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Authors: Allan Guthrie

Kiss Her Goodbye (19 page)

BOOK: Kiss Her Goodbye
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"Your firm's happy to let you do that?"

"Yeah. Makes it look as if they care."

"Well, Ronald. It's good to know somebody gives a shit."

The lawyer shrugged. "I have to leave in a minute. Meet a friend of yours. I can't help you if I stay here chatting."

"Off you go. I'm long past needing a babysitter."

"Help yourself to tea, coffee, whatever."

"Don't need a waiter either. Just fuck off, Ronald. I'll put my feet up and watch some TV."

"I don't have—"

"I know. I noticed."

"I'm slow. Sorry. I better get going."

"What friend?" Joe said. " I didn't know I had any."

"Adam Wright."

"What's he doing in Edinburgh?"

"That's what I'm about to find out."

After Ronald left, Joe waited a few minutes, then located the lawyer's phone (at least he had one) on a table in the hallway. Joe dug out the photo of Ruth and dialed the number he'd written on the back.

A young male voice answered. "Florida Al's Tanning Studio."

"Who am I speaking to?"

A slight pause, then the voice said, "This is Dom."

"Pleased to meet you, Dom. I'd like to speak to Mr. Park."

Another slight pause, a little longer than the previous one. "Don't know anyone by that name."

"I don't believe you, Dom. I'd like to speak to Mr. Park."

The line went dead.

Joe redialed. After half a dozen rings Dom answered. This time he just said, "Hello?"

"Me again."

"Look, I told you. I don't know anybody named Park. Nobody works here with that name."

"Can I speak to Florida Al?"

Dom laughed.

"I say something funny?"

"There's no Florida Al. It's a made-up name."

"Hilarious," Joe said. "So let me speak to Sunshine Jim, then, or whatever the owner wants to call himself."

The silence lasted a long time. At last Dom said, "He's out."

"Does he have a mobile number?"

"Can't let you have it."

"When will he be back?"

"Back where?"

"In the studio, Dom. You told me he was out. That suggests that he's been in and will be returning later. I'd like to know when."

"Not today."

"Then why don't you give me his number?"

"Can't do that."

"His name, then. Can you give me that?"

The line went dead again.

Joe tried ringing the number a few more times. Each time it rang out. He yanked the yellow pages from underneath the table the phone sat on. The list of tanning studios was longer than he imagined. He found the address of Florida Al's. It was in Bruntsfield. Ten minutes walk round the corner.

Joe had to get to the tanning studio before it closed for the day. He was hoping he hadn't spooked Dom. Probably shouldn't have called. No, he should have pretended to be a customer and asked for the address. Or just hung up once Dom had answered and done what he ended up doing anyway and getting the address from the Yellow Pages. If only he hadn't smashed his mobile in that fit of rage with Adam, he could have tried phoning again. Maybe Dom would have answered, assuming the anonymous caller would be fed up of pestering him by now.

A pleasant afternoon was turning into a pleasant evening. Low in the sky, the sun burned brightly. Much more of this kind of nonsense and Florida Al's would be out of business. Classes over for the day, the Meadows teemed with students. Hanging around in groups, walking in pairs, in threes, on their own. For a moment, he thought he'd spotted Gemma. But it was just a girl, laughing with her friend, who wore her hair the same way. Same color, too. They could have passed for sisters. There she was, this student, strolling in the park with not a care in the world while Gemma was dead. Didn't seem right. Joe knew it wasn't the girl's fault, but he still wanted to run across the road and wipe the grin off her face. It seemed disrespectful.

A police car passed, siren screaming. Joe turned his head to follow the sound and bumped into a fat guy carrying a couple of shopping bags. Joe apologized. The fat guy was sweating and said, breathlessly, "My fault." The police car disappeared, heading towards town.

Joe followed a footpath that cut through Bruntsfield Links, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass. Within a few minutes he was standing outside Florida Al's Tanning Studio.

