Chapter Fifteen
I hardly slept that
night. Most of the time I was thinking about Penny and wondering why I’d been
so dumb in letting her run away again so soon after I’d found her. Unbelievably
stupid. And I had no idea where she’d gone to ground this time. The empty
feeling wasn’t helped by the growing realisation that Penny now occupied a more
important place in my life than my efforts to find out what had happened to Marie.
Constant
thoughts of Marie were still there in the background, but they were taking on a
different perspective. The will to carry on looking was becoming more a matter
of intrigue than a personal crusade. Bitterness was being replaced by
understanding and curiosity.
I was
standing by the hotel bedroom window nursing a cup of coffee when the sun came
up. Greyish clouds were still crawling across the city skyline, but they were
thinning out. Traffic was just beginning to clutter up the streets. And all the
while recurring images of Penny refused to erase themselves from my memory
banks. Later that morning, feeling more than a little weary, I set out to track
her down.
Where
did I start looking? I wasn’t so tired as to miss the fact that she needed some
way to support herself wherever she was holed up, and there was only one job
she was well qualified to do. The Blue Taboo Club was shut down good and
proper, so there was no point in returning to it, but there were other strip
joints in Belfast. Just two streets away from the Blue Taboo, tucked in between
an off-license and a pawnbroker, was another club called Pink Pyjamas. God
knows where they dreamed up that name, but I knew that Penny had worked there
before and the people there would remember her. They’d have to be brain dead
not to remember a figure like that. I left the hire car in a nearby multi-story
and walked round to the Pink Pyjamas to check it out. If Penny was looking for
work, there was a chance someone, somewhere would know about it.
At
first I didn’t fully register the sound of raised voices. It came from
somewhere out of sight and it wasn’t until I turned into the next street that I
saw the fracas. A group of people were struggling violently on the sidewalk
outside the Pink Pyjamas Club. Three men were laying into one woman and the
match was grossly uneven. Farther along the sidewalk, a couple of old
housewives backed away in fear.
I
raced towards the group, ready to give the poor woman a helping hand. I was
half way to her before I realised it was Penny who was under attack and Pat
Mulholland was one of the assailants. I had no idea who the other two men were.
My
blood was boiling.
“Hey!
Mulholland, you bastard!” I had no coherent thoughts in my mind, just a rash
determination to knock the hell out of him.
He
looked up and gritted his teeth when he saw me. Swinging on his heels, he
shouted something at his mates and then took to his heels. The other two hoods
took off after him. Fast as I was, they out-ran me and within seconds I had
lost sight of them. All I could do was skid to a halt on the sidewalk and turn
all my attention on Penny. She was flat out on the ground, blood pouring from a
gash on her face. She made no move to get up and it was immediately obvious
that the damage was more than superficial. I screamed at the two housewives to
call an ambulance.
“Penny,
can you move?” I knelt beside her.
She
looked straight at me with no sign of having understood.
I
wrapped my coat around her and gently held her hand. “Just keep still. There’ll
be an ambulance coming soon. Just lie still.”
“Henry,
are you there?” Her breathing was erratic, her words difficult to hear.
I bent
closer to better decipher her slurred speech. “Sure, I’m here. I’m with you.”
She
stared at the sky above us. “God, but I hurt all over.”
“Why?
Why the hell did they do it, Penny?”
Her
eyes rotated down until she was able to focus on me. Then some sort of normal
recognition took over and she began to relax. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Why
did they do it?”
“Someone
told Pat Mulholland…” She stopped to take a breath and a trickle of blood ran
from the corner of her mouth. “Someone told him it was me who was responsible
for Marie’s death.”
“Oh,
God! Why would he believe that?”
“Why
shouldn’t he? I believed it myself. Remember?” Her breathing was becoming
steadier now. Her eyes closed for a moment and then flicked open again.
“Besides, he isn’t that well-endowed with grey cells. Beating up a Protestant
girl is no big deal for the likes of him.”
About
then, an ambulance raced up to the scene, lights blazing and siren screeching.
A couple of paramedics jumped out and I figured the police wouldn’t be far
behind. I kept a watchful eye on the street and backed off from the scene just
as the police arrived. It was time to make myself scarce. Rourke wouldn’t be
pleased if he found out I was still on the prowl.
I
figured to allow a couple of hours for Penny to be admitted to the hospital and
have her wounds tended, then I would go visiting. In the meantime, I would fill
those hours at the Divis Flats.
