Her voice came echoing behind me. And one more thing: you ll feckin regret stickin a gun in my face. Should ve pulled the trigger, Constable Henderson. Trust me on that.
I clunked back through the turnstiles Arabella still had her chip-pan face in her book, lips moving as she read. She didn t look up as I slumped past.
Seven thousand, one hundred pounds. Three and a half by Wednesday, the rest the week after. That weight was back, pressing down on my chest. Seven thousand, one hundred pounds. Everything I d done the extortion, the car, the jewellery, the cash and I still couldn t see out of the pit. And Mrs Kerrigan was merrily shovelling dirt in on top of me.
My pulse pounded in my throat, lungs fizzing, fingers tingling. Jesus
Outside the sunshine had disappeared, leaving a cold wind behind that whipped crisp packets, dust, grit, and leaves into a drunken dance. The protesters were gone and so was their minibus, but steam curled from the open hatch of Bad Bill s Burger Bar. The big man was scraping mayonnaise out of a jar and into a squeezy bottle, while Dr McDonald stood at the counter drinking from a polystyrene cup.
Seven thousand, one hundred pounds.
She looked up, saw me, and waved.
Deep breath. Straightened my back. Walked over there as if something wasn t chewing its way through my stomach.
Bill unscrewed the top from one of the brown sauce bottles.
Still in one piece, then.
I nodded at Dr McDonald. You ready to go?
Bill gave me some hot chocolate. She held up her cup. It s got marshmallows in it.
The big man poured a hefty measure of vinegar into the bottle.
Katie s been telling me what a great dad you are. She s a good kid. You re lucky my eldest is a wee shite.
I stopped. Opened my mouth. But Dr McDonald got there first.
That s what I keep telling Mum, but she never believes me. Big grin. She swigged from the cup, then placed it on the counter. Thanks, Bill, it s been fun talking to you.
He smiled, his chin disappearing into a roll of neck fat. My pleasure, darling. Good luck with university. Then he dug beneath the counter and chucked something to her. Gotta keep your strength up.
Back in the car she unwrapped the muesli bar. He s nice.
I gripped the steering wheel. You re not Katie.
A sigh. I know, but it made him happy, didn t it, and you didn t exactly disabuse him of the notion when you left me with him, did you, so I played along. It was your idea really.
She had a point. The Renault s suspension squeaked and groaned as we crossed the rutted car park. How come, with me you re this rambling gibbery wreck, but with Bill you re like a normal person?
Are you going to tell me who this Mrs Kerrigan is?
No. I took a left onto Angus Road, heading back towards Castle Hill.
No. No I don t. The flat-faced woman with the frizzy blonde hair ushered us outside. Then peered down the stairs towards the road. Wrinkled her top lip. And can you not do something about those horrible people? She ducked back inside and closed the door.
McDermid Avenue can t have been much above freezing. The sky had gone the colour of charcoal, streaked with fire as the sun sank towards the hills. I stuck my hands deep into my pockets, hunched my shoulders. How many s that?
Dr McDonald scored the woman s name off the list, then blew a foggy breath into stripy woollen gloves. Another twenty-six to go.
Those horrible people were parked in a collection of tatty vehicles on the other side of the street, the shiny black eyes of their cameras pointing at us. Carrion crows looking for a fresh kill. At least they d stopped pestering us for quotes.
I followed Dr McDonald three doors down to the next address on the list. A people-carrier moved along a couple of parking spaces. Click. Click. Click. You d think they d have something better to do with their time: catching politicians shagging their mistresses, rapist footballers getting hair extensions, D-list celebrity s secret boobs-out shame
Number fifty-two had a Volkswagen camper van sitting outside gleaming paintwork, not a spot of rust, personalized number plate.
Dr McDonald marched up the stairs and rang the bell.
A man in a dark-blue anorak clambered out of the people-carrier and hurried across the road, big digital camera in one hand, some sort of Dictaphone in the other. Hairy; no chin; pointy nose. Half monkey, half rat. He locked eyes with me then froze, one foot on the pavement. Opened and shut his mouth a couple of times. A pale strip of sticking plaster crossed the bridge of his nose, a bruise leaking out from underneath. That d be where I d smacked him in the face with his own camera.
Frank somebody Jennifer s photographer. Which meant she probably wasn t that far away. As if my luck wasn t crap enough already.
He took a step back. I Cleared his throat. I didn t want to file a complaint, it was all Jennifer s idea I made sure they dropped the charges
Car doors clunked shut on the other side of the street. The murder was gathering: scenting something to feed on.
