Part 24 (1/2)
Her eyes bugged out like a frog on a promise.
”I was on the bridge. He hit me in the side, knocked me into the river. When I got back out I rang you. The rest you know now.”
”You're having me on. Gonzo's outside, isn't he? Having a laugh. You're a sick f.u.c.ker, Harry.”
First anger, then denial she was ploughing through the cla.s.sic symptoms at a rate of knots. I pulled the fleece over my head, unb.u.t.toned the Puffa, hauled my sweater and s.h.i.+rt off. The blood on the edge of the bandage was dry and crusty but there was still a dark pool of thin raspberry jelly at its centre.
She stared at me for a long time, forehead furrowed, searching my face for the tic or tremor that might suggest I was playing a bizarre joke. I shrugged.
”I'm sorry, Dee. That's the way it happened.”
Her shoulders shook, then the sobs ballooned their way to the surface and she bawled like a stubborn calf. I went around the table, put my arm around her shoulders but she shrank away, folding her arms, cradling herself. Then the shock hit, a runaway train. She put her arms on the table and cried into them until the nervous energy finally evaporated. She sat up, her face the colour of raw liver, snuffling and tugging at her sleeve for a non-existent paper tissue. I gave her a sheet of kitchen towel and she buried her face in it. Finally, nose blocked and voice m.u.f.fled, she asked: ”Why?”
”That's what I don't know.”
”Well... who?”
”That's what I don't know as well.”
”Do you know anything?”
”I know we have to keep a cool head and dry trousers until we figure out what's going on.” I handed her a dry sheet of kitchen towel. ”No sense in us b.i.t.c.hing at one another. We have to think of Ben.”
She took a deep breath, let it out slow, dabbed at her eyes.
”Okay, okay. Christ.” She thought for a second. ”What do the Guards say?”
”They're following a couple of leads.” I softened my tone. ”Hey, Dee?”
I reached out, took her hand. It was shaking. She didn't pull back, but she didn't respond when I squeezed it either.
”It's going to be okay,” I said. ”All we have to do is sit tight. We don't go out, we don't answer the phone. We don't even open the curtains.”
”Jesus, Harry.” She sounded helpless, the kind of lost they don't have maps for. ”Gonzo's dead.”
”We can deal with that later, Dee. Nothing we can do about it now.”
Her lip curled.
”You're a cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Harry,” she said. ”A cold and crippled b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You know that?”
”I do now. Can you hear Ben?”
Her eyes widened.
”Ben! Jesus!”
She went to look for Ben. I scouted out the cupboards for something edible. I settled for some soup, a sandwich and a gla.s.s of Maalox, turning the mobile on when I'd finished. It was almost three-thirty.
The phone rang before I had a chance to dial Dutchie's number, letting me know I had a message waiting. There were two. The first was from Dutchie, telling me Conway was dead. I thought about Conway for about three seconds, his cold, black piggy eyes. Then the second message arrived. It was from Katie.
”Harry ”
A northern voice, deadpan, cut in.
”The Odeon, ten bells. Play it straight and everyone walks away.”
I heard a gentle click, the sound of a giant jigsaw piece slotting neatly into place. I looked at the picture and wanted to cry, then wasted half-an-hour trying to think of people I could trust, coming up with a one-name list, but then I have high standards. I made the call and filled in the details, devised a plan. I turned the mobile off, not feeling entirely confident.
Denise came back in, red-eyed. I rolled a smoke, braced myself. Told her I was heading back to town.
”You're what?” She was angry, bewildered and scared. I could empathise. ”You said we were going to sit tight. Don't even open the curtains, you said.”
”I said you were going to sit tight,” I lied. ”I have to go back to town.”
”Why, for Christ's sake?”
”That doesn't matter.”
”Doesn't matter?” She was distraught, working herself into a frenzy. I couldn't blame her. I was pretty strung out at the prospect myself. ”Someone tried to kill you last night and the reason you're going back doesn't matter? What are you, suicidal?”
”I need to get us sorted. To get us somewhere safer than this.”
It was a bargain-bas.e.m.e.nt answer and Denise wasn't buying.
”What can you do back there that you can't do from here?” She thought for a second, and her face took on a stricken expression. ”And why do we need somewhere safer? What's wrong with here?”
And suddenly I was tired again, my nervous system steeling itself for the onslaught of adrenaline.
”You wouldn't understand, Dee.”
”I wouldn't understand?”
There was menace in her voice, the implication impossible to ignore, but Katie had something I needed, something Denise couldn't give me, and you only start that kind of conversation with a woman once. You don't get to finish it, either.
”What number were you ringing this morning?” I asked.
”What?”
”The mobile number, Dee. What number did you ring?”
She told me, sullen.
”It's oh-eight-four,” I said. ”Not oh-eight-three.”
”You told me oh-eight-three.”