Authors: Tony Black

Truth Lies Bleeding (4 page)

BOOK: Truth Lies Bleeding

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Brennan nodded. ‘We got the doc on site?’

‘He’s been and gone.’

‘Fucking hell. Already? Has he a holiday booked?’

The constable rubbed his cheek, tried to speak but couldn’t seem to find the right words.

‘Never mind,’ said Brennan. ‘Let’s get going.’

As he paced for the lane he was T-boned by a young woman with a digital recorder in her hand. She had just ducked under the blue-and-white tape and definitely wasn’t messing about. ‘Are you the investigating officer?’ she said.

Brennan looked at her then glanced to the uniforms. They pushed in front of her and grabbed her arms.

‘Get off me!’

‘Sorry about this, sir.’

Brennan watched the scene. The woman was early twenties, fresh-faced. She was also too eager for her own good.

‘Do you have an ID for the victim?’

She already had too much information.

‘Do you have any suspects on the girl’s death?’

Brennan felt a flush of heat in his chest; he clenched his jaw. The woman prised an arm free of the uniforms, pushed out the recorder’s mic. Brennan lifted a hand, covered the small, silver-coloured device. ‘You seem to know more than me, love.’

She tutted, near spat, ‘I’m not your
love
!’

Brennan smiled at her and walked away. Over his shoulder he said, ‘Got that right.’

A SOCO approached as he walked to the lane. ‘Morning, sir.’

‘Is it?’

The man dropped his brows. ‘Sir?’

Brennan stopped, nodding back to the scene he’d just left. ‘How did the fucking press latch onto this so soon?’

Now he raised his brows. ‘The press?’

‘That’s not a welcoming party from the
News
.’

The SOCO looked past Brennan. The young reporter was being escorted beyond the taped-off area. ‘Never seen her before.’

‘Get a good look. Sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of her. Trust me, I’m a good judge of character.’

The SOCO had no reply. He handed Brennan a pair of blue covers for his shoes.

‘Got some gloves?’ said the detective.

A shrug, shake of the head.

‘Typical. Come on then, let’s do this.’

Brennan strode past the officer, made for the lane. As he passed, the SOCO spoke out, ‘I should warn you, sir, it’s not a pretty sight.’

Brennan turned. ‘It never is, lad.’

Chapter 4

DEVLIN McARDLE RUBBED AN OPEN palm over his smooth head. The razor sting ignited with his touch but the satisfaction he felt with the close crop cancelled it out.

‘Nice one, just the job,’ he said.

The barber smiled, leaned in and brushed at McArdle’s shoulders. A few strands of stubble fell to the floor. McArdle turned down the corners of his mouth, pushed away the barber’s hand. ‘That’s enough, that’s enough.’ As he rose from the chair, the black robe was removed in one swift pull. He strode to the till, said, ‘How much?’

A shake of the head. ‘No charge, sir.’ The barber made a small cross over his heart. ‘Not for you, sir.’

McArdle smiled. It was only a small curl of the lip; he didn’t look used to it, and stopped it almost as quickly as it appeared. As he turned for the door he saw a thin man waiting outside for him. He was tugging nervously at the cord on his jogging trousers. There was a tic queuing on his eyelid and he brushed at it with a speed that looked unnatural. Jumpy, the man was jumpy. Even more than usual, if that was possible. His whole demeanour said trouble – he was either in some kind of bother, or about to be.

At the door the man tried to catch McArdle’s attention. He leaned forward and made a gesture with his shaking hand. McArdle ignored him, walking out the door and onto London Road. The street was busy. It was early afternoon; giro day at the post office had attracted a crowd. As McArdle walked he felt his thighs rub together. He had the squat build of a weightlifter, could handle himself: they called him ‘the Deil’. Those that didn’t know him thought it was a contraction of Devlin, a play on the Scots for
Devil
, but those who did know him knew the name was hard earned. McArdle liked people to know that about him.

