Because I knew you would work out who was behind Chloe’s death.
Gilchrist looked across at Bully, at eyes that sparkled with the anticipation of revenge. “Why?” was all he said.
Bully chuckled.
Gilchrist caught the stale scent of sweat from pockmarked skin. His rationale was screaming at him-Bully must know. But did he know? Gilchrist forced himself to control his voice. “Why were you expecting me?”
Bully’s eyes flickered with a crazed look. “You think I know where your daughter is,” he said.
“Who told you she was missing?”
“Word gets around.”
“So you know where she is.”
“That’s for you to find out.”
“I’m not here to play games.”
“You’re free to leave.”
“You don’t want me to leave.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
Gilchrist felt the tiniest of tremors take over his left leg. Fear. Of all the criminals he had come up against, Bully was the only one who scared him. All of a sudden he was not sure he could tackle him about his daughter. But, Christ, he had to.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Gilchrist? Are you thinking playing games might not be such a bad idea?” Bully laughed, a dry chuckle that sounded forced.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t like that game.”
“Where is she?”
“Don’t you want to play?”
“Where is she?”
Bully’s face deadpanned. “Do you think I’d tell you?”
“So you know.”
“Hah.” The word was barked. Spittle formed at the corners of thin lips. “You’re not a stupid man, Mr. Gilchrist. But you’re coming across as one.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“I haven’t the fucking foggiest.”
“So why were you expecting me?”
Bully seemed lost at the snap question, but Gilchrist wanted to keep the momentum going.
“I can have you charged with complicity in murder.”
“You’d never fucking prove it.”
No denial. Was that as good as a confession?
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Bully said. “I’m inside.”
“You are indeed.”
Bully glared at him. “I told you I’d get even with you.”
“No you didn’t. You said I’d regret it.”
Bully looked confused for a moment, then revealed white teeth that looked at odds with the hard-man image. “You always were the cocky cunt.”
“Well now’s your chance to make me regret it.”
Bully tilted his head. “Look at you,” he said. “The best of gear. What’d the leather jacket sting you? Four hundred? Five? More? Yeah, I bet it was more. And the shirt.” He tutted. “You’re spoiling the image without a tie.”
“You’re spoiling my day, Bully. And talking shite.”
Bully seemed unfazed. “You must be worth a few bob.”
Gilchrist struggled to hold Bully’s eyes. Was he hinting at a ransom? But money was not the object of Bully’s exercise. Getting even was. Hitting Gilchrist where it hurt the most. Not his pocket-his family.
“And look at poor old me,” Bully pressed on. “Dressed in the best of prison rags.” Anger shifted like ripples in his jaw. “You put me here.”
“You put yourself here,” Gilchrist snapped. “If you hadn’t massacred that family, you and I would never have met.”
“They were asking for it.”
“What’s your point?”
“You wanted to see me.”
“And you’ve been expecting me. Why?”
Bully glared at him. “D’you know what pleasures I have in life now?”
Silent, Gilchrist waited.
“Writing.”
“Sold anything to the Beano yet?”
Bully tried a grin, but his eyes died. “I could fuck your life like that.” He snapped his fingers with a hard flick.
Gilchrist pushed his chair back. “You’re wasting my time.”
“Got things to do? More criminals to put away?”
Gilchrist nodded to the guard who moved towards Bully.
“Missing your princess?” Bully hissed.
Ice fingered Gilchrist’s spine. He raised his hand to the guard. “What did you say?”
Bully side-nodded. “Get rid of the monkey.”
They had discussed this possibility, Gilchrist and Bully being left alone in the same room. The Prison Director had not liked it. But Gilchrist had insisted. He gave a tiny nod, and the guard stepped from the room.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me, sir.”
Gilchrist waited until the door was closed, then said, “Talk. Or I’m walking, and you’re never going to hear from me again.”
“You’re a brainy bastard,” Bully said. “And you’re smart.”
Gilchrist had no idea where Bully was going, so he waited.
“But I’m smarter. I’m smarter than you. I’m smarter than ape-face out there. I’m smarter than the whole fucking lot of you piled together.”
Gilchrist said nothing. He sensed Bully was leading the conversation to what he wanted to talk about, what game he wanted Gilchrist to play.
“Wee, sleekit, cowerin, timorous beastie.” Bully’s smile darkened his face and warned Gilchrist to beware. “Oh what a panic’s in thy breastie.”
Cowering? Timorous? Panic? Was that Bully’s game? Was he trying to sow the seed of fear into Gilchrist’s mind? If so, he needn’t bother. Fear was well and truly planted where Bully was concerned. “Didn’t know you were a Burns aficionado,” he tried.
Bully chuckled. “You shitting yourself yet?”
Not quite. “What’s your point?”
“His knife see rustic Labour dight, an’ cut you up wi’ ready slight, trenching your gushing entrails bright.”
Gilchrist had been to enough Burns Suppers to know Bully was reciting from To a Haggis. But the reference to gushing entrails had him worried. He tried to redirect the flow with, “You’re talking in riddles.”
“I’m talking in poems, Mr. Gilchrist. Father of Jack. Protector of Maureen. Poems.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s what makes me smarter than the rest of the bozos in here. Poems.”
Gilchrist tried again. “Why did you ask if I was missing my princess?”
“That’s what you called Maureen when she was young. Your little princess.”
Gilchrist felt his breath leave him. Hearing Maureen’s name being uttered from the mouth of a convicted killer hit some point deep within him. How did Bully know Maureen was his princess? She was five when he called her that. Time to go to bed, my little princess. Then he would lift her up and carry her upstairs-
“Inhuman man! Curse on thy barb’rous art, and blasted be thy murder-aiming eye.”
The words sounded like Burns, but they were unfamiliar to Gilchrist.
“May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart.”
More unfamiliar verses, but he could not fail to catch the emphasis on cruel. Was Bully talking about himself, or suggesting something else? Inhuman man! That would certainly describe Bully.
As if reading Gilchrist’s confusion, Bully said, “Do you know what’s good about being in this place?”
“You not being outside.”
“You always were a cheeky bastard. But I’m too old in the tooth to rise to your petty baiting now.” Bully narrowed his eyes. “Honesty,” he said. “That’s what you get when you’re in here. Honesty.”
Gilchrist puzzled at the words. He could not think of a more dishonest bunch of souls than those incarcerated in Barlinnie. “Now you’ve lost me.”
Bully chuckled, a hacking cackle that came from deep inside his lungs. “No one tells lies in here,” he said. “Why should they? They’ve got nothing to lie for. Not like the world you live in.”
“So you’re trying to tell me that you’ve seen the error of your ways?”
Something dark shifted behind Bully’s eyes at that moment. “Three lawyers’ tongues turned inside out,” he growled, “wi’ lies seamed like a beggar’s clout. Three priests’ hearts, rotten, black as muck, lay stinking, vile in every neuk.” Bully’s lips parted in an ugly smile. “Even back in Burns’ day, lawyers and priests were the same lying fucking shites they are today.”