Denise Mina - The Dead Hour

“It’s all colds and falls tonight, I’m afraid.”

The two women smiled at each other politely, inquired after one another’s families. Marcelli’s husband worked the oil rigs and spent two weeks offshore and two weeks on. She had the content, rested look she always had when he was away. Paddy guessed that they fought a lot when he was home.

She patted the counter and told Marcelli she’d see her tomorrow.

“I’ll see if I can rustle up a gang brawl for ye.”

“Cheers, Marcelli.”

She walked out of the department, through the lobby, and out to the cusp of the dark, dark night.

The sore-eared man was smoking a fresh cigarette at the doorway. Hunched against the cold, he caught her eye and smiled, a little hopefully, mistaking her frank stare for a come-on instead of rudeness born of exhaustion. Paddy glanced away, toward the calls car, and saw the red winking eye of Billy’s cigarette rise in the driver’s window. On the far side of the car a black shadow darted toward the road.

A scorching ball of orange light seared the delicate membrane of her eyes before she had time to blink. Paddy fell backward, tripping on a step, a hand over her eyes as she heard the back of her head crack on the stone step. Lafferty might be coming for her across the car park, he could have the hammer in his hand, the one he used to batter Vhari to death, but Paddy still couldn’t make her eyes open or get up to run away. Blind as a newborn puppy, she curled into a ball and waited for him. She heard the fire in the calls car whoosh and crackle, felt the wet of the frost on the step biting her cheek.

Someone was running toward her, urgent footsteps slapping on linoleum, and a sudden wordless cry. The feet were coming from inside the hospital, and were joined by others, a lot of people, flooding into the car park. Nurses and ambulance crews were running past her to the car. Billy was in the car.

Paddy sat up, holding the wall as she pulled herself onto her feet and stood up on unsteady legs. She could still feel the heat from the fire on her face as she forced her eyes open. Every window in the car was cracked and broken, angry orange flames lapping the roof. The driver’s door lay open and Billy was on the ground, his body obscured by a gathering of medics. Protruding between two sets of legs lay a charred arm, the fingers skinned red, curled into a tight claw.

A shoulder bumped hers and startled her into spinning around. It was the sore-eared man standing inside the door, flattened against one of the cold marble pillars, the bandage on his ear hanging crazily at the side of his head, hinged by white tape.

She grabbed his arm and shook him. “Did you see him? Did you see who it was?”

He shook his head at her, pointing at her lips, asking her to slow down because he couldn’t hear. She pointed out to the blackness and commotion and the burning car, being tackled by porters throwing buckets of sand over it.

“A guy ran out,” he said. “In the shadows, couldn’t see his face. Dressed in dark clothes. Crept up to the car. I didn’t shout, I thought he was playing a joke on his pal in the car. I looked at you and then back. Creeping up to the window. Arm up, threw something in the window. Next thing-” He made the sound of an explosion and staggered back.

“Was he a big guy? Was his head shaved?”

He shrugged. “He looked like a big, bald bastard.”

Paddy sat in the canteen at the top of the Daily News building, watching morning break over the dirty city, blankly eating her way through another chocolate bar. Sugar for shock, that’s what her mum said. That’s why they always made each other sweet tea in films about the war. Sugar for shock.

Her head was thrumming, her eyes kept drying out so much she had to sit with them shut for minutes at a time. She thought she might have a lot of soot in there.

She took another bite. All she could think or care about was Billy. The attacker had mistaken Billy for her, which meant he didn’t know what she looked like. Billy’s wife would be at the hospital now. His wife that he fought with all the time and the son he didn’t like anymore, standing next to him, claiming him.

They were alone in the big canteen; Scary Mary and her helpers wouldn’t be in for another hour and the room was cold and quiet.

“I’m telling you again: it was Bobby Lafferty.”

The three policemen sat in a rough circle around the canteen table, nodding disbelievingly. They had been listening to her patiently for an hour and a bit, she couldn’t be sure how long. Their tea was cold, anyway. They all looked the same to her, a big, square, disbelieving face. She knew perfectly well why they were staying with her, pretending to listen to answers she’d already given them.

“So,” said one, “let’s go through this again: why would a heavy like Bobby Lafferty want to kill you?”

“I’ve told you that already.”

He grunted and looked out of the window. “Lafferty didn’t kill the Bearsden Bird. The guy who did that killed himself. We pulled him out of the river last week. So why would Lafferty come after you?”

“I told you, ask Sullivan.”

“And we told you that we called Sullivan. He doesn’t know what you’re on about either.”

Paddy took another disconsolate bite of chocolate. She couldn’t be bothered chewing. The clump of thick chocolate melted in her mouth, coating her tongue until she moved it and generated some saliva.

Sullivan wasn’t on her side at all. She had begun to doubt him as they stood in the dark room and watched Lafferty being questioned. It wouldn’t take a genius-level IQ for Lafferty to work out that she was the only witness to what had gone on in the Bearsden house, and the note was the only thing he and the good-looking man hadn’t wiped before they left it. Lafferty had been released shortly after she left Partick Marine. Sullivan hadn’t even contacted her to let her know and now he wouldn’t back her up and admit that Lafferty was a danger. She couldn’t go home. If Lafferty had found her at the hospital, he’d find her home address and follow her there.

“What about the ear guy in the hospital car park? He saw someone who fitted the description.”

The officer sighed patiently. “We’ve told you already that we can’t find him.”

She sat up and looked at them. “He was treated in the emergency room for a sore ear. Marcelli always takes a name and address. He waited to talk to the police afterward. He saw the guy who did it and you’re telling me you can’t find him?”

The three officers each evaded her eye in turn.

Paddy felt as if she had been awake since the Middle Ages. “What would you do if you were me?”

No one said anything.

“How long is it until your shift finishes, then? Another twenty minutes?”

They glanced guiltily at each other and one of them smiled.

“So, if you sit here pretending to listen to me for another ten minutes, by the time you get back to the station it’ll be time to clock off?”

The man nearest bristled at the accusation. “Don’t get smart with us, Miss Meehan.”

“Look, Lafferty threw a pint of petrol in on Billy, and I can’t go home until you pick him up. I’m giving you his name. I can get his address if you like-if it would help. Am I not entitled to protection from the police? What if he hurts my family?”

The indignant one blinked slowly. “You’re a crime journalist, Miss Meehan, you’re bound to piss a lot of people off. Bad people.”

“So, it’s just a free-for-all? Does that make me a legitimate target, then? What about Billy? What did he do wrong?”

They were tired too, and so close to the end of their shift it was hardly worth their while engaging with a stroppy bird. One officer sat back, pushing himself away from the table and swinging on two legs of his chair. “I think you know a mate of mine. I heard you’re close friends.” He snickered at the ground.