Mulholland
was as every bit dumb as I took him to be, and he’d gone straight home after
the attack. I found him alone in the place and some fifteen minutes later there
was one helluva change in the guy’s appearance. While he lay on the floor,
spitting blood, I rounded off my visit by using his phone to make an anonymous
call to the police with a handkerchief over the mouthpiece. I told them who
beat up Penny Hamilton and where to find him.
Then I
made my way to the hospital, feeling a whole lot better.
I
quietly walked in the hospital front entrance, hoping Rourke’s men weren’t
already on the lookout for me. I asked at the main reception desk. They told me
Penny was out of A and E and directed me to a ward on the second floor. Up
there, a staff nurse told me I could see her if I didn’t stay long.
It
wasn’t formal visiting time so the sick tended to outnumber the fit, leaving me
feeling somewhat out of place. Penny was in one of two beds at the far end of
the ward. I didn’t recognise her easily because of the dressings covering much
of her head. She looked like a turbaned Arab sheik with a face mask. She saw me
approaching and her eyes followed me right up to the moment I stopped and
looked enquiringly at her.
“Is
this a private fancy dress party or can anyone join in?”
Her
mouth was bruised and swollen and she had difficulty speaking. The words came
out slowly and slurred as if she was half drunk. “What are you doing here, Henry??”
“I
thought you might want some grapes.” I sat down beside the bed, but made no
attempt to touch her. She looked too fragile beneath the bandages and
dressings. Perspiration covered her brow.
“You
brought me grapes?”
“No. I
forgot to buy them. How do you feel?”
“Like
hell. I hurt all over.”
“I’m
not surprised. There were three of them laying into you. You didn’t stand a
chance.”
She
frowned at me. “You saw it?”
I
nodded. “Yeah, I saw it. I was there, remember? But they were running away when
I got to you. Must learn to run faster.”
“You
were there?” She nodded in sudden recollection. “Oh, yes. So you were. My mind
just doesn’t work properly right now. You were there? Suppose I needed someone
like you to help me.”
“What
damage did they do to you?”
“Mostly
cuts and bruises. Couple of broken ribs. Nothing life threatening.” She
grimaced and put a hand to her face. “Maybe some internal bleeding, they want
to do some more X-rays.”
“It
was Mulholland, you know that?”
She
drew a tight breath. “Course I know. I was there as well, dammit!”
“The
man’s a right bastard. Someone should do something about the likes of him.” I said
nothing about my visit to the Divis. Nothing at all about the condition in
which I left the guy. There was no point. I tried to change the subject. “I was
looking for you, Penny. Hoping someone at the Pink Pyjamas would know where you
were.”
“I
thought it was all over between us,” she said somewhat sadly. “I didn’t expect
to see you again.”
“All
over? Or not yet started. Depends on how you look at it.” I leaned closer
towards her. My hand gently rested on hers. For a minute or so I sat with her
hand in mine, feeling warm and comfortable, trying to allow all the tension to
drain out of myself. The moment quickly passed and then the tension returned.
“I’m
glad you came,” she whispered.
“The
offer still stands, you know.”
“God,
you’re a persistent bastard, Henry Bodine.”
I
tried to smile and then I warmed to the subject. “There are schools in the
states where kids learn to grow up together. Black and white. Catholic and
Protestant and Jew. There are places where no one gives a damn what religion
you are. This is me begging, by the way. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
She
tried to grin but pulled a face when a sharp pain hit her. Still her words came
out slowly, rolling awkwardly from her bruised mouth. “Go away, you stupid man.
I already gave you my answer.”
“People
can change their minds, with a little persuasion. At least think about it. Will
you promise me that you’ll think about it?”
She
looked away from me. “Sure, I’ll think about it. I guess I’ll do nothing else
but think about it while I’m lying here. Now, for God’s sake, bugger off will
you.”
“No.”
“Well,
at least do something useful. Pour me a drink of water.”
I did
as she asked. As I handed the paper cup to her I allowed my fingers to close
round hers, just briefly. And I caught the merest recall of that moment of
union when our souls merged together. “I’m going back to LA soon. There’s a
good job waiting for me out there. Flying jets. I’ll be buying my own place,
most likely. It would be nice to have someone to share it with me.”
“For
God’s sake, stop it. You’re at it again.”
“That’s
right. I’m at it again.” I grinned, unable to help myself. “Why did you turn me
down the first time?”
