The Dead Hour (31 page)

“Not a believer in the fashion maxim that ‘red and green should never be seen’?”

He laughed and looked at her for the first time, taking her in and pointing at her coat approvingly. “Nice.”

“A quid,” she said.

He nodded, impressed. “Top stuff.” He pointed at the Jag again. “Two hundred quid. She looked in such bad nick when I got her that no one else bid. If you know anything about these cars it’s the trim and the undercarriage that corrode. Even if she’s just for parts she was an absolute bargain.”

She could find no trace of Vhari Burnett in his face but Bernie’s accent seemed familiar, posh to the verge of sounding English, and she’d heard it before but couldn’t place it. At work maybe. Someone she’d interviewed for something. She could only imagine how self-possessed he’d need to be to carry the accent in such a working-class area. Talking like that in the Eastfield Star would have been an invitation to have all his car windows smashed.

Paddy stuck out her hand. “You Bernie?”

Suddenly suspicious, he looked at the hand and took it reluctantly, letting go as soon as he could. “Who are you?”

“Paddy Meehan. I’m a reporter with the Daily News.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Neither do I.”

It was only half-true but it got his attention. “Why are you here then?”

“Thillingly.”

She startled him. “What about him?” Bernie asked.

“The police are convinced Mark killed Vhari.” She used his first name, hoping Bernie would mistake her for a friend. “I think that’s crap.”

His eyes were wet, she could see that even though he wouldn’t look at her. “What makes you think that?”

“He was the chair of Amnesty. He’s not going to torture someone by pulling their teeth out. And I think he was a nice guy.”

He leaned over, pretending to examine the skeleton innards of the Jaguar, and nodded. “He was a nice guy.”

“I think Mark got beaten up in the car park outside his work just before Vhari was attacked. I think he knew something and they were pressing him for information and I think that’s what happened with Vhari as well, but they went too far and killed her. Where’s Kate, Bernie?”

He frowned and bit his lip.

“Can I talk to you inside for a minute?”

He looked around the lane, sad, remembering his dead sister perhaps, and looked at Paddy, at her spiked hair and ankle boots and good coat for a quid.

“It’s bloody freezing down here.”

“It is,” he said absently. “I’ve got thermals on.”

She nodded inside and he turned and stepped into the garage, waiting until Paddy followed him before scraping the big metal doors shut. He drew the heavy bolt across them.

Paddy had been trapped with a violent nutter before. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. Hands in pockets, she slipped her index finger through her house keys, ready to rip the face off him if he came closer than a couple of feet.

She looked around and realized that her defenses were pitiful. There were drill bits on the floor, metal toolboxes and spanners everywhere. If he wanted to batter her to death she was completely fucked. “Did you see your sister that night?”

Bernie shook his head. “I haven’t seen Kate for years.”

“I meant Vhari.”

He flinched at the mistake. “I hadn’t seen her for some time either.”

If he had been questioned by the police he would have known exactly when he last saw her, would have had to work it out and could answer immediately.

“The police haven’t even talked to you, have they?”

He looked at her curiously.

“What does that tell you about the quality of the investigation, Bernie? Doesn’t it worry you that they don’t even know Vhari had a brother?”

He half smiled. “They don’t know about me?”

“Apparently your parents didn’t mention a brother when they were questioned.”

He tipped his head back and barked a bitter laugh that echoed around the hollow arch. He pressed his hand to his chest. “I don’t count. Adopted. There’s six years between Vhari and Katie. They thought they couldn’t have any more so I got drafted in, but when Katie came along I was considered surplus to requirements. They never really took to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not blood, you see. ‘Our adopted son, Bernie.’ When I was wee I thought that was my full name. They offered me money to go to university but the truth is that I’m not that bright. I wanted to be a mechanic. They haven’t spoken to me for years.”

“I’ve got a picture of you.” She took out the clipping of the funeral and unfolded it before handing it over, watching to read his reaction.

Bernie smiled sadly down at it. “I haven’t seen this one. The Burnetts ignored me all the way through the service. They only stood next to me at the lineup by the church door because they couldn’t cause a scene. Came to speak to me at the end but I scampered.” He touched a fingertip to the picture. “And there’s Kate.”

