Head Shot

43

'This is a mistake,' he whispered to no one, as he stood on the dark landing. He had knocked on George Rosewell's door, just in case; there had been no answer but he had decided against taking another unauthorised look inside. He had almost gone back downstairs, but instead, against his instincts, he had rung Ivy Brennan's doorbell.

'Hello, Mr Detective.'

She was tal er than she had been, the first time she had looked up at him in that doorway. He glanced down and saw that she was wearing thick-soled shoes, with high heels. She was better dressed too, in a close-fitting blue dress, and this time, there was none of the waif about her.

'Come in,' she said, holding the door wide for him.

'Are you going out somewhere?' he asked, as he fol owed her through to the living room.

'No. I was expecting someone, so I thought I'd get dol ed up for him.'

'Who? Rufus's dad?'

'No, thicko! I was expecting you.'

'Now listen, Ivy…'

She laughed, a sound as gentle as wind chimes fanned by an opening door. 'Don't get al heavy on me, now. I could have stayed the way I was; no make-up and all smelly, like the first time you came here. Would you have preferred that?'

He smiled, in spite of himself. 'No; this version's more to my taste.'

'Oh,' she murmured, turning and stepping close to him. 'Do you fancy a taste, then?'

'Ah, Christ,' Mario exclaimed. 'I knew I shouldn't have come here!'

'Ah, but you did, though. In spite of al your better judgement, you did.'

His grin was gone; he glared down at her. 'You know fuck al about my uncle, do you, girl.'

'I know that he's dead, because I saw it in the Mail today. That's how I knew he was your uncle, because you're mentioned in the story, you and your cousin, Paula. I know her, though; she owns a sauna, round the corner from here and along the road a bit.'

McGuire gasped with surprise. 'Are you on the game?'

'Certainly not!' she laughed, in a tone of mock protestation. 'I'm a good mother, I'l have you know, and I'm not a junkie.'

'I've met many a working girl who was a good mother,' he told her.

'As for being a junkie, you're acting like you're on something.' He seized her wrists and turned them, looking for needle tracks along the flat of her pale forearms and in the folds of her elbows, but they were unmarked.

When he let her go, she took a pace back from him, and hoisted up the blue dress, showing him the inside of her thighs. 'D'you want to check there as well?' she challenged. 'D'you want to check anywhere else?'

She slid the dress higher; she was wearing a G-string, but he could tell that she was blonde, for real.

'Just chuck that,' he warned her, 'or I'm out that door right now.'

'Are you really?' She reached behind her and, in a flash, pulled down a long zip, and wriggled her shoulders. The dress fel in a circle at her feet. 'See? Not a needle mark anywhere.' Her tiny body was almost classic in its proportions; a little wide in the hips, perhaps, after Rufus, but otherwise perfect. Smal, bud-like pink nipples seemed to wink up at him. 'Want to make certain?' She slid her thumbs inside the black thong and began to roll it down.

Suddenly he was aware that every muscle in his body seemed to be tensed; he could feel them bunched under his shirt and jeans. He could feel them, and more. With an effort of wil he turned, and headed for the door.

'Okay!' she called after him. 'Okay, I'l behave myself. Just don't go.'

He stopped in the doorway. 'Get dressed, then.'

'I'm doing it; I'm doing it. There.'

When he turned, her back was to him. 'Zip me up.' He did as she asked, drawing the dress closed and tight to her.

'One thing you should know about me,' he told her. 'I love my wife.

Anyone who harms her, or who even threatens it… in any way… is in big, big trouble. Understand me?'

She nodded. 'Yes. That's why you want to find George, isn't it? He hurt her before he went away. Now he's in bother with you.'

'Is he ever.'

'So you haven't found him.'

'Not a trace. He's either gone back to Portugal or he's in the Water of Leith.'

'I don't think the fish would fancy him.'

And then she grinned up at him. 'You have to admit, though, I did give it a good try. Did you like the quick flash? Just a bit?'

The girl-waif-woman look was back in her eyes; somehow, he found it disturbing, as if the poisoned apple had been offered and he had begun to reach for it.

'A work of art. Ivy,' he said, acidly, 'but a bit smal for me. Never mind, though; one day you'll make some guy a fine desk ornament.'

'Ohh! We do have a way with the insults, don't we. Although that's not what that lump in your jeans was saying, a minute or so back.

Stil… far be it from me to come between a man and his wife. Want a coffee?'

'No, thanks. But if you have any mineral water, I'd take some.'

She nodded and went through to her small kitchen, returning with a bottle of San Pellegrino and two tumblers. 'That's how I got to know Paula, by the way,' she said, holding up the bottle as he took one of the glasses. 'I shop in her deli; I go in there quite a lot with Rufus. She likes him; she's very fond of children.'

'She's very fond of men,' he grunted, 'but I'm not so sure about kids.'

'She is; take my word for it. Anyway, she's my pal. She told me about the sauna; that's how I knew where it was. And that's where I saw your uncle.'

'You real y did know him?' Mario exclaimed. 'That wasn't just rubbish?'

'Well, I wouldn't exactly say I knew him. I did exaggerate a bit when I phoned you. I was passing the place one day, and I saw him. The door was open and he was standing, framed in it.'

He looked at her, doubtful y. 'Are you sure it was him? Beppe had nothing to do with those businesses. There was no reason for him to go there.'

'Most men go to places like that for a pretty good reason.'

'Not Beppe.'

'I'm pretty sure,' Ivy assured him. 'That was a good photograph in the Mail, and when I saw him, he was dressed much the same.'

'Okay, you saw him once. But how does that tel you who kil ed him?'

'I didn't just remember him because I saw him. Like I told you, he was standing there, and he was having a screaming argument with someone.'

'Beppe? He wasn't the screaming type.'

'He was when I saw him.'

'And who was he screaming at?'

'Ah well, I laid that on a bit thick too, when I cal ed you. The other person was inside the place, I couldn't see who it was and I couldn't hear their voice, other than that it was raised. But I can tell you this, your uncle was shouting at whoever it was as if he wanted to kil them. If the other person was as mad with him as he was with them, all you have to do is find him.'