“I
told you why.”
“No
you didn’t. Not the real reason. You just gave me some cock and bull story
about the way you were brought up. It didn’t convince me. So now tell me the
real reason.”
She
sounded suddenly weary. “The real reason? Who knows? I had a period coming on.
I get like that when I have my periods. Awkward and damned difficult to live
with. That’s another reason you’d be better off without me. I’m no good for the
likes of you, Henry Bodine. No good.”
“Matter
of opinion.”
Penny’s
eyes fell closed for a few seconds and then sprang open suddenly as if she was
in pain. She grimaced and shifted in the bed. “Look, I said I’ll think about
it. Okay?”
I
thought about it for a moment. “Don’t take too long. I’m flying out from
Heathrow a week today.”
Her
brow furrowed deeply. “Good. That gives me seven days thinking time. When does
your flight leave?”
“Two
thirty from terminal four. Seven days from now. I’ll buy you a ticket in case
you turn up.”
“Okay,
two thirty one week today,” she replied slowly but challengingly. “Now go away
and leave me alone to think. There’s a lot to think about. One hell of a lot.
God, what a mess my life is.”
I
stood up. I wanted to hold her, kiss her, comfort her, but I knew I couldn’t.
“I’ll come and see you again.”
Her
eyes flashed. “No! Don’t come here again. You’ll only make me cry if I have to
turn you down again. If I decide to run away with you I’ll be at Heathrow a
week today. If I decide not to come, you’ll be flying home alone. Now, go away,
will you.”
I
shrugged. “Sounds dramatic.”
“We
Irish are like that. Sure, an’ life is just one big long drama in Belfast.
Haven’t you learned anything while you’ve been here?” She rolled herself in the
bed until she was facing away from me. “One long drama, so it is. D’you see
that girl over there? In the next bed?”
I
looked across to where a fair-haired young girl was lying on her back in the
adjacent bed, alone and staring at the ceiling. “Yes. I see her. What about
her?”
“What
do you think is wrong with her?”
I
shrugged. “How would I know? Is it important?”
“She’s
seventeen years old. She told me that just before you came in.” Penny half
turned so that she could again look at me. “A punishment squad got hold of her
about a week ago and did a Black and Decker job on her knees. Drilled right
through the knee caps, nerves, blood vessels, the lot. Seventeen and she’ll
probably never again walk properly. Scarred for life. Sad isn’t it?”
A
tense feeling of anger ran up my back. “What did she do? To deserve that?”
“She
was sleeping with a British soldier. A Catholic girl in bed with a Brit. In
Republican circles that’s about as bad a crime as you can commit. Even worse
than robbing a church.”
“Why
are you telling me this?”
“To
help you understand, dummy!” The explosive force of her reply caused a pain to
shoot through her head and she paused to allow it to subside. “If I don’t turn
up at Heathrow a week today, you think about that girl over there and try to
understand why I don’t want to see your
life messed up with our troubles. For God’s sake, Henry, try to understand!”
I
looked again at the girl. She had rounded cheeks and long fair hair spread out
on her pillow and she looked for all the world like a child. At seventeen she
was little more than a child anyway. But a punishment squad got her because she
was screwing with a Brit. It was the same sort of mentality that made the Serbs
kill the children in Sarajevo and Mostar. Innocent kids who’d committed the
crime of being alive.
I
turned away.
“Do
you remember what it was like when we were in bed together?” I said.
“How
could I ever forget?”
“You
used to take me to such a height. It was something I’ve never experienced with
any other girl. Ever. I used to feel our souls coming together and being as
one. And I know now what it means. It means the only purpose I have in life—the only really important purpose—is to be with you.”
She
wiped at her eyes. “Stop it, damn you. For God’s sake, Henry, you’re tearing me
apart. You think I didn’t feel it as well?”
I
stood up slowly. “I’ll be in touch, Penny. I love you more than I’ve ever loved
anyone else in my life. You know that.”
“For
God’s sake get out of here.”
I was
on my way out when a couple of Rourke’s men stopped me at the ward entrance
door and asked me to go with them. They had been standing there for some
minutes, waiting for me. They showed little interest in Penny’s battered body,
probably seen it all many times before. Almost certainly seen far worse. They
made it clear their orders were to bring me in for questioning and they had no
rules of engagement. So I went with them.
Rourke,
languishing in his office, was in a pretty mean mood. Heavy swirling smoke
trails hung in the air and the ash tray on his desk was filled to overflowing.
