Read Slaughter's Hound (Harry Rigby Mystery) Online
Authors: Declan Burke
Slaughter's Hound (Harry Rigby Mystery) (34 page)
The document inside was a birth certificate. The date seemed right – October 28, 1994 – and the stamp looked official. But it was a fake.
‘I don’t know what this is supposed to be proof of,’ I said, ‘but whoever put it together got the name wrong.’
From somewhere he found a second wind, even if the words came halt and hoarse. ‘The name is correct.’
‘She was adopted, Gillick. They both were, Big Bob Hamilton was shooting blanks. So the birth cert wouldn’t read Grainne Hamilton, it’d be Grainne something else. And the way Saoirse likes changing her kids’ names to Irish, maybe not even Grainne.’
‘Genuine,’ he said, although it took him about four seconds to push it all the way out.
‘Bullshit.’
‘Finn,’ he said, then swallowed thickly. His good eye closed. I looked around for some water but there was nothing to hand.
‘What about Finn?’
Nothing. I tapped him on the chin with the .38. ‘Gillick?’ I said. ‘I’m giving you five fucking seconds to—’
‘Robert couldn’t live with that.’ He meant the birth cert.
‘But why would he want to kill himself over—’
Except Gillick wasn’t saying Big Bob topped himself. He was saying Bob couldn’t live with knowing what his wife had done, was moving back to London and planning to divorce her.
Saoirse had panicked, even though Gillick had reassured her that Bob had confirmed the truth would stay hidden.
‘What truth?’
‘That truth.’ Again he meant the birth cert.
‘What fucking
truth
?’
For a moment he found himself, the old Gillick, supercilious and smug, although the effect when he smiled was rather ruined by the fact that his teeth were pink. ‘No wonder,’ he whispered, ‘you failed as a private detective.’
That did it. I reached behind myself, scrabbling on the desk for the cigar, and came up instead holding the ornate paper-knife.
‘We could’ve done this the easy way,’ I said. I plonked myself down on the broad saddle of his chest, a knee either side. He gasped a fine spray of blood. ‘But this way we’ll have ourselves some fun.’
I gripped him under the throat to hold his head steady. His good eye bulged. He tried to say something but it came out a strangled squawk.
‘Day late,’ I said, ‘dollar short.’ Then dug in.
When I’d finished carving the ‘T’ into his forehead, and eased off on his throat, it all fell out like some third-rate Jacobean farce, Gillick squealing like a one-man chorus about murder and incest, blood and gore. How Saoirse Hamilton had seduced her teenage son, maybe even convincing herself it was somehow okay given that he was adopted, not flesh and blood. Then falling pregnant, Grainne arriving, Big Bob not knowing shit from shinola, but suspecting shinola. Blazing rows, threats of violence, the inevitable mooting of divorce. Saoirse taunting Bob about being half the man Finn was.
All this Gillick knew from Finn, who’d gone to Gillick as some perverse kind of priest. A scared and very confused young man, no more than a boy, with nowhere else to go and confusing the idea of client confidentiality with the sacred oath of the
confessional
.
Telling Gillick, putting the gun on his desk, that he’d shot his father down at the docks, tumbled him into the water, then reversed the Beamer into the quays.
‘With that gun,’ Gillick gasped.
‘So I’ve heard. Paranoid bullshit.’
Not so, apparently. And Gillick being Gillick, he’d sniffed leverage, juice. Started grooming Finn as some kind of dauphin, this with one eye on the Hamilton Holdings fortune Finn would some day inherit. Never guessing for a second that he might be the one being groomed, manipulated into a false position of power, as they schemed their way towards isolating and
undermining
Saoirse Hamilton’s position.
It made a lot of sense. At least, it went a long way towards explaining Finn’s bipolar mood-swings, the arson, the constant need to reinvent himself, to lose himself in his art or in diving off cliffs. And why, just when he believed that he was getting out from under it all, squirreling away enough nuts to get him a new start in Cyprus, he might take a stroll off the ninth floor when he discovered that Maria was pregnant, only not with his kid. Going down in style and up in flames, taking everyone with him, yours truly included.
What didn’t make sense was the big finale. The sick punch line, so ludicrous I actually laughed out loud.
I got the dull point of the paper knife under Gillick’s chin, pushing up so that his head strained back, leaving his throat exposed.
‘This is true?’ I said.
‘On my fucking
life
,’ he rasped at the ceiling.
He had nothing left. No reason to lie. Besides, if what he said was true, it would take only a short journey to prove it beyond doubt.
