by Max Frick
bottle or somethin and stumbled a bit, and to steady myself I tried to grab onto the curtains. I lost my grip on Ryan and he fell forward onto his face – I suppose Tony couldn’t hold him on his own – and the curtains, curtain rail and everythin came down on top of him.’
‘Go on.’
‘Em, that’s it really. Then we sat down and had a couple of lines.’
‘You “had a couple of lines”?’
‘Well, aye. Of the crushed up pills. We needed somethin to calm us down while we figured out what to do next.’
‘And what exactly did you do next, Billy?’
‘I, Eh, fell asleep.’
‘You fell asleep?’
Billy nodded.
‘I suppose the lines must have, you know, been a wee bit too much for me on top of everythin else.’
‘Okaaay. And before you fell asleep what was Tony doing?’
‘Em, I’m not really sure. He might have been buildin a joint.’
‘But he was definitely still awake?’
‘I think so, aye. But he couldn’t have been for too much longer, because when I got up to go to the toilet in the mornin he was sound asleep on the couch.’
The detective looked interested.
‘You got up to go to the toilet?’ he said.
‘Em, aye,’ said Billy.
‘At about what time?’
‘I’m not really sure. Just before the police kicked the door in.’
‘And for how long?’
‘For how long what?’
‘For how long were you in the toilet?’
‘Oh, it was just a quick pi... I mean, not long. About a minute, I’d say, at the most.’
After a brief pause for thought the detective updated his notes.
‘A – minute – at – the – most,’ he repeated to himself as he did so, first boldly encircling then double-underscoring this particular entry.
‘Is all this really important?’ asked Billy.
‘It could be, Billy. It could be. And then what happened?’
‘Well, like I say, when I came back out of the toilet the police were kickin the door in and...well, I’m sure you already know the rest.’
‘Nevertheless, It would be helpful if you could tell me, one more time in your own words, what the police then did.’
‘Oh, right. Well, basically they just asked us a few questions then took us away to the cells. We were, em, interviewed and held on remand until gradually it became clear that we hadn’t actually done anythin. But by that time it was too late, the papers had already got hold of the story and we were accused of bein everythin from kidnappers to cannibals. I mean, it was a wee bit over the top, eh?’
‘You say it gradually became clear that you hadn’t actually done anything. Could you, Billy, walk me through the police findings, as you understand them, step by step, starting with the kidnapping?’
‘Em, aye, I suppose so, but do you not already have all this on some report somewhere?’
‘As you understand them, please, Billy,’ repeated the detective, a faint note of impatience creeping into his otherwise measured tones.
‘Eh, right, aye. Well, like I say, there was no kidnappin. Ryan came back here with me of his own accord. Two different bouncers testified to seein us leavin the club together...’
The detective held up a hand.
‘Let me just stop you there, Billy,’ he said. ‘Irrespective of the testimonies of “two different bouncers”, it strikes me as highly improbable that an internationally renowned young celebrity, who, let’s face it, could have gone home with any one of probably hundreds of young ladies in the disco that night, would have instead “of his own accord” chosen to go home with you. Why do you think he did that, Billy?’
‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Billy. ‘I invited him and he came.’
‘You invited him and he came? Forgive me, Billy, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who ordinarily goes around inviting superstars back to his house.’
‘I was drunk. It was right at the end of the night. I’d actually invited everybody back – Daz and Pabs and them – for a bit of a party, you know? Anyway, like I say, it was right at the end of the night and all the lights had just came on, but before makin my way outside I nipped into the toilet for a pi… eh, a pee and that’s where I met him. Ryan, I mean. He was standin at the what-do-you-call-it, the urinal next to mine. So I invited him as well. And, em, well, he said aye.’
'But there was no party.’
‘Em, no, there wasn’t, no. When we came back out of the toilet everybody had left already. I just assumed they would be makin their way back here, so me and Ryan came back by ourselves.’
The detective again updated his notes.
‘Okay, Billy,’ he said ‘Now, what about the rape?’
Billy shook his head.
‘That was Tony’s idea of a joke.’
‘A joke?’
‘Aye.’