“What
happened, Bodine?”
“Where?
When?”
“Don’t
mess me about.” He waved a piece of paper at me. I had no idea what it was.
“What happened to Hamilton?”
I
sniffed loudly. “She got herself beaten up.”
“Why
did they do it?”
“Pick
them up and ask them. Look for a guy called Pat Mulholland.”
“We
already have him in custody. Someone got to him before us and took some sort of
revenge on him. Know anything about that?”
“No.”
“That’s
what I thought you’d say. Not to worry, he’ll talk, eventually. He’ll squeal
about what happened and why he was beating up the girl. He might even tell us
who worked him over.”
“So
let me go. You don’t need me.”
He
stared at me, erect in his seat, angry and formidable. “I need to talk to you.”
“Really?
Now, let me guess. You’re just doing your job, huh?”
“Listen
to me, Bodine, you’ve caused me more trouble than I’m prepared to tolerate.”
Still that careful, formal way of stringing his words together. Even in extreme
annoyance. Must’ve been force of habit.
“Really?”
I wasn’t impressed.
“You
know that Hamilton was caught up in your sister’s murder?”
“If
that’s what you want me to think, I’ll humour you.” He was leading me astray
and I was having none of it.
He
seemed to sense that I wasn’t going to cave in so he changed tack. “What do you
propose to do now that she’s been badly hurt?”
“You
got any good ideas?”
He
leaned forward and placed his fore arms flat across his desk. Like two swords
of judgment pointing straight at me. “Yes, I have. I am asking you, politely,
to leave Northern Ireland before you cause us any more trouble.”
Politely,
is what he said. The trouble was, that’s not the way I took it. “You throwing
me out, Rourke?”
“Not
formally. If I wanted to be formally brutal with you, I could ask the American
embassy to do something. I’m quite certain I could find a very good reason why
they should force you to return to the States. After all, you’re not exactly
their favourite child, are you? A dropout from the US Air Force, I’m told. I
think I could get them to persuade you to leave. Is that what you want?”
“Hell,
I just want to be left alone to do my own thing.”
“Your
own thing, Bodine, is getting people hurt. Hamilton—”
“Miss Hamilton was leading her own life.
She went looking for a job at a strip joint and made the mistake of bumping
into Mulholland and his gang. Seems like someone gave them a reason to work her
over. Maybe someone told Mulholland that she was responsible for Marie’s
murder, responsible for the Gidleys blowing up that taxi. What do you think,
Chief Inspector? Is that what happened?”
“You’re
guessing.”
“Am I?
You got anything out of him yet?”
“Mulholland
will tell us all we want to know in time.” He leaned back in his seat and
steepled his hands in front of his face. “You’re not entirely innocent, are
you? Someone made a mess of Mulholland’s face before we got to him. Any ideas
on that one?”
“No.
But if you want to arrest me, go ahead. Otherwise I’m leaving here right now.”
I stood up slowly but deliberately. “And, for what it’s worth, I aim to leave
Northern Ireland of my own free choice. I’ve business in London, if you want to
know.”
He
remained leaning back in his seat and an expression of relief began to creep
into his pent-up features. “Well, thank God for that.”
“I
wouldn’t start saying your prayers yet, Rourke. I aim to come back when I’m
ready and you ain’t gonna stop me.”
“You
come back, Bodine, and I’ll have you locked up the moment you step off the
aeroplane!”
I
grinned at him. I’d already decided I wasn’t going to fly back into Northern
Ireland. There were other ways.
*
Rourke’s men were there
at the airport to watch me leave Northern Ireland. They made no secret of the
fact they were watching me and I made no secret of the fact I knew what they
were up to. I was counting on them being satisfied that I was genuinely getting
out of Ireland.
Once I
was safely off their patch I hoped they wouldn’t have me followed.
I
caught a seven-fifty-seven mid-day shuttle flight to Heathrow and by late
afternoon I was settled into one of those big, nondescript hotels that sit
close to the M4 motorway near the airport. I didn’t see anyone following my
hire car from the airport and I reckoned the British police were less paranoid
than the RUC and had better things to do than tail an innocent American.
The
next day I set out to talk to Charles Whiteman. It wasn’t difficult to trace
him from the information I’d got out of Mulholland and from a quick look in the
local telephone directory. Whiteman wasn’t too clever about concealing his
number and his address. Maybe he saw no need.