‘Okay, that’s us. We’re done.’
I slipped sideways off his chest as his entire body sagged with relief. The good eye closed again, although it snapped open when I wrenched off his shoe, tugged his sock free.
‘What’re you—’ he began but then I dropped an elbow into his groin. He
oooofed
and gagged, his mouth dropping open. I jammed the sock in his mouth, saddled up on his chest again. Picked up the paper-knife.
A muffled croak came from behind the sock as he strained his head away. I seized him by the throat, held his head steady, my knuckle throbbing all the way up into my shoulder. Then I dug in again.
It took some time. He gurgled and squawked and squealed behind the sock all the while, a Philip Glass overture, Agony in C Minor. Blood seeping down to pool in the empty socket and blind his good eye. But the naked eyeball, singed as it was, saw all.
I found a bathroom down the hall, washed off the blood as best I could. Then I went to retrieve my latest swag. The birth cert, the pale blue envelope addressed in Finn’s hand, the twenty large in loose notes. Gillick had toppled over onto his side, lying snuffling like a beached elephant seal, badly gored and dying slow. Low moans coming muffled from behind the sock.
I still was picking up hundred-euro notes, leaving behind the ones spattered with blood, when he developed the power of
ventriloquism
. Amazing stuff. Projecting his voice behind me, and not so much as a wobble from the sock, when he said, ‘Put the tool down, Rigby.’
He stood in the double doorway with a hand on Maria’s shoulder, the Beretta nuzzling her ribs. Blood drying on the side of his neck.
Maria looked to be on the point of vomiting, a faint bulge to her eyes.
‘Arthur,’ Toto said without taking his eyes off mine. ‘Arthur?’
Gillick gave a sock-muffled groan, turned his head towards the sound like some light-dazzled mole dug out of a burrow.
‘First you lose my coke,’ Toto said, ‘and then you batter my brother-in-law. Now you’re hammering my solicitor.’ A bleak smile. ‘I was the paranoid type, I might start thinking you’ve some kind of vendetta going on.’
He was generous enough not to mention my assault on his dignity with a crutch. Or maybe he was trying to pretend it had never happened.
‘Nothing personal,’ I said.
He made a clicking sound, regretful. ‘Put the gun down on the ground,’ he said, ‘slide it over here.’
I shook my head.
He raised his right hand, tapped the Beretta against Maria’s stomach. She closed her eyes. ‘Don’t think I won’t do it,’ he said.
‘Seriously?’ I said. ‘You’re going to blow her away, you don’t even know who she is, for
this
piece of shit?’ This last being directed in Gillick’s direction. ‘Think about it,’ I said, lifting the .38, pointing it at his face. ‘Because it’ll be the last fucking thing you’ll ever do.’
Toto took it all under consideration. ‘So where are we now?’ he said.
‘I was just leaving,’ I said. ‘Taking her with me.’
His grin was a cold slash. ‘Just like that.’
‘Something like it, anyway.’
‘You know that’s not going to happen.’
‘That’ll be Ted’s call.’
‘Ted?’
‘There’s something he should probably know. About Gillick here, what he just told me.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’ll tell Ted.’
He thought about that, his eyes on mine, not the gun. ‘You want us all to arrive at Ted’s,’ he said, ‘a three-ring fucking circus.’
‘Ring him.’
That put him in a bind. To ring Ted he’d have to let Maria go or put the Beretta away.
‘Okay,’ he said. He released Maria, put a hand in the small of her back, urging her towards the nearest seat. So she was still in his theoretical field of fire. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘No harm meant.’
Still looking at me, waiting for the quid pro quo. I gave it a beat, lowered the .38.
‘So go ahead and ring Ted,’ Toto said, nodding at the phone on the floor beside the desk.
Which would have been hilarious, me hunkering down to dial some number Toto was calling out, getting a kick in the side of the head for my troubles.
‘Gillick’s phone,’ I said, ‘is on the table.’
He thought it through, then backed away to the table. Still facing me. Scrabbled through the detritus of Gillick’s meal.
Once he found the phone, though, it was relatively
straightforward
. Coming forward again, stabbing a couple of buttons. Gillick with Ted McConnell, former INLA killer turned
post-Peace
Process Robin Hood, on speed-dial. The boys back at Blackhall would surely have been proud.
Toto’s eyes never left mine.
The call connected. ‘Ted?’ he said. ‘It’s me.’
He was sharp, was Toto. It took him about thirty seconds to sketch it all out, this including a number of his own yeahs and uh-huhs. Then he pressed the speaker button, held out the phone. ‘You’re up,’ he said.
