The Cold Calling

XL

He was hardly what you expected.

But come on, hen, what did you expect — black suit, slicked-back hair, white skin, Ronnie Kray rosebud lips?

Well, the black suit was right, very classy, but there wasn’t enough hair to slick back and the skin was closer to yellow. He wore thick glasses, had the manner of an old-fashioned accountant. Distant.

Distant you could understand, today. The black suit, too.

‘Sister Anderson?’ His hand felt like the inside of a banana skin. ‘You some variety of nun?’

Andy smiled. ‘Nursing sister.’

‘Oh. Right.’

He didn’t look too well. Signs of high blood pressure, could be liver trouble, too. He was older than she’d figured, seventy maybe. How could a guy this old still be doing what they said he was doing? Young men, she could just about get her head around it — the lure of easy money, plus the illusion that you were invincible. This guy was well beyond all that.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Parker. Time like this.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Tony Parker motioned to a hard chair on Andy’s side of the desk. ‘You told them downstairs it was about my …’ An eye twitched, dragging down loose skin.

‘Daughter. Aye.’ Like, how else would she have got in to see him?

‘So, go on.’ He nodded at the two black phones on his desk. ‘I’ve told them to hold all calls. ‘Cept for the wife.’

‘If it rings, I’ll go out.’

‘No need. We ain’t that close any more. She lives down in Essex. Got her sister wiv her.’

His voice was dry, his London accent trimmed. He looked like a man who didn’t cry much but spent a lot of time thinking. In Andy’s experience, crying was simpler, and much more therapeutic.

‘I’m more sorry than I can say. I’d got to know her a little. Great girl.’

‘Yeah.’ He was slumped in a high-backed swivel chair. It was the only sign of luxury in the room. The desk was scuffed, old rather than antique. Looked like it had come out of one of the old Feeny Park solicitors’ offices. There were no pictures on the walls. This was really Emma’s old man?

This office was over Parker’s town-centre nightspot, the Biarritz. Who the hell had clubs called the Biarritz and the St Moritz any more?

Only fading guys like this, in towns like Elham.

It had gone quiet. Tony Parker gazed past her, out of the window at the beauteous Elham skyline, the old parish church, the new tech-college building. He looked like he was already forgetting she was here.

Of course, Riggs would know, by now, that she’d come. Whatever she said here would get back to him, every word of it, and quickly.

‘I also know Bobby Maiden,’ Andy said.

‘Really.’

‘When he had his accident, I was with the team that brought him round.’

Parker looked at her. ‘You’ll pardon me if I don’t recommend you for a medal.’

‘What I wanted to say was, he’s no the kind of guy would do this … thing.’

‘That’s it? You come here to say that?’

No, what she came to say was, If anything should happen to Bobby Maiden there’s me here, this big-mouthed Glaswegian harpy, who knows who it’s down to. And, by coming here, parking out front, also indirectly conveying this information to Mr Riggs.

‘You come here,’ Parker said, ‘to try and tell me that piece of fucking shit did not kill my daughter. Get out. Get the fuck out of my office, Sister Anderson.’

Andy didn’t move. ‘You’re makin’ a mistake, Tony.’ Could feel her accent thickening like phlegm in her throat. Somebody came on aggressive, it usually happened.

Tony Parker didn’t speak. Clearly couldn’t believe she hadn’t gone.

‘Your friend Mr Riggs was round just now. Figured I might know where Bobby was hidin’ out.’

‘And you didn’t, I expect.’

‘No. I didn’t.’

‘You’re a stupid cow. How many times the police name the man they’re after? Not often, Sister, and if they fink it’s a copper they’ll sit on it till they can’t sit on it no more. Martin Riggs, however, he’s too straight for that.’

‘Jesus God.’

‘He knows one of his men’s guilty, he won’t cover it up. A good man, I’m telling you. Martin Riggs says the little shit did it, you can count on it. As indeed I am. ‘

‘Do me a favour, Tony, don’t patronize me. Riggs is as bent as bloody Quasimodo’s spine. He’s tryin’ tae stitch Bobby up. I know that, and if you don’t know it, you’re more fuckin’ decrepit than you look.’

Parker’s eye twitched again, which made him angry; he controlled it.

‘You know Jim Bateman, Sister?’

‘Of Bateman and Partners? Aye.’

‘You may be hearing from him.’

‘You mean …’ Andy almost laughed. ‘… you mean you didnae stay with your London lawyers? What a bloody loser you are, Tony. It’s all Jimmy Bateman can do tae conveyance a hoose. Present him wi’ a slander case tae prosecute, the guy’d go off sick for three months. Listen, I couldnae care less what you and Riggs are intae, I just don’t want anybody doin’ anything hasty in relation tae my friend Bobby Maiden, you got me?’

She watched Parker tighten. ‘Like who, Sister?’

A phone rang. Parker picked up the one next to it. ‘Yeah. Take her back. Say I’ll call her. Who? All right. Yeah.’ Hung up. Lifted his sick eyes to Andy. ‘Who might act hastily, Mrs Anderson?’

‘A few people might. Given the circumstances.’

Truth was, he didn’t look capable of haste. He looked like a man on whom age had crept up like a mugger. Turned round and thump. Never saw it till it happened. Wakes up with no hair and thick glasses and he has to cut down on his drinking and his late nights, and London doesn’t seem so homely, and Elham is a tacky wee retirement haven, in the care of kindly Superintendent Riggs. Sad, eh?

Parker said. ‘You’re from Glasgow, ain’tcher?’

‘Aye, but I was educated at Roedean, as you can tell.’

‘You people.’ Parker shook his head. ‘You’re all barbarians up there. Act hastily … Jesus wept.’ A digital timer on his desk bleeped twice and Parker took a gold-plated pillbox from his top pocket. ‘Save us all from television.’ He put a small white pill on his tongue and swallowed it.

‘You should take water with that,’ Andy said.

Parker looked politely contemptuous.

‘You need to look after yourself, Mr Parker.’

‘Why?’ He put away the pillbox. He didn’t look at all well. ‘That girl was the only kid I had. I was gonna sell this lot, set her up nice. Whatever she wanted.’

‘I think she wanted you to slow down.’

‘Talked about me, did she?’

‘A wee bit.’

He stared at her. He’d probably aged a couple of years since she came in.

Andy stood up, moved round the desk. Parker watched her without much curiosity. She went behind him, placed both her hands on his forehead.

‘What’s this, Sister?’

‘Reiki. Japanese therapy thing.’ His skin felt like crepe paper.

‘Never heard of it.’

‘Cost me damn near two grand for the courses.’

Parker grunted. Talking his language.

‘Shut up. Close your eyes.’

She’d given him nearly ten minutes’ Reiki when the phone rang. ‘Unplug the fucker,’ Parker said.

Andy’s hands moved down his face. She didn’t think about High Knoll.

After a while, Tony Parker fell asleep. When he awoke, there were tears drying in the hollows of his cheeks. He was maybe too relaxed to notice.

After a minute or two, he said, ‘You want a job, Sister? Eight-fifty a week and a lump sum when I’m brown bread?’

He didn’t seem to know he was crying. It could be powerful, the Reiki, if the patient was willing to disconnect.

‘I’m no looking for a job,’ Andy said. ‘But you can do me one favour. Just tell me if you did anything hasty this morning.’