tangled balls of dust and grime had gathered in the corners of the room.
Something caught my eye. In one corner a light blue piece of cloth. I picked it up. A woman’s handkerchief. Lace-trimmed but cheap. It was spotted with dark flecks of blood. The flecks were small, some no bigger than pinheads. I dropped the handkerchief: the source of the blood had nothing to do with Tam McGahern’s wounds. Two shotguns at that range was anything but dainty.
I went back into the living room, found the only other chair and placed it in front of Bobby. One eye had completely shut and that side of his face had ballooned into an ugly red swelling. The sleeked-back side panels of hair now hung like broken wings over his ears. He looked like he was about to start crying. I wanted to hit him again. Really wanted. I lit a cigarette instead.
‘Who killed Tam McGahern?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Honest I don’t. There was nobody here… I mean in the bar or anything, when it happened.’
‘Yes there was. There was the girl.’
‘Except the girl.’
‘What was her name?’
He looked afraid for a moment. He was thinking about lying to me. He decided not to. ‘Wilma. Wilma Marshall.’
‘Is she on the game?’
‘Not really. She worked as a barmaid in one of his other bars. One of his better bars: Wilma had a bit of class about her. Tam was the kind of guy to take whatever it was he wanted.’
‘Where is she now? What’s the name of the bar she works at?’
‘It was the Imperial, but she’s not there now. She only worked there on and off. Since the shooting she’s dropped out of sight.’
‘Who dropped her?’
‘I don’t know.’
I stood up and Bobby held up his hands. ‘Honest… I really don’t know. It wasn’t anybody to do with Tam’s crew. Maybe she decided herself. The only other thing we wondered about was if it was the police. You know… protective custody or something.’
‘Did she say anything to anyone about what happened that night?’
‘Just what you probably already know. She hid through there in the bedroom when she heard the shotguns go off. Afterwards she peeked over the windowsill and saw two guys with smart suits and sawn-offs get into a car. A couple of other folk seen them as well. Same thing… smartly dressed. And really fucking calm. Strolling back to the car like they was in no hurry.’
I gave Bobby a cigarette and lit it for him. His hand shook as he smoked. He didn’t have what it took. Tam and Frankie McGahern had surrounded themselves with nobodies to make them feel bigger in the scheme of things. Some time soon someone a lot meaner than me would come along from one of the Three Kings to vacuum up what was left of the tiny McGahern empire. If Bobby or his pals got in the way, they would be at the bottom of the Clyde within hours.
‘And the police have nothing?’ I asked.
‘Nothing worth anything. Not on Tam, anyway. Word was they thought it was you that done Frankie. Word now is that the coppers are looking for Jimmy Wallace to talk to. They’ve been looking for him since Frankie died.’
‘Jimmy Wallace?’
Bobby read my thoughts and shook his head. ‘It’s a dead end. Jimmy didn’t do Frankie and he definitely didn’t do Tam. It’s just that Jimmy dropped out of sight the night Frankie got done.’
‘Did Jimmy Wallace work with you? I mean, was he part of the McGahern team?’
‘Naw. Nothing like that. Wallace was a wanker. Upper-class wanker. He was always trailing around after Tam. Tam put up with it though. Wallace was never short of a bob or two even though he drank like a fucking fish. Gambled too. I got the feeling Tam saw him all right with cash.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Tam just seemed to put up with him for some reason. They were supposed to have been in the army together. In the desert.’
‘And you reckon Jimmy had nothing to do with either murder?’
‘Naw. No way. He was devoted to Tam. Mainly because Tam was his meal ticket. I don’t know what they had going on in the past, but it was like Tam felt he owed Jimmy or something. Tam wouldn’t have put up with the shite Jimmy talked otherwise.’
‘So why did he do a runner after Frankie was killed?’
‘Search me.’ Bobby shrugged and smoothed back the broken wings of greased hair. His fingers still trembled. ‘When Tam died he lost his meal ticket. Or maybe he thought he was going to be next.’
I thought about it for a second then shook my head. ‘Doesn’t make sense. If that were the case then he’d have fucked off after Tam was topped. Why hang around until Frankie had his head turned to jam?’
Bobby shrugged again but looked at me apprehensively. He clearly thought I was going to give him another smack for not being able to explain the contradictions in what he had said.
‘Where does Jimmy Wallace live?’ I asked.
‘Sorry, Mr Lennox. I don’t know that either.’
‘Before Tam got killed, were there any new faces around, or did anything unusual happen?’
Bobby looked at me blankly. I could tell he was trying to think of anything he could give me to avoid another slap. I saw something drop into his memory.
‘Jackie Gillespie came around a couple of times.’
‘The armed robber? Was Tam planning a robbery?’
‘I don’t know. But I saw him in the Highlander with Gillespie three, maybe four times. Tight and talky.’
‘Gillespie…’ I spoke to myself more than my new chum. ‘Gillespie is a heavyweight. More than a bit out of the McGaherns’ league.’ I shook the thought from my head. ‘Anyone else?’
‘There were two guys I never seen before. Tam got me to drive him sometimes and he met with this big fat guy who was staying at the Central Hotel. Jimmy Wallace went with him.’
‘Can you remember anything about this man?’
‘Naw, no’ really. Except I thought he was foreign or something. I only saw him from a distance, like, when he came out of the hotel with Tam, but the way he looked, the way he dressed and that.’
‘And the other stranger?’
‘He was different. A greasy-looking wee fucker with a droopy eyelid.’
I grinned at the idea of Bobby calling anyone else a greasy-looking wee fucker. ‘What business did McGahern have with this guy?’
‘I don’t know. Honest. But this guy was afraid of Tam. The other guy, the big fat foreigner, didn’t seem to be, and Jackie-fucking-Gillespie’s scared of nobody.’
I left Bobby in the flat and headed back out onto the street. I thought about what he’d told me. The foreigner and the guy with the droopy eye Bobby had mentioned probably weren’t significant. Just business. But Jimmy Wallace intrigued me. It was a name I hadn’t heard before, but from what Bobby had said that wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t been an active member of the McGahern crew, but it seemed as if he’d been on the payroll. I also thought that Bobby had dismissed him too easily as the killer. He may have been a wanker, as Bobby had put it, but as an ex-Desert Rat it was a safe bet that he knew how to handle himself a hell of a lot better than Bobby or his chums could. It was also quite likely that Wallace had killed during his active service. And the question remained as to why he had only cleared out when Frankie died and not when his patron, Tam, had been rubbed.
That wasn’t all that jarred with me. The unhurried manner of the killers bothered me. It was professional. If you run or speed off in a car from a killing, people get your number or clock enough to give a description. If you’re in no hurry, onlookers tend not to look on, but keep their heads down in case you haven’t finished shooting. And if you seem cool and unworried, then potential witnesses are afraid you may come back for them at a later date if they talk.
Very professional indeed. Just like the going over my office had been given.
