by Bateman
‘It’s not the glory, it’s the satisfaction.’
‘And the glory. I should point out that you appear not to be driving me home to Page, who needs fed, or taking us to No Alibis, where Jeff needs supervision.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Detour.’
40
‘Ah,’ said Alison.
‘Uhuh.’
We parked about thirty metres from the entrance to the site of the WestBel shopping centre, on the opposite side of the road. It was, as its name suggests, in West Belfast. It was not a part of the world I had ever had a fondness for. Too much history, too much violence, too much poverty, too many nuns. I became aware that I had said that out loud when Alison asked what on earth I had against nuns and I said, ‘Mother always believed they hid guns in their habits.’
Alison shook her head.
Across the road, there were two security guards at the entrance to the building site. What we believed to be the shopping centre was hidden behind a wooden fence. We sat for about twenty minutes. There were lorries coming in and out of the site, and schoolgirls from St Mary’s next door moving back and forth during their lunch-hour. The lorries entering were stopped by the security guards so that their bona fides could be examined; the girls weren’t stopped, but their bona fides were also studied.
Alison said, ‘It’s just a building site, and I’ve a child to be fed.’
‘But it’s all about the building site. It has to be.’
‘Okay, never mind our child.’
‘There are pretty hard and fast rules when it comes to the planning of and building of shopping centres. It’s being built on land that was surplus to the school and sold off for profit. There were some protests about that. There was an initial refusal of planning permission, though mostly because of access problems. There was a Planning Appeal, which came down in favour of the Karamazovs, and full permission was granted eight months ago. That’s all pretty standard.’
‘So what’re you thinking of? Fraud or something?’
‘Maybe. If they were a public company, we could do some kind of forensic accounting check on them. But the O’Dromoderys have to tell nothing to no one.’
‘Nothing to no one,’ Alison repeated. ‘Nice.’
‘But then you would tend to think, Bobby was an architect not a quantity surveyor, was he going to have access to the finances anyway? Or there was some flaw in the design he discovered at a late stage and they wouldn’t change it? Or they were using cheap materials, cutting corners, he was going to turn whistle-blower and . . . what?’
She was giving me the eyes.
‘If you stare at schoolgirls for too long,’ she said, ‘you’ll be arrested.’
‘Why would I stare at schoolgirls?’ I asked.
She laughed. ‘Only you could ask that with a straight face.’ She held up a finger to stop me from responding. ‘Hush,’ she said, ‘do you hear that?’
I could hear traffic, and the chitter-chatter of schoolgirls above it.
‘What?’
‘The sound of my son crying out for his mother’s milk.’
I ignored her, and got out of the Mystery Machine. She popped out the other side and asked me what I was doing and I told her I was going to take a closer look at the building site. She knew what I was like about observing things, and how long I liked to take, and her response was that she’d be reported to the Social Services for neglect and I observed that Page was with Mother, so they would probably do her for cruelty as well.
When a gap in the traffic didn’t immediately present itself, we moved to a Zebra crossing twenty metres up. There were girls in purple uniforms crossing here too. They swore like troopers. When we got to the other side of the road Alison turned to walk on to the building-site entrance, while I turned towards St Mary’s.
It took her a few moments to realise I was no longer by her side. She shouted, ‘Oi! This way.’ I ignored her, and entered the school grounds. When she caught up she asked what I was doing and I pointed. There was a newly built stone wall to our right, and running up to the school chapel and beyond. There was a small, ancient graveyard and then a short expanse of overgrown ground with enough of an elevation to give us a view over the wooden fence and into the building site next door.
Alison said, ‘You can’t just walk into a girls’ school by yourself, this day and age.’
‘I’m not by myself, you’re with me.’
‘Now I am.’
‘It’s fine then,’ I said, and marched on with not inconsiderable vigour. My breath was not laboured, and my knees were not clicking. The air was crisp with a hint of cheap perfume. It felt good to be alive, words which had never previously entered my mind. As we walked, Alison slipped her hand into mine. I did not find it overly repellent.
As we passed through the graves, she said, ‘Why would there be graves in a school?’
‘Church school,’ I said. ‘The priests or nuns would live on site, and die on site, and be buried on site.’
‘Creepy.’
‘That’s probably the point,’ I said. ‘Nothing like a few corpses to put the fear of God into the young ones.’
The grass around the graves had been tended, but the headstones were mostly all at odd angles, or had fallen over completely. Alison said, ‘Look at the dates, they’re hundreds of years old. The names are all faded. It’s so sad.’
‘If you say so,’ I said.
We moved beyond the graveyard to the wilder ground and up the short elevation. We now had a good view over the fence into the building site, which extended back over several hundred metres. The buildings quite close to us were about half-finished. Further away, there were large areas where the foundations had been pegged out and trenches were being dug. There were bulldozers and excavators and at first glance, fifty-six builders.
Alison said, ‘It’s going to be big.’
‘Massive,’ I said.
‘You wouldn’t want anything to jeopardise it,’ said Alison.
‘Or anyone.’
We watched the builders at work. I was aware, out of the corner of my eye, of Alison attempting to surreptitiously look at her watch.
