Otherwise he risked jeopardising everything. And this was personal. Nothing to do with business. Tomorrow was soon enough to decide what to do. He would deal with Carol first and then he would deal with Eddie.
The bag lay under a pile of dirty clothes. He dug it out and slung the strap over his shoulder. If Eddie knew what he was about to do now, he'd have a heart attack. Robin chuckled at the thought.
Outside, the temperature was only a notch above freezing. But it was dry and he didn't have far to walk. Just as well, since he couldn't risk taking the car. He stepped under the canopy of poles and planks erected after the accident about a month ago when a window lintel had fallen from the third floor and struck a pedestrian on the neck. Workmen had arrived days later and covered half the block in scaffolding. They hadn't been back since.
He passed Mrs Henderson, an old lady who lived in one of the ground floor flats in his building. She was wheeling a tartan shopping trolley behind her. He said, "Good morning," as he overtook her. She peered at him through her thick-lensed glasses, and nodded her tangle of white hair at him.
He turned the corner and crossed the road, the heel of his hand tingling. He wondered how the PI's nose felt.
***
Hogging the centre of the congested post office, two freestanding display racks forced the queue along the side of the walls. More racks, stuffed full of leaflets, spanned the length of the near wall. Opposite, protected by a clear anti-bandit screen (that's what they're called, so Eddie said), two cashiers served with an unremitting lack of urgency. Robin observed the fat one, who looked about sixty. As she chatted to her colleague the flab under her chin wobbled.
When he reached the front of the queue he said, "A first class stamp, please." Her hairspray caught in his throat and he coughed before he had time to cover his mouth.
She said, "And then, well, I shouldn't say," and tore a single stamp out of a book. He pushed a fifty pence piece through the gap at the bottom of the grill. "But there could be some trouble," she carried on, counting his change from neat piles stacked in a velvet-lined box. Her podgy white fingers pushed the money towards him.
"I'll see you later," he said. Only then did he get her full attention.
"What did you say?"
He smiled at her and scooped up his change.
"Do I know you?"
He said, "Not yet," and left. She'd know him soon enough, though.
10:59 am
Ailsa Lillie buzzed Pearce into the building without a word. When he knocked on her door it opened a crack. She kept the chain on.
"Who is it?" Her voice was deep and came from the back of her throat. She wasn't from Edinburgh. Her accent carried a north-east lilt.
"Can I come in?" He smiled at the slice of face that had appeared between door and doorframe. It looked as if someone had dunked her head in a sack of flour. Her hair was grey, her face pale except for the purple bruise over her eye.
"Why?" Her head shook. She looked about forty.
He lowered his voice. "You owe a friend of mine some money."
"Who?"
"You know who, Ailsa. Let me in."
"You seem nice," she said. "But I'm a poor judge of character. You could be a serial killer for all I know."
"You owe Mr Cooper three hundred quid. You think a serial killer would know that?" He hesitated, then continued, "All I want is for us to agree on some kind of mutually acceptable repayment terms."
Her eyes dropped. Without looking up she said, "Mutually acceptable?"
He nodded slowly. The door clicked shut. Seconds later it opened fully and she stood in front of him.
"Close the door behind you." She turned away from him, feet silent on the carpeted floor. "The bedroom's this way."
"Wait." He stepped into the hallway and eased the door shut. She ignored him. He watched her disappear into the bedroom. She moved like somebody much younger. He slipped the chain back on. "Ailsa," he said. "Ms Lillie," he said. After a moment he followed her.
She was lying on her stomach on the unmade bed, her right leg dangling over the side. Repetitively, she dragged her toes over the surface of a faded red rug that was threadbare along the edge.
"Ailsa."
"You keep saying my name."
"I'm trying to tell you—"
"What's yours?"
"My name's not important."
"I'd like to know." She swivelled her hips and faced him, arms stretched over her head. "Oh please, at least grant me that. After all…"
"Pearce," he said.
"You are nice." Her green eyes shone. "Sit down next to me, Pearce"
He strolled towards the bed and sat down.
