Blood Tears (31 page)

He doesn’t even flinch. What has this young man witnessed in the line of
duty
with my pal Kenny?

‘Wherever you go, I’m there. When you go for a jog, I’ll be a few steps behind. When you go for a drive, I’m riding shotgun. When
I
go for a shower, you’re sitting on the shitter. No argument.’ His tone is quiet and all the more impressive for it. It doesn’t allow for any disagreement. He’d grown sloppy for a minute and it isn’t going to happen again.

My mobile phone rings. It’s Daryl. He’s early. It’s only 07:55 according to my watch.

‘Ray. Allessandra and I are on the way over.’ He realises that his voice is too business like and he adds. ‘Get the kettle on.’ Shit. It’s not good.

‘The pigs are coming,’ I warn Calum.

‘I’ll make myself scarce.’

Allessandra and Daryl file into the bedroom and both take a seat by the table. No conversation. No wisecracks. They know something and they are more than concerned about it.

‘The coffees and bacon rolls are on the way up, guys.’ I ordered extra when I realised Daryl and Allessandra were on their way. As I say this I’m tidying up some socks and underpants that decorate the floor. This is what Maggie would describe as displacement activity.

Acid bubbles in my stomach as I consider what to say to the guys. Do I come clean? Or do I act the daft laddie? I owe a lot to these guys. A debt that I doubt I could ever come close to making good on. Still. Do they have to know the full truth of last night? I don’t know if I could stand it if their eyes were to take on the light of suspicion.

I sit on the bed and breathe deep. ‘Before you start, guys. I have…’

‘Carole Devlin is dead, Ray,’ says Daryl.

‘I know. I was just about to…’

‘And someone matching your description was seen running across back gardens in the area, not too long before Carole’s time of death.’

‘If you… if you let me tell you what happened, Daryl.’ There is a knock at the door. ‘That’ll be the bacon rolls.’ I go to the door, open it and let the young waiter carry in the tray.

He places it on the table and all but runs out of the room. The chill in the room must have got to him.

‘I went to see Carole last night.’ On the basis that it is better to get in there first, I fill them in with the details as I experienced them and finish off by displaying the bump on the side of my head. Allessandra winces. Daryl sports an expression that says — serves you right. There is something else in their eyes. Betrayal and for the first time, doubt.

‘This is not good, Ray. Not good at all.’ Daryl is on his feet and he is seriously pissed off. ‘This places you at the scene of the crime.’

‘I know.’ I’m trying not to whine.

‘Tampering with evidence.’

‘I know.’

‘For the second time. That we know of.’

‘Daryl, I had to go there. I had to talk to her.’

‘So did you learn anything?’ asks Allessandra. Was I imagining things or was there an emphasis on the word “you”?

‘Nothing new,’ I go on to detail the conversation I had with Devlin and the subsequent events.

‘So you blacked out?’ asks Allessandra.

‘Yes.’

‘And you can’t remember a thing?’

‘Yes. I mean no. I can’t remember anything.’

‘Kind of convenient, don’t you think?’

‘Convenient for who? The real killer maybe. But not me.’

‘Ray we’re really having trouble here,’ says Daryl. ‘Prior to this you were the only suspect. We hear nothing to change that. In fact, you could say it makes the case against you watertight. There isn’t a judge in this country who wouldn’t convict on what we have.’

‘Great. Make me feel better, why don’t you?’ I aim for some humour. Judging by the expression shared by my two ex-colleagues, it fails spectacularly.

‘This is not about making you feel better, ya prick. It’s about finding out the truth.’ He walks to the window, fists bunched by his side.

‘Daryl, we promised we would be calm,’ Allessandra acts as mediator. ‘Ray.’ She turns to me. ‘We have gone out on a limb for you. In fact we are so far out on that limb it’s about to snap. When it snaps we are well and truly fucked. So give us something that helps us. Something that makes our decision easier. Something that lets us know we are doing the right thing risking our careers for you.’

The enormity of their situation fills my head. If they get caught for helping me, they could face imprisonment themselves. There goes their homes, their jobs, their liberty and the respect of their family, friends and colleagues. Hardly win-win. I can’t continue to put them in this situation. I have no right to. I need to give them some of the truth.

