asked.
"Later," Hardy said.
"In the morning," Newman said.
"And are you holding me on anything?"
"Drunk and disorderly," Hardy said, smiling.
"And resisting arrest," Newman added.
"Do you guys have to do that?" I asked.
"Do..." said Hardy.
"...what?" said Newman, and they both smiled at me. It was like being smiled at by a pair of hungry tigers.
"Tell us about McIntyre," Hardy said.
"Tommy McIntyre? I was round at his shop earlier," I said. "I'm looking for something and I thought he might be able to help me find it."
I expected them to ask what it was that I was looking for, but either they already knew or they were saving it for later.
"John Harris, Jimmy Allen, and now Tommy McIntyre," Newman said. "All dead, all with the same M.O., and all not long after talking to you. Are you beginning to see a pattern here?"
"Tommy's dead? When? I only saw him this..."
I didn't get a chance to finish.
"Tommy's hoor Mandy eyeballed you this afternoon, and we've got the cab driver who took you to The Rock at ten past eight. Your wee business card was in Tommy's jacket pocket, with the time-'eight o'clock' written on the back. Do you want to bet your prints are in the shop?" Hardy said.
"And we've got a wifie who says she saw you on the bus yesterday with John Harris. She said you were acting pally with him," Newman said.
I shivered.
"Can I at least get my clothes back?"
"Forensics," Newman said.
"Might take a while," Hardy said.
"Now about Pervy Tommy?" Newman said.
I told them my story, from start to finish. The only thing I left out was who I was working for, and what I was looking for.
"That trip to Dunblane?" Hardy said.
"Awfully convenient for you," Newman said.
"Aye," I said. "I suppose it's the only reason I'm not sitting here charged with murder?"
"There's time yet," Newman said.
"Plenty of time," said Hardy.
It was all down hill from there. They went over my story time and time again, looking for cracks, hoping for an inconsistency. I chain-smoked Camels, and they got more agitated. There was a window high on the wall above me and thin watery sunlight was beginning to seep in when they finally stopped.
Newman left the room, while Hardy just sat and stared at me. Newman came back with a pile of clothes and dropped them on the table in front of me. The stink of stale vomit assaulted my nasal passages.
"No blood. No bits of Tommy McIntyre," he said. "And the coroner is now saying that the wounds were caused by an animal-some kind of exotic snake he's never seen before."
"That doesn't mean you're off the hook," Hardy said.
"Aye. We'll be keeping an eye on you," Newman said.
"I know," I said. "Don't leave town, stay in touch, all that happy-crappy."
"Aye. You know the drill," Hardy said.
"Just hope that nobody else you talk to turns up dead," Newman said.
"You mean like the pair of you?" I said, and smiled as I saw a momentary shock in both their eyes. I had finally got to 'Stan and Ollie'.
That thought kept me mildly happy as I dressed then signed at the desk for my watch, keys, wallet and lighter. I felt sure I should have had more money in the wallet, but I wasn't in a position to argue.
* * *
The sun was just coming up as I left the station and headed down the steps to Maryhill Road. An office cleaner passed me, and she looked me up and down before turning up her nose.
"Rough night, son?" she said.
I grunted at her, and lit another cigarette. Combined with my first fresh air for twelve hours, it brought on a fit of coughing.
She stepped back away from me.
"If you're going to throw up, do it over in the bushes," she said, pointing me over to her left. "It's my turn to do the steps, and I don't need any more shit than I get already."
I nodded-I wasn't ready to speak again just yet.
The rain had finally stopped, and the streets glistened silver in the new sun. Milkmen and paperboys were out and about, and young executives keen to make their mark revved up their BMWs.
The town was waking
"Later," Hardy said.
"In the morning," Newman said.
"And are you holding me on anything?"
"Drunk and disorderly," Hardy said, smiling.
"And resisting arrest," Newman added.
"Do you guys have to do that?" I asked.
"Do..." said Hardy.
"...what?" said Newman, and they both smiled at me. It was like being smiled at by a pair of hungry tigers.
"Tell us about McIntyre," Hardy said.
"Tommy McIntyre? I was round at his shop earlier," I said. "I'm looking for something and I thought he might be able to help me find it."
I expected them to ask what it was that I was looking for, but either they already knew or they were saving it for later.
"John Harris, Jimmy Allen, and now Tommy McIntyre," Newman said. "All dead, all with the same M.O., and all not long after talking to you. Are you beginning to see a pattern here?"
"Tommy's dead? When? I only saw him this..."
I didn't get a chance to finish.
"Tommy's hoor Mandy eyeballed you this afternoon, and we've got the cab driver who took you to The Rock at ten past eight. Your wee business card was in Tommy's jacket pocket, with the time-'eight o'clock' written on the back. Do you want to bet your prints are in the shop?" Hardy said.
"And we've got a wifie who says she saw you on the bus yesterday with John Harris. She said you were acting pally with him," Newman said.
I shivered.
"Can I at least get my clothes back?"
"Forensics," Newman said.
"Might take a while," Hardy said.
"Now about Pervy Tommy?" Newman said.
I told them my story, from start to finish. The only thing I left out was who I was working for, and what I was looking for.
"That trip to Dunblane?" Hardy said.
"Awfully convenient for you," Newman said.
"Aye," I said. "I suppose it's the only reason I'm not sitting here charged with murder?"
"There's time yet," Newman said.
"Plenty of time," said Hardy.
It was all down hill from there. They went over my story time and time again, looking for cracks, hoping for an inconsistency. I chain-smoked Camels, and they got more agitated. There was a window high on the wall above me and thin watery sunlight was beginning to seep in when they finally stopped.
Newman left the room, while Hardy just sat and stared at me. Newman came back with a pile of clothes and dropped them on the table in front of me. The stink of stale vomit assaulted my nasal passages.
"No blood. No bits of Tommy McIntyre," he said. "And the coroner is now saying that the wounds were caused by an animal-some kind of exotic snake he's never seen before."
"That doesn't mean you're off the hook," Hardy said.
"Aye. We'll be keeping an eye on you," Newman said.
"I know," I said. "Don't leave town, stay in touch, all that happy-crappy."
"Aye. You know the drill," Hardy said.
"Just hope that nobody else you talk to turns up dead," Newman said.
"You mean like the pair of you?" I said, and smiled as I saw a momentary shock in both their eyes. I had finally got to 'Stan and Ollie'.
That thought kept me mildly happy as I dressed then signed at the desk for my watch, keys, wallet and lighter. I felt sure I should have had more money in the wallet, but I wasn't in a position to argue.
* * *
The sun was just coming up as I left the station and headed down the steps to Maryhill Road. An office cleaner passed me, and she looked me up and down before turning up her nose.
"Rough night, son?" she said.
I grunted at her, and lit another cigarette. Combined with my first fresh air for twelve hours, it brought on a fit of coughing.
She stepped back away from me.
"If you're going to throw up, do it over in the bushes," she said, pointing me over to her left. "It's my turn to do the steps, and I don't need any more shit than I get already."
I nodded-I wasn't ready to speak again just yet.
The rain had finally stopped, and the streets glistened silver in the new sun. Milkmen and paperboys were out and about, and young executives keen to make their mark revved up their BMWs.
The town was waking
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