by Daly, Bill
When the lights changed, Bjorn turned right and accelerated up the hill. Stretching her hand across, Helen started caressing the front of his jeans. ‘Just as well he didn’t insist on knowing what you were doing at eight o’clock on Saturday morning.’
‘Stop it, Helen! Not when I’m driving!’ He pushed her hand away. ‘Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be in mourning?’
‘For my dear departed brother-in-law?’ Helen pouted her lips. ‘Pull the other one.’ She pawed again at his trousers. ‘Though I’d rather pull this one,’ she squealed. Bjorn tried to drag her hand away while at the same time wrestling one-handed with the steering wheel. Helen unclipped her seat belt and plunged across, burying her face in his lap. When she started blowing loud raspberries against his crotch they both dissolved in laughter.
Laura Harrison carried a tray with three cups of coffee into the lounge where Helen and Bjorn were seated. ‘What happened to you, Helen?’ she asked as she put the tray down on a side table. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’
Helen tossed back her hair. ‘I came out in a bit of a rush, sis.’
‘That’s not like you.’
‘My fault, Laura,’ Bjorn said. ‘I insisted on leaving early to beat the rush-hour traffic.’
‘There was no need to do that. You could’ve waited until the traffic eased off and come across later in the –’ Laura broke off, tears welling in her eyes.
Helen sprang to her feet and wrapped a comforting arm around her sister’s shoulder. ‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she whispered in her ear.
Laura knuckled away a tear. ‘God knows, it’s not as if I’m heartbroken because Mike is dead. I don’t have to tell you that. It’s the sheer frustration that he made such a bloody mess of things. He gambled away everything, you know – and I mean everything.’ Helen and Bjorn exchanged glances. ‘Even the mortgage is more than the value of the damned house!’ Laura took a deep breath to try to control her breathing.
‘Christ, I need a drink! Anyone care to join me?’ she asked, lifting the gin bottle from the drinks trolley and holding it up.
‘It’s a bit early in the day, sis. Even for me.’
‘How about you, Bjorn?’
‘No thanks, Laura.’
Laura poured herself a stiff measure, adding a splash of tonic. ‘Will you be able to lend me the money?’ she asked quietly. ‘I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’
Helen made eye contact with Bjorn. ‘I’m not sure we can.’
‘You know I wouldn’t ask you unless I was desperate. I’ve nobody else to turn to.’ She pleaded with her eyes. ‘I’ve got to have ten thousand pounds by Friday.’
‘We’d like to help you,’ Helen said. ‘We really would. But we can’t do anything as quickly as that. All our assets are tied up in investments. Even if we were to accept early withdrawal penalties it would be at least a fortnight before we could transfer the money to you.’
‘That’s no use.’ Laura’s teeth sank into her quivering bottom lip. ‘I must have it by Friday.’
‘We could probably come up with a banker’s order or a post-dated cheque by Friday. Would that do?’
Laura looked away to avoid her sister’s eyes. ‘It has to be in cash,’ she said in little more than a whisper.
‘In the name of God, Laura! What sort of trouble have you got yourself into?’ Laura turned her back and stared out of the window. ‘Won’t you tell me what this is all about?’ Helen insisted.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why don’t you talk to Dad?’
Laura spun back round. ‘No way!’
‘Tell Dad what’s happened. Explain to him that Mike has left you with nothing. Now that Mike’s no longer …’ Her voice tailed off. ‘You know what I’m driving at. One conciliatory gesture from you and Dad would welcome his prodigal daughter back into the fold with open arms – and he’d sort out your financial problems in no time.’
‘I couldn’t go to him. Not after ten years.’
‘Then let me talk to him. I’ll act as the go-between.’
‘No! I don’t want you to do that.’
‘What other options do you have?’ Silent tears were seeping down Laura’s cheeks. Helen took her in her arms and cuddled her in close.
Tony O’Sullivan rapped on Charlie’s open office door and walked in.
‘No luck at Trento’s, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘There is a CCTV system in the café but he doesn’t keep the data for more than a week.’
