The Endings Man

by Frederic Lindsay

  ‘That’s where a good accountant comes in. A good crooked accountant. It wouldn’t work without them. There aren’t many of them, but they do an enormous amount of damage.’

  ‘Accountant…’

  Jonah nodded, like a schoolmaster encouraging a pupil who was almost there.

  ‘Are we talking about Brian Todd?’

  ‘That’s who we’re talking about.’ He licked his lips as if they had suddenly gone dry. ‘Can I have that drink now?’

  Curle recharged his own glass and poured a stiff measure for the dapper little man who suddenly showed signs of coming apart at the seams.

  ‘Don’t think this is easy to do,’ Jonah said, sipping at his drink so delicately he seemed to be nibbling on the rim of the glass. ‘Brian is a violent man.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’

  They sat looking at one another as if waiting for a knock on the door.

  ‘He’s also a successful man,’ Curle said. He remembered the charity affair at the New Club and Todd swimming, sleek as a seal, in the approval of the great and the good. ‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me.’

  ‘It’s all a façade. Don’t you know how much of life is a façade? His own association, the Institute of Chartered Accountants of Scotland, is on to him. They have a regulation and compliance department that’s just waiting for the police to make their move, then they’ll kick him out. It’s all unravelled for him. Just a matter of time. It’s been going on for years apparently. I don’t know how it started. Maybe a client tempted him to bend the rules. Maybe there was that twisted bit in him and it would have come out anyway. Some people are born to be criminals. They need a lot of luck for it not to happen. Maybe he had bad luck. However it started, it’s finished with him up to his neck in crime. Gangsters running security firms, money laundering, financial scams. He’s made a lot of money, and society’s getting ready to present the bill.’

  ‘He told you all this?’ It was too much for Curle to take in.

  ‘Christ, of course he didn’t. It’s true, though. I told you I’d find out why he hated you.’

  Bewildered, Curle couldn’t see the connection. Some kind of self-protective denial made him stubborn. He said again, ‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me.’

  ‘Christ!’ Jonah blasphemed for the second time. ‘I sat with Frank Donnelley for three hours last night. He took me all through it.’

  ‘Frank Donnelley?’

  ‘You’ve met him. One time in the office. He’s a journalist. He wrote a book about Scottish murder trials and I sold it to Macmillan for him.’

  ‘How does he know about Todd?’

  ‘He’s a crime journalist. He’s been putting this together for more than a year.’

  ‘A crime journalist.’ Curle groped to make the connection. ‘When Todd told me how Ali had been killed, he said he got it from a journalist he knew. Could it be the same man?’

  ‘I imagine so. Donnelley had been having trouble with his tax, so I introduced him to Todd.’

  ‘When was that?’

  The knowledge of what he’d admitted moved like a shadow in Jonah’s eyes. ‘Five years ago.’ He dropped his head and clasped it with both his hands. While doing this, he managed to keep the whisky glass upright, not a drop spilled. Curle couldn’t help himself from noting a detail like that automatically. ‘Brian and I met just after I came back to Edinburgh. We went to bed together the same night.’

  Like Ali and me, Curle thought.

  ‘What did you mean about finding out why he hated me?’ Curle asked.

  Jonah looked up. As he did, he must have nudged the glass, for a little of the whisky slopped over the edge.

  ‘Over the years, I told him how things were with you. He’s not a man who reads much, but I kept telling him how well you were doing. I remembered how he’d treated you at school. And, of course, he was still a bastard – to me, I mean. It dawned on me gradually that I could – hurt him isn’t the right word – get through to him when I told him how successful you were. Recently, it’s really been getting to him. I could see that, though I couldn’t fathom why – I knew you weren’t making anything like the money he was, and money was what mattered to him. Then he told me he wanted to meet you. I didn’t like the idea, but I didn’t see any harm in it. How could I know his life was falling apart?’

  The old school reunion, Curle thought.

  ‘I told you I’d find out why he hated you, and I have,’ Jonah said. ‘There isn’t anything else I can do.’

  ‘You can tell Meldrum what you’ve told me.’

  ‘The policeman?’ He looked horrified. ‘I can’t do that!’

  ‘He won’t believe me. He thinks I’m putting up suspects to get myself off the hook.’

  ‘Why should I tell him, for God’s sake? What would be the point?’

  ‘It would help me.’

  It wasn’t enough. Jonah said more than once that Brian Todd was a violent man. When Curle gave up and they were at the door with the little man on the point of going, Jonah said, ‘It’s taken me twenty-five years, but I’ve finally chosen between you, Barclay.’

  ‘That’s…nice,’ Curle said. A lord of language, it was the best he could manage.

  He was still in the same chair drinking whisky when his family came home. Hearing the car on the gravel, he got up and put the glass still with whisky in it into the cabinet and shut the door. When his wife came into the room, he saw her crinkle her nose as if catching the sweet taint of drink on the air.

  ‘How was it?’ he asked.

  ‘He enjoyed himself, except that I wouldn’t take him on the Britannia.’

  ‘The Royal yacht? Why not? Was it very dear?’

