G. Moffat - Blindside

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She shrugged in his embrace.

‘You’ve got Becky now,’ she said.

Logan gently eased her away from him and faced her.

‘Your mum was special to both of us,’ he said. ‘Becky knows that. You could have told me.’

She looked down at the phone and back at him. She surprised him by saying okay, leaning in and kissing his cheek before getting up to plug in her hairdryer.

She was stronger than him, that was for sure. And he loved her all the more for it.

Armstrong had left Pitt Street after the interview with the two uniforms — telling Irvine that he wanted to catch up on his other work. He promised to be back before five to go and see Suzie Murray with her.

Irvine typed up statements for the officers and filled out internal reports. She hated the paperwork and it took her more than three hours to finish all of it. Sometimes she thought that modern policing was more about documenting what was done — rather than actually doing it.

She called Jim Murphy at four in the afternoon to chase up the post-mortem results and to see if anything of note had turned up from the lab analysis of whatever was found at the locus.

‘I think the drug squad instincts are right,’ Murphy told her.

‘How so?’

‘Well, blood analysis isn’t back yet but I’m betting that she died from an overdose. I spoke to the pathologist and his preliminary view is that she wasn’t killed by someone. There are no signs of violence and no water in her lungs.’

‘She was dead when she went in the water?’

‘Yes.’

‘CCTV show up yet?’

‘No.’

‘Call over there and see if they can put a rush on it, will you.’

‘I’ll do it now. Talk later.’

Five o’clock came and went with no sign of Armstrong. The clock crept towards six, then past it. She called her mother to ask her to pick Connor up from the childminder and endured a lecture about parental responsibility. After that, she called Armstrong’s mobile and left a message on his voicemail to call her when he could.

Then it was six-thirty.

Her phone rang and she picked it up without looking to see who it was.

‘It’s about time,’ she said.

‘What?’

It was Logan.

‘I thought it was someone else.’

‘You waiting for a call? We can speak later if you like.’

‘No. No, it’s fine. I’m a bit frustrated. Are you still planning on coming over later?’

‘I am. It’s just that, well, I wanted to ask you about something. About the phone you got for Ellie.’

She’d forgotten about that.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Ellie asked me not to.’

‘She’s a kid, Becky. Did you not think I should have known about it? I could have helped her. I mean, who knew how she was going to react to hearing Penny’s voice. She could have regressed.’

‘What about Penny’s voice? You’re not making any sense, Logan.’

He told her about the message on the phone.

‘I didn’t know. How did she react?’

‘She’s fine.’

He sounded terse, angry.

‘I said I didn’t know,’ she told him, aware that he was reacting this way because he was upset — probably unsure how he felt himself about hearing Penny’s voice again.

He didn’t respond. She closed her eyes and rubbed at them with her free hand.

‘Listen, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘If I’d known about the message of course I would have talked to you about it first.’

He sighed.

‘We can talk about it later,’ she said. ‘I’ll call when I get home, like I said.’

‘Fine.’

Click

Was there any other word in the English language so often used to mean something entirely opposite to its meaning as fine? She didn’t think so.

She called Armstrong again, still pissed off at him. Got his voicemail and left a short message that she would go and see Suzie Murray on her own and he could meet her there if he liked.

She put on her jacket, grabbed her bag and headed out of the building.

Way to stay out of trouble.

Irvine stood outside Joanna Lewski’s building in Bridgeton. It was on the corner, three storeys built in red sandstone with a charity shop at street level and flats above. The sun was sinking in the sky and it glowed red-orange.

She looked at the address she had scribbled on a piece of loose paper. Lewski’s flat was on the top floor, back right. She went to the entrance door and was looking for the buzzer for the flat when she noticed that the door wasn’t locked. She pushed at it and it swung into the common hallway. She wasn’t much of a fan of the red and yellow paint job in Logan’s building, but this one had bare plaster walls in charcoal grey. She could barely see the stairs at the far end in the murky light cast down from the grimy window on the landing.

For a moment, Irvine thought about going home. This was something she could do tomorrow when Armstrong was with her. If he was happy to leave it tonight, maybe she should be as well.

Nothing to do with the less-than-inviting interior, of course.

She pushed the piece of paper into her bag and stepped into the hall.

‘Get on with it,’ she whispered.

Halfway along the hall she was startled by the sound of her mobile ringing.

‘Hey,’ Armstrong said. ‘Where are you? I thought we were going to see this Suzie Murray together.’

Irvine closed her eyes.

‘Before five you said. It’s now…’ she checked her watch — ‘nearly seven.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that. Had a bit of a domestic.’

‘You’re married?’

‘Why so surprised? But, no. It’s my girlfriend. Where are you?’

‘I’m at Murray’s building now. I was going to see her on my own.’

‘You want me to come too? I can be there in ten minutes.’

‘Do what you want. But I’m going up to her flat to get started. It’s late enough already.’

‘Go ahead. I’ll be there.’

Irvine put her phone away and walked to the stairs at the end of the hall. The dirty grey walls continued up to the next floor and, if anything, it looked even darker.

She started up the stairs and heard a noise above — like shouting. A male voice. She strained to hear but it had stopped and she wasn’t sure where exactly it had come from. It could have been at the end of the first floor hall or higher up. Sound echoed off the walls and down the stairs, distorted from its origin.

She waited for a moment and started up again when there was no further sound. The stairs were old stone, polished by the foot traffic that had passed over them since the place was built over a hundred years ago. The centre of each stair was dimpled where the heaviest traffic had worn it away. Irvine was careful to look where she was walking, one hand on the rail screwed to the wall for support.

As she neared the top of the stairs leading to the second floor she heard more noise. This time it was like a thump, followed by someone choking back a sob. It sounded like it was coming from the far end of the hall. Where Suzie Murray lived. Where Joanna Lewski had lived.

Irvine stepped up into the hall and looked along to the door of the flat. There was a narrow window seeping dirty yellow light from the streetlights outside.

She waited, straining to listen for any more sounds from down the hall. She thought she could hear whispers, but couldn’t be sure. There was another thump, this time definitely emanating from the flat she was going to visit. Irvine stepped back, wondering if maybe it would be a good idea to wait for Armstrong after all.

She turned to look back down the stairs, didn’t see the door to Suzie Murray’s flat slowly open, revealing the black interior of the flat.