“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.”
II
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.
He was talking about Burns, hinting at the rumors. A hot flush crept up the back of Paddy’s neck but she stared at him defiantly. The police were a tight community. They drank in the same pubs, supported the same football team. They gossiped incessantly about each other, knew who was shagging who, who drank too much, who the idealists were, and who was corruptible or corrupt.
One of the officers stole a look at his watch.
“Apart from Gourlay and McGregor, I’m the only person who saw the good-looking guy at the Bearsden Bird’s door that night,” she said. “They’re saying it was the river suicide, Mark Thillingly, who killed her and I say it definitely wasn’t him. Doesn’t that make you wonder?”
They glanced at each other, hesitant, knowing, she felt sure, that Gourlay and McGregor were men of questionable ethics. The knowing looks dissolved into apathy. Ten minutes and they could go home. They just didn’t give a shit.
Paddy felt her eyes brim with big, stupid tears. “If Lafferty kills me it’ll be on your heads.”
The canteen doors opened and the skinny copyboy peered in. “Meehan? Ramage wants to see you when you’ve finished here.” He looked at the unhappy group around the table and slid back out to the corridor, shutting the door noiselessly after him.
Paddy looked at the bored policemen and felt a burst of righteous fury. “Is this what you joined the police for? To protect each other? What if Gourlay and McGregor are bent?”
She’d gone too far. One officer hissed a warning at her.
Paddy stood up suddenly on unsteady legs. “If that animal hurts my mum I’ll come and find the three of yees.”
She shouldn’t have voiced the fear out loud. She started to cry, her face convulsing as she edged out from behind the table.
As she pulled the door open she heard one officer mutter under his breath, “That’s our home time, guys.”
III
Ramage’s gruff voice called out, “Come!” Paddy brushed her mouth and chin for chocolate debris, stood as tall as her failing backbone would let her, and opened the door.
Dwarfed behind the enormous desk, Ramage had an early-morning shave that made him look young and vulnerable, a small boy in a starched shirt and tie. He was sitting back in his chair, three neat piles of papers sitting side by side, perfectly aligned on his desk. Farquarson would have looked crumpled already, the papers would have been scattered around a tabletop, and he’d have been hunched over them, working.
“Meehan,” Ramage said baldly. “I want three hundred about the firebomb, this time do it in first person and make it punchy. Get Frankie Mills to take a photo of you looking like shit and then fuck off home for a rest until I call you.”
She shook her head. “No. No picture of me. The guy who did this is after me, but so far he’s only got my name. I don’t want him to have a photo of me as well.”