He
lived in a mock Tudor house overlooking Wimbledon Common. In a street where
every resident owned a large, imposing house, this was still an unusually big
place, peppered with interesting add-on bits which served no other purpose that
to make it look quaint, and far too big for one old couple. I made my way up
the red-brick driveway, lined with a glowing assortment of bright plants and
flowers, and knocked on the front door. I should have remembered that people
like Whiteman still employ servants. I was half expecting to be met by Whiteman
himself but, instead, a maid dressed in black and white starched uniform eased
open the big wooden door and told me Mr Whiteman wasn’t at home but was expected
back very soon. I said I had important business and asked to wait so she led me
into a study off the main hallway. It was mostly leather and polished solid mahogany.
Rows of floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves were set off by a tall marble
fire place. It spoke of money with a big M.
Moments
later a grey-haired woman came into the room. Not very tall, but with an erect
bearing and dark, probing eyes. She spoke with a cultured English accent, the
sort of thing no amount of voice-training can ever recreate in Hollywood no
matter how much effort their actors put into it just to appear in English
films. It takes years of breeding to create the real thing and this woman sure
had it in abundance.
“I’m
sorry my husband is not here at the moment. Can I help you?” She looked at me
like she was trying to size me up but not succeeding.
I
offered her my hand. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Henry Bodine. Sorry to trouble
you but I need to see your husband on a very important business matter.”
“Oh.
You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Yes
ma’am.” I grinned at the way she patted my hand when she spoke.
“You
must be the gentleman from Ohio.” An initial look of surprise was quickly
replaced by one of self-assurance. “Let me see now. The Denver Hills Credit
Bank, isn’t it? Charles told me about the merger plans, but I’m afraid the
detail is really quite beyond me. I always allowed Charles to handle all our financial
affairs, you know.”
I
clutched at the straws she so kindly pushed my way. “It’s mighty clever of you
to know what this is all about, ma’am. Is your husband gonna be long?”
“No,
not long. You know how it is.”
I
started to nod but before I could speak she went on in that calm quiet manner
that the upper classes tend to use in England. “He had an appointment with our
doctor. He has this heart condition, you see, and he needs regular check-ups. I
do hope this banking merger won’t take too much out of him. I get so worried
about him when he takes these sudden trips across the Atlantic. I know how it
affects him so, even when he flies Concorde.”
“I’m
sure my business won’t involve any sudden journeys, ma’am. Just a few loose
ends to be tied up.”
“Oh,
that is reassuring.” She suddenly raised a slim hand to her face as a thought
struck her, went to the open door and called the maid. “We’ll have tea here in
the study, please Jennifer. And do remember the ginger biscuits, dear.”
She
came back to me with a relaxed smile. “Have you just flown in from the States,
Mr Bodine?”
“No,
ma’am. I had some other business in Northern Ireland. I flew back to England
yesterday.”
“Oh,
how interesting. Do take a seat, please.” She gestured to a deep leather
armchair. “Our son has been serving in Northern Ireland, you know. He’s a
captain with The Regiment, but I’m not so sure I should be telling you that. My
dear, I do get so confused about what I’m allowed to tell people and what I
have to keep hush-hush.”
I sat
down on the edge of the chair, feeling more than a little out of place. But it
was her words that made my whole body suddenly stiffen. I hoped she didn’t
notice. “Don’t you worry, ma’am. I’m the soul of discretion. Your son’s over
there now, is he?”
“Yes.”
She nodded to a large framed photograph on the mantelpiece. “That’s James.
Charles told me he was supposed to be in Belfast, but we had a picture postcard
from him and it came from Killarney in County Kerry. That’s in the Irish
Republic, you know. Such a lovely place. We went there on holiday many years
ago but I’m sure it hasn’t changed.”
“Your
son’s in the Irish Republic?”
“Yes.
Charles said he thought James must be taking a short break to get away from the
trouble in the north. Let me see now, where did I put that postcard.” Her eyes
suddenly lit up. “Ah, yes. The bureau.” She rose majestically from her seat,
moved off to an antique bureau sitting alongside the fireplace and carefully
picked up something from a wooden rack on top. “Yes, here it is.”
The
picture postcard showed a photograph of a modern hotel inset into a bigger
picture of the Killarney Lakes. On the reverse side was a simple message in
neat script. “All’s well. Taking a short break. No more problems in Belfast.”
