‘You ever killed someone, Bobby?’ I hissed at him. ‘I mean really killed someone?’
He shook his head energetically, but in movements small enough that the blade of the razor, gleaming bright and sharp, didn’t cut him.
‘I have,’ I said. ‘Fucking dozens. In the war. Up close too. Like now. You understand?’
He croaked something which I took as agreement.
‘I could do you now, you wee shite. Or I’ll maybe just blind you. Pop your eye. It wouldn’t cost me a thought. You get used to killing, you see. To hurting people. Like a habit.’ I paused. ‘But I’ll tell you something now… I’ll tell you two people I didn’t kilclass="underline" Tam and Frankie McGahern. And I’m getting really pissed with people saying that I did. You got it?’
‘Got it.’
I kept the blade to his eye for a second to punctuate my point then I stood up and slipped the razor into my pocket.
I took in the flat. We were in the main room which served as a living room and kitchen. The only other room was the bedroom. No bathroom or toilet. I guessed the facilities were out the back and shared with the bar. Romantic.
The greasy windows were half-covered with grime-grey lace. The wooden floor was bare, the furniture old and spartan. A pile of beer crates stood in one corner. When it came to picking a venue for seduction, it was clear Tam McGahern had been no George Sanders.
Bobby made a move to get up from the floor but I pushed him back down with my foot.
‘You’re not going to give me any more trouble, are you, Bobby?’
He shook his head vigorously.
‘Sit down over there.’ I indicated an old and worn club chair. ‘And stay.’
I went over to the door, where Bobby’s colleague was beginning to stir. I hoisted him to his feet, told him to pick up his friend at the bottom of the stairs and to fuck off. He nodded dully and slunk away.
After they had gone I went through to the bedroom. The bed was old and the iron bedhead was rusted, as if it had been reclaimed from a scrapyard, but the linen was reasonably clean. Again the floorboards were bare and tangled balls of dust and grime had gathered in the corners of the room.
Something caught my eye. In one corner a light blue piece of cloth. I picked it up. A woman’s handkerchief. Lace-trimmed but cheap. It was spotted with dark flecks of blood. The flecks were small, some no bigger than pinheads. I dropped the handkerchief: the source of the blood had nothing to do with Tam McGahern’s wounds. Two shotguns at that range was anything but dainty.
I went back into the living room, found the only other chair and placed it in front of Bobby. One eye had completely shut and that side of his face had ballooned into an ugly red swelling. The sleeked-back side panels of hair now hung like broken wings over his ears. He looked like he was about to start crying. I wanted to hit him again. Really wanted. I lit a cigarette instead.
‘Who killed Tam McGahern?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Honest I don’t. There was nobody here… I mean in the bar or anything, when it happened.’
‘Yes there was. There was the girl.’
‘Except the girl.’
‘What was her name?’
He looked afraid for a moment. He was thinking about lying to me. He decided not to. ‘Wilma. Wilma Marshall.’
‘Is she on the game?’
‘Not really. She worked as a barmaid in one of his other bars. One of his better bars: Wilma had a bit of class about her. Tam was the kind of guy to take whatever it was he wanted.’
‘Where is she now? What’s the name of the bar she works at?’
‘It was the Imperial, but she’s not there now. She only worked there on and off. Since the shooting she’s dropped out of sight.’
‘Who dropped her?’
‘I don’t know.’
I stood up and Bobby held up his hands. ‘Honest… I really don’t know. It wasn’t anybody to do with Tam’s crew. Maybe she decided herself. The only other thing we wondered about was if it was the police. You know… protective custody or something.’
‘Did she say anything to anyone about what happened that night?’
‘Just what you probably already know. She hid through there in the bedroom when she heard the shotguns go off. Afterwards she peeked over the windowsill and saw two guys with smart suits and sawn-offs get into a car. A couple of other folk seen them as well. Same thing… smartly dressed. And really fucking calm. Strolling back to the car like they was in no hurry.’
I gave Bobby a cigarette and lit it for him. His hand shook as he smoked. He didn’t have what it took. Tam and Frankie McGahern had surrounded themselves with nobodies to make them feel bigger in the scheme of things. Some time soon someone a lot meaner than me would come along from one of the Three Kings to vacuum up what was left of the tiny McGahern empire. If Bobby or his pals got in the way, they would be at the bottom of the Clyde within hours.
‘And the police have nothing?’ I asked.
‘Nothing worth anything. Not on Tam, anyway. Word was they thought it was you that done Frankie. Word now is that the coppers are looking for Jimmy Wallace to talk to. They’ve been looking for him since Frankie died.’
‘Jimmy Wallace?’
Bobby read my thoughts and shook his head. ‘It’s a dead end. Jimmy didn’t do Frankie and he definitely didn’t do Tam. It’s just that Jimmy dropped out of sight the night Frankie got done.’
‘Did Jimmy Wallace work with you? I mean, was he part of the McGahern team?’
‘Naw. Nothing like that. Wallace was a wanker. Upper-class wanker. He was always trailing around after Tam. Tam put up with it though. Wallace was never short of a bob or two even though he drank like a fucking fish. Gambled too. I got the feeling Tam saw him all right with cash.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Tam just seemed to put up with him for some reason. They were supposed to have been in the army together. In the desert.’
‘And you reckon Jimmy had nothing to do with either murder?’
‘Naw. No way. He was devoted to Tam. Mainly because Tam was his meal ticket. I don’t know what they had going on in the past, but it was like Tam felt he owed Jimmy or something. Tam wouldn’t have put up with the shite Jimmy talked otherwise.’
‘So why did he do a runner after Frankie was killed?’
‘Search me.’ Bobby shrugged and smoothed back the broken wings of greased hair. His fingers still trembled. ‘When Tam died he lost his meal ticket. Or maybe he thought he was going to be next.’
I thought about it for a second then shook my head. ‘Doesn’t make sense. If that were the case then he’d have fucked off after Tam was topped. Why hang around until Frankie had his head turned to jam?’
Bobby shrugged again but looked at me apprehensively. He clearly thought I was going to give him another smack for not being able to explain the contradictions in what he had said.
‘Where does Jimmy Wallace live?’ I asked.
‘Sorry, Mr Lennox. I don’t know that either.’
‘Before Tam got killed, were there any new faces around, or did anything unusual happen?’
Bobby looked at me blankly. I could tell he was trying to think of anything he could give me to avoid another slap. I saw something drop into his memory.
‘Jackie Gillespie came around a couple of times.’
‘The armed robber? Was Tam planning a robbery?’
‘I don’t know. But I saw him in the Highlander with Gillespie three, maybe four times. Tight and talky.’
‘Gillespie…’ I spoke to myself more than my new chum. ‘Gillespie is a heavyweight. More than a bit out of the McGaherns’ league.’ I shook the thought from my head. ‘Anyone else?’
‘There were two guys I never seen before. Tam got me to drive him sometimes and he met with this big fat guy who was staying at the Central Hotel. Jimmy Wallace went with him.’