Read A Cool Head Online

Authors: Ian Rankin

A Cool Head (8 page)

BOOK: A Cool Head
5.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

‘That who you’re named after?’ I asked.

‘Suppose so,’ she said, busy with the suitcase again. She was going to go on a train. It was a special train that left Edinburgh last thing at night and arrived in London next morning. She’d explained that you got a bed and you could sleep all the way there.

‘Sounds nice, Celine. Why can’t I come?’

But she shook her head. ‘Safer for you if you stay here.’

‘You said they’d be watching the stations.’

‘That’s a chance I’ve got to take.’

‘There’s always the car.’

‘It’s Don Empson’s car, Gravy. Do you think they won’t be looking for it?’

Then she folded some of the money and stuck it in my trouser pocket. ‘You’ve been a good friend, Gravy,’ she said, and that made me blush. She’d paid for another night at the hotel, both rooms. It meant she wouldn’t be noticed as missing. She wanted me to stay the night, and in the morning I could do anything I wanted.

‘Breakfast’s included,’ she told me.

‘And after that I can go home?’ I watched her nod. ‘You think I should leave the car here?’

‘Up to you.’ She looked up at me. ‘Time you started taking some decisions, Gravy.’

‘I will,’ I said. The TV in her room had a clock on it. ‘Your train’s not for hours.’

‘I know.’

‘But you’re leaving just now?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fed up hanging around.’

‘We could go to a film,’ I blurted out. She gave me a look and a smile.

‘I’ve got a taxi coming.’

‘I could run you to the station.’

But she shook her head again. ‘Better this way,’ she said.

‘Why? Why is it better?’

‘It just is.’ She was beginning to sound irritated. I know that happens with people. It happens with the people in my house. I ask one question too many and they sound like that. How does the moon shine? What happens when we die?

‘Celine,’ I said, but she was zipping the case shut.

‘Got to go,’ she told me. She slipped into her jacket. It was brand new. Everything about her looked new. She tucked her hair into a beret. ‘I’m trying for the foreign tourist look,’ she explained.

‘I’ve never been to London.’

‘I’ll send you my address.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’ And then she kissed me on the cheek, and I went redder than ever. I could see myself in the mirror. My face was on fire. Not exactly a cool head, Gravy. The door clicked after her. The room was silent, but I could still smell her perfume. It took me a minute to realise that she didn’t have my address! I opened the door, but she wasn’t in the corridor. Well, I’d told her about the graveyard, a letter would always find me there. I lay on her bed for a while, staring at myself in the TV screen. She had taken all the stuff from the minibar and her bathroom. Supplies for the journey, she’d said. There was a price list for the minibar. It was on the bedside table. Would I have to pay for it in the morning? Maybe that was why she’d given me the money.

I took the notes out of my pocket and tried counting them. Fifteen, or nearly fifteen. Times twenty. That was a lot. The red bag was on the carpet, empty now. In my own room I had the blue carrier bag. It was on the top shelf in the wardrobe. I could put the Celine Dion CD in there. So that was what I did. Then I made myself a cup of tea, using the last of the tea bags and milk. I lay on my own bed, one foot crossed over the other, three big pillows behind my head. There wasn’t much on the TV. On one of the channels, they all spoke a language I didn’t know. But I recognised the show. I was sure I’d seen it in English.

The minutes crept by. Maybe she would come back. Maybe she would miss me, or miss her train. Maybe she’d forgotten something. I looked again in her room, but didn’t find anything. I knew where her cousin lived, and that was a start. She would phone her cousin. Blood was blood, my mum used to say. She would phone her cousin and I’d be there visiting and the cousin would hand the phone over to me. And that would be us, friends again.

The phone in her room rang and I ran through to pick it up. Who else could it be but her?

‘Hello?’

But then the phone went dead. I listened for a while longer, but it stayed dead. Well, at least she’d tried calling. I stared out of the window at the evening. The castle was lit up. There were people on the street. They looked like they were having fun. Life was all about fun, wasn’t it? That was when I realised I was bored.

‘Never mind the breakfast,’ I said to myself. On the other hand, what if she
did
come back and I wasn’t there? See, I was thinking about heading home. But I’d promised I would stay, just one last night. Yes, but I was bored and I needed some fresh air. I could go for a drive and still come back. Or a walk. I could walk, same as the people outside were doing. Celine had teased me that there were bars on the street where naked girls danced, but I wouldn’t go there. I looked around her room and then mine, and decided to take my blue carrier bag. What else did I have?