Charlie let out a world-weary sigh. ‘How did you make out with Svensson?’
‘His plane eventually landed the back of nine. The runway in Stockholm was iced up and they took off four hours late.’
‘What did he have to say for himself?’
‘Not a lot. Basically, he confirmed everything his wife had told us.’
‘Did he sound convincing?’
O’Sullivan shrugged. ‘He was pretty relaxed about it all.’
‘Bit of a wasted evening, then?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Well, look on the bright side. At least it saved you from pissing your money away in the pub.’
Billy McAteer watched from the corner of Canniesburn Road as Bjorn Svensson’s Mercedes pulled out of the drive. Turning his back on the traffic as the car sped past he hurried towards the house, then checked to make sure he wasn’t being observed before striding up the drive and pressing the bell push.
‘I told you not to come here!’ Laura tried to push the door closed but McAteer had already inserted a blocking foot. Forcing the door wide, he stepped inside and slammed it behind him.
‘I want my money tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow’s Wednesday – you said Friday!’
‘Now, I’m sayin’ tomorrow. I’m goin’ to have to make myself scarce an’ I need the cash.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t have the bloody money!’
Grabbing Laura’s jaw in his fist McAteer squeezed hard, forcing her onto her tiptoes. ‘I know how you got your sore face.’ His manic eye drilled into her. ‘Your auld man telt me he had to teach you a lesson from time to time because you had a nasty habit of chattin’ up other blokes. Well, if you think he gave you a hard time, you ain’t seen nothin’.’ McAteer pressed his fingers so hard into Laura’s cheeks that her eyes bulged. ‘You’ve got until tomorrow afternoon to come up with the money. That’s enough time if you put your mind to it. I’ll be here at four o’clock sharp.’ Producing a flick knife from his jacket pocket he snapped open the blade. ‘You’d better have the money by then,’ he said, slowly rotating the tip of the blade an inch from her eyeball. ‘Because if you don’t come up with the cash …’ The blade stopped turning. ‘There won’t be a single bloke in Glasgow who’ll be interested in chattin’ you up.’
Charlie walked up to the desk in Partick Police Station and spoke to the duty officer. ‘Are you still holding Tosh McCulloch here, Andy?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. He’s due in court this afternoon.’
‘I’d like a word with him.’
‘No problem,’ he said, stretching for the cell key and handing it across. ‘You know the way. Cell number four. Let yourself in.’
McCulloch scrambled to his feet when he heard the cell door opening, then cowered against the far wall when he saw Charlie enter.
‘There’s a change in the charge sheet for this afternoon, McCulloch,’ Charlie announced. ‘As well as buying drugs in Argyle Street we’re going to do you for supplying cocaine to John O’Hara – and that’s a murder charge.’
‘I telt you already, Anderson. I don’t sell to kids.’
‘That won’t wash, McCulloch. We have it all in glorious Technicolor. You didn’t know there was CCTV in Trento’s café?’ McCulloch stared open-mouthed. ‘The whole café is covered. I’ve just been across to see the footage of you and John O’Hara together, including a clear shot of you handing the stuff across.’ McCulloch’s jaw ti
ghtened. ‘If you’re going to stick to your half-arsed story you’re looking at a life sentence,’ Charlie continued. ‘On the other hand, if you make a full confession the procurator fiscal might be prepared to negotiate a charge of manslaughter. What’s it to be?’
All the colour drained from McCulloch’s features. ‘You’re bluffing, Anderson.’
‘Fine! Have it your own way.’ Charlie snorted and turned to leave. ‘I don’t know why I’m even wasting my time.’
‘Wait a minute!’ Charlie paused with his hand on the door. ‘I telt the kid …’ McCulloch said hesitantly. ‘I telt him how much he should take.’
Charlie fixed McCulloch with a glare. ‘You told him how much he should take?’
‘Aye,’ McCulloch said in little more than a whisper.