Mrs
Whiteman screwed up her aristocratic nose. “No more problems in Belfast. What
an odd sort of message when they have so many problems to cope with. The
trouble over there never seems to stop, do they? Maybe he was referring to the
talk about a cease fire.”
I said
nothing. I knew instantly what he really meant. Finally everything was
beginning to fall neatly into place. Only a few remaining pieces were left to
be slipped into the big jig-saw.
The
tea and biscuits arrived about then. The tea was long on milk and short on
sugar and the biscuits looked frail enough to fall apart at first touch. The
sort of thing they would serve on the vicarage lawn in a Miss Marple story.
“How
long has your son been in Northern Ireland, ma’am?” I asked, trying to keep my
voice friendly.
“Only
about a year. Maybe less.” Mrs Whiteman sipped at her tea and replaced the cup
in the saucer with an air of precision. “He was due to go over there some
months earlier but he had some sort of illness so they held him back.”
“Noting
serious, I hope?”
“I
wouldn’t know, I’m afraid. The Regiment doesn’t like us to know what’s going
on, do they?” She smiled at nothing in particular.
“I
wouldn’t know, ma’am. You get to see your son often?”
“Now
and again, when he gets home on leave. We have some property in London, a flat
in Kensington, and sometimes he stays there. It gives him more freedom, you
see, to meet with his own friends.”
“That’s
real nice.” I sipped the tea and my mind turned over a few possibilities.
The
conversation became parochial after that and I learned nothing more of value
about the Whiteman family. The questions which were welling up inside my mind
could be saved for the owner of the house on his return.
Half
an hour later Charles Whiteman arrived home while I was still taking tea with
his wife. Bearing in mind he didn’t know me from the Sundance Kid, he didn’t
seem the least put out until Mrs Whiteman introduced me as Mr Bodine from the
Denver Gold Credit Bank. Then his face creased into one almighty frown.
He was
in his late fifties and well-built. His perfectly tailored suit covered a broad
barrel chest and wide shoulders. His face was oval shaped and only just
beginning to sag in the jowls. His cheeks were pale, unhealthily white. The
hair was grey and thinning but the eyes still blue and alert.
“Bodine?”
He offered his hand cautiously. It was firm and wide and hung onto mine long
enough to tell me I was under close scrutiny.
“That’s
right, Mr Whiteman.” I searched for the best words to introduce myself and
failed miserably. I heard myself babbling, “I’ve been telling your wife how I
was in Ireland for a while. On business. And she was telling me all about your
son being over there.”
“Really?”
His frown turned onto his wife. “Mildred, I’ll be a little while with Mr
Bodine. See that we’re not disturbed, will you?”
His
stern look of rebuke didn’t go unnoticed. Mildred Whiteman crept away with
down-turned lips and dilated eyes. The door closed behind her with a firm
click. Once we were alone all pretences came down. Suddenly, like a falling
shutter.
“All
right. We’re alone now. So what’s all this about, Mr Bodine?”
“I
just need to talk to you.”
“What
about?”
I
returned his powerful gaze, measure for measure. I suddenly raised the tone of
my voice, hoping to catch him out. “It’s about my sister. I’m sure you remember
my sister, Mr Whiteman. I’m sure you remember Marie Bodine?”
“What
about her?”
“You
knew her well.”
“Might
have done.” He turned away from me and picked up a cigar. Made a big thing of
lighting up. “How did you find me?”
“It
wasn’t that easy. I had to follow quite a lengthy trail, in fact. That’s why I
was in Ireland. You know that Marie’s dead, don’t you?”
“Is
she?” He stiffened, his hands still on the cigar and lighter. But not one
single sign of concern edged into his face. “No, as it happens, I didn’t know.
I haven’t seen the girl in months, so why are you here pestering me?”
“She
was killed in Belfast. Blown up by a bomb. Maybe you read about it.”
His
fingers slipped on the cigar lighter and it snapped shut. “They have so many
bombs over there. Very few get into the national press. No, I didn’t read about
it.”
“I
wasn’t talking about the press, Whiteman. Your son sent you a postcard from
Killarney.” I paused for impact. “Your wife showed me. No more problems in
Belfast.”
For a
second his face turned pink. Then it became pale again, almost white. “Get to
the point, will you.”
I knew
I’d really got to him so I didn’t have to build myself up any longer. I made a
point of taking a seat and crossing my legs. “You kept my sister in your
apartment in Kensington. She was your mistress, wasn’t she?”