A hand-written sign on the window said, "New — nipple piercing." A sign on the door said, "Open."

Joe walked in. Behind a bright red reception desk, a couple of tanned young men looked at him, their eyes widening as they watched him flip over the card on the back of the door. One of the men had jet-black hair. The other's was straight and shoulder-length and pink where it wasn't blue. Neither of them looked a day over twenty.

"Closing early today," Joe said. "Now which one of you is Dom?"

"You're the guy on the phone," the one with the colorful hair said.

"So you must be Dom." Joe strode towards the desk.

Dom backed against the wall, bunching a fistful of his garish shirt like a woman whose blouse buttons have all popped. He glanced at his colleague. Dom was the less tanned of the two.

Joe ignored Dom. He said to the other one, "And you are?"

"Carlos Garcia Gonzalez. And you, senor?"

"You think I could speak to Mr. Park, Carlos?"

Carlos started speaking in Spanish. Joe didn't understand a word of it. The closest he'd come to Spain was reading Thomas Kyd's play "The Spanish Tragedy" at university. Carlos clasped his hands in front of him.

Joe said, "I don't understand, Carlos."

"Please, senor, I do not know this man of whom you speak."

Joe ran his tongue over his teeth. He placed his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes for a second. He breathed deeply and exhaled. "Okay," he said. He leaped forward and smacked Dom as hard as he could on the cheek.

Dom's face blanched.

"Mr. Park," Joe said.

Dom shook his head.

"Carlos?" Joe said.

"You want me scared, yes?" Carlos held his hands in front of his face as if he was ready to catch a football. "Like this?" His voice quaked. "Please, no. I don't know no Mr. Park. Please, senor." He lowered his hands and smiled. His voice returned to normal. "Is that what you want?"

"Disappointing," Joe said. "I was hoping you'd cooperate. I don't want to hurt Dom for nothing."

A little color had returned to Dom's face. At Joe's words he dived round the side of the reception desk and bolted towards the back of the shop. Joe cut him off. Dom kept running, so Joe stuck out a foot and tripped him. Don flew for a couple of feet and cried out when he hit the floor. When he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, Joe could see blood dripping from his mouth. Dom turned. The color had drained from his face again. Any paler and he'd have been dead.

"I really want to get in touch with Mr. Park," Joe said, hovering over Dom. Dom flinched. Joe pulled the young man's hand away from his face and examined the cut. Upper lip. Nasty. Probably put a tooth through it. "You'll need that stitched," he said. "Why don't you just tell me the number? You do phone him, right? Or is it Carlos who gets in touch?"

Dom said nothing. He dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at the floor.

"Well?" Joe looked up. "Carlos, are you going to tell me?"

"I don't know no Mr. Park, senor."

Joe cuffed Dom, aiming for the boy's cut lip. Judging from Dom's cry, his aim was perfect. Joe said, "However scared you are of Mr. Park, you really ought to be more scared of me. I'm a complete psychopath. Know what that is, Carlos? Maybe Dom can translate for you. No, tell you what. I'll demonstrate. I'll take Dom through the back and shove him under a sunbed for a while. Got all the time in the world, you know. Couple of hours in there might refresh his memory."

"No good," Carlos said. "He will pass out from the heat and tell you
nada
."

"Thank you for the advice, Carlos."

"Is my pleasure. I know, also, the word psychopath. In Spanish we say,
psic
ó
pata
. What is your name, senor?"

"Joe Hope."

"Joe Hope," Carlos said, watching Dom shake. "Joe Hope?" He faced Joe, grinning. "My father was a
psic
ó
pata.
One day he tried to run my mother over in his car. She went to the police but they didn't give no shit. She went to a lawyer and he told her it was very bad if she moved out of our home. She moved into the spare room. She kept
tijeras

scissors — under her pillow." Carlos lowered his head. "It didn't help."