Oh, my room key. I couldn’t forget that.

When I went into the corridor, there was a man standing there. He was standing outside Celine’s door. He looked at me.

‘Hello,’ I said. He just nodded. ‘Do you work here?’

‘That’s right, sir,’ he said with a smile.

‘She’s not in.’

He stared at me. ‘And how do you know that, sir?’

‘Connecting rooms,’ I explained.

‘And your name is?’

‘Everyone calls me Gravy. That’s because I work at the graveyard.’

‘And you’re here with . . . ?’

‘Celine. She’s named after Celine Dion.’

The man nodded. He was coming towards me. He stopped just short. ‘Well, Don was telling the truth for once. Do you know when she’s coming back? I’ve got a message for her.’

‘I can take it, if you like,’ I offered.

‘It’s really for her, sir.’

I looked him up and down. He didn’t look like he worked for the hotel. Everyone wore a kind of uniform and a name badge. And he’d used the name Don. I’d heard that name just recently.

He had leaned forward, so his face was right next to mine. ‘Where’s my money?’ he hissed.

I stared at him. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do, Gravy. The red bag.’

‘It’s empty.’

‘So she’s got the cash?’

‘The money belongs to Benjy, and Benjy wanted her to have it. She’s nice.’

He glared at me. ‘I’m going to ask you one last time . . . Where’s Benjy? Where’s the car? And where’s that tart gone with my money?’

I managed not to blink. Everything was blurry at the edges, but then it wasn’t. It was really sharp instead. ‘The car park,’ I said.

‘Take me.’ He gave me a little shove in the direction of the lifts. Well, what else could I do? He wanted me to, so I took him.

Chapter Thirteen

Jane is in Edinburgh

‘The Mansion Park Hotel,’ Jane said into her phone. She was parked outside. The taxi was about twenty yards away, the driver chatting away on his own phone, paying no mind to anything else.

‘In Edinburgh?’ Bob’s voice asked.

‘That’s the one.’

‘His idea of hiding out?’

‘Who knows.’ Jane shifted in the driver’s seat. As soon as she’d got word that George Renshaw was on the move, she’d set off after him. And as soon as she had caught up with the car tailing him, she’d radioed to tell the other car it could pull back. A two-car tail was perfect, meant you could keep swapping, meaning less chance of the car you were following spotting you. The two CID men were parked around the other side of the hotel, just in case.

‘Is Andrew Hanley talking?’

‘He is,’ Bob confirmed. ‘Remember what I said about Stewart Renshaw’s casino?’

‘You were right?’ she guessed.

‘Only one hundred per cent.’

‘Yet I’m the one who got the promotion.’ Jane was smiling.

‘Bit more good news, if you’re up for it.’

‘Days like this don’t happen nearly often enough, Bob.’

‘Two of Gorgeous George’s boys, the two we’ve been after for the Brigham Woods murder, turned up about forty minutes ago.’

‘Yes?’

‘They marched Donald Empson into one of George’s pubs. When our stake-out team sauntered in, pretending to be customers, there was no sign of any of them. The cellar looks a good bet.’

‘Empson screwed up, and he’s about to pay the price?’

‘I don’t want to go charging in until we’re sure.’

Jane nodded to herself. ‘I agree. Maybe it’s something I can talk to Renshaw about.’ She saw movement at the hotel doors. Two men making their exit. ‘Hold on,’ she said into the phone. ‘Something’s happening. I’ll have to call you back.’

‘Jane?’ Bob was telling her as she ended the call. ‘Remember, look after number one . . .’

Gravy and Gorgeous George

The two men crossed the tarmac, heading for the multi-storey car park. Gravy was taller than George Renshaw by a couple of inches. Thinner, too. He carried the blue carrier bag. Renshaw signalled to the driver of his taxi. Everything’s going to plan. Keep the engine running. This won’t take long. On the way down in the lift, he had pulled on a pair of tight leather gloves, an idea borrowed from Don Empson. He flexed his hands as he walked.

‘So you’re a mate of Benjy’s?’ Renshaw was asking. ‘How’s he doing?’

Gravy just shrugged.

‘How did he ever think he’d get away with it?’

Another shrug.