She twisted around and saw he was touching the blond with curly hair. “That’s Kate? I thought it was Vhari. They’re alike, aren’t they?”

He looked away from the picture quickly. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Please.”

As he walked over to a large tool table she had the distinct impression that he was trying to draw her attention away from Kate. He poured tea from a tartan flask into two heavily stained mugs. A large industrial heater burned in the corner, a flat brazier of pink flame that tinged the light in the room pink, creating an expectation of warmth that was instantly swamped by the sharp, damp cold emanating from the brick.

The room was shallow but broad. A car was neatly parked against the left-hand wall, a beige MG sports car. Off to the right, against the red brick wall, sat an old kitchen table with jotters and receipt pads on it, above a three-tiered battered red toolbox.

“No sugar, I’m afraid. You said you want to talk about Thillingly?”

“I heard Mark came here the day he killed himself.”

“Yeah.” He handed her one of the mugs. “I know Mark didn’t kill Vhari, whatever the police say.”

The tea wasn’t very hot but she wrapped her fingers around it for warmth. Her stomach was still sore and she was feeling the cold more than usual. “I was at the door the night she was killed. I saw Vhari with a man.”

Bernie stiffened. “I see. Right.” He sipped his tea, carefully not looking at her. He should have asked who the guy was or at least what he looked like but he didn’t. He didn’t need to. He already knew.

“It was Paul Neilson, wasn’t it?” she said, watching for a reaction. Bernie sipped at his cup quickly, blinking, and she knew she was right. “Why did Mark kill himself?”

“Mark was depressed. Often depressed.” Bernie drank his tea, his eyes skitting around the messy floor. He was lying, badly. He was unaccustomed to duplicity and it intrigued her.

They looked around for somewhere to sit but there wasn’t anywhere. They couldn’t even sit on the floor because it was too oily. “Usually with visitors I just sit in a car, do you mind?” He held his hand out toward the MG. “Passenger or driver? The seats are soft.”

“I’ll be the driver.” She opened the door and climbed in, sliding into the leather seat. It was comfortable, apart from a belligerent spring that jabbed her in the back if she moved about.

Bernie slipped into the seat next to her and shut the door. “Why are you so interested in Mark?”

“I was there when they pulled Mark out of the water. The police had him convicted before he was in the morgue, and it just seems too tidy to me. Was Mark’s nose burst when he came to see you?”

Bernie havered for a moment, pretending he was trying to remember Mark’s face that day, but Paddy could see he was fitting the bits of lies together to see if they worked. “Um, no, I don’t know. I didn’t notice.”

“He had a nose like a smashed potato and you didn’t notice?”

“I can’t remember.” He glanced guiltily around the garage. “I wasn’t really looking at him.”

“Right? I’ve been told that he tried to phone your sister the night before, that he called her house and someone else answered the phone.”

She had his full attention now.

“Who answered?”

“Mark asked for Vhari first. Then he asked the person who they were and where the hell she was. He was very upset afterward.”

“Who told you this?”

“Diana. He said something about Kate as well …”

“Did he say where she was?”

“Might have. She’s still missing, isn’t she?”

“Dunno.” Bernie shook his head too vigorously. “I haven’t seen Kate for years. Never see her. She never comes to see me either.”

Paddy tried not to pat his arm. Bernie wasn’t a good liar. “But you did see Vhari?”

“Vhari kept in touch with everyone. Never did the easy thing and just bolted like I did.” He bit his finger and looked away through the window. “Vhari was a lovely person. She was good. That’s what the papers keep missing about her. She was really good.”

Paddy thought of Mary Ann reciting prayers in the dark. Being away from them for a day was a glorious novelty but she couldn’t imagine not talking to her mother for years and years. With the luxury of distance she could see that the Meehans were warm. Fraught but warm.

“Did Vhari keep in touch with Kate?”

“Oh, yeah. Called her every week. Called us both.”

They stopped for a moment, looking out through the dirty windscreen, seeing the garage as if they had just driven in. “So this is all your own?”

“Every bit of it. Got the lease, even drew the sign myself. The Burnetts were furious.”

“What’s Kate like?”

