Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

‘Oh, bugger off.’

I pulled a little leather case out of my pocket and tossed it onto the bed. ‘You’ll need that too.’

He reached for it. Flipped it open, and squinted at the warrant card inside with his one good eye. ‘Why have you got my-’

‘Because — that’s why. Now, up!’

We helped him out of bed, wrangled his arms into the dressing gown. It was about three sizes too small, gaping open across his belly, but it’d have to do. I liberated the old guy’s tartan slippers too. ‘Put those on.’

The tartan shorts that came with the T-shirt stopped just above Shifty’s knees. His legs were crisscrossed with purple welts and sticking plasters.

He clutched the warrant card to his chest. ‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see.’

The crying woman was gone from the lift as we rode up to the top floor.

Shifty picked at the stitching of the borrowed dressing gown. ‘I… Thanks.’

‘You’d do the same for me.’

Alice nodded. ‘All for one.’

The lift mechanism whirred and clanged.

He curled his top lip. ‘They’re releasing me later. Here’s a pack of antibiotics and some painkillers. Don’t let the door hit your arse on the way out.’

‘Do you want to stay at the flat? It’s paid up till the end of the month and Alice doesn’t want to go back there.’

A shudder rippled its way through Shifty’s body. ‘If I never set foot in Kingsmeath again it’ll be too soon.’

The number ten lit up on the board, the lift doors slid open and we stepped out onto the penthouse floor.

No cracked linoleum held together with duct tape here. Instead, there were carpet tiles, flowers in vases, and decent paintings on the walls. Quiet and exclusive. The scent of garlic and butter wafted down the corridor.

Shifty sniffed. ‘Bloody hell, it’s all right for some, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what you get for not having health insurance.’

The young bloke behind the teak reception desk, smiled at us, eyebrows raised, head on one side. ‘I’m sorry, but this floor is reserved for private-’

‘Police.’ I flashed my expired ID. ‘You have a patient here: one Mrs Maeve Kerrigan. Gunshot wound and her eye gouged out.’

‘Ah…’ He reached for the phone. ‘Perhaps I should just-’

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t.’ I leaned in close and he shrank back. ‘Where?’

He pointed over his shoulder. ‘Room twenty.’

I limped down to the end of the corridor with Shifty and Alice in tow.

The rooms on either side were more like hotel suites — each had a little seating area with a couch and a coffee table, a large flatscreen TV, iPod dock, floor-to-ceiling windows, patio doors and a narrow balcony. Most of the occupants sat at their own little dining tables, eating whatever lunch was, with a view out over the city.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

Left at the end.

Eighteen.

Two men stood in the corridor. One tall with a ginger ponytail poking out from beneath a crown of white bandages, two big black eyes. The other was short and stocky, his scalp covered in tiny scars beneath the stubble. Just the one black eye for him, but he was on crutches — his shattered left leg encased in plaster from hip to toe.

Joseph and Francis.

Francis nodded. ‘’Spector.’

‘Francis.’

Joseph gave us a little smile. ‘Ah, Mr Henderson. I’m sorry to announce that our acquaintance must come to an end. Francis and I shall be taking our leave of Oldcastle and setting off for pastures new. What you might call the Costa del Far, Far Away.’

His partner nodded. ‘Spain, and that.’

I rolled my shoulders. ‘Worried about what’ll happen when I come after you?’

‘Oh, bless you, no. Let us just say that Mr Inglis is somewhat less than pleased with the result of our recent assignments for Mrs Kerrigan. He feels we should have been more rigorous in our protection of the organization as a whole.’ A shrug. A wince. ‘And so away we must go, before he decides an example needs to be made.’

I stepped in close. ‘Run far, and run fast. Because if you’re still here in five minutes I’m going to make good on my promise. Remember?’

The smile became a grin. ‘You’re going to break every one of my fingers and make me eat them?’

‘I told you not to touch her.’

‘Ah, Mr Henderson, I’m going to miss our little chats. They’ve been the highlight of my days.’ He held up a finger. ‘Francis, I believe it’s time for us to exit stage right. Say goodbye to Mr Henderson.’

A nod. ‘’Spector.’

And they were gone, the sound of Joseph’s crutches thunking against the carpet fading away down the corridor.

Shifty curled his hands into fists. ‘Did you see that? Like I wasn’t even bloody here. Should go after the bastards and rip their arms off.’

I pointed towards the door, two down on the left. ‘I’ve got something better in mind. Trust me.’

The sound of classical music came from the other side of the door. I didn’t bother knocking, just pulled it open and limped inside.

Mrs Kerrigan sat at her private dining table, head down, hands in her lap. A thick wad of gauze covered her right eye. The tape holding it in place looked a hell of a lot tidier than the stuff on Shifty’s head. Her right foot was wrapped in bandages from toe to ankle, just visible through the tail of a long silk dressing gown.

A thick fillet steak sat untouched on the plate in front of her.

The man sitting opposite shrugged. A sweep of grey hair lay across his collar, the top of his head freckly and pink where it had receded. Dark-blue pinstripe suit and white shirt, big antique watch on his thick wrist. Not the tallest of men, but broad, powerful. Andy Inglis.

His accent was solid Glaswegian shipyard. ‘Nothing personal.’

Mrs Kerrigan’s head dipped even further.

He pulled himself up to his full five four. Sighed. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

She raised one shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

Then he turned. Stared at me with his mouth hanging open. ‘Ash? Ash Henderson, you old bastardo !’ He came forward, much lighter on his feet than he looked. Skipped back a couple of paces, fists up, then forward again. Threw a couple of jabs that would’ve taken teeth with them if he’d been aiming. ‘Good to see you, man, when’d you get out?’

‘Sunday.’

‘You should’ve said! Got this great wee restaurant on Cairnbourne now, you should come: my treat.’

I looked past him. Mrs Kerrigan hadn’t moved. She reached up and wiped a hand across her good eye.

The smile on his face drooped a little. He nodded at Shifty. ‘This the boy?’

Shifty held out his warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector David Morrow.’

‘Good for you.’ Andy Inglis placed a hand in the small of my back and steered me out into the corridor. Lowered his voice. ‘Just between you and me-’

‘If it’s about the money, I haven’t got it. OK?’

His eyebrows went up. ‘Money?’

‘The thirty-two thousand. Mrs Kerrigan says I owe-’

‘Don’t be daft.’ He pulled his chin into his neck. ‘Ash, we wrote off your debt when your daughter died. You had enough on your plate without that.’

‘You…’ I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Knuckles aching as they snarled into fists. No debt. She stood there and pushed and gouged and lied.

‘ Did ye really think I’d stop feckin’ with ye just because ye got out of prison? ’

When I opened my eyes, Andy Inglis was frowning at me. ‘You OK?’

‘Thank you.’

He shook his head. ‘Nah, what are friends for?’ A hand like a wrecking ball patted me on the shoulder. Then he looked back towards Mrs Kerrigan’s room. ‘You here to arrest her, or kill her?’