‘Ted?’ I said.
‘This Rigby?’ A faint metallic hum charged with feedback.
‘Yeah.’
‘Go.’
‘Your boy Gillick just mentioned that my kid’s in hospital.’
‘Yeah?’
‘My kid was in a coma.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Now he’s dead.’
‘So?’
‘So the only person who knew my kid was in hospital, in a coma, was a guy called Tohill.’
‘And?’
‘This Tohill being Detective Sergeant Tohill.’
Silence. Then, ‘Oh yeah?’
‘You mightn’t have heard of him yet. He’s been seconded here from CAB.’
‘CAB?’
‘The Criminal Assets—’
‘I fucking know what CAB is, Rigby.’
‘Right.’
A metallic click, a faint echo of feedback, and the phone went dead. Toto and I made eyes at one another some more to a soundtrack of a sandpaper symphony of Gillick choking
something
back behind the sock.
Maria sitting rigid on the chair, hands clasped between her knees.
The phone rang again.
Toto took the call. ‘Ted?’
More yeahs and uh-huhs, the cold grey eyes drifting away down to Gillick. A final, definitive nod. He tossed me the phone.
‘What do you know about Gillick and this Tohill?’ Without the tinny effect of the speaker-phone, Ted McConnell had a
surprisingly
mellow baritone.
‘Someone told Gillick about my kid. Tohill’s the only one who knew.’
‘They’re in bed?’
‘I’m telling you what I know.’
‘Yeah.’ Silence. Then, ‘I’m thinking I should probably have a chat with Gillick.’
‘He’s all yours.’
‘Then I’ll be wanting to talk to you.’
‘That’s doable, yeah. Just not right now.’
‘You don’t tell me when—’
‘Ted,’ I said, ‘I’ve given you Gillick.’ Toto wincing at my
interrupting
Ted. ‘And let’s be crystal fucking clear on this. I’m
walking
out of here now. Anyone gets in my way, I’m putting him down. End of story.’
A long silence this time. ‘Can’t say I like your attitude, Rigby,’ he said finally. ‘Can’t say I like what was done to Jimmy, either. Gillick’s one thing. Jimmy’s family.’
‘Fuck you and what you think about my attitude,’ I said. ‘Jimmy, okay, I can say there’s ten grand in it for him.’
‘Ten?’
‘I’ve twenty grand cash here right now. Ten’s owed to Toto. The other ten’s Jimmy’s. Final offer.’
‘Put Toto back on.’
I tossed the phone across. Toto went through another round of yeahs and uh-huhs. Then he hung up, untucked his shirt, gave the phone a good wiping down. Dropped it.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘The deal is this. Jimmy gets his ten grand, I get mine, we take Gillick for a spin. You and me, we were never here.’
‘Only one can say we were,’ I said, ‘is Gillick.’
‘And her,’ Toto said.
‘She’s leaving the country,’ I said, ‘in a couple of hours.’
He nodded. ‘Okay. Give me a hand getting Gillick to the car.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Fair enough.’ He went and hunkered down beside Gillick, slapped his cheek. ‘Let’s go, fat-chops,’ he said. ‘Time’s money.’
I told Maria to go ahead, wait for me outside. She stalked out, her face pale, although whether that was because she was holding down a puke or repressing her fury I couldn’t tell.
I left the blood-spattered notes where they lay, put the wad in my hand on the desk.
Toto had Gillick propped against the wall by then, Gillick emitting some gravelly groans. Toto’s hands smeared with blood.
‘Ted’ll try to square it with Jimmy,’ Toto said. ‘But I’m making no promises. Jimmy’s his own man. Might be no harm to go missing for a while once he’s back in business.’
‘Run once,’ I said, ‘and you never stop.’
Toto rubbed his bloody hands together, cracked a bleak grin. ‘And wouldn’t that be just fucking grand?’ he said.
‘You and me,’ I said. ‘Where are we now?’
He sat back on his haunches, considering. ‘Let’s get the business sorted first Rigby. Then we’ll talk personal.’
‘You’ll want to confirm this with him,’ I nodded at Gillick, ‘but he just told me Jimmy was working a little freelance Thursday night, down at the PA.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. Keeping himself busy while I was upstairs talking with Finn and Gillick.’
‘Busy how?’
‘Finn came down on top of the cab when he jumped,’ I said, ‘blew it to shit. The cab sitting directly under the window because Jimmy directed me into that exact spot.’