  ‘I didn’t even look. I was on the point of doing it – and then I decided, no. I remembered Prince Philip wanted to scuttle it. He didn’t want people like us trampling all over it. To hell with him!’

  A woman of principle. I’d have taken him on to it, Curle thought. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. Take him to the pictures and on to the yacht. Show him what a good guy his father is.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  He was making a statement, sitting at a table with Meldrum on the other side. There was another policeman there too, but it was Meldrum who mattered. During the statement, Meldrum didn’t shift his gaze or alter his expression. ‘When Hetty Logan was murdered,’ Curle told them, ‘I was on holiday in Australia. Look, I have the plane tickets here. My son Kerr and I were on Bondi Beach when this terrible thing happened.’ He was sorry about Hetty Logan who’d lived in the house opposite with her mother when he was a child. The mother had blonde hair and had been abandoned by her husband, and the insurance man when he called said he was never going in her house again because there was human dirt on the floor. Curle was sorry, but he couldn’t help being happy because he’d been in Australia when Hetty died. It meant that he could prove he was innocent.

  When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining.

  ‘Stop dreaming,’ Liz said. ‘The sun’s shining.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  It was slanting in through the gap between the curtains, drawing a line of light down the wall. He was still sleeping on the couch in the study.

  ‘Let’s do something for Kerr,’ she said. ‘Don’t be long.’

  Early sunshine in a changeable month would often be gone by midday, and so they set out to make the most of it while it lasted. The streets were Sunday quiet as they drove through the town. In the Royal Botanic Garden, they walked side by side watching Kerr run through the long shadows thrown by the trees on the grass. They sat on a bench under a cherry tree. The leaves were still small, unfolding like tiny hands. They hadn’t spoken for a while. Now he said, ‘See how they’ve cut that branch. It must have been growing the wrong way. They don’t paint the cut end. They just rub a handful of earth on it. The bacteria in the earth protect it.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘A gardener. One of the times we were h
ere.’

  ‘Do you ever come by yourself?’ she asked.

  ‘No… Do you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  Her reply startled him. Why would she do that? Did she need time to be on her own? What would she think about? He tried to picture her walking the paths by herself.

  There were no clouds even by lunchtime, and it seemed the good weather might last all day. It was more comfortable being out and about than going home so they went to the National Gallery of Modern Art and ate lunch in the basement café. Afterwards they looked at paintings till Kerr wearied of it. When they came out, the unclouded sun had warmed the air and there wasn’t a breath of wind. The three of them strolled down the long curves of the earth sculpture circling the miniature lake, its water reflecting the blue of the sky. Liz said something and he found himself laughing for the pleasure of the company he was keeping.

  As they went into the house, Curle saw an envelope lying behind the door. It was a business envelope, the address scratched out and ‘Liz’ scribbled on it. As he turned it in his hand, he saw that it wasn’t even closed. The flap had just been tucked in.

  He smiled and handed it to her. ‘Looks as if it might be from one of the neighbours.’

  When she slid out the contents, he saw a page ragged at the edges as if it had been torn out of a notebook. She glanced at it and went through into the kitchen.

  ‘Can I go on to the computer, Dad?’ Kerr asked. ‘Till dinner’s ready?’

  He stood watching as the boy climbed the stairs. On the landing, Kerr turned and seeing him still there gave the thumbs-up sign.

  He was still smiling as he went into the kitchen. Liz was standing by the sink looking out at the garden.

  ‘Fall of the Roman Empire,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or something like that. He’s gone up to go on the computer.’

  He took a beer out of the refrigerator and cracked the tab. As he poured into the glass, he asked, ‘Was it a neighbour?’ When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘That note, was it from a neighbour? I hope it’s not a problem with picking Kerr up from school.’

  When she turned, he saw she was still holding the ragged-edge scrap torn from a notebook. He poured too quickly and set the can and glass on the table.

  ‘Would you look at this, please?’ she asked and held it out to him.

  Cramped into the narrow space, the letters were square and neat; only the signature sprawled so that it took him a moment to make out that it read Brian.

  Hoped to find you in so that I could say this in person. Don’t let that husband make you feel guilty. While I was refusing your charms, he was along the corridor with a whore he’d bought. Spanking and fucking her was the way I heard it.

  As he looked up, he saw that lager foam was creaming over the rim and beginning to slide down the side of the glass. It seemed to move infinitely slowly, which was one of the effects of shock.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  ‘Are you not going to answer it?’ the taxi driver asked.

  Still watching the house across the road, Curle fumbled with the zip of the inner pocket on his coat. While he was opening it, the noise stopped.

  ‘Just as well,’ he said. ‘They scramble your brains.’

  He switched the phone off, having some superstitious idea that its microwaves might fry his testicles, and put it back in the pocket.

  ‘There’s going to be a lot of people with their brains scrambled then,’ the driver said. ‘Do you want me to sit here much longer?’

  ‘No!’

  There she was, coming out of the gate at the end of the path with a little dog on a leash at her heels.

  ‘Keep the change.’

  He pushed the twenty-pound note he’d been holding tucked in his palm through the partition and scrambled out of the car.

