Free Water of Death by Paul Johnston Page B

back to face me. “Apart from last night.”
    That sounded interesting. I moved closer to her. “You heard something?”
    â€œAye. It was the singing. It woke Morag up.”
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œJust after three. They were really belting it out – something about the moon in Alabama, I don’t know.”
    â€œThey?” Now I was really hooked.
    â€œYeah, there was someone else in his place. Another guy. I pounded on the wall and they shut up. Eventually.”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œThen I heard his front door open and close, and their voices move down the street towards the river. I couldn’t see much, of course, with the streetlights not being on but  . . .” She broke off. The way she was biting her lip kept my