His outburst caught Dutton by surprise. Poor dolt's mouth was open, the hand that had been playing with his moustache hovering in the air like it didn't know what to do with itself.
'I didn't do anything,' he said, and lowered his hand.
'And I can knit cardigans with my cock.' My uncle scratched his chin. 'Look, you don't like each other, that's fine. Just shake hands and get the fuck along. I don't have the time or the fucking energy to dick about any more. Okay?'
Dutton looked at me and shrugged.
I held out my hand. His palm was sweaty and cold. We shook.
'Super.' My uncle clapped his hands twice. 'Now get out.'
I turned to go.
'Hang on, sunshine,' he said. 'You stay. I want an update on the loony mother.'
Once Dutton had gone, I said, 'What about Erica? She coming back soon?'
'I invited her to rejoin us. But she said no. She's decided to leave.'
18
I was at home when the call came through. I'd been thinking about heading off to bed, where Holly had gone a couple of hours earlier. The boys had disappeared to their rooms to play video games after dinner and left me alone.
I hadn't been able to sit around doing nothing, so I'd gone out for a drive. It helped me think. Although by the time I got back home, I wasn't sure what I'd been thinking about.
Right now it was just me and late-night TV and that ringing phone.
I didn't recognise the caller's number, so I let it ring out.
A minute later it started again.
This time I checked my phone for messages.
'Detective Collins.' Les Green's voice. The last person I expected to hear from. 'Something's happened. Can you call me back?'
I thought about it and called him back. 'What is it?'
'Well,' he said. 'Well, it's a finger.'
19
'I don't get it,' Les said.
We were in Mrs Wilson's kitchen, me and Les standing by the worktops. Mrs Wilson was sitting at an enormous dinner table, necking a bottle of single malt.
'Why would someone send a finger?' Les asked. 'Some kind of warning?'
'That's possible. It's standard in kidnappings,' I said.
'Only if the family doesn't pay up, though. Clare was going to pay up.'
Which was true. And there was no note to explain. No demands, nothing. Just a finger in a clear plastic bag. It had been dropped through the letter box within the last couple of hours.
I'd checked the neighbours who still had their lights on. Nobody had seen or heard anything.
'It's a sick joke,' I said. 'This whole thing is.'
The finger was fake, of course. It looked realistic at first glance. Your eyes were drawn to the blood, and only then did you notice the colour and texture of the finger was wrong.
It was something you could pick up in a joke shop. Something Mrs Wilson could have picked up in a joke shop. Also something Les could have got hold of. But what I couldn't figure out was why either of them would do such a thing. There was nothing to gain. And, I couldn't deny it, Les really did look baffled.
'This finger,' I said to Mrs Wilson.
She wiped her eyes. Took a sip of whisky. Nodded.
'You know it's not Bruce's,' I said.
'Course I do. I'm not stupid. It's made of rubber and it's far too big.'
'Yeah,' I said. 'That's why it's not Bruce's.'
'Don't.'
I looked at Les.
'Just don't, please,' he said, and I saw that his eyes were full of tears. He walked round the table and sat next to Mrs Wilson. He put his arm around her.
I wanted to think it was for show, but I was beginning to believe Les Green wasn't such a scumbag after all.
20
I called Erica on the way home.
'You woke me up,' she said.
'Yeah, but listen-'
'You sodding well woke me up.'
'You should come back to work,' I said.
'What's it to you?'
'You can't let Dutton win.'
'That's not why you rang,' she said. 'What do you want?'
'I need your advice. I've nobody else to talk to.'
'Jesus, Collins, I'm not a cop any more.'
'Course you are. You can't just walk away.'
'Watch me.'
'But you know the situation,' I said. 'You know the background. You've met Mrs Wilson. I just want to talk it through. It's not making any sense.'
'Talk it through with your uncle.'
'Come on,' I said. 'I can't wake him up at two in the morning.'
She yelled down the phone and hung up.
I gave it five minutes and called again. But the phone rang out. I got the answering machine. 'Hey,' I said. 'I miss you. Come back.'
She didn't return the call.
I drove home with the fake finger inside an evidence bag on the passenger seat.
Allan Guthrie
Bye Bye Baby
FRIDAY
21
It was about nine-thirty when I drove to Mrs Wilson's. The sun was out and it felt like the wrong kind of weather.