‘Connelly was kind of busy while he was working at Bethlehem House.’ I feel myself shrink from the words. But I have to admit it to them. Admit it to myself.

‘Oh Ray,’ Allessandra is way ahead of me. ‘No.’

Daryl looks from her to me, and back again, before the coin drops.

‘Holy fuck.’

‘Or not, as the case may be.’ See how witty I can be when under pressure?

Silence. What a conversation stopper that was. While I wait for a reaction my stomach acid burns off a few butterfly wings. I really need the guys on my side. But from a distance. Clamping my teeth against the nausea that threatens I look from one to the other.

Silence.

Somebody speak, for fuck’s sake.

‘What did you mean about making a decision?’ I have to fill the silence.

‘Oh.’ They both look at each other, as if silently debating who is going to tell me.

‘The decision on whether or not to make the phone call,’ Daryl finally answers.

‘I’d have been exactly the same, guys,’ I say and smile to hide a flicker of anger that they would consider betraying me. The fact is, I would have been the same, so they don’t deserve any anger.

‘Anybody going to eat these rolls before they go cold?’ I ask.

We eat silently, or as silently as you can with Daryl’s open mouth chewing action, and as the food goes down I sense I have my colleagues’ sympathy. It’s not what I want, but preferable to their suspicion.

However, this is a connection I’m going to have to break. It’s all very nice and cosy and has been a real help to me so far, but I can’t continue to put the guys at risk. The time has come to make the break and stand on my own two feet. My lies put me in this position, so I have to face the consequences. It would be nice to keep seeing them. Daryl and Allessandra are my links to the only world I know. I truly wish I could keep in contact, but as an old cop who took me under his wing used to say: ‘
Ca’ canny in case ye end up growin’ a wishbone instead o’ a backbone
.’

Certainty adds calcium to my spine. ‘Listen guys. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. More than you could possibly know. But I can’t face myself knowing you could lose everything simply by being in the same room as me.’

‘What are you saying, Ray?’

‘Well if you would shut the fuck up, Daryl, maybe I could tell you.’

‘You better not be saying what I think you’re saying.’

‘Aye,’ Allessandra adds.

‘Fuckssake. Let me finish. This is hard enough as it is.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘I need to go on from here on my own. I can’t afford to be worrying about you guys.’

‘Too late, Ray,’ says Allessandra. ‘If you were convicted of murder, we’re already your accessories.’

‘Aye,’ Daryl joins in. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Ray. But in the nicest possible way you can shove it where your dildo don’t reach.’

‘I like that,’ says Allessandra.

‘Thanks. Me too,’ says Daryl. ‘Just made it up on the spot like.’ He puffs his chest up.

‘It goes with that Madonna song,’ Allessandra sings. ‘Papa don’t preach… I’m in trouble deep… Dildo don’t reach.’

I can’t believe the two of them are sitting there laughing like eejits. Their laughter has notes of irony and worry in it. It’s laughter that’s a smile away from tears. It’s like the laughter you hear bouncing around the walls of a jail.

‘Guys, fuck off with the singing. This is deadly serious.’

Daryl punches me in the arm. ‘If you didn’t laugh you’d cry, Ray. So lighten the fuck up. And forget any ideas about protecting us. We’re both adults. We know what we’re doing.’

‘Naw. I’ve thought about this. I can’t have you two on my conscience. If you don’t leave me to it, I’m going to walk up to Pitt Street HQ and give myself up right now.’

Daryl waves his handcuffs at me. ‘Is that so? We’re in this for the duration now, Ray. And if you don’t like it I’ve a nice wee bracelet here that’ll help you see otherwise.’

‘Oh look,’ Allessandra waves her set around. ‘Me too.’ They look at one another and laugh.

‘You’re both fucking mad.’

Allessandra’s expression sobers, ‘Ray. We know what’s at stake here. I’ll admit there have been sleepless nights, but it’s too late to back out know. Even if we wanted to.’

‘Aye. So can we cut the noble and ultimately self-pitying crap?’ Daryl vigorously rubs his hands together. ‘We’ve a murderer to catch.’

Relief wars with irritation that they are so adamant. This is a fight I’m going to lose, so I might as well get on with it. On my terms.

‘Okay. What have you got for me?’ I ask.