She saw that I was aware and shook her head. After a bit more observation she said, ‘If something happened to me, would you track down my killers the way Nicola is trying to? Would you not rest until justice was done?’
‘Probably,’ I said. After a while I added, ‘And if something happened to me?’
‘I would probably give myself up.’
Three cars – two Land Cruisers front and back of a Jaguar – appeared at the entrance and were waved through. They pulled up in front of the Portakabin that was serving as the site office. Big men in dark clothes jumped out of the Land Cruisers and formed a guard of honour around the Jag. The rear door was opened by one of them, and a man in a blue suit whom I recognised as Sean O’Dromodery climbed out, briefly surveyed the area, and then mounted two steps and disappeared inside the office.
‘Nice suit,’ said Alison.
‘Cashmere,’ I said.
‘At this distance?’
‘You can always tell a suit of quality.’
‘I mean, your eyesight is suddenly . . . like, incredible.’
‘Are you complaining?’
‘I haven’t got you into bed yet, so the jury’s still out.’
She squeezed my hand. I was thinking she could have had me there and then, but then I realised that she was no longer looking at me, but at the man approaching us through the gravestones; he was wearing a long black coat, with his hands thrust into the pockets. He was mostly bald with wisps of white hair above his ears. He did not look pleased to see us.
He said, with a smoker’s rasp, ‘Can I help you?’
I said, ‘No, we’re fine.’
He said, ‘What I mean is, this is private property. Can I help you?’
‘We were just taking a look at the graveyard,’ said Alison. ‘It’s fascinating. Are you . . .?’
‘I’m the
Vice Principal. You can’t just wander in without permission.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Alison, ‘you’re quite right. We didn’t think. Sorry. I was just telling my husband here,’ and she squeezed my arm, ‘that my mum, God rest her soul, was a pupil here in the seventies and how she always said these gravestones gave her nightmares.’
The VP nodded warily. He said, ‘Well, they’re in a bit of a state, but we’re going to tidy them up shortly. We’re not open to visitors, not when school’s in. And not when it’s out either, for that matter.’ He turned and pointed at the church. ‘See what they’ve done there last year? The hellions stripped so much lead from the roof, it all but caved in during the Eucharist. Now if you don’t mind I really . . .’
I said, ‘Which came first, the church or the school?’
He gave me an exasperated look and said, ‘The church. Two hundred years ago. The school celebrates its one hundredth and twentieth anniversary next year. It’s a lot bigger now, of course. Now if you don’t mind . . .’
He tried to usher us along, but we remained sure and steadfast. I nodded towards the main school building; it was a big, red-brick establishment with a sixties look to it.
‘The pupils aren’t taught by priests or nuns any more, are they?’
‘No . . . just regular teachers. Which is what I should be doing, teaching.’ He withdrew a hand from his pocket and indicated the gates.
Alison pulled my sleeve gently. ‘C’mon,’ she said, ‘we shouldn’t be here.’ She gave the Vice Principal the thumbs-up and said, ‘Thanks. Sorry. Mum loved it here.’
‘So did I,’ I added.
As we passed through the graves, Alison said, ‘What?’
‘What what?’
‘I thought you said something. Your lips were moving.’
‘I was counting.’
‘What were you counting?’
‘Gravestones.’
‘Okay. And why would you be doing that?’
‘Because they’re there to be counted.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Not completely cured yet, then.’
I smiled. And I winked.
She said, ‘I know that smug look. You’ve worked something out.’
‘I’m not there yet,’ I said.
She gave me a smile, and I pulled her closer and she snuggled up against me as we proceeded to the school gates. She even raised her lips to my cheek and kissed me. We were quite loved up, really.
‘I’ve been around you long enough to know when to leave you alone,’ she said. ‘But for future reference – when you’re counting, don’t move your lips. It makes you look simple.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
41
I had a reasonably good idea of where I was going with it now – at least the first part of the mystery. I knew why Bobby Preston had been killed. I would need to back it up with research which might even include producing some proof, though I have never laid much store by actual evidence, because I am only ever trying to satisfy myself, not the views of twelve good men and true. The rest of the case was bubbling away, with hints and intimations and impressions hovering around the truth, just waiting to come into focus. I did not doubt that I would get there, and very soon, although not before we did something about the Land Cruiser that had slipped into our wake as we left the WestBel building site.
Never crossing the 29-miles-per-hour barrier of death allows one to become very attuned to one’s surroundings; I am always aware of the make and model of the vehicles that precede me and follow me, and I am usually also very aware of the drivers, and their red faces, and the fists that they shake at me and the abuse that they mouth as they eventually pass me. In this case the Land Cruiser remained patiently in my wake. Alison might have noticed my eyes darting repeatedly to the mirrors, but paid no attention; she was well used to it. But when we did not proceed in the direction of home, or indeed No Alibis, I could sense her increasing irritation, and she finally snapped that if I was going off on another one of my tangents, could I please just dump her off here and she could make her own way back to the fruit of our loins. When I pulled into the side she gave me an incredulous look and said, ‘You’re really going to let me walk?’
