He was asking her, he was asking nicely. "Okay," she said, feigning reluctance. "Okay, I'll stop. Just tell me if it's Benny or I won't know whether to press the buzzer if he comes to see me."
McEwan nodded slowly, giving himself time to think through the implications of telling her. He wouldn't have taken that long if it wasn't Benny.
"Okay, you don't have to say it," she said. "I can tell."
"Good," he said. "Now, until we make an arrest you're in danger. I want you to stay near your house. Stay in it if possible, okay?"
"Okay."
"And lock it."
"Okay, Joe."
He leaned across her to open the car door but she put her hand out and stopped him. "I'm sorry I was so rude to you that time, when I called you… what I called you before, but it's hard to just stop having anything to do with your own life and hand it over to someone else to sort out, you know? I don't suppose it's something that comes naturally to most people."
He sat back and looked at her. "You're wrong about that. It comes very naturally to most people," he said, displaying a level of reflection she would never have suspected of him. "You still got the beeper?"
"Yeah." She patted her pocket. "I've got it."
"Use it, for even the slightest reason. Okay?"
"Okay."
He took the fag from Maureen's hand and drew on it.
"Joe, do you or don't you smoke?"
"Gave up." He handed the fag back and leaned across, opening the car door.
"I know you were at it this morning," she said, "I know ye were pretending to be friendly. I'd have given you the list anyway, ye didn't need to do that."
He looked startled but said nothing.
"You smiled when ye were putting my coat on," she explained. "Gave you away. This is much better, the way you're doing it now."
McEwan coughed. "I'm not doing anything now," he said, and looked out of the window. They sat in a rocky silence.
"Right," she said awkwardly. "Well, it comes over better, anyway."
She got out of the car, took four steps and dropped her scarf. McAskill stepped forward and picked it up for her. "Hall cupboard," he whispered. "His balls. Cut off and put there." He got back into the driver's seat and McMummb climbed into the back next to McEwan. The car pulled away from the curb, followed the line of the cul-de-sac and drove out to the main road. Maureen watched them as they turned. McEwan was saying something serious to McMummb.
"And tell them," said McEwan, "not to let her out of their sight. Not for a minute."
"Yes, sir," said McMummb, and wrote the order in longhand in his notebook.
"YOU WERE RIGHT," muttered Maureen to Leslie, "it is a man."
"How do you know?" asked Leslie.
"Douglas's bollocks were cut off. That's what was in the cupboard."
"And that makes it a man?"
"A woman would've cut his dick off. Bollocks aren't exactly loaded with symbolic meaning for us, are they?"
"Dunno," said Leslie. "I'm not all women. Reckon it's the same guy as the Northern rapes?"
"Yeah."
"Did you tell them?"
"No."
"What are you going to do, then?"
"I'm going to get the fucker," said Maureen, putting on her helmet and fastening it tight.
Maureen sat on the back of the bike and shut her eyes as Leslie drove her into the town. She held Leslie's waist and felt the hum of the engine beneath her, felt the cold air pushing past her, the stinging on the back of her neck, and heard the distant noise of traffic outside her helmet.
In another time her hot face lay on Douglas's damp thigh and he stroked her hair with a gentle hand, his still-wet dick lolling to the side and twitching, his balls contracted into the shape of a love heart.
Chapter 29
The football banged hard off the wall. Ten eleven eight seven ten eleven eight three four, ages. The man had dear shoes on. He went past and up the stairs. In a minute the tea would be ready a0nd the telly would be on and the house would be warm. The bang, bang on the stairs was just someone knocking.
He thought about the pound. Was it another pound if the man tried to give her a doing or even if he didn't? He couldn't remember but the chapping was coming from the second floor.
He put down his ball carefully, making sure it wouldn't roll away out of the close. He wasn't allowed out of the close and if the ball rolled away he would have to wait for Mammy to get it back. He crept up the stairs on his hands and knees, peeking around the bend just enough to see feet. The man was at her door anyway, he could hear a scratching noise and the man's legs were shaking. He moved up the stair a wee bit and saw the man's hands moving something in the lock, pushing it in and out, very fast. He wasn't kicking the door in like for a doing, though. The boy went back downstairs, looking out of the close mouth, keeping his feet inside and holding on to the wall, hanging out and looking for his mammy. People were coming past all the time but his mammy wasn't there, just other people coming back from work and messages.
It wasn't loud but he heard it. It was a woman saying a scared thing. He knew the sound very well. It was coming from up the stairs.
He hung out of the close and opened his mouth and shouted, bending over with the effort, screaming as hard and as loud and as angry as he could, until his face went red. He wasn't shouting any words.
Some women in the street came running over, holding his face in their hands, stroking and trying to quiet him but he wouldn't be consoled. He didn't stop until the man with the dear shoes walked behind the back of the women and out the close, until he went away. All of a sudden he stopped. Mrs. Hatih gave him a sweetie. His papa said not to take things from Pakis but he needed it because he was sore from shouting.
Leslie dropped Maureen in the town and drove back to Siobhain's. The eastbound traffic was at a standstill all the way up Duke Street. She stayed in the outside lane, weaving between the stagnant traffic, enjoying the sway and verve of the bike.
A wee boy was messing about with a football just inside Siobhain's close. He stopped as Leslie walked past, holding his football under his skinny arm, and watched her. "Son," she said to him, "did a lady give you a pound earlier on?"
"Aye." The boy smiled. "And I shouted dead loud."
"Did the man come?"
"Aye." He grinned. "He was poking at the door."
Leslie left him and ran up the stairs two at a time.
She hammered on Siobhain's door and shouted in at her. The boy followed her up to the landing. He watched the door, holding Leslie's leather trousers in a tight fist at the back of her knee. The lock's metal face had fresh scratches on it, as though someone had been trying to fit something sharp into the keyhole.
"Siobhain," shouted Leslie, "it's Leslie, Maureen's pal from last night. Let me in! Open the door."
They heard a nervous scratching as Siobhain took the snib off the lock. The door opened a fraction and Siobhain looked out, slumping backward when she saw it was Leslie, leaving the door to swing open. Her eyes were glazed. Leslie stepped into the hall, put her arms around Siobhain and patted her back. The boy looked Siobhain over. "No doin' then, na?" He shook his head at Leslie.
"Eh?"
"D'she no' get a doin', then?"
Leslie was disturbed by the question. "No, son, she didn't." She pushed the door shut in his face.
Leslie took a plastic bag from the kitchen and packed it with knickers, a toothbrush and a spare jumper. She held the bag open at the dresser and swept the pill jars into it. She made sure Siobhain had her house key and put a heavy coat on her. "You ever been on a bike before, Siobhain?"
Siobhain didn't answer. Leslie buttoned up the front of her coat. "Just relax and you'll be fine, okay?" Leslie put her hands on Siobhain's hips and moved them from side to side. "Just relax and we'll be fine, okay? Let them follow the movement of the bike." She led Siobhain down the stairs.