Denise Mina - Garnethill

When she had come home from hospital she sat in the hall cupboard where Liam had found her and burned her hospital ID wristband and a photograph of her father in the grill pan. She got drunk on cherry brandy and dragged the mattress off the bed onto the floor, playing Beethoven's Ninth as loud as she dared and battering the mattress with her fists, working herself into a mindless frenzy, biting it until her teeth and jaw ached. Luckily, all the rips were on one side of the mattress. She turned it over when she put it back on the bed. She didn't tell anyone about it: to the uninitiated all ritual is laughable and meaningless. She had a feeling that it would take a lot of ritual to resolve Douglas.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," she said.

"Good idea," said Liam, and slipped into the close as soon as it was polite to do so.

Jim Maliano must have been looking out through his spy hole. When Maureen stepped into the close he threw open his door and leaped out. Liam jerked his head up in surprise and yelped.

"Sorry," said Jim, embarrassed at his unnecessarily dramatic entrance, "I didn't want to miss you."

Liam rubbed his sore neck and muttered "Prick" under his breath.

"How are you, Jim?" said Maureen.

"Fine," said Jim, wondering if he had misheard Liam. "How are you?"

"All right," she said.

Jim wasn't much taller than Maureen. He was slim except for a perfectly round belly, like a large prosthetic breast shoved up his jumper. Maureen wanted to like Jim, he had been so kind to her, but in the cold light of day he wasn't very likeable. His jumper was tucked fussily into his jeans and there was something irritatingly meticulous about the way he did his hair. It looked as if he had carefully bouffanted it over a bald patch on his crown, but he wasn't balding. And his Italianism seemed affected; like a dull man accentuating a single feature as a substitute for a personality.

He rustled them into his cluttered kitchen and filled an espresso machine with fresh coffee grounds. Maureen and Liam sat down at a pine table littered with pale hot-cup stains. They watched tiny Jim fix the coffee.

"Thanks for the offer of the lasagna," said Maureen politely.

"My mum told me to do that," he said. "She said that's what neighbors do when there's a death." He blushed vibrantly and apologized for mentioning that.

"Not at all. I appreciated the note, Jim, it was kind of you."

Jim turned back to the coffee machine, now spluttering the treacle liquid into cups. He opened a cupboard and took out a set of saucers and a side plate. "There was a policeman outside your door for days," he said, lifting a packet of amaretto biscuits out of a food cupboard. "The journalists arrived in the close the day after it happened. They were here all last week, asking everyone about you. I didn't think they could print anything about a court case that was coming up."

"There might not be a court case," said Maureen. "They haven't got anyone for it yet."

"Oh, that's great," he said, looking relieved. "I knew it wasn't you." He put the plate of amaretto biscuits on the table. They were individually wrapped in blue, red and green tissue paper, twisted at the ends like big sweets.

She was trying hard to like him, if only he weren't so affected. She asked him to describe the journalists and recognized the two men who had taken pictures of Liz. "They came to see me at work," she said. "We had to shut the office because of them."

"Yeah, those two were the worst," said Jim, handing them each a cup of coffee and standing on the other side of the table as he sipped his. "They knocked on old Mrs. Sood's door for ten minutes one night. She was terrified. I think the police should have told them to stop it, I mean, there was an officer outside your door the whole time, it wouldn't have taken much effort." He leaned forward and took a biscuit, unwrapped it delicately and bit through the middle. It wasn't big enough to warrant more than one bite. Maureen wanted to stand up and ram the rest of it into his mouth. "It's a good job you didn't come up yourself," he said, "or the journalists would have caught you."

"What do you mean?" said Liam.

"Well, the night they were banging on Mrs. Sood's door" – he gestured to Maureen – "that was the same night your pal came up and went into the house."

Maureen spoke slowly. "Which pal was this, Jim?"

"Didn't you send your pal up to the house?"

"No. Why do you think it was a pal of mine?"

Jim looked thoughtfully at Maureen as he ate the second half of his biscuit. He sat down at the table. "Listen," he said, watching his hands as he spread them on the table in front of him, "I know I sound like a nosy neighbor or something but it didn't seem right. I left the note under your door because I wanted to tell you about it." He smiled slyly. "It was a bit of a ruse. It wasn't really that I'd made too much lasagna although I've got some if you want it-"

"Just tell me what happened," said Maureen, curtly.

"Well," said Jim, "I heard a noise in the close, they were banging on her door and I was watching out of the spy hole and I saw your pal, the guy that comes up sometimes."

"What does he look like?" she said.

"Dark hair cut short, tall, about six foot. Broad on the shoulders. He had a leather jacket on."

"What did the jacket look like?"

"It was brown with a zip up the front," said Jim. "Wee collar and pockets at the side."

"That's Benny!" exclaimed Liam.

"Whisht a minute, Liam," said Maureen, and turned back to Jim. "Wasn't there a policeman at the door?"

"Yes, a uniformed officer, but as I was watching he left and your pal came up the stairs."

"Did they talk to each other?"

"No, no," said Jim. "I'll tell you what happened. I was listening to them banging, and watching through the spy hole, when I heard a couple of loud bangs in the back court and the policeman heard them too. He kept bending down to look out the landing window and I saw him talking into his walkie-talkie and go downstairs. The journalists were still banging on her door. I was waiting to see if the policeman would tell them to stop it when I heard someone walking up the stairs dead fast, like they were in a big hurry. So I looked out, expecting to see the policeman again but I saw that guy in the leather jacket and he was holding something in the jacket and looking at your door with his back to me but he was acting suspicious.

He went like this -" Jim cocked his head to the side like someone listening for something, but he was enjoying being the center of attention and smiled serenely, rolling his eyes heavenward like an ugly cherub with a stupid hairdo. "See?" continued Jim. "He was listening to my door to see if there was someone in here, so I knew he wasn't a policeman. So, anyway, he let himself in and came out again in a minute or so-"

"He let himself in? You mean he had a key?"

"Uh-huh, he had a key. I didn't know who it was but when he came back out he turned round and I saw his face."

"Okay," said Maureen patiently. "Did he have the thing in his jacket when he came back out?"

Jim thought about it. "No, he had two free hands when he came out." He waggled his hands in illustration. "Did he steal something? Is that why he was there?"

Maureen said she didn't know, she hadn't looked. "When was this, Jim?"

"Last Monday night," said Jim. "About eight."

Liam looked at her inquisitively. "What was going on then?"

"It was the night we watched Hard Boiled ," said Maureen.

"He came in with the jacket on that night," said Liam. " 'Member?"

"It just didn't seem right to me," said Jim, trying to get their attention again.

"Are you sure he had a key?" asked Maureen.

"Aye."

"You said he had something under the jacket. What sort of thing?"