‘No,’ I said, and a moment later there was a tap on my window and a bulky, baldy man in a zip-up Harrington jacket indicated for me to roll down the glass. I said I’d rather not and Alison said, ‘Christ,’ as another man in similar attire appeared at her window and demanded the same.
I said, ‘What do you want?’
And my man said, ‘My boss wants a word with you.’ He indicated the car behind. ‘Nothing to worry about, he just wants you to take a wee ride with him.’
‘That’s what they said to Rommel,’ I observed, ‘and that didn’t end well.’
‘Robble?’ the man said.
Alison’s man said, ‘Open the doors,’ and tried the handle, but Alison had taken the precaution of locking them. She could do that, from her side. I never did it in case we were in a pile-up with multiple vehicles and a petrol tanker and we couldn’t get out because the doors were locked and then the tanker exploded, killing us badly, or in case we plunged off a suspension bridge and were drowning but could not swim to safety because the locking mechanism was jammed. Alison pointed out that there weren’t any suspension bridges in Ireland. She also took my hand and said, ‘What will we do?’ as we stared out the windows at our prospective assailants.
I said, ‘They work for Sean O’Dromodery, so it’s probably okay. That said, he might be up to his neck in these killings and want to also kill us. Why don’t you go and have a chat with him, and I’ll go for help.’
She said, ‘This is no time for joking.’
I did not dignify that with a response.
My window was tapped again.
I said, ‘Okay. I’ll go and talk to him. But as soon as I’m out, slip across and make your escape. If they have both of us, we’re at their mercy; if they just have me then they can’t do anything much.’
‘You would do that?’
‘You seem surprised.’
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
‘Constantly,’ said Alison. ‘But if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to stick here with you, for better and for worse.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘you have Page to look after, and Mother’s funeral to arrange. So go. I will deal with this.’
‘You’re really serious?’
‘Always.’ I took her hand. ‘And it will be fine. Honestly. Just go.’
I reached for the door handle, but she held on to me, and pulled me close and said, ‘I know it will. Love you.’ I nodded. She said, ‘Love you.’ I nodded again. She shook her head, and I made another attempt on the door, but not before she asked who Robble was and I resolved to get my sinuses checked if I survived my encounter with Sean O’Dromodery, the last of the Karamazovs.
They did not make any attempt to stop Alison from escaping. They just looked bemused as she dove behind the wheel, fired up the engine and sped away with tyres screeching.
I thought of Rommel again, and realised that actually all along I had been picturing James Mason in the 1951 film The Desert Fox instead of the Field Marshal himself. I am not greatly into war movies, but this one had stuck with me because I admired its director, Henry Hathaway, since he was also responsible for Call Northside 777, one of the finest of film noirs. It had received an Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America for Best Motion Picture Screenplay in 1949, and I was happy to remember that, because since I’d been electric-shocked and then failed to recognise Gabriel’s theme tune I had begun to doubt my own vast knowledge of all things consequential and many things less so.
And then I thought that I had better focus on the situation at hand, which entailed me being escorted the few yards along to the open back door of the Land Cruiser and then being beckoned in by a gaunt-looking Sean O’Dromodery, albeit gaunt in cashmere. I stepped up and into the vehicle, and the door was closed behind me from outside and
Sean O’Dromodery looked me up and down in much the same way that I looked him up and down and he said, ‘So you’re him,’ and I said, ‘Who?’ and he said I was the one who’d been hired by his brother and been incarcerated in Purdysburn and then all over the news for fleeing, and I said, ‘Uhm, yes, that would indeed be me.’
He said, ‘You helped that lunatic escape.’
‘He’s no more a lunatic than I am,’ I said.
He said, ‘You mean he’s not guilty?’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘Then why in hell would you help him escape?’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘It . . .?’ He stopped and gave me a funny look, then said, ‘My brother said you were hard to read. He also said you get results.’
I nodded. ‘You spotted us looking at your building site.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We have very good security anyway – it’s a deprived area and if you don’t literally nail things down they tend to disappear. But they’ve been extra-vigilant of late, for obvious reasons. However, I think you put yourself up there for a reason: you wanted to be seen, you wanted me to come after you.’ He gave me what he supposed was a reassuring smile but it actually came out more like a grimace. ‘I’ve been keen to talk to you for quite a while,’ he said. ‘I’m intrigued by what my brother saw in you. You own a bookshop, yes?’
‘A mystery bookshop.’
‘But you do your private investigations on the side.’
‘Not so much on the side,’ I said. ‘The book business is in turmoil.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said, though I soon found out that he didn’t mean it literally. He raised a hand and I fell silent and then we sat there in the relative quiet for a bit, the Land Cruiser being well insulated against the sounds of passing traffic. There was no driver. I could see that the radio on the dash was tuned to BBC Radio 2, but the sound was turned down, which was the best way to listen to it.
After what felt like a long time he said, ‘I bury Bernard tomorrow.’ I nodded. ‘I have lost two brothers, and although we fought like cats and dogs, they were my family, and I loved them. Do you have brothers?’