"How do you want to do it?" she said.
"What happened to you?" He reached towards her. When his fingertips were an inch from her face she turned her head away.
She laughed, but there was no humour in the sound that rasped from her throat."What happened your face?"
She mumbled into the pillow.
"I didn't hear you." He leaned closer.
"What do you care?" Suddenly she sat up, pointing a pistol at him, holding it as if it was scalding her palm. She was shaking violently.
"If you shoot me Cooper will just send someone else." He held out his hand. "Someone who might not be as nice as me."
"Are you a bit thick, Pearce?" She clamped her other hand around the one that was clutching the gun and tried to steady her aim. "If I shoot you," she explained, "I'll go to prison. Cooper will be the least of my worries. I'll be safe."
"I might not be as thick as you think. Why don't you tell me about it?" he said. "You borrowed the money from Cooper to buy that gun, didn't you?" Her gaze flickered and he continued, "I would guess that the weapon was purchased with a certain person in mind. Am I right? Maybe that special person is the same one that knocks you about. How am I doing so far?"
Her lips twitched. "Not bad," she said.
"And might that be him?" He pointed to the framed photograph on the wall above her head. She didn't look, but she nodded. "Husband?" he asked her, then noticed that the fingers gripping her gun were free of jewellery. They had stopped shaking, but her knuckles were white as young bone. "Just a boyfriend?" he said. "Why don't you leave him?"
When she laughed again it was as if someone had wrapped her larynx in sandpaper. She said, "I tried that."
He lifted his eyebrows. "And you came back?"
"He didn't like it."
"Who cares what he likes or doesn't like?"
"If only it were that easy, Pearce." She gulped and lowered her hands. "As long as it involved me alone. As long as he didn't touch anyone else, I was prepared to take his best shot."
Gently, Pearce prised one of her fingers off the gun.
"This is nothing." Her hands fell apart and the gun slid onto the bed. She touched her bruised eye. "Compared to what he did to Becky."
"Your sister?" He picked up the gun. It was heavier than he'd anticipated.
Ailsa Lillie shook her head. Her eyes blazed. "Rebecca's my daughter."
He examined the weapon. Nickel, he guessed. CCCP engraved on the butt. "How old?"
"Eighteen." She paused, then added, "Old enough."
"For what?"
"A fractured cheekbone and a broken jaw."
"She doesn't live here?"
"You kidding? Becky left home when she was sixteen." She smiled and said, "She's a hairdresser."
"She his daughter?"
"No, thank God."
"This isn't loaded." He showed her the empty magazine.
"Christ, don't I know it."
He shoved the clip back in.
"After I'd paid for the gun," she said, "I didn't have enough money left to buy bullets. I didn't realise a box of ammo cost half as much as the gun."
"That's a hell of a mark-up." He looked at her and started laughing. She joined him and sounded as if she meant it. He said, "What's your boyfriend's name?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"You're in a mess, Ailsa. If you want out of it, here's what you do. Tell me his name and where I can find him."
She told him. "He's dangerous," she added.
"I'll be very careful." He handed her the gun. "Take that to whoever you bought it from and demand your money back. You won't get it all, so hold out for half. That's reasonable. Enough to be useful to you, but not too much for him to lose face. He'll see the sense in it if you point out that he can sell the gun again. Will you do that?"
She nodded.
He stood. "I'll be round tomorrow to pick up the money."
She grabbed his hand. "What are you going to do?"
He shrugged. "Have a word with your boyfriend. Tell him it's over. That you don't want to see him again." He slipped his fingers out of hers and rubbed his chin.
"He'll kill her." She clutched his hand again. "He'll kill Becky."
"She has nothing to worry about."
She didn't believe him. Creases lined her forehead and wrinkles erupted at both sides of her mouth.
"I promise you," he said, "neither you nor Becky will ever see him again."
Her forehead smoothed out once again and she looked almost pretty. "I owe your boss money. Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? You some kind of vigilante or something?"
