Trauma (8 page)

'I want to speak to Dr Sotillo,' said McKirrop.

'Who shall I say is calling?'

'Just tell him he may hear something to his advantage,' said McKirrop. He could hear the woman laughing in the background while he waited. 'That's what he said, darling,' he heard her say. The receiver was picked up and a voice said, 'Hello, who is this? What do you want?'

McKirrop was taken aback. He remained speechless for a moment then he put down the receiver without saying anything. The voice he had heard had been the man on the canal bank, Rothwell. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind.

This put matters into a new light altogether. Rothwell wasn't Rothwell at all. The man had lied. He had probably lied about being a reporter too, thought McKirrop. He had been right to be suspicious about that at the time. The question now was why? Why had Dr Ivan K. Sotillo pretended to be a reporter? What was his real interest in what had gone on in the cemetery that night? And most important, what was in it for John McKirrop?

As McKirrop returned to the canal, his mind worked overtime on what Sotillo might be up to. Sotillo had simply listened to his story, the same one he’d told the police, and had seemed quite happy with that. In fact he had even been keen that he should tell any other reporters the same thing. That was it, thought McKirrop. Sotillo had been making sure that the story he had told the police was the story to be heard by everyone else. It suited Sotillo because . . . like him, he knew more!

That fact, decided McKirrop, was going to cost Dr Sotillo an awful lot of money. If he played his cards right and when this game was over, he might well be able to afford a move to somewhere a good deal warmer than London. He remembered reading a book in the local Library last week while he was in there one morning keeping warm. 'A Year in Provence' it had been called. That had a nice sound to it. Provence, decided McKirrop, was the place for him.

Despite feeling that he held the whip hand, McKirrop was reluctant to take on Sotillo on his own. He remembered the uneasy feeling that he had experienced when being alone with him on the canal towpath and how there had been a threatening air about him. Sotillo might be a doctor but he was no soft touch. There was more to him than met the eye and just how much more McKirrop had an idea it might be better not to find out. He decided reluctantly that he would need help, some kind of back-up, even if it were only the presence of a witness.

McKirrop had to concede that his circle of friends and acquaintances had shrunk to practically zero over the past couple of years. If he was brutally honest he would have to admit that he did not have one true friend in the whole wide world. That had been true for some time but this was he first time that he had been forced to confront the fact head-on. He didn't like the feeling.

For one brief moment his acquired capacity for blocking out the past was seriously threatened. A veil lifted from his eyes and he was forced to remember a happy, successful individual with a wide circle of friends and colleagues who all liked him and saw him as the fun loving, carefree life and soul of any party. His name had been John McKirrop. The name was the same but the only people he associated with these days were the people in Bella's group. If he were to recruit help it would have to come from there and that was not an encouraging prospect.

McKirrop eliminated the members of the group one by one until he was left with Flynn and Bella herself. He didn't trust Flynn but if matters should turn violent at any point, Flynn was the only one who would be of any use in that kind of situation. The real trouble was that Flynn hated him and, if that were true, could the man be trusted to keep his part of the bargain in a purely commercial agreement? His first idea was to offer Flynn twenty pounds to accompany him to a meeting with Sotillo and to stand by to help in case of any threats or trouble. McKirrop could imagine Flynn changing sides with no compunction at all if it suited him.

Bella was a woman and had therefore to be discounted from any participation in rough stuff. McKirrop smiled to himself at his gallant and mistaken notion. When he considered it further, the truth was that Bella could probably beat the shit out of most of the group. McKirrop began to warm to the idea of using Bella. She was the nearest thing to a friend that he had and she probably had deterrent value as a witness. Sotillo wouldn't try anything with a woman watching. McKirrop decided he would ask her tonight.

'Let me get this straight,' said Bella. 'You want me to go with you to meet this guy and if I do you'll give me twenty quid. Right?'

'Right,' said McKirrop, a little on edge that Bella had said it so loudly. He didn't want the others to know what was going on. That was why he had edged Bella away from the group a little. 'The guy owes me. I need you there as a witness to see that he hands it over.'

'Who is this guy? How come he owes you money?' asked Bella whose credulity was being strained to the limit. This was due in part to her being more drunk than usual at this time in the evening.

'The reporter,' replied McKirrop with a sudden thought. 'The reporter who came down here the first night I was back. Remember?'

'I remember,' said Bella. 'He was nice. He knew how to talk to a lady.'

'Well he hasn't paid me everything yet. I don't want him pretending to his bosses that he's handed over all the money when he hasn't.'

'But he gave you a hundred quid,' said Bella, displaying a better memory for figures than McKirrop would have liked.

'But he was to give me another fifty when the story came out,' improvised McKirrop. 'It must be out by now.'

'And you'll give me twenty?'

'Right,' said McKirrop. 'We're friends aren't we?'

Bella smiled, pleased at the notion. 'Friends,' she repeated. 'When do we see this guy?'

'I haven't set up the meeting yet,' said McKirrop. 'I'm going to phone him and ask for my money.'

'I'll come with you,' said Bella, getting up unsteadily.

McKirrop managed to dissuade her by handing over some money. 'Why don't you get us a bottle and we can enjoy it because tomorrow there will be no drinking till after the meeting.'

Bella nodded sagely. 'Right,' she said. 'I always say that business and booze don't mix.'

McKirrop's palms were sweating as he put some change on the shelf beside the telephone in the booth. He dialled Sotillo's number, half hoping that there would be no answer.

'Hello?'

'I want to speak to the doctor please.'

'Who is this?'

'Doctor McKirrop.'

'One moment.'