‘And Don. You do know Don, don’t you?’

A shake of the head.

‘You don’t know Don?’

‘I know it’s his car.’

‘So how exactly do
you
fit in, Mr Gravy?’

‘It’s just “Gravy”, not “Mr Gravy”.’

‘Whatever. Which floor are we going to?’ They were entering the car park.

‘This one,’ Gravy said.

The level was only half full, and Renshaw spotted Don Empson’s BMW straight away. He gave a low whistle, almost jogging towards it.

‘I tried cleaning up the blood,’ Gravy was explaining. ‘I did my best.’

‘Sure you did, kid,’ Renshaw said. He rubbed a gloved hand over the car and peered inside. Then he turned to Gravy. ‘So?’

‘The boot,’ Gravy said.

‘Got the key?’

Gravy nodded.

‘Give it here then.’

The key changed hands. Renshaw pressed the button and the boot clicked open half an inch. He yanked it all the way up and stood there, mouth hanging open. Benjy’s body was curled into a ball. It was swelling and leaking and starting to smell. Renshaw began to cough. He took a step back, then turned towards Gravy. Gravy was holding the blue bag. He was pointing it at Renshaw. Then he pulled the trigger and the bag exploded. The kick sent the gun flying from Gravy’s hand. Renshaw winced and went down on one knee, then fell backwards, clutching his right leg. The bullet had gone into his upper thigh. Blood was pumping out. Renshaw’s face was screwed up in pain. Gravy knelt down and touched the man’s forehead.

‘Warm,’ he said. ‘Warm, warm, warm, warm.’ Five times for luck. Then, curious, he touched the man’s chest. Stood to reason. If the head was warm, then the heart should be cold.

Stone cold.

But it wasn’t.

People were coming. A woman and two men, running. Gravy didn’t know them. He stood up, and one of the men shouted for him to step away from the vehicle. Gravy was happy to do that. The woman was walking slowly towards him. The other man was phoning for an ambulance. The woman glanced inside the boot of the car, then she locked eyes with Gravy.

‘My name’s Detective Inspector Harris,’ she said.

‘Mine’s Gravy.’

‘Yes, I know. What are you doing here, Gravy? You’re a long way from home.’

Gravy nodded his agreement with this.

‘Are you working for Don Empson?’ she asked.

Gravy shook his head. ‘I’m just Benjy’s pal, that’s all.’

‘I’m guessing this is Benjy?’ She meant the body in the boot. Instead of answering, Gravy looked over towards George Renshaw. Renshaw was clutching his wounded leg, cursing and swearing and making pained noises as he rolled around on the floor.

‘I don’t like swearing,’ Gravy stated. ‘My mum told me it’s not clever.’

‘Your mum was quite right.’ DI Harris was studying the car. ‘This belongs to Don Empson, doesn’t it?’

Gravy nodded again. ‘But I thought it was Benjy’s. Can I go back to work now?’ he asked.

Harris didn’t answer straight away. She had her own phone out and was telling someone on the other end of it that they should enter the bar and check the cellar. Flicking the phone shut, she asked Gravy if he was sure he was all right.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to shoot him. I just didn’t know what else to do. Benjy wanted me to hide the gun.’ He looked at her. ‘I’ll get into trouble, won’t I? I didn’t do what he wanted.’ He took a deep breath and gave a long, loud sigh.

‘Is there any money, Gravy? I’m thinking there should be money.’

But Gravy was shaking his head. ‘If you’re looking for Celine,’ he told the detective, ‘she’s not here. I don’t know where she went, so there’s no use asking, is there?’

‘Celine?’ For the first time, the detective looked confused.

Gravy pointed to the ground where the remains of the blue bag had landed. There was a CD lying there. ‘My fingers feel funny,’ he said, studying them. ‘I don’t think I want to do any more shooting.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Harris had crouched down to pick up the CD.

Gravy was pressing the palm of one hand against his chest. ‘Warm heart,’ he told the detective. ‘That’s got to be a good thing, hasn’t it?’

Jane Harris nodded, but she was still left wondering . . . what on earth did Celine Dion have to do with any of this?

Quick Reads

Books in the Quick Reads series

BOOK: A Cool Head
5.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Flight (Children of the Sidhe) by Pearse Nelson, J.R.
The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles by Katherine Pancol
I, Fatty by Jerry Stahl