"Remember what I said?" He gazed down at her. "That I wanted to negotiate mutually acceptable repayment terms? Well, that's what we've been doing. I never meant to imply that I wanted to…" He made a circular motion with his hand. "All that, anyway. It's just business, Ailsa. You're an investment and I'm protecting you like I would any other investment."
She levelled the gun at him, closed her puffy eye and said, "I should shoot you for being such a crap liar."
He turned his back on her. "I'll see myself out."
"Hey," she said. "There's a big guy who works with Pete. His name's Tony. He's nice too. Like you. Say hi to him for me."
11:15 am
"Not now, Mum." Pearce hung up and turned off his mobile.
"Mothers, eh?"
The male voice registered as an anomaly, although he wasn't sure why. He couldn't think of a compelling reason why a sauna had to have a female receptionist, but that's what he'd expected. Maybe this guy doubled as a security guard. Pearce looked up. So much for that theory. You didn't see many security guards less than five feet tall. Behind the semi-circular counter Shortarse's face was a bag of tension. "Where's Pete?" Pearce asked him.
"Pete?" Shortarse's mouth stretched and slackened and stretched again. You couldn't tell if he'd just stubbed his toe, or if he was about to burst into hysterical laughter.
"How many Petes you got working here?"
Shortarse shrugged.
"Any of the girls called Pete, are they?"
Shortarse's lips twitched.
"Thompson," Pearce said with his eyes closed. "Thompson," he said again. He opened his eyes and stared. "I'd like to see Pete Thompson."
"Ah." Shortarse's head bobbed up and down. "Mr Thompson." His lips pulled tight and his jaws clenched and he said, "Got an appointment?" Pearce said nothing and the little man continued nodding his head. "You need an appointment to see Mr Thompson."
Pearce clipped his mobile onto his belt. A muscle tugged at his cheek.
"An appointment." Shortarse nodded hard and fast.
"Mind your head," Pearce told him. "All that shaking, it's liable to snap off."
Shortarse's face paled and his eyebrows lifted. His head was motionless as he picked up the phone on the desk, pressed a couple of numbers and said, "Tony, we got a funny boy out here." He dropped the receiver. It bounced out of the cradle and clattered onto the desk. Shortarse muttered as the dialling tone moaned at him from the upturned phone and he was picking it up again as a door at the rear of the corridor sprang open and a man burst out, stiff-armed and heavy.
The big man glowered at Pearce, twisting the knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other as he plodded along the short corridor. "Can I help you?" He was much taller than Pearce. Much wider, too. His jacket strangled his swaying arms. He stopped a couple of feet away and straightened his tie. Flat nose. Cauliflower ears. He looked nothing like the photograph of Ailsa's boyfriend.
"You must be Tony," Pearce said. "Nice to meet you."
"Never mind who I am. Who are you?"
"I'm looking for Pete."
"I didn't ask who you were looking for. I asked who you were."
"Five minutes. That's all."
Tony changed hands, twisting his knuckles as if he was sharpening them against the grindstone of his flattened palm. "Pete doesn't want to see you."
Pearce flexed his fingers. "I might have to insist."
Tony chuckled. "Okay," he said. "Insist."
Pearce said, "You're a bodybuilder, right?"
"Yeah."
"Which means if I stood still, you could probably pick me up."
Tony gave him an appraising look. "With one hand."
"Good," Pearce said. "Now, here's your problem."
Tony moved his weight from one foot to the other. After a while he said, "Go on."
"I don't intend standing still."
Tony sighed. "So why don't you walk right on past me, if you're such a hard man."
"I will," Pearce said. "But there's something I have to ask you first. I'm puzzled, you see." He gripped the lip of the reception desk with both hands. "Pete doesn't know who I am, right?" He let go of the desk and turned. "So how does he know he doesn't want to see me?"
"Not my place to ask."
"Five minutes." Pearce slapped his hand on the desk.
"Don't hit the furniture."
"Five minutes," Pearce said, smacking the desk again.
"You hard of hearing?" Tony eyeballed Pearce. "Or are you just dim?"