‘You told him how much he should take?’ Charlie repeated the words slowly, measuring every syllable.
‘It’s no’ ma fault the stupid wee eejit overdosed,’ McCulloch whimpered.
Grabbing McCulloch by the shirt collar, Charlie yanked him up on to his tiptoes, their noses almost touching. ‘So that’s your defence? The boy was ten years old, for fuck’s sake!’ Charlie’s features were florid. ‘You told a ten-year-old kid how much cocaine he should fucking-well take!’
‘It’s no’ ma fault he’s deid,’ McCulloch spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to twist from Charlie’s grip. ‘There’s no way you can ca’ that murder!’
Slowly relaxing his fists Charlie released his grip, allowing McCulloch to sink to his knees, sobbing heavily. Without a backward glance Charlie spun on his heel and strode from the cell, slamming the door behind him and turning the key in the lock. Exhaling loudly, he removed the microphone from under his lapel and switched off the recording device in his jacket pocket.
Tony O’Sullivan found the number he was looking for in the telephone directory.
‘I’m afraid we don’t have any teacher called Anderson, sir,’ the school secretary said in reply to his query.
‘Susan Anderson was her maiden name. I don’t know her surname. She was married to someone called Paul who taught in your school, but she’s a widow now.’
‘That’ll be Susan Paterson.’
‘Would it be possible for me to speak to her?’
‘I’ll check her timetable.’ There was a short pause. ‘Sorry. Mrs Paterson takes her class to the swimming baths on Tuesday mornings. Can I take a message?’
‘No, thanks all the same. I’ll try to catch her at home this evening.’
CHAPTER 12
Tony O’Sullivan kicked off his shoes and walked down the hall to collect a can of export from his kitchen cupboard en route to the lounge. Flicking on the light he flopped down on the settee, picked up the phone and dialled Sue’s number. As the call was ringing out he ripped the ring-pull from the can.
‘Sue?’
‘It was my fault entirely,’ she stated.
‘Come again?’
‘I forgot the first rule of going out with a copper.’
‘Which is?’
‘Always make sure you’ve got the tickets. You might end up at the gig on your own, but you can impress everyone around you by telling them you paid for an extra seat for your coat to avoid having to queue for the cloakroom.’
‘Ouch! I had that coming! I really am sorry, Sue. I got tied up. You know how it is …’
‘Don’t I just?’
‘I tried calling you at school this morning to apologise but I was told you’d taken your class to the baths.’
‘The secretary told me someone had called looking for me – someone who didn’t even know my surname. I figured that had to be you.’
‘What did you end up doing last night?’
‘I hung around the park gates at Glasgow Green until well after eight. When you didn’t show I went to the ticket office and asked if there was any chance of a spare ticket – which at least raised a giggle. Not wanting to waste a babysitter, I stopped off at my local to see if there was anyone in I knew. There wasn’t, so I came back home.’
‘Your local?’ Tony said. ‘I thought you were TT?’
‘Typical pisshead’s attitude! My local happens to do a mean line in tomato juice and angostura bitters. As I was saying, I went back home and Amanda, my babysitter, told me you’d called to say you were running late. For lack of anything better to do I challenged her to a game of Scrabble. How was your evening?’
‘I spent over four hours at Glasgow airport waiting for a plane that was frozen to the tarmac in Stockholm.’
‘You probably had a marginally better time than I did. I lost at Scrabble to a sixteen-year-old, with the added indignity of paying her ten quid an hour for the privilege of being hammered. By the way, did you know that “alizarine” is a word?’ she stated indignantly. ‘It’s in the dictionary. Some sort of dye, apparently. Triple word score, no less.’
‘Any chance of me making it up to you?’
‘That will not be easy.’
‘How about dinner? You get to choose the restaurant.’
‘Lucky for you that the Chardon d’Or’s booked up solid at this time of year.’
‘How about the Ubiquitous Chip?’
‘Hmm … I suppose I might be open to persuasion.’
‘What night would suit you best?’
