husband. See, I’m a detective. I pick up on clues like that. Kara offered her cheek for his lips, then turned to bring me into the conversation. ‘Alex, this is Sam. Sam, this is my husband, Alex.’

  ‘Hiya,’ I said.

  There was alcohol in his eyes. His jawline was starting to soften with a couple of extra pounds, and he carried himself like he was in denial about it.

  ‘Sam’s a private investigator,’ Kara said. ‘Isn’t that amazing?’

  There was a patronising edge to Kara’s words that I didn’t like. Maybe she’d not meant it. She could have been trying to mask the awkwardness of Alex coming in, but all I heard was, ‘This is Sam, she has a funny little career, isn’t that cute?’

  ‘I’ve never met a real PI,’ Alex said. We shared a look that told me he’d noticed the edge to Kara’s words too. For just a moment, we were on the same side. ‘It must be an interesting job.’

  He looked me up and down again. I sometimes wonder; are men even aware of how often they check out our boobs? Like, is it a conscious thing, or just the way their eyes work? Kara’s tone, plus Alex’s wandering eyes, were putting me in a bad mood. I decided to play rough. ‘Mostly it’s routine stuff. I serve a lot of legal papers, take pictures of cheating husbands.’

  I watched for their reactions.

  Alex looked blank. He didn’t seem to be aware that there was any relevance to what I’d said. A guilty man tends to act guilty. Hit them on whatever they’re hiding, and you’ll see it in their eyes. I got nothing off him. Kara, on the other hand, shifted her feet a little, changed her stance. It was a reaction I’d been expecting off Alex, not her.

  Interesting.

  EIGHTEEN

  FERGUS

  18:30

  I have a moment of panic when I walk into the flat. I mean, I know I’ve been fucking things up a wee bit lately, but I definitely remember killing two people, and there are three stiffs on the floor.

  I go for the only response I can think of as I look down at the third body. ‘Huh.’

  It’s a bloke. Looks like a Ned. Wearing a trackie and Adidas
trainers. Too many stripes. There’s a small bullet hole beneath his left eye, and a much bigger entry wound at the back of his head. None of that surprises me, of course. Once you’ve seen one daft idiot shot in the head, you’ve seen them all.

  The odd thing is that it was a damn good shot.

  And it wasn’t me.

  Joe sits down on the bed. I notice he’s wearing black gloves, which is handy because so am I. Neither of us are going to be leaving prints in this place, we’re not fucking amateurs.

  ‘Who?’ I point to the third stiff.

  ‘Cal. Cal Gibson.’

  ‘Gibson?’ I don’t believe in coincidences in Glasgow. ‘Any relation?’

  Joe nods. ‘Son.’

  Mike Gibson is a bit of a name. There have been a lot of changes in Glasgow over the last few years. A lot of the old guard have retired, or been pushed out. A whole bunch of them died last year when the media got hold of a cover-up gone wrong. MHW had paid for me to help in the clean-up, I took out a lawyer who was trying to blackmail them. But Mike Gibson survived. He was one of the big men in the Southside when I was younger, before I left for the military. He was a loan shark, and shared in a lot of the prostitution and gambling businesses with Rab Anderson and the Washer Lady. Now he’s semi-legit. He just operates as a landlord in the city centre, with buildings he bought from the council on the cheap, then received grants from the same council to renovate the properties at taxpayers’ expense.

  That’s all well and good, but—

  ‘Why is Gibson’s son here?’

  Joe looks like he’s struggling a bit with all of this. His mouth keeps flexing, biting back on emotions. He’s pale, sullen and gulping a lot. I’ve seen this reaction before. Grief. I just about remember it.

  ‘He was up to something. Some scam. He said this was his Babycham.’ He looks up at me with a face that says, Yeah, I know, stupid. ‘His masterpiece. He knew Porter was going to be here.’

  I don’t like this. Joe’s talking as if he spoke to Cal, which means that Joe was here before the kid died. There are two different scenarios here, and neither one is good.

  First, it could mean he bought someone else in to clean up my work. If one pro comes in to fix a mess left by another, then the first guy’s days are numbered.

  Second, it could mean that Joe did it himself.

  It’s a really good shot. Professional.

  ‘Joe, you got someone else hitting for you?’

  He doesn’t answer.

  If there’s someone else in the game, I need to find out who. Two contractors on the same turf can lead to problems. Clearly, this other killer isn’t as good at the clean-up as me, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. That buys me some time. Joe still needs me.

  But there’s a clock ticking.

  ‘Uh, Joe? What’s going on here?’

  He shrugs. ‘I don’t actually know. This was supposed to be simple. You do Mitchell, we let someone find him, huge press story, and the right people get the message. Porter wasn’t part of the plan. Cal wasn’t part—’ He pauses. I see a light go on behind his eyes. ‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Cal mentioned someone else. Pauline? Paula? Said she was missing, which, baws, he thought she would be here.’

  Shitey shitey shite.

  If Joe hadn’t dropped Cal himself, I’d be tempted to fess up. Tell the truth and say, crap, sorry man, there was a woman here but I let her go. He knows that hit men tend to leave prozzies alone. Like a code.

  But now? No way. He might drop me, and I don’t know where his gun is.

  ‘There was nobody else here,’ I say.

