Denise Mina - Resolution

He lay in bed with his two blankets over him, hands behind his head, and watched the bulb, waiting for lights-out. Maureen O'Donnell smoking a cigarette, her lips sucking gently on the filter, her cheeks drawing in, a lick of smoke trying to escape from her nostril. The video clicking into the machine, the picture lighting up the screen, and Maureen not wanting to watch it but unable to stop because it was a film of her old chum. She would know it was from him. She'd be terrified when she appeared in court, knowing that she didn't have the measure of him, not by half. It was a pleasing image and Angus had his friend to thank for that.

Lying in his tidy single bed, Angus Farrell looked up at the sickly light from the bare bulb and smiled again, his teeth smeared pink with blood.

The car slowed as it approached the red light. It was dark now and a blanket of clouds covered the fat white moon. Maureen had sobered up and the chill sweat had dried on her back, leaving her feeling dirty and spent. Joe had been worried because she was drunk and wouldn't let her leave without an escort. It was only when Liam walked in through the lobby doors that she realized Joe had been counting on her calling him. He made some snide remarks about junkies and Tonsa and let them go, calling to Maureen that he'd see her next week, if not before. Liam waved at him, smiling superciliously as if Joe were his slightly confused granny.

Maureen could ask Mark Doyle about Tonsa. She'd seen them having a drink together in Brixton the year before and was sure that he'd know what Tonsa was into now. She just wasn't sure he would tell her. The car engine spluttered and stopped. Liam sighed and pulled out the choke, revving the engine until it started again. He raised a placating hand to the driver behind him and took off. "What was that Tonsa crack about?"

"Joe McEwan thought I was up at the guy's house because he's Tonsa's brother."

Liam turned to look at her. "Tonsa's got a brother?"

"Yeah, a dead creepy one. I think he runs a brothel. He's a bit of a gangster."

Liam pulled up outside her house and parked nimbly on the corner. "He doesn't sound like a gangster if he saw you outside his house and called the police."

"He might not have known it was me, though." She lowered her voice. "Joe mentioned the assault again."

"I told you it was crap."

"I know, I know," she said, too insistently.

"Mauri, Tonsa's made allegations left, right and center. Remember her mental boyfriend got slashed and she went to the papers with it? She said it was the UDA."

"Listen, we've got a wedding tomorrow."

"Advertising herself all over the town. What wedding?"

"Kilty's brother's wedding."

"Auch, shit. I forgot all about that. Kilty's family would have loved all this, wouldn't they?"

Leslie was sitting in the dark, her legs tucked into the sleeping bag and a cigarette burning in the saucer next to her. She was hugging her knees and rocking slightly when they opened the door, tear tracks streaked down her face. Around her in the living room were bin bags of clothes and tapes and shoes. She was in for the long haul.

Maureen carried all the bedding she could find through to the front room, spread the duvets over the floor and brought in a big pot of tea and cups, slipping some whiskey into her own. They sat up through the dawn, smoking fags and drinking tea, talking about Cammy and telling Liam about Si McGee and poor dead Ella and the door caved in from the inside. Maureen told them about the hand-delivered letters and the pictures, and Liam and Leslie looked at them and agreed that they were probably from Angus. Liam offered to watch the video in his house and tell her what was on it.

Insistent birds were chorusing and the sky was smeared pink and blue like Cinderella's dress as they nodded off. It had been such an eventful night that it didn't occur to Maureen to ask Liam why he had wanted to see her so much and Liam hadn't had the heart to tell her.

Poor Relations

They woke up an hour before they were supposed to be outside Kilty's house picking her up. Liam rushed home and came back thirty minutes later looking little better than when he left. He hadn't shaved and was dressed in a black jacket and a secondhand kilt in dark Gordon dress tartan. The kilt was water damaged and the pleats didn't sit properly. From the back it looked like a puffball skirt. Maureen had thrown on a tarty pink dress she bought in a sale when she was at university and had never worn. Leslie borrowed a pencil skirt and a tight red linen shirt that yearned for an iron. They looked as if they were leaving a wild party instead of heading for a tame one.

Liam took the mystery video and pictures of the children to get them out of Maureen's house. On the way down to the car Maureen bought cans of juice and chocolate bars for breakfast. The girls put on their makeup in the car, taking turns with the magnifying mirror and mascara when the car came to a stop at traffic lights. Maureen dabbed so much concealer and foundation over the bags under her eyes that she just looked dirty.

They could tell Kilty was nervous by the way she was swinging a plastic bag and checking the traffic up and down the road. She looked magnificent in a long green vintage dress with a matching silk flower in her hair and a pink angora shoulder muff. Her jaw dropped as she approached the car. "Christ Almighty," she said, "did you crash on the way over?"

Liam drove as fast as he could up through Anniesland and Drum-chapel, past concrete rural ghettos on the outskirts of the city and along the motorway to Loch Lomond. They were early so they stopped by the roadside and straightened themselves out, drinking the fizzy juice and smoking fags as Kilty picked at marks on their clothes, combed their hair and fixed their makeup mistakes. She took rose buttonholes out of the plastic bag and pulled the wet tissue from the stems, pinning them where they were needed to hide stains. Liam yanked the ripped roof down on the car, bagged up all the old fag packets, ginger cans and sandwich wrappers, and threw a blanket over the backseat to hide the rips in the leatherette. Kilty hid the bag of rubbish in a bush by the roadside. By the time they took off, they looked like real people on their way to a wedding they gave a shit about.

It was a spired, single-story church on the banks of the loch. The village was composed of pretty bungalows built from local stone and ended in a wooden jetty out to the loch. It was a mile deep with strong undercurrents, notorious for dragging unsuspecting swimmers to their death. The deceitful water flashed a pretty silver, like fish skins in aspic. Across the loch loomed high, sudden hills, carpeted in green suede. Occasional whitewashed houses nestled near thickets of trees. Liam parked by the walled churchyard between a Merc and a BMW.

The people corralled inside the low wall were of their own age but better off and much better groomed. The men wore kilts or smart suits in cool summer colors. The women were dressed in an array of expensive dresses and hats, damp patches vivid under their arms and down their backs. Maureen walked through the gate into a haze of expensive perfumes, sweet and lingering, like the alien scent of certainty. Everyone was loud and excited.

A few people greeted Kilty as she approached, smiling to hide their ambivalence. They called her Kay and apologized for not having seen her since she got back. They glanced behind her, assessing Maureen, Liam and Leslie, deeming them unworthy of interest. A kilted man shaped like a cube ran towards Kilty and gave her an unwelcome hug, leaving his arm around her shoulder while she introduced him as Tugsy. "Brilliant to meet you all," he said, trying hard to smile at the alarmingly scruffy threesome, then backed off. "Andy's inside."