"Right enough. I just thought, because of the slashing…"
"Slashing people's faces, that's something trainee neds do to show their mates they're hard, they don't even know the person they're doing it to, they just run past the person and-" He flicked his wrist in a way she found worryingly dismissive.
"You've never done that, eh?" she asked timidly.
"Don't be ridiculous." He was staggered at the suggestion. "Do you think I'm capable of that?"
"Not really."
"Mauri, do you really think I'd do that to someone?"
"Auch, no, Liam, no. But I know you're protective of me since I was in hospital."
"Protective?"
"Yeah, protective."
"And I'm stupid enough to think carving up your boyfriend in your own living room is going to protect you from something much worse? Like what? Like falling out with him?"
"Aye, right enough."
"Anyway." He smiled at her. "I'd hardly do it when my alibi would get me arrested, would I? I'd be smarter than that, anyway."
"Auch, I'm sorry, Liam." She smiled back at him. "I'm a bit bewildered today."
She cut a bite out of the bridie and put it in her mouth. It hadn't been microwaved properly and undissolved fat still clung to the slimy inside of the cold pastry wall. She bit down onto a lump of gristle and made a face. "That's disgustin'." She spat it out into a napkin, wrapping it into a little bundle and putting it in the ashtray. Her appetite was gone.
"I'm so fucked," said Liam. "I can't tell them where I was."
"It might have happened at night. That time-of-death stuff isn't a set science, it's just a good guess."
"Did the police tell you that?"
"No," she said. "But the heating was on in the house this morning- it was belting out. I wondered if that could change a time of death."
"How?"
"Well, they work it out by comparing the temperature of the body to the surrounding temperature. What would it be if the person was alive – say, ninety-eight point six degrees?"
"I dunno."
"Anyway, what if the surrounding temperature wasn't constant? That would change the rate of heat loss. What if the heating was turned right up and set to go an hour or so before he was found? That would heat up the house but wouldn't be enough to heat up a body. The police would take his temperature thinking he'd been in a warm house the whole time he'd been dead. They'd think he'd died earlier than he actually did."
"Maureen, what are you rambling about?" said Liam seriously.
"They could have got the time of death wrong. It could have happened in the evening."
He looked confused. "Wouldn't the police think of that, though?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, but even if they did it would still be hard to work out the times: they couldn't know what the temperature had been before the heating went on."
"And did it occur to you that if the murderer did that deliberately they'd need to know how the police work out the time of death? Where did you hear all that science stuff anyway?"
"I saw it on Taggart"
Liam giggled at his plate. He could tell he was making Maureen angry but couldn't stop himself. He put his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, Mauri-"
"Yeah, fuck you."
"Yeah." He sniggered. "Okay, fuck me."
"I read it in the paper as well, Liam."
"So it must be true."
"What were you doing that night?"
"I was with Maggie at her mum and dad's."
"And were they in?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if I was right they could vouch for you."
He grinned at her as if she was mental. "Okay, Dr. X."
"Don't take the piss, Liam."
"I'm trying not to but you make it so hard." Maureen looked downcast.
"Did you tell the police that?"
She looked even more miserable. "I tried," she said.
He suppressed a smile. "And what did they say?"
She didn't answer him.
"Well," he said, jabbing at a chip, "I'm sure they'll find whoever did it soon enough. Buccleuch Street's always busy. Someone must have seen something."
Maureen picked at her chips. They were soggy, limp and warm. She should eat something. "I don't know why I keep coming here, the food's horrible."
"Good fry-ups, though," said Liam.
"Did they tell you anything about the cupboard?" she said, trying to catch the waitress's eye. She limped over to their table. Maureen ordered an ice cream and a coffee. They looked to Liam for an order. He was eating his chips eagerly now, spearing three at a time with his fork and swirling them around in the mess of ketchup on the side of the plate.
"Does sir want anything else?" asked the waitress.
Liam looked at her. "Nope."
As she limped away to the kitchen Liam stabbed Maureen gently with his fork. "What was that about a cupboard?"
"They found something in the cupboard."
"Which cupboard?"
"The hall cupboard."
"The cupboard I found you in?"
"Yeah."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"I don't know what it means."
He watched her. "It could just be an accident. It isn't necessarily significant that you were found in it."
"It could make it look like me," she said softly, "if they find out I was found in there. They might think I did it and then went and hid in there again. They might think I was in there all night and that's why I didn't phone them."
Liam worked the final bushel of chips into his mouth and thought about it. "Yeah," he said. "They're more likely to think it's significant if you don't tell them and they find out from someone else later."
"Who knows that except you and me?"
"You, me and any one of the mental-health professionals who've seen your psychiatric notes."
"It's not in my notes. I've seen my notes. It says I was hiding in the house, it doesn't mention that cupboard. Louisa at the Albert doesn't know."
"What about that guy at the Rainbow?"
"Naw, Angus didn't know either. I never discussed that time with him."
"So that leaves you and me."
"Yeah."
"I didn't do it, Maureen."
"I didn't mean that. I meant who knows that? Did you tell anyone?"
"Like who?"
"I dunno."
"Well, I dunno either." He looked at her. "I didn't do it, Maureen."
"I'm not saying you did. I didn't for a minute mean that it was you, Liam, I didn't mean that."
"Did ye not like the bridie?" The waitress was at her side with a portion of ice cream and a coffee. She put them on the table and lifted Maureen's dinner plate.
"I'm just not hungry," said Maureen quietly. She slid a spoonful of ice cream and raspberry sauce into her mouth, rolling it under her tongue, letting it dissolve slightly before swallowing.
Liam took the teaspoon from her coffee and started eating her ice cream. "So you were at your work when it happened?"
"Yeah," she said, frowning at her ice cream. "Someone phoned work yesterday. Liz thought it was Douglas but it might not have been. She told him I wasn't in and I wouldn't be in all day."
"So?"
"He phoned three times. Same guy."
"It probably was Douglas," said Liam.
"No, I don't know if it was. They were phoning from a phone box and he should have been at work. I don't think he'd have called back when she said I was out. Wouldn't want to seem too eager."
Liam stole another spoon of ice cream. She pushed it toward him. "You have it. I don't want it."
The sugar and caffeine were finding their way into Maureen's system. The shaky feeling evaporated like a hangover after a whisky and she felt relatively calm. She sipped her coffee. It was bitter and hot. She took out her cigarettes and lit one.
"Do you think you're being set up?" asked Liam.
"Maybe. I don't know what the cupboard thing means yet. If I could find out what was wrong with the cupboard…"
"Stop trying to find things out, pet. Leave it to the police," said Liam, without a hint of irony. "They'll sort it out."
"I'm just… I'm thinking."
"Keep out of it. You don't want to get involved in this."
"I'm already involved."