He smiled despite himself. “Kate never gave a fuck. Kate left home at fifteen and never went back. Grandfather left her a cottage when he died, up at Loch Lomond, and she never even went home for the keys.”

“Did you get anything?”

“No.” He looked bitter. “I’m not blood. I got nothing. Vhari got the Bearsden house. It’s worth a fortune.”

Paddy thought of the old-fashioned curtains she had noticed in the big bay window on the night of the murder. “Had she just moved in?”

“Yeah, three weeks ago. Half a mile from the folks, God help her.”

They sipped their tea, watching the still room and the pink fire ripple across the brazier surface, its light shifting the tones in the room. She glanced at Bernie out of the corner of her eye so that he wouldn’t know she was watching, and saw his eyebrows furrow with worry. Every time Kate was mentioned he balked.

“And Mark spent his last day here?”

Bernie blinked hard at his mug and shrugged. “He was outside waiting when I got here at eight thirty, dressed in his smart suit and that stupid Midge Ure overcoat. He was bloody freezing.” He smirked at the memory but his face crumpled suddenly at the thought of Mark. He struggled for breath for a moment, the shock of emotion making him fleck saliva onto his chin. He raised a hand and wiped it off. “I’m very sorry,” he said, his accent still as crisp as a fresh lettuce. “It’s just … a lot’s happened.”

Paddy tried to think of something kind to say. “I’m sorry too.”

“Mark had come to tell me Vhari was dead. He wanted to tell me. I don’t have a phone at home and he didn’t want me to hear from the radio.”

“Are Kate and Paul Neilson still together?”

“Dunno,” he said, too quickly. “Dunno anything about Kate’s life.”

“But you know Neilson?”

Bernie nodded. “We were at school together, all of us, Mark and Paul and us. Formed a tight little gang. Mark’s family only lived across the road from us. Paul lived farther away, he never really hung around the house much. I didn’t know him well.”

“He didn’t join the gang?”

“No, just sort of took Kate away. He was nothing to do with us. After school Vhari and Mark got engaged. Big family event. We were all big pals until Diana came along.”

She had heard Bernie’s accent before and now she could place it: it was a public school accent and the last time she’d heard it was from the mouth of the man she now knew was Paul Neilson when they were both standing outside Vhari Burnett’s door.

“Where does Neilson live?”

“Killearn. Huntly House or Lodge or something, Huntly Cottage.”

“Would Neilson have known where your grandfather’s house was?”

Bernie’s eye flickered to her and he shifted uncomfortably. “Dunno. Maybe.”

“But Mark would have known. They were engaged so he probably met your grandfather. He’d know where Vhari had moved to.”

“Well.” He cleared his throat unnecessarily. “I suppose.”

Paddy nodded, making mental notes. “Why didn’t Mark go to the police?”

Bernie shrugged again; it seemed to be a herald for a fib. “Mark was a lawyer. He didn’t have a particularly high opinion of the police.”

“Was he protecting you from them?” It was a stab in the dark and not a very good one.

Bernie smirked at her. “From the fuzz? What have I done? Been a toff in a working-class area?” The temperature was dropping between them so she decided to move on.

“Bernie, listen, Vhari had the chance to walk out of the house that night and she didn’t take it.” She watched his face closely. “Whatever secret you’re keeping from the rest of the world, she gave her life to keep it. I think she was protecting Kate. Why would she need to protect her from the police?”

Bernie looked at her regretfully and rolled his head away, rubbing his hair on the window, sad that he couldn’t tell her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay, Bernie. Even if she stayed for you.”

Fighting tears, Bernie rubbed his nose with an open palm. “It wasn’t for me,” he said. “Really.”

“Did Mark give Vhari’s new address to the person who beat him up?”

Bernie looked at her imploringly but said nothing.

“And then he killed himself? Because he felt he’d got her killed?”

He shook his head. Paddy felt he’d tell her if he could.

“I’ll find out, you know, I will find out and tell the police. Can’t you give me anything?”

His eyes wandered slowly around her face, considering what she said. “I can’t do anything that’ll hurt her.”

“Kate?”

He nodded at the dashboard. “We can’t involve the police.”