“Mistress?
What an outmoded expression. Anyhow, it’s all in the past. Is this some sort of
blackmail attempt?”
“No.
Nothing like that.”
He
frowned. “Well, what is it?”
“Mr
Whiteman, you don’t seem the least bit put out that my sister is dead.”
“Should
I be?” He turned away from me so that I was unable to see the expression on his
face. But I noticed that his shoulders were sagging, his whole stance lacking
in confidence.
“I
figure so. You slept with her. You kept her in a private apartment. Didn’t you
feel anything for her? Didn’t you have any love for her?”
He
drew on the cigar, blew out a cloud of smoke and went to the window. He spoke
with his back to me. “Seems to me, Bodine, that I need to put you straight
about your sister.”
“Fire
away.”
“What
passed between Marie and me was nothing more than a business arrangement.” He
turned round at that point, some small degree of self-assurance creeping back
into his stance. “The flat was convenient because I owned it and it was empty
at the time. I visited her three times a week, paid her a fair sum and let her
stay there free of charge. She agreed not to take any other clients there. You
see, I wasn’t in love with the girl. I used her just as she used me. It was a
business arrangement and nothing more.”
“A
business arrangement?”
“I
paid for her services. She was no better than a prostitute.”
The
room seemed to echo with an ethereal silence. I wanted to jump up and hit the
old man, but I couldn’t because I knew that he was speaking the truth. For the
first time I began to wish I had left the whole damned business well alone.
A
whole minute of pregnant silence passed between us.
“What
happened when she left you?” When I spoke, my throat suddenly felt dry and raw.
“Why did she leave?”
“There
was an unfortunate incident. My son was home on leave and he took to seeing Marie
without my knowledge. Purely business, again. She charged him for her services.
But she was still using the flat and we had this agreement between us that no
other customers were to be taken there.”
“Even
your own son?”
“Even
him. So I told her she had to leave. She didn’t take it very well, threw a
tantrum and shouted a few obscenities at me. The last I heard she was living in
a squat with some drug-addicted drop-out.”
“I
see.” I caught a sudden image of Marie losing her temper. Yes, she was capable
of doing that. “And how did your son take it?”
He
rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Badly. She left him with a nasty dose of
syphilis.”
Once
again I got that urge to hit the old man. Self-control was getting very
difficult. “Really? Sounds like neither of you have anything good to say about
my sister.”
He rounded
on me then, eyes flaming. “You asked and I’m telling you the truth! Truth hits
hard sometimes! Don’t you know that?”
“Okay!
Cool it, will you.” I pointed a finger at him and watched as he calmed down
again. “How did you meet Marie?”
“It
was business. There are people who arrange these things. A good business
manager will usually ensure the girls are attractive and accommodating. And
clean. This one seems to have got through the net.”
“Maybe
your son should have been more careful about using rubbers. Maybe your business
manager should have warned him.” I threw a sneer at him. “Back home we call
them pimps.”
“What’s
in a name?” He moved closer to the door, trying to end the whole discussion.
But I stayed sat in that seat and stared at him.
“Depends
on the name,” I told him.
“Look,
is that all? Have you found out all you came here to find out?”
I
stood my ground. “No. What’s your son doing down in the Irish Republic?”
“Taking
a holiday, and that is nothing to do with you, Bodine.”
“Depends
on why he needs to take a vacation right now.”
“Leave
him alone.”
Leave
him alone? It sounded like a protective father warning off the school bully. I
was damned if I was going to leave him alone. Whiteman came closer and stood
over me, menacingly.
I just
sat there on my butt and fumed. “I suppose you’d have been a bit embarrassed if
Marie were to let slip that you paid her for sex. You being an English
gentleman.”
He
drew deeply on his cigar. “I let her go and she didn’t cause me any more bother
after that.”
“But
she might have done. She left England and went to live in Belfast. In Northern
Ireland she wasn’t under anyone’s control. And your son was over there.”
“What
are you getting at?”
“Just
trying to figure out if you and your son had a good motive for murder.”
Whiteman’s
teeth gripped his cigar hard. His voice was thick with menace. “Get out of my
house, Bodine. Get out and don’t even think of contacting me again.”
At
that point I got to my feet and walked out of the room. Mrs Whiteman was in the
hallway and I nodded to her politely as I left. I knew damned well that I was
leaving behind me one whole lot of trouble between Whiteman and his wife.
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