The thin man followed him up the road. McArdle caught sight of him shuffling into doorways and under scaffolding as he tried to keep a respectful distance. He had told Barry Tierney never to stop him in the street; he’d warned the loser more than once. He felt his feet stamping harder with every step, wished he hadn’t put on trainers – boots would have been better for bursting this stupid prick’s head. His shoulders tensed as a haar shot up Maryfield on its way to the tourists trekking Arthur’s Seat. He crossed over the road, onto West Norton Place, and took the side street at the old tech college. He turned to see Tierney pegging it up behind him. McArdle ducked into wasteground behind a Shell garage and waited. In a few moments he started to hear the shuffling gait, the heavy breathing. He reached out and pulled Tierney into the back of the disused building.

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

Tierney flinched, brought hands up to his head. ‘I’ve got money . . . I’ve got money.’

McArdle slapped him; one slap, it toppled him. Tierney fell to the ground and curled up. ‘I’m sorry . . . I know you said, but I’ve got money.’ He dug in the pockets of his torn Adidas hoodie. ‘Here, here . . .’ It was forty, maybe fifty pounds.

McArdle snatched it. ‘What’s this?’ He slapped the notes and his fist off Tierney’s head. The force of it scraped his knuckles. Blood streamed from a gash on the thin man’s forehead. ‘You’re into me for more than fifty quid!’

‘I know . . . I know . . . I just thought—’

‘You thought what?’ McArdle stamped his foot on his ribcage. Tierney coughed heavily. ‘I’ll tell you when to think, y’piece of shit. Get it? . . . Eh? Get it?’ McArdle was ready to end Tierney’s days but the noise of a car parking up at the Shell garage changed his mind. He leaned forward, grabbed Tierney by the neck and yanked him to his feet.

‘Look, I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, I’ve got your money . . . I can soon get all of it!’

McArdle released his grip, poked Tierney’s chest. ‘What are you on about?’

Tierney gasped, stepped back. ‘When, y’know, Vee and me had that deal with you – remember that time?’

McArdle’s lower lip drooped. He was confused. Was Tierney saying what he thought he was? ‘You mean you and Vee . . . ? You’re not saying you want to pay me off like that again?’

Tierney stepped back. His face twitched and ticced as he brushed himself down with his bony fingers. ‘Yeah, yeah. I mean, no . . . last time you paid more than that. More than we owe you.’

McArdle put out a hand, resting it on Tierney’s shoulder. He was interested enough, but unsure if he could trust him. ‘This isn’t some bloody scam, ’cause if it is, I’ll burst you all over this town.’

Tierney double-blinked, quick movements, unnatural. ‘No. Straight up.’

‘And you want to sell to me?’

‘Sell, yeah. We do.’

McArdle closed his mouth, brought a hand up to his head. He ran fingertips over his crown – the tight cut of the razor felt good to the touch. He walked away from Tierney; he didn’t trust him. He was trash, a junkie. His girlfriend was a junkie too, hardly the type to be doing any sort of business with, never mind one like this.

‘Are you sure Vee’s game for this?’

Tierney shrugged. He looked to his left, then his right; his thin shoulders poked through his top. ‘Yeah, she’s sound.’

McArdle felt a wariness creep up on him. He didn’t like getting too involved with this sort of people. Taking their money was fine, but any more than that was asking for trouble. But he had dealt with this pair before. Maybe it would be all right. ‘I’m warning you, Barry, if you’re up to something and I—’

He butted in, ‘I’m up to nothing . . . we want paying. Nothing else. Just a few quid, eh.’

A laugh, splutters. ‘You think there’s a drink in it for you? You pair of greedy bastards.’

Tierney tried to smile but his heart didn’t look to be in it. His teeth were yellowed and broken when he showed them. The hollows in his cheeks deepened as he widened his grin. ‘Well, last time . . .’

‘Times change, Barry boy . . . times change.’ That took the smirk off his face. The state of him, thought McArdle, he’d sell his own flesh and blood for a fix with a smile on his face. Well, a sort of smile. Even for McArdle this was low; Tierney was the worst of trash. ‘We’ll see.’