  She was moving surprisingly quickly so that he had to hurry to catch her. From the back she was like a doll or a child, pecking along on very high heels. A beautifully dressed doll, the long coat with the fur collar wrapping her like some prized possession. By the time she emerged from the cul-de-sac, he was almost at her shoulder. ‘Mrs Todd,’ he said quietly.

  She startled, hands flying up as if to protect her face.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To talk to you. If you want, we can go back into your house.’

  She set off as if she hadn’t heard him.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You’re going to listen to me. I don’t care where.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said. ‘Brian will be angry.’

  ‘Like he was the last time? He’s not here though, is he? So you don’t have to tell him. Do you tell him everything?’

  She veered abruptly off the pavement. It was a main road and he was held waiting for a gap in the traffic, before half running across to the opposite pavement.

  ‘You could have got yourself killed,’ he said. He could feel his heart pounding. He took deep breaths. ‘That dog has more sense than you. It doesn’t deserve to die.’

  To his astonishment, she said in a small voice, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he groaned, ‘don’t say that.’

  Peck, peck, peck, high heels, little bird legs.

  ‘You tell Brian everything,’ he said. ‘And you don’t have friends any more. And you’ve lost touch with your relatives.’

  She stole a glance at him, not saying a word, every doll feature carefully painted.

  ‘He’s careful not to hit you on the face,’ he said.

  He didn’t know any more if he was looking for revenge or if he was on a mission to save her.

  ‘Let me tell you about Brian.’

  She stopped and picked up the dog. Holding it close to her, she started off again.

  ‘You can’t walk fast enough to get away from this. I’m telling you the truth.’

  Traffic roared past, but the pavements were empty. It was a road for cars and lorries, not pedestrians. He had harassed her away from her normal circuit for walking the dog.

  ‘Please,’ she said.

  ‘Brian isn’t going to be around for much longer. He’s a criminal and the police are going to arrest him. I don’t know when, but soon.’ He looked down at her, but it was as if she hadn’t heard. He raised his voice against the surf of traffic heading out of the city towards the Forth Bridge. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying to you? There’s a law now that seizes criminal assets. Maybe that big house will go. You’ll be on your own. It’s time you thought about yourself.’

  She stopped and faced him.

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said

  It struck him that she didn’t challenge what he’d said. It was possible he was only forcing her to face what she had been denying. In a marriage were there any secrets? Had Liz always known what he was?

  ‘Stand by your man?’ Vomit came up into the back of his throat. It was as if he was choking on his own bile. ‘Are you that stupid? Going to visit him in prison? Sit in a room somewhere waiting for him to come back?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘Why would you do that? Tell me. I haven’t had a laugh for a long time.’

  ‘I love him.’

  It didn’t make him laugh. He was too full of despair to feel pity. There was nothing more to say. He had said it all, voided it like sickness. And now, bereft of words, it was as if he saw them from the outside, as if he was one of the occupants of a passing car, seeing the two of them on the empty pavement, the little bird-like woman with the dog clasped in her arms confronting the bulk of a man.

  ‘You asked me about my child. I lost it because he beat me. I thought I would die,’ she said, ‘but I stood by him. And you think I wouldn’t stand by him now?’

  In the weeks after his mother’s death, his father had walked hours at a time until he was crippled by the growth of bone spurs on his heels. Curle walked like that, trying to find the peace of an exhaustion that would take him beyond thought. When it was almost too late, he remembered
Kerr and phoned the neighbour Mrs Anderson to ask if she would keep the boy until Liz came home. By that time, he was sitting in a corner of an empty New Town pub. Later, as the place filled, he came briefly again to his senses and phoned the pharmacy. Not able to face talking to his wife, he left a message for her to collect Kerr when she came home. At some time after that, when the mobile phone, which he had forgotten to switch off, began ringing, he thought it must be Liz. But she would have been home a long time, why would she phone now?

  Confused, he had to ask the woman twice to repeat what she was saying before Linda Fleming succeeded in making him understand.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The drawn curtains made a mourning light, but they chose not to put on the lamps. When the younger man found the jewellery box, he held it out and shone the torch into it, shaking it gently to stir the contents.

  ‘It’s not here.’

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be.’

  ‘Maybe she was buried in it.’

  ‘Not according to the undertaker.’

  After searching the room thoroughly, they started on the rest of the flat. It was almost an hour later that they found the photograph in a box under two others piled at the back of a cupboard. They stood it against a bowl of withered flowers on the dining table and shone the two torches on it.

  ‘Why would she hide it away? You’d think a wedding photograph would be on display.’

  ‘Maybe she blamed him for dying,’ the younger man said. ‘Is it the one, do you think?’

  The older man bent closer. ‘No way it isn’t. But it looks out of place with a wedding dress. I’d guess it’s there for a reason. Belonged to her mother, something like that.’

  ‘Something old.’ As explanation, he added. ‘Like something borrowed, something blue.’

  The older man grunted.

  ‘And it’s not in the flat now. And you think she probably wore it all the time.’

  ‘She was wearing it when we questioned her. She kept touching it. Reminded me of the way some people touch wood for luck.’