  He stares at me for a second, but there’s no real heat to it. He looks like he’s already moved on to the next thing, to figuring out what the hell this mess is, and to how he’s going to fix it.

  That’s what Joe does. He fixes Glasgow’s messes.

  Joe looks down at Cal. ‘What did you do?’ Then back at me. ‘This changes the plan. I don’t know why Dom was here, or who else was working with Cal. I can’t have anything unexpected before the ninth.’

  ‘What’s happening on the ninth?’

  He looks up at me. I can see he hadn’t meant to mention the date. He’s let something slip. ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Forget it.’

  Joe walks around the flat in silence for a while, moving from room to room. His hands in his pockets. He’s doing that thing where his mouth twitches from side to side, like he’s sucking on a sweet. I stand and watch from the bedroom doorway, giving him the time to think. He opens the front door and leans out into the hallway, as if looking for something, then shuts the door and comes back toward me.

  ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I need to figure out what happened here. Why the fuck was Dom here? Jeez. Look, clean them all away. Then torch the place. Make sure the fire alarms go off just before the flat goes up, so everyone else in the building has time to get out. I’ll pay you for getting rid of Mitchell and Cal, but Porter’s on you.’

  That seems fair.

  NINETEEN

  SAM

  18:30

  My gut told me something was wrong with Kara’s case. Phil called this feeling my Spidey sense. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I felt she was holding something back. Kara is slick and professional. Everything she’d said had convinced me her husband was cheating on her, but there was more to it.

  Still, it was a paying job, so I told Kara I’d look into it. I didn’t need to quote prices or hourly rates, because she already knew the details. The phone app allows clients to keep track of how many hours I’ve logged on their case.

  Chris let me into the office to change back into the cargo shorts, and I rolled my suit up back into the bag. Chris worked really hard at acting like he wasn’t trying to look. I gave him top marks for the effort. I cycled back out onto the canal path and rode for a few hundred yards, enough to make sure I was out of earshot of the stadium. Then I called my brother.

  He answered straight away. ‘Take the job?’

  ‘You don’t even know what it is yet.’

  ‘True. But I know the client, and they pay on time. So, take the job?’

  I shook my head, which was pointless on the phone. ‘It’s not the club. Kara’s hiring me privately.’

  Phil didn’t answer straight away. He was thinking it through. ‘Okay. So, there’s gossip, then?’

  ‘She says her husband is cheating on her. But, I don’t know, something feels off.’

  ‘She’s good for the money though, aye?’

  ‘She’ll be good for all the extra hours we charge her, totally.’ It was my turn to pause. ‘But I want to keep my eyes on her for a while. Something feels a little off here.’

  Phil saw what was coming. ‘Oh no, no no, nu uh.’

  ‘Phil—’

  ‘Not happening. You do the legwork, not me.’

  I changed my tone, went for the pleading sister trick. It usually worked. ‘Please, Phil. You can keep all the money for the hours you work. I just don’t like the idea that she’s playing us. I want to see what she’s up to, and you can follow her husband for a while.’

  I could hear in his response that my tone change had worked. He hadn’t said Yes yet, but he was getting there. ‘Not that you’re letting your previous get in the way here.’

  I played innocent. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, she did tell your boy toy to dump you, right? In some worlds, that would mean the two of you are now mortal enemies. Locked in a rivalry that can only be settled by a fight to the death. I saw a movie about it, The Hunger Games.’

  ‘That wasn’t a documentary, Philomena.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose. But what I’m meaning is, I know people who would pay good money to see that. Can we talk about broadcasting rights?’

  ‘You’re not helping.’

  ‘No way. The fight would be all down to you. I’d hold the camera, though. Do some commentary.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘You know what I mean, too. You and Kara have previous. I kno
w you don’t like her, but are you sure that’s not influencing you here? Just because she’s a bitch, doesn’t mean she can’t be right about this. Especially since a man is involved. A man will stick his dick in anything. Well, anything except me, it seems.’

  ‘Phil—’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘But I take your point. You’re right, I don’t like her, and I’d love for her to be wrong about this, or trying something on. But, you know, I still think I’m right. My gut says something is off here, and I want to stick close to her for a while.’

  ‘Jeezo, a girl uncovers one massive conspiracy, and suddenly she’s Jim Rockford. Okay, I’ll play along. But remember, I’m getting the money for these hours.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll owe you one.’

  ‘Yep.’

  My phone had vibrated a couple of times while we were talking. The sign of either a voicemail or SMS. My handset was on its last legs, and the screen was prone to freezing. I sat for a couple of minutes while it still said I was on the call to Phil, even though he’d hung up. I used all the skills I would have picked up on an IT course, and switched the phone off and on again. Once it had restarted, I could see the three text messages from Hanya.

  Three witnesses describe a woman on a bike.

  And:

  It’s going to take 24 hrs for me to get all the CCTV.

  Also:

  Let’s go for a drink tonight.

  It was unusual for Hanya to play this game. We’re best friends, sure, but she still has a job to do. Of the few times I’ve strayed into one of her cases, she’s usually pulled me in straight away to get the statement over with. There was only one case when she’d given me the room to do my own thing, and that had been when her old partner, John Cummings, had been in trouble. She hadn’t been sure whose side her bosses were on, and she’d let me snoop around.