Tierney arked up, ‘But—’

‘No fucking ifs or buts. We’ll see.’ McArdle needed to think about it. Finding the buyer was no trouble, and the money was good, but he didn’t trust Tierney. Junkies were bad news. To a one, they were bad luck. Carried it round with them.

‘Well, what about just now?’

McArdle shook his head, grabbed Tierney by the face. ‘You scrounging, that it?’

‘I gave you fifty.’

‘That wouldn’t clear you a week’s interest on what you and Vee owe me.’

‘But—’

McArdle pushed back Tierney’s face. The junkie stumbled a few paces and fell onto the slabs. ‘You’re nothing but trash, y’know that?’ McArdle dug in his pocket, pulled out a couple of wraps and threw them at the addict. Tierney scrabbled about for them, picked up the wraps fast and pushed himself up. He struggled to find any purchase, his shoes slipping on the wet slabs as his thin arms stretched out behind him. ‘You won’t regret this, Deil,’ he said.

‘Get out my sight.’

‘Will you tell me soon, then?’

‘I said fuck off . . . Get out my sight.’

McArdle watched Tierney struggle to his feet, then saw his slope-shoulders jink round the corner. He moved to sit on a low brick wall, trying to gather his thoughts. It was simple enough taking cash for a few wraps, but what the junkie was offering was something else. It was complicated, fraught with potential pitfalls, and meant working with more people than he was used to – and he was used to being in full control, in charge. The Germans would be the ones paying up, so they’d have all the power. He didn’t like that. Still, the money sang to him. It was very good money last time and maybe he could ask for more now. McArdle knew the junkie’s offer was too good to be passed up. It was chancy, always was, but wasn’t everything? He removed his mobile. As he delved into his contacts, and dialled, McArdle was already counting the cash in his mind.

Ringing.

The line was answered on the third chime.

‘
Hallo
.’

‘Günter . . . that you?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Devlin McArdle.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Just enquiring . . . If the supply channel was to open up again, would you be interested?’

There was no sound except static on the line for a few moments, then, ‘Interested? . . . I believe we would be.’

‘You would?’

‘Yes, Mr McArdle . . . I think we could almost guarantee it.’

Chapter 5

BARRY TIERNEY WAS SWEATING AND flushed when he returned home. As he slammed the front door of the flat behind him Vee appeared in the hallway. Her dirty blonde hair had been scraped back and tied in an elastic band. Her eyes bulged and watered. The edges of her mouth were cracked and scabbed. She grabbed him. ‘Did you get it?’

Tierney pushed past her. ‘Leave me be.’ He shuffled towards the bathroom and closed the door quickly behind him. Vee followed, banged on the door. He felt disturbed to be alone in the small room; it was full of demons, but his bladder ached and there was nowhere else to go.

‘Barry, you bastard . . . Open this door.’

‘Shut it.’As he relieved himself he heard the child start to scream in the other room. ‘See to that kid, for fuck’s sake.’

Vee continued to bang on the door. ‘Barry, open up . . . You better not be holding out on me!’

He shook out the last drops of urine, pulled up his joggers. His hands were shaking at the prospect of the wraps he’d taken from the Deil. He touched the sides of his head, tried to think, but nothing came. He ran fingers through his hair, then tucked his hands beneath his arms, but the process did nothing for him. He couldn’t concentrate in this place. He didn’t want to be alone in there but there was a racket going on outside that he couldn’t face.

‘Shut it, Vee, I’m warning you, shut the noise up or I’ll put you through that fucking wall.’

The banging stopped.

He heard Vee sliding down the back of the door, then her tears as she sobbed at the gap above the carpet. She had been crying hysterically the night before, but that was for another reason. She probably wanted to block it out too.

‘Barry, you can’t leave me here if you’re holding . . . You just can’t.’

‘Is that all you’re bothered about? Eh, is it?’

BOOK: Truth Lies Bleeding

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