said. ‘Even the breaking-in part wasn’t working so well.’
‘That’s because you didn’t come prepared,’ he said, rummaging in his coat pocket and removing a ring of keys. ‘One of these should do it,’ he said, gesturing towards the lock. ‘A gift from a grateful locksmith,’ he added, smearing the rainwater from his face with the palm of his hand.
Sure enough, the sixth key I tried unlocked the back door. I entered the house, calling out Hamill’s name. Hendry followed me into the kitchen, searching along the wall with the palm of his hand until he found the light switch.
The kitchen was a mess. Dirty dishes lay in the sink. The counter was coated with breadcrumbs and a tub of margarine sat with its lid on the counter beside it and a smeared knife sitting atop the tub. A bowl containing overripe fruit sat to one side of it. Small fruit flies crawled over the blackened bananas. To the other side, a kettle was plugged in and the wall switch turned on.
Hendry went over and opened the fridge. A carton of milk was curdling on the shelf: beyond that sat a half-eaten loaf of bread, the grey furze of mould on its crust clear through the wrapping. A few beer cans were on the bottom shelf with a bowl of something that looked like solidified chilli.
‘Untidy bugger,’ Hendry commented.
We moved into the rest of the house. The hallway was clear, save for a pile of assorted letters which lay discarded beneath the letter box.
As I had seen from outside, the television in the living room was on standby. The remote control sat on a small coffee table in the middle of the floor, beside which was a half-drunk mug of something on which a scum of mould had grown. A newspaper lay on the floor beside the chair nearest the table. On the chair arm, a filter from a cigarette had been broken off. A few small circles of card suggested Hamill had been making roaches.
‘Spliffing up before he goes to kill Kielty?’ Hendry gestured towards the chair arm.
‘It doesn’t look right, does it?’
‘It looks like he thought he was coming back, if that’s what you mean,’ Hendry said.
‘So, if he did kill Kielty, it probably wasn’t premeditated. If he had been planning it, you’d imagine he’d clean up a bit. Especially if he knew he was going to go on the run.’
‘Maybe they had a row.’
‘And he happens to have petrol with him just in case? Unless he killed Kielty then went off and got the petrol then went back again.’
‘Though you’d think he’d come back here and get some stuff.’
‘Maybe he panicked,’ I reasoned.
‘Maybe,’ Hendry shrugged.
The rooms above were in a similar state. There were two bedrooms and a lumber room. One of the rooms – a spare room, we guessed – sat tidy, the bed made. In the other, Hamill’s bed linen spilled onto the floor, his nightclothes rolled in a ball in the corner. A pint glass of water stood on the locker beside his bed.
Hendry flicked through the drawers of his dresser, then lifted out a black pouch about the size of his hand. He unzipped it and peered inside.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Mr Hamill’s stash.’
He threw the pouch over to me. Inside was a syringe and a scorched spoon. A small folded white piece of paper bulged slightly in the middle.
‘Would a junkie abandon his stash?’ Hendry asked.
‘If he’d just stolen Kielty’s stuff, then I suppose so.’
But Hendry shook his head. ‘Not a fucking chance. Those guys wouldn’t pass on a hit, no matter how much they had.’
We had locked up the house as well as we could and Hendry phoned the station, requesting that they put out an alert for Ian Hamill on suspicion of murder. I was climbing into my own car when I saw him running over, gesturing to me to wind down the window.
He ducked his head down level with the window. ‘Do you fancy a pint?’ he suggested, squinting through the rain.
‘I know just the place,’ I said. ‘I want to check McEvoy’s story about Kielty being threatened in
‘That’s because you didn’t come prepared,’ he said, rummaging in his coat pocket and removing a ring of keys. ‘One of these should do it,’ he said, gesturing towards the lock. ‘A gift from a grateful locksmith,’ he added, smearing the rainwater from his face with the palm of his hand.
Sure enough, the sixth key I tried unlocked the back door. I entered the house, calling out Hamill’s name. Hendry followed me into the kitchen, searching along the wall with the palm of his hand until he found the light switch.
The kitchen was a mess. Dirty dishes lay in the sink. The counter was coated with breadcrumbs and a tub of margarine sat with its lid on the counter beside it and a smeared knife sitting atop the tub. A bowl containing overripe fruit sat to one side of it. Small fruit flies crawled over the blackened bananas. To the other side, a kettle was plugged in and the wall switch turned on.
Hendry went over and opened the fridge. A carton of milk was curdling on the shelf: beyond that sat a half-eaten loaf of bread, the grey furze of mould on its crust clear through the wrapping. A few beer cans were on the bottom shelf with a bowl of something that looked like solidified chilli.
‘Untidy bugger,’ Hendry commented.
We moved into the rest of the house. The hallway was clear, save for a pile of assorted letters which lay discarded beneath the letter box.
As I had seen from outside, the television in the living room was on standby. The remote control sat on a small coffee table in the middle of the floor, beside which was a half-drunk mug of something on which a scum of mould had grown. A newspaper lay on the floor beside the chair nearest the table. On the chair arm, a filter from a cigarette had been broken off. A few small circles of card suggested Hamill had been making roaches.
‘Spliffing up before he goes to kill Kielty?’ Hendry gestured towards the chair arm.
‘It doesn’t look right, does it?’
‘It looks like he thought he was coming back, if that’s what you mean,’ Hendry said.
‘So, if he did kill Kielty, it probably wasn’t premeditated. If he had been planning it, you’d imagine he’d clean up a bit. Especially if he knew he was going to go on the run.’
‘Maybe they had a row.’
‘And he happens to have petrol with him just in case? Unless he killed Kielty then went off and got the petrol then went back again.’
‘Though you’d think he’d come back here and get some stuff.’
‘Maybe he panicked,’ I reasoned.
‘Maybe,’ Hendry shrugged.
The rooms above were in a similar state. There were two bedrooms and a lumber room. One of the rooms – a spare room, we guessed – sat tidy, the bed made. In the other, Hamill’s bed linen spilled onto the floor, his nightclothes rolled in a ball in the corner. A pint glass of water stood on the locker beside his bed.
Hendry flicked through the drawers of his dresser, then lifted out a black pouch about the size of his hand. He unzipped it and peered inside.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Mr Hamill’s stash.’
He threw the pouch over to me. Inside was a syringe and a scorched spoon. A small folded white piece of paper bulged slightly in the middle.
‘Would a junkie abandon his stash?’ Hendry asked.
‘If he’d just stolen Kielty’s stuff, then I suppose so.’
But Hendry shook his head. ‘Not a fucking chance. Those guys wouldn’t pass on a hit, no matter how much they had.’
We had locked up the house as well as we could and Hendry phoned the station, requesting that they put out an alert for Ian Hamill on suspicion of murder. I was climbing into my own car when I saw him running over, gesturing to me to wind down the window.
He ducked his head down level with the window. ‘Do you fancy a pint?’ he suggested, squinting through the rain.
‘I know just the place,’ I said. ‘I want to check McEvoy’s story about Kielty being threatened in
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