‘We couldn’t find much on Jim Leonard. He rented a room from the fella Hutchison, as you know. A pair of computer geeks. They worked in PC World together,’ answers Daryl.

‘The one significant fact we did uncover about him is that he was an orphan and guess where he was brought up?’ asks Allessandra.

‘Bethlehem House,’ I answer.

‘You must have known that as soon as you heard his name, Ray.’ says Daryl. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Because… I was struggling with the whole convent thing myself at the time and I didn’t want you to go back there and start drawing links back to me. Sorry.’

‘No more, Ray. Withheld information not good.  We need to know what you know.’

‘Okay.’

Allessandra rustles in her bag. ‘We’ve also got this.’ She pulls out a large brown envelope and extracts a copy of a photograph. ‘It’s a fairly recent photograph of Elizabeth Templeton.’

‘And she hasn’t aged a bit,’ I say with my pulse loud in my ears. When I was ten she looked about sixty. That’s about the age she was when this photograph was taken. The hair is all white now, but the glasses are the same standard NHS type.

The guys are looking at me with questions in their eyes.

‘How the fuck do you know this one as well?’ asks Daryl.

‘All roads lead back to Bethlehem House.’ 

This is the third time this week I’ve sat in the car in front of Bethlehem House. Calum is beside me doing his impression of a mute. The art of conversation certainly isn’t one of this boy’s talents. Where does his mind go when he does that? Is he mentally rehearsing his Kata? Is he dreaming of his last shag? Or is he wondering what the fuck is on my mind? and why do I keep driving down to this soulless building?

The wee gardener guy has been busy.  The trees that dot his garden are almost bare, but no leaf has been allowed to linger on the lawn. It is swept and bare while the sides of the road that pass in front of the convent railings have a pelmet of mulch in waiting.

There’s a small tree at the bottom of the garden with one leaf hanging on resolutely. It’s waving its gold-brown flag of no surrender in the breeze. I’m surprised the gardener’s not waiting below to catch it.

Allessandra is just off the phone. Nothing new to report from HQ. McCall has vanished off the face of the planet, as have I, apparently. They failed to place me at the scene of Devlin’s murder. They have descriptions of the guy running about the backyard, but they still don’t know that’s me. So my disguise is still good. As for Leonard, there is very little to report there. Despite his childhood he has managed to stay clear of trouble. All of his neighbours report him as a nice enough guy. No-one had a bad word to say for him. Nor a good one.

His workmates at PC World were pretty much the same. Nice enough, is the description that would follow Jim Leonard to the grave. I’ve searched my own memory for him, and found little. Apart from the last time I saw his brother. I’ll never forget that. The look of pure hatred in Jim’s eyes when he heard me teasing his brother. He was the quieter one of the twins, always taking his lead from John. He would have been ten or eleven when John died. What an impact that must have made. His only family member and one with whom he had such a strong connection suddenly dies.

When I was a child everything was a five-minute wonder. For those five minutes it was the most important thing on earth. Then it was on to the next thing. Even the ever present gnaw of loneliness would fade from time to time as we played and fought and pretended to pray. I’m not saying that the effects of John’s death lasted for only five minutes, but they quickly receded into the background as we got on with the business of protecting ourselves.  For me, Jim was given a momentary thought and then the worry of a possible wet bed the next morning took over.

A week after John’s death, at evening prayers, we found out that Jim had been taken somewhere else. As we clutched our rosary beads after dinner, Sister Mary would always remind us of recent losses. Nuns always seemed to be dying, so there was often a lengthy roll call. Then one evening Jim’s name replaced John’s.

“Dear Lord, also hear our prayers for Jim Leonard. May he find some measure of happiness now that he has moved on from the site of his beloved brother’s death.” Or it would have been something similar.

The row of small faces on either side of me opened their eyes wide in realisation, before they habitually moved on to finish off the session with the usual rendition of “Our Father”.

We always picked up the tempo on this one because we knew we were coming to the end of the daily prayer marathon and would be rewarded with one hour of television. The first five minutes of TV that night, however were filled with hushed whispers as we wondered where Jim had gone and whether we would ever see him again. Sister Mary’s bellow interrupted what must have sounded like a congregation of speculative snakes.

‘If you don’t want to watch TV you can all get ready for bed.’ You could have heard a rosary bead drop.