"I'm very sorry about your domestic problems," Joe said. "But right now I have other things on my mind. I need to speak to Mr. Park about certain domestic issues of my own."

"My father killed my mother. Then he killed himself. I was lucky he didn't try to kill me."

"You've had a rough time, Carlos. I know how you feel. I'm very sorry for you."

"He did this to her." Carlos positioned his hands as if he held an invisible ball between them. His fingers curled. "To my mother."

"He strangled her," Joe said.

"Strangled. Yes." Carlos relaxed his fingers and his arms dropped to his sides. "I was in my bedroom listening to music. I heard nothing. There is a very high bridge in the town where I come from. My father drove to this bridge and stopped in the middle. He climbed onto the wall and jumped into the
precipicio
." Carlos made a whistling sound as he described his father's descent by drawing a line in the air with his index finger. "
Muerto.
" He tapped his chest twice. "
Huérfano.
"

Dom tried to get to his feet. Joe looked at him and he stayed where he was.

Joe said, "How did you end up in Edinburgh, Carlos?"

"My girlfriend was a student here. She is no longer my girlfriend. I have a new girlfriend." Carlos smiled.

"Good for you, son," Joe said. "And you've got a job, too."

"More than a job. Florida Al's is my business."

"You own this place? Then you know Mr. Park."

"You want to speak to him? I might be able to help."

Joe looked at Dom and said, "Get up."

Dom got to his feet. "Carlos," he said. "You can't let this fucking ape get away with beating me up. Look at my lip."

"Go to hospital," Carlos said. "I will pay you three times for today."

"Treble time? For the whole day?"

Carlos nodded. Joe said, "Want me to come back tomorrow, Dom?"

Dom ignored him. "I'll get my things and go out the back."

Carlos waited until they heard the door close. He picked up the phone. "You are staring at me. It is not polite."

"Just wondering," Joe said. "Why are you helping me? I could be anybody."

"But you are not anybody. I have heard the name of Joe Hope," Carlos said. "You are the man who murdered his wife."

"I didn't—"

"No matter," Carlos said. "You remind me of my father."

"Your father killed your mother."

"Aye.
La hija de puta.
I hated the bitch." Carlos dialed. After a few seconds he raised his thumb and said, "Mr. Park, I am phoning about your appointment at Florida Al's."

TWENTY-SEVEN

Adam sipped mineral water from his brandy glass and waited for Joe's lawyer to arrive, trying his hardest not to look at the girl in the black mini-skirt. He wondered what Dotty would look like in the same outfit. Pretty damn stunning, he thought.

He picked up his copy of the
Evening News
and read the headline on the front page. A prostitute had been found dead in an industrial estate in the Seafield area of the city. She was fifteen years old. The police had no clues as to her killer.

Adam placed the newspaper on the table and leaned back in his seat. He didn't want to read about death. Especially so young a death. Fifteen. That was nothing. Still a baby, really. He wondered how her parents must be feeling. Like Joe, perhaps. Or maybe not. They didn't have quite as many worries.

Ronald Brewer had contacted Adam about Gemma's funeral arrangements, and they'd got talking. He'd updated Adam on Joe's current situation. Joe was on the run. However, the lawyer believed he was innocent. Brewer was insistent that Joe had been set up. The lawyer seemed a nice young man. Keen. Dedicated. Adam wondered if he could trust him, though. Whose side was he on? Did he want to get Joe back in custody at the expense of justice? Or was it justice? Did Joe kill Ruth?

Adam didn't know the answer to that. Recent events had shown him just how wrong he could be. Maybe Joe did kill his wife, maybe he didn't. But he didn't appear to be guilty of raping Gemma. And if Joe hadn't been responsible for that, then he didn't have the motivation to kill Ruth that Adam had previously attributed to him. But somebody else did. Adam wanted to give Joe the benefit of the doubt. Gemma had loved her father. That ought to count for something.

BOOK: Kiss Her Goodbye
5.12Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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