He didn’t respond. She closed her eyes and rubbed at them with her free hand.
‘Listen, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘If I’d known about the message of course I would have talked to you about it first.’
He sighed.
‘We can talk about it later,’ she said. ‘I’ll call when I get home, like I said.’
‘Fine.’
Click
Was there any other word in the English language so often used to mean something entirely opposite to its meaning as fine? She didn’t think so.
She called Armstrong again, still pissed off at him. Got his voicemail and left a short message that she would go and see Suzie Murray on her own and he could meet her there if he liked.
She put on her jacket, grabbed her bag and headed out of the building.
Way to stay out of trouble.
3
Irvine stood outside Joanna Lewski’s building in Bridgeton. It was on the corner, three storeys built in red sandstone with a charity shop at street level and flats above. The sun was sinking in the sky and it glowed red-orange.
She looked at the address she had scribbled on a piece of loose paper. Lewski’s flat was on the top floor, back right. She went to the entrance door and was looking for the buzzer for the flat when she noticed that the door wasn’t locked. She pushed at it and it swung into the common hallway. She wasn’t much of a fan of the red and yellow paint job in Logan’s building, but this one had bare plaster walls in charcoal grey. She could barely see the stairs at the far end in the murky light cast down from the grimy window on the landing.
For a moment, Irvine thought about going home. This was something she could do tomorrow when Armstrong was with her. If he was happy to leave it tonight, maybe she should be as well.
Nothing to do with the less-than-inviting interior, of course.
She pushed the piece of paper into her bag and stepped into the hall.
‘Get on with it,’ she whispered.
Halfway along the hall she was startled by the sound of her mobile ringing.
‘Hey,’ Armstrong said. ‘Where are you? I thought we were going to see this Suzie Murray together.’
Irvine closed her eyes.
‘Before five you said. It’s now…’ she checked her watch — ‘nearly seven.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Had a bit of a domestic.’
‘You’re married?’
‘Why so surprised? But, no. It’s my girlfriend. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Murray’s building now. I was going to see her on my own.’
‘You want me to come too? I can be there in ten minutes.’
‘Do what you want. But I’m going up to her flat to get started. It’s late enough already.’
‘Go ahead. I’ll be there.’
Irvine put her phone away and walked to the stairs at the end of the hall. The dirty grey walls continued up to the next floor and, if anything, it looked even darker.
She started up the stairs and heard a noise above — like shouting. A male voice. She strained to hear but it had stopped and she wasn’t sure where exactly it had come from. It could have been at the end of the first floor hall or higher up. Sound echoed off the walls and down the stairs, distorted from its origin.
She waited for a moment and started up again when there was no further sound. The stairs were old stone, polished by the foot traffic that had passed over them since the place was built over a hundred years ago. The centre of each stair was dimpled where the heaviest traffic had worn it away. Irvine was careful to look where she was walking, one hand on the rail screwed to the wall for support.
As she neared the top of the stairs leading to the second floor she heard more noise. This time it was like a thump, followed by someone choking back a sob. It sounded like it was coming from the far end of the hall. Where Suzie Murray lived. Where Joanna Lewski had lived.
Irvine stepped up into the hall and looked along to the door of the flat. There was a narrow window seeping dirty yellow light from the streetlights outside.
She waited, straining to listen for any more sounds from down the hall. She thought she could hear whispers, but couldn’t be sure. There was another thump, this time definitely emanating from the flat she was going to visit. Irvine stepped back, wondering if maybe it would be a good idea to wait for Armstrong after all.
She turned to look back down the stairs, didn’t see the door to Suzie Murray’s flat slowly open, revealing the black interior of the flat.
She heard a slow creaking sound behind her as the door to the flat opened all the way, turned and saw the silhouette of a man against the light from the window. His face was indistinct in the gloom of the hall.
She heard what sounded like a woman crying.
The man didn’t move.
Irvine reached into her bag and took out her warrant card, holding it up.
‘I’m a police officer. DC Irvine, Strathclyde Police CID.’
Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. That’s how they taught you — got to sound like a cop, even if you don’t feel it.
The man turned his head and looked inside the flat. She saw him in profile — long hair with a prominent brow and a boxer’s flat nose. Realised now that he was tall and wide.
Wished to Christ she’d waited for Armstrong.
The man turned back to look at her.
‘Bad timing,’ he said, and walked towards her.
4
Irvine held her ID out in front of her, as though it would act as a shield. The man continued to advance on her. She stepped back, felt her foot slip on the edge of the top stair — nowhere to go but down.
He was close now, ten feet from her. She pushed her other hand into her bag and grabbed the canister of pepper spray, pulled it out and pointed it at him.
‘Stay where you are or I’ll use this.’
She said it loud and it was enough to stop him. Still couldn’t make out his face. She smelled alcohol and aftershave.
His head cocked to one side.
He ran at her.
Irvine saw his face clearly for a moment and pressed the button on the spray.
He ducked his head and held a big hand up to protect his face from the spray. Irvine tried to angle the liquid into his eyes.
Then he was on her.
He shoved his leading hand into Irvine’s face, cracking her face back on to the wall. She felt the impact on her eye socket and cheek, the whole side of her face going numb from the blow.
She kept her finger on the spray and moved the canister rapidly from side to side hoping to catch him in the face. It worked.
He shouted out and pulled his hand off her face.
Irvine kicked out at his legs and felt the side of her shoe connect with his shin. She stepped up into the hall and swung her fist at his head, the canister of pepper spray still grasped in it. She caught him with a glancing blow and he staggered on to the stairs, grabbing at the railing with one hand and swinging the other one round at her.
She saw the blow coming too late. His hand closed into a fist and hit her high on the head, just below her hairline. The force of it made her stagger and she fell back against the wall.
The man rubbed at his eyes. Turned and ran, half falling down the stairs.
Irvine leaned against the wall and listened to the sound of him running on the stairs and the main door crashing back against the wall as he went out on to the street.
She slid down the wall and dropped the pepper spray, her whole body shaking. She felt on the verge of tears but forced herself not to cry, taking in deep lungfuls of air to slow her pulse.
The side of her face felt hot and tight. She put her hand to it and felt swelling around her eye, pulled it away and saw blood. She wiped the blood on the wall, smearing it red.
Irvine searched in her bag for a packet of tissues, pulling out a handful of them and pressing them to her face. She felt blood soak them almost immediately.