McKirrop smiled at his little joke. He didn't have long to wait and could tell from the tentative way Sotillo answered the phone that he knew something was wrong. 'Doctor McKirrop?'

'Just McKirrop. I'm no more a doctor than you are a journalist Sotillo or would you prefer Rothwell?'

'Who is this?'

'I think you know well enough.'

'What do you want?' asked Sotillo.

'Money, a lot of it.'

'Why on earth should I give you money? I've given you quite enough already.'

'Because if you don't I'll start talking and I have a feeling that you wouldn't be too keen about that. Am I right?'

'Start talking?' snorted Sotillo. 'Start talking about what? Who'd be interested in the ramblings of a drunken sot like you?'

'Maybe the police, maybe a real reporter. After all it's a good story isn't it?'

'If you really think anyone will be interested in the babblings of an alcoholic misfit, go right ahead. You're welcome.' said Sotillo.

McKirrop had been prepared for this. He kept his cool and played his trump card. He said, 'Maybe they won't believe me at first Doctor but your library card will help convince them. Then when the rest of the gang describe you as the man who came down here pretending to be a journalist the police just might get round to asking you for an explanation.'

There was a long pause and it pleased McKirrop. There was some background noise and he knew it would be Sotillo checking to see if his library card was really missing from his coat.

'What exactly do you want?' asked Sotillo, his voice had changed to a low whisper.

'I told you,' said McKirrop. 'Money, a lot of it.'

'What's a lot?'

'Five thousand pounds,' said McKirrop, shutting his eyes as he jumped in blindly with both feet.

Sotillo spluttered out the figure and said, 'That's ridiculous. You must be out of your mind. I just might run to five hundred for the convenience of getting my card back you understand, but five thousand? You're crazy.'

'Please yourself,' said McKirrop matter of factly. He said it as if he was about to put the receiver down.

'Wait!' said Sotillo. 'Let me think for a moment.'

McKirrop was excited. He knew he was on the verge of getting exactly what he wanted. It made him think he should have asked for more. Still there would be other times . . .'

'All right,' agreed Sotillo. 'But I need time to get that sort of money.'

'Tomorrow,' said McKirrop.

'That's not enough time,' protested Sotillo.

'Tomorrow without fail.' That's what they always said in the films.

Sotillo sighed. 'All right,' he said. 'Come to the house at seven.'

'No,' said McKirrop. 'No house. Come to the canal, the bridge where we spoke last time. Seven o'clock.'

'Very well.'

McKirrop put down the phone and felt weak in the knees. He had done it! Five thousand pounds. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he'd get the lot. He was on his way to Provence. A year in Provence.

The O'Donnells lived on the eighth floor of a tower-block in Scotland Road. It was one of four blocks that stood in a square. The front two overlooked to the bypass that ran round the east side of town; the rear two had an uninterrupted view of the railway marshalling yards. The height of the buildings ensured that there was a permanent echo down on the tarmac square they enclosed.

A group of teenage boys were playing football on it as Lafferty approached Melia Court where the O'Donnells stayed. Their alternating laughter and curses drifted upwards on the night air. One of them noticed Lafferty's collar and started a sniggering chorus of, 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' to the spluttering amusement of his friends. 'Good Evening Boys,' said Lafferty facing them up. The heads went down and the football continued.

Lafferty held his breath all the way up in the lift lest the stench of urine should overwhelm him. The suggestion in spray paint on the corrugated metal wall of the 'vandal proof' car as to what should be done to the Holy Father barely registered with him. He had seen it so often before. The fact that Sharon loved Billy also failed to impress. The doors moved sluggishly back after an initial jerk and he stepped out on to the landing. He walked over to the balcony to take in a deep breath and the view.

The air wasn't fresh; it smelled of fried onions and emulsion paint. There was a whiff of diesel and exhaust coming from the bypass and a faint drizzle settled on his forehead as he stood motionless at the intersection between two walkways. Laughter and curses and the sound of a plastic ball hitting off tarmac drifted up from below to compete with a nearby television set and an argument between a man and a woman on the floor below. Lafferty walked along to the O'Donnell's door and rang the bell.

A woman appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a tea cloth. 'Father!' she exclaimed. 'I wasn't expecting you to call tonight.'

'Don't upset yourself Jean. I just thought I might have a word with Mary if she was in,' said Lafferty. 'If she's not or if it's inconvenient, there's no problem. We can fix up another time.'

'Oh, she's in Father,' said Jean O'Donnell, looking back over her shoulder with an uneasy air about her. 'Come in. I'll get her out of her room.'

Lafferty followed the diminutive woman in front of him into the living room. Twin boys, aged about ten were sitting on the couch watching television. 'Hello you two,' said Lafferty, sitting down opposite them. 'What are you watching?'

'Noel Edmunds,' replied one of them. His tone conveyed that they were not exactly pleased at being interrupted nor were they at any great pain to conceal the fact.

'Put that television off Neil,' commanded his mother. Father Lafferty has come to see us. Jean O'Donnell kept a fixed smile on her face as if hoping to counteract the surliness of her sons.'

'Maybe they can watch next door?' suggested Lafferty. 'Do they have a set in their room?'

Jean O'Donnell looked vaguely unhappy at the suggestion but the boys were off like a shot. 'It's not right,' she said. 'They shouldn't be watching television while you're here.'

Lafferty thought she seemed strangely vulnerable when she said it and could see what she was thinking. 'Times change Jean,' he said.

Jean O'Donnell nodded briefly, as if she didn't want to acknowledge something even when it was presented to her as fact. 'I'll fetch Mary,' she said and left the room.