The Hanging Shed

SIX

I looked at Hugh with a mix of despair and disgust. I couldn’t comment on the four missing boys. But all the evidence in the world pointed to him having abused and killed Rory in a drug frenzy. What other conclusion could a jury come to?

The rational part of me wanted to ask where had he kept the lad while the coppers were searching his tiny room the first time? Didn’t the neighbours hear something? But surely to God Hugh had never been a homo? Far less fancied wee boys? Was it some stupid revenge on Fiona for having married someone else and had a child by him? But rationality was crowded from my mind with the image of that poor raped child. He must have read my face.

‘I never touched him, Dougie. On Fiona’s life. I’m no’ that kind of a guy. You ken me.’

I nodded. I thought I had known him. Like a brother. Then he stole my girl and smashed the trust. If he was capable of that, he was capable of becoming a drug addict, pusher and murderer, in my admittedly prejudiced book of crimes against Douglas Brodie.

‘What do you remember? Of the day before? Up to the time you were picked up.’

‘Nothing much. I did my usual. I needed a fix and went to one of the pubs I use. It was the Mally Arms near Gorbals Cross. I got enough for me and a bit to sell later, maybe six hits in all.’ He could see what I was thinking. ‘But, Dougie, I wouldnae take the lot at once. I never do. Just enough to keep me going. Enough to keep me sane.’ His poor face was twisted now with the pains racking him. It would be part burning nerves and part withdrawal pains. I stood up. He needed help.

‘You need a doctor.’

‘No! They’ll just knock me oot! That’s what they do. He gi’es me too much. To stop me screaming. To stop me upsetting the screws. For the last couple of days, waiting for you, I’ve refused to take their jab. So I could talk. Explain to you. Bastard said: Good, I should suffer in hell for what I did. But I never touched him, Dougie!’ His face ran with tears.

I studied his poor hands for a while. I didn’t get it.

‘So why are you telling me this, Hugh? What’s the point?’

‘I wanted someone to believe. Someone to know I didnae do it. Just someone. After I’m dead. Ma life’s shite, Dougie. But I don’t want everyone to think this.’

The silence hung between us at the thought of what was to happen a month from now.

‘But me?’ I asked. ‘We were hardly best pals, at the end there.’

‘I know. And that’s the other thing. We used to be the best. I was a stupid prick, Dougie. I couldnae help myself over Fiona, that’s the truth. But I should have. She was yours.’

I’d waited a long time to hear his apology, but it hardly registered now. He had nothing I wanted, nothing I could envy.

‘That’s by with,’ I said, waving my hand – and almost believing it.

‘You’re the only pal that mattered, Dougie. An’ I fucked it up. I didnae want you to hear about me and just write me off. I wanted you to know. To believe.’

‘I’m not into belief any more, Hugh. I’ve given up all that stuff.’

For a moment there was something of the old Hugh flitting across his eyes and mouth. ‘Ya Proddy sod! I always said it wasnae a real religion.’

I smiled and shrugged. ‘I gave him enough chances to prove himself. But there’s just too much… too much shit, Hugh.’

‘You should have been brought up a good Catholic. You don’t get a choice about believing.’

‘Even now?’

‘Even now. There’s a priest that comes by. From my chapel. Actually it’s a help.’

‘Maybe I was with the polis too long. No belief without proof.’

‘OK wi’ me, old pal. Besides…’

‘What?’

‘You wi’ your fancy university education and being a big man in the polis. I need a Sherlock on the case. I thought maybe you’d have some ideas.’

I shook my head. ‘We don’t have much time.’

‘ We? I sure don’t.’

I looked long and hard into those blue eyes and wondered if I had enough magnanimity in me to spend precious time on a hopeless quest on behalf of a man I’d come to hate. ‘Why should I?’ I meant, why should I do it for you. He saw my thoughts.

‘Don’t do it for me, Douglas Brodie. Nor for Rory, even. Though that’s plenty. A maniac like that will do it again. Another wee boy…’

I left Hugh nodding away and wringing his hands. He’d put a load on my back and I was minded to fling it off. If no one else was asking the hard questions, why should I? I had a life to lead and it wasn’t here, chasing ghosts. I felt soiled with travelling and with exposure to new horror. I’d had my share. I walked away from the prison, walked until I came to the first tram lines. I boarded a majestic ‘Coronation’ climbed upstairs and pulled out a much-needed cigarette. By the time I was coming into the city centre the air was thick and blue with the other smokers, mainly older men on their way back from picking up their pensions. I dragged deeply on my fag wondering where the hell to begin if I took it on. But mainly wondering why I should bother with such a hopeless case. Why I should care. I looked out the window and saw a pair of wee boys playing marbles in the dust. Their grey shirt-tails hung out and their feet were bare and filthy.

Pals for life, Dougie? Pals for life, Shug.