‘A very sick joke, Billy, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Of course, aye. But, like I say, he didn’t actually do anythin. The, em, post mortem or the autopsy or whatever it's called showed that there was no, em...no actual, eh...actual physical contact, if you know what I mean.’
‘You mean homosexual intercourse, Billy.’
Billy blushed.
‘Eh, aye, exactly, aye,’ he mumbled.
‘But the photographs clearly show, at the very least, a serious sexual assault taking place, do they not?’
‘Em, aye, I suppose they do. But as I understand it, his people – Ryan’s, I mean – the record company or his manager or whoever, didn’t really want to follow up on that. They wanted to, you know, keep that part of it as quiet as possible.’
‘And why do you think they would want to do that?’
‘Well, I suppose there’s nothin like a good old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll drug death to boost record sales, eh? Serious homosexual assault doesn’t quite fit the bill, does it?’
The detective ventured no opinion.
‘And the murder?’ he said.
‘Again,’ said Billy, ‘nothin actually happened, or, at least, it happened exactly like I said. The post mortem showed that his bruises and his broken bones, his fractured skull and that, were, em, consistent with him fallin down the stairs. The coroner or whoever recorded a verdict of death by misadventure.’
‘Death by misadventure,’ repeated the detective sceptically. I see.’
And, moistening an index finger, he leafed through, then back through, a page or two of his notes.
‘All of which, then,’ he said, ‘brings us neatly to the last, but by no means least intriguing, stage of the inquiry: the question, Billy, of anthropophagy, or, as it’s more commonly called, cannibalism. So tell me, please, just what did happen to his face?’
Billy again shook his head, and harder this time.
‘Och, that was just ridiculous. It was obvious straight away that Dooly did that. He must have been absolutely starvin. He hadn’t been fed all day. Forensics or whoever found, you know, traces of his, em, saliva on the face, and they found his teeth marks as well. The police realised straight away what had happened and we were never even accused of cannibalism, except by the papers, that is. They had an absolute field day. It was the crime of the century as far as they were concerned.'
‘But according to your version nothing actually happened and you’re completely innocent of all charges?’
‘Em, aye, I suppose. More or less, aye.’
‘Okay, Billy. And Tony’s on the road to stardom, I believe?’
Billy gave a derisory snort.
‘Looks like it,’ he said.
‘You don’t sound too impressed.’
‘If you knew Tony.’
‘How did it come about?’
‘Well, eh, all of this, sort of, you know, generated quite a bit of interest in us, and some record company, probably lookin to make a bit of money on the back of it, offered him a deal.’
�
�I see. And what’s the record?’
‘It’s a cover version of a song called Debaser, by the Pixies. I think it’s out next week.’
‘And what about you, Billy?’
‘Ah, you know, I’m just tryin to put all this behind me. Find a new job and get on with my life, I suppose. Get everythin back to normal, eh?’
The detective nodded his solemn comprehension, and Billy began to relax a little, sensing that proceedings were finally drawing to a close. He even prepared himself in readiness to rise whenever the detective, closing his notebook and rising himself, delivered his parting line: ‘Well, I think that covers everything, Billy. Thanks very much for your time.’
But the detective remained seated.
‘Are you aware,’ he said, ‘that the teeth marks found on what remained of Mr Watson’s face proved inconclusive?’
Billy was caught off guard. The question completely wrong-footed him.
‘Em, no,’ he said. ‘I, eh... I thought that...’
‘And are you also aware,’ added the detective, ‘of the claims made recently in the music press, by Tony himself, that he did in fact, and I quote, “chew the face off that all singing, all dancing fucking wee puppet cunt”?’
Billy breathed more easily.
‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘Aye, I saw that. But surely you don’t...? That’s all just for publicity. He’s clearly been put up to that by his record company or whoever. Surely you’re not re-openin the investigation on the strength of that?’
‘Not re-opening the investigation, Billy. Simply trying to tie up a few loose ends.’
‘But you don’t really believe him, do you? I mean, do you think he’d be shoutin about it if he really had done it?’
‘It’s not my job to believe or disbelieve,’ said the detective. ‘It’s my job to look at all the available evidence.’
And with that, he again moistened his