Denise Mina - Garnethill

Inness said, "The tape was turned off at five-thirteen by the interviewee, Miss Maureen O'Donnell. Miss O'Donnell, did you just turn the tape off?"

"Yes, I did just turn the tape off."

"Do you want me to turn the tape off before we continue the interview?"

"Yes."

"Miss O'Donnell has requested that the tape recorder be turned off at this point in time," said Inness. "I am turning it off at five-fourteen and the interview will continue." He flicked the switch and turned excitedly to McAskill.

"I don't particularly want a tape of me telling you this," said Hugh, "but a young officer's facing disciplinary action over it. We went to see Brady and she gave us his name."

"Without blinking an eye," said Inness, taking another square of chocolate. "She just said his name and shut the door." He popped it in his mouth.

"Nice lady," said Maureen.

McAskill smiled. "Lovely."

"Where did the money in my account come from?"

Inness jumped in. "Mr. Brady emptied his own account. Took out thirty-odd thousand in big notes."

"God," said Maureen. "How does anyone get that much money in their account in the first place?"

"That's none of your business," said Inness defensively, his incisors smeared brown. Maureen looked at his bald top lip. He lifted his arm stiffly, rested his elbow on the table and cupped his hand over his mouth.

"He'd saved it over a number of years," said McAskill. "His wife didn't even know he had the account until he died."

Maureen took out her cigarettes and lit one. The smoke mingled with the sweet chocolate in her mouth, turning both tastes bad.

"Where do you think the rest of the money went?"

She shrugged, mulling over the lump of money in Siobhain McCloud's handbag. The other fifteen thousand couldn't be in there: it would take seven hundred and fifty twenties to make it up and the roll couldn't possibly have had that in it. "I dunno where it went. I suppose I'll have to give the money back?"

"No," said McAskill. "He gave it to you. It's yours."

She didn't know why Douglas had given it to her but she had a bad feeling about it. She didn't really want the money. "Does Mrs. Brady still think I did it?"

"Yeah," McAskill said. "She's not interested in any evidence, she's just certain it was you."

"Certain," echoed Inness, picking up another piece of chocolate.

McAskill nudged Inness and jerked his head toward the tape recorder. "Okay," he said, "I'm going to put the tape back on now, Maureen, if that's all right with you. I need a record of me telling you this next thing."

"Sure," said Maureen.

He turned on the tape. "Anyway, Miss O'Donnell, we have finished our examination of the house and you are welcome to return at your convenience."

"Right," said Maureen tentatively. "What happens about the mess? Do you clean it up or do I?"

"It's down to you, really. It should be covered on your home insurance. We only clean the place if the person living there can't clean it on their own, like a disabled or an old person."

"Right," she said, her heart sinking at the thought of her minimal house insurance. "I see. Is that it, then?"

McAskill looked at his notebook. "Yes," he said. "That seems to be all for now."

On the way down to the lobby she asked them if she could see Joe McEwan. Inness smirked. "I don't think he'll be too happy to see you," he said. "You weren't very ladylike the last time."

"I know. I wanted to apologize about that."

"We can tell him you're sorry," said Inness.

"Well, I'd really like to see him about something else as well."

McAskill disappeared through the double doors under the stairs. Inness gave her a dirty look, for no reason, and wandered off to chat to the policeman on reception. When McAskill came back he was smiling. "You've got two minutes," he said to Maureen.

McEwan followed him out of the door. "What can I do for you?" he said sharply.

Maureen led him away from the other two. "Listen, I wanted to ask you about something. Remember you said something about Benny's no pro case? Could you tell me what he was arrested for?"

"I certainly could not," he said, looking at her as if she'd just suggested he fuck a pig while she stabbed it. "I can't tell you what was on someone else's police record."

She should never have called him an arsehole. "Just asking," she mumbled.

"Was there anything else? I'm busy finding out about your brother."

"My brother didn't do it, Joe."

"We'll see," he said, meanly.

"Come on, he's got an alibi for the whole day."

He ignored her comment. "Was there anything else?" he asked.

"No, nothing else." fine.

McEwan swanned off back through the double doors, leaving them swinging, saloon-style, in his wake.

Inness was still chatting to the officer on the reception desk. McAskill sidled up to her, looking at the floor. "No pro," he said, his lips moving hardly at all, his voice a breathy whisper. "Inverness, nineteen ninety-three. Committed a breach outside a warehouse. Demanding money from a man. Six months afterward the same guy was arrested for running a stolen credit card operation covering the whole northeast. Your friend was very, very lucky he was done for breach. His case was decided before they found out what it really meant. He must have been working with the big boss."

"Could the psychiatrist who saw him have known this?"

"If your pal didn't tell him at the time he'd know afterward. It was all over the papers."

Maureen loved nonsensical stories and when Benny first got sober he used to keep her up nights telling her about his drinking. If it was an innocent incident he would have told her about it. "Thanks for telling me that, Hugh," she said. "It makes sense of some things."

He was showing her out of the door when she turned to him. "Hugh," she said, "why are you so nice to me?"

"I'm not that nice."

"But telling me about Benny, and the chocolate and stuff."

"You could have found out about your pal, it would just have taken a long time, but it's all a matter of public record."

"No, I mean, they all think I'm a mental bitch, why don't you?"

He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. "Ever thought about an incest survivors' group?" he said softly.

"Eh?"

"Tuesdays. Eight p.m. St. Francis, Thurso Street. Round the back." He let the glass door swing shut behind her.

She looked back into the station lobby. He was walking away.

She could have gone home but Douglas's key was still missing and calling out a locksmith on a Friday night would cost a fortune. She found a phone box by the main road and rang Liam's house. When he picked up the phone he sounded drunk and pissed off.

"Can I stay at yours tonight, Liam?"

"What about the filth?"

He only ever used stupid colloquialisms like that when he was pissed.

"I've just seen them, they won't come to the house, honest."

" I haven't got anything anyway " he said accusingly.

She checked her pockets to see how she was fixed and hailed a cab.

The blue Ford followed Maureen's cab up the Great Western Road, passing it slowly when it stopped at Liam's house. It turned the corner and parked in a side street. One police officer wrote down Liam's address while the other turned off the engine and settled back.

Liam lived on the grubby side of the West End. The four-story townhouse had been partitioned into gloomy bedsits when he bought it. He'd been doing it up gradually, working from the attic down. He had finished the first floor now but was reluctant to start renovating the ground-floor rooms. He'd kept the partition door at the foot of the stairs to make upstairs look like a separate flat and left the lower rooms scabby so that shady visitors wouldn't think there was anything worth stealing. He rarely sat downstairs. He tended to spend his free time upstairs in the enormous room at the front of the house, painted white with a stained wood floor and nothing in it but a Corbusier lounger and the eight-foot-long utility desk with his Mac on it.