‘Hold on a minute. Let me check my engagements.’ Sue rustled some papers. ‘If we could avoid December the nineteenth next year,’ she said. ‘That’s the date of the next nativity play.’
Tony chortled. ‘How did the play go?’
‘Mary forgot her lines and one of the wise men farted, which nearly cleared the hall. Apart from that everything went well.’
‘How are you fixed for tomorrow night?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘I’ll ring the Chip straight away and see if I can get a table. I’ll call you right back.’
‘Before you hang up, to avoid any repetition of last night’s fiasco, how about we exchange mobile numbers?’
‘Not much point if you forget to take yours with you.’
‘Cheeky beggar!’
Simon Ramsay drew up in Laura Harrison’s driveway and switched off his headlamps. Steady drizzle was falling as he hurried towards the front door. He pressed his finger hard to the bell-push and kept it there until Laura answered.
‘Simon! What in the name of God are you doing here?’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘I had to see you.’ He stepped inside. ‘I couldn’t risk talking on the phone.’
‘I’m in big trouble,’ Laura blurted out. ‘McAteer’s threatening to cut up rough if he doesn’t get his money by tomorrow.’
‘It gets worse.’
‘What could possibly be worse?’
‘Jude suspects something.’
‘Did you hear what I just said? McAteer’s threatening to slash my face to ribbons if I don’t come up with ten thousand pounds by tomorrow afternoon. I don’t know where to turn. I’ve been sitting here all day.’ She waved her gin glass in front of his nose. ‘Drinking myself into oblivion while trying to pluck up the courage to phone my father and beg him to let me have ten thousand pounds – and all you have to worry about is that Jude might suspect something!’
‘She knows I was out of the house at the time Mike was killed. She suspects I was involved somehow. If she finds out what we’ve been up to she’ll hand me to the cops on a plate – you know how vindictive she can be. We’ll have to find a way to deal with her.’
‘Deal with her! Deal with her!’ Laura’s voice went up an octave. ‘The same way we dealt with Mike?’ She poured gin down her throat. ‘I don’t know how I ever let you talk me into getting involved with McAteer. Look at the fucking mess that’s landed me in!’
‘Get a grip of yourself,’ he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her hard.
‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’ she said, twisting herself free from his grasp, ‘Jude’s your problem
. If I manage to get McAteer off my back – and God only knows how I’m going to be able to do that – then I might have to suffer the ignominy of having been caught shagging my sister’s husband. But at least I no longer have Mike to contend with. You, on the other hand, are going to have a lot of explaining to do to Jude.’ Turning her back on him, she drained her glass.
Simon stormed from the room and out of the front door, slamming it behind him. Laura heard the squeal of tyres spinning in the loose gravel as he slewed backwards down the driveway. As she buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably, the phone rang. Rubbing away her tears, she tried to control the tremble in her voice as she picked up the receiver.
‘Hello,’ she stammered.
‘Laura?’ The phone froze in her hand. She hadn’t heard his voice in ten years, but she recognised it instantly. ‘Helen called me earlier this evening.’
‘She shouldn’t have done that. I told her not to.’
‘She and Bjorn couldn’t come up with any way of getting ten thousand pounds for you quickly so she decided to phone me. It was the right thing to do.’
Laura choked back her tears. ‘Will you help me, Dad?’
‘Will you tell me what this is all about?’
‘I can’t.’
There was a brief pause. ‘Helen said you need the money by Friday.’
‘That was the situation this morning, but things have changed. I have to have it by four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’
Jim Cuthbertson sucked hard on his teeth. ‘You don’t make things easy, Laura.’ Laura felt a huge sob welling in her throat. ‘However, if it has to be tomorrow, then it has to be tomorrow,’ he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I’ll need some time in the morning to get things organised. If I bring the money over to your place around lunchtime, would that be okay?’
‘Oh, Dad!’
‘You need ten thousand in cash, if I understand the situation correctly?’ Laura’s pent-up sob came bursting forth. ‘There’s one condition,’ Cuthbertson said.