"Everybody thinks I'm thick today. That's what Ailsa Lillie said."
"You know Ailsa?" Tony's eyes narrowed.
"She's why I'm here."
"Why didn't you say so?"
"I was having fun," Pearce said. "Actually, I have a message from Ailsa for Pete."
"I'll pass it on."
"I have to deliver it in person."
Tony shook his head and stopped rubbing his hands together. He turned and retraced his steps. The office door closed behind him with a bang.
Pearce looked at Shortarse. "Something amusing you?"
The little man cocked his head. His mouth was stretched into a definite grin. "What if it is?" he said.
The door opened again. Tony said, "You got your five minutes."
Pearce walked down the red-carpeted corridor and entered Thompson's office. Ailsa's boyfriend sat behind a huge desk fingering his moustache. He didn't get up to greet Pearce. Didn't even look at him.
Pearce followed Thompson's gaze. Opposite his desk a bank of monitors silently relayed the events taking place in some of the sauna's private rooms. Four of the screens were blank, but, despite the early hour, two others showed signs of activity. Bottom left, a topless masseuse churned the fleshy lower back of an anonymous customer stretched out on a towel beside a Jacuzzi. On the next screen, the one Thompson couldn't take his eyes off, the masseuse was naked and on her knees, the customer's dick sliding in and out of her mouth. Somehow, she managed to look bored.
Pearce said, "Surprised you have punters already."
Thompson didn't look at him. "Been open half-an-hour."
Pearce looked at Tony, back at Thompson, back at the screen. He said, "Want me to wait till they're finished?"
Thompson swivelled in his chair. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I have a message." Pearce turned to face him. "From Ailsa."
"Yeah?" Thompson glanced at Tony and his lip curled. "Yeah?" he repeated.
"She never wants to see you again."
"Yeah?" Thompson's eyes were wide. They grew wider. "Yeah? She doesn't, eh?"
"If you go anywhere near her or her daughter I'll do much worse than I'm going to do now."
"Yea
h?" Thompson started to laugh. Suddenly he stopped. "What do you mean by that?"
Pearce turned to Tony and said, "You can leave if you want."
Tony said, "Why would I want to do that?"
"You asked if Ailsa was okay. She's worried about her daughter." Pearce waited a moment. "Becky walked into a wall. Broke her jaw."
"Pete?" Tony said. "You promised, you prick."
Sweat was beading on Thompson's forehead.
"Ailsa got scared," Pearce continued. "Bought herself a gun. She thinks Pete's somehow responsible for Becky's little accident."
Thompson opened his mouth, closed it again. He shook his head. "Wasn't me, Shithead. Tell him, Tony, you useless knob. And, by the way, don't call me a prick again. Well? Tell him."
"Incredible," Tony said. "Teach him some manners, will you, Pearce?"
Behind him, Pearce heard Tony shuffling towards the door. "She was all set to put a bullet in you, Pete. Until I persuaded her that killing you might be a bit excessive." Pearce pulled out a chair. "I thought we could talk. Man to man." He sat down, aware that Thompson was looking over his shoulder, still hoping that Tony would intervene. "Be reasonable about this."
"Tony? Where are you going?" Thompson's Adam's apple bounced up and down as if he'd swallowed something that was still alive. "You're fired." The door clicked shut. "Tony?" Ailsa's boyfriend said in a strangled voice. "Cocksucker."
"Stop it," Pearce said. "That's not nice, Pete." He rubbed the back of his fingers over his chin.
Thompson said, "What do you want?"
"What Tony said," Pearce answered. "Teach you some manners."
11:27 am
Because the car was running smoothly, Eddie had time to think.
A right pair of lunatics, both thinking the other was crazy.
First impressions of Robin were that he was, well, a bit neurotic. Messed up, no doubt, by his brother dying so young and all. According to Carol, he pissed the bed until he was in his teens. And there was that business with the water pistol. A big joke, maybe, but you could see how it happened with a father like that and the medical problems with his hands and the disappointment with his musical career. You could see how it led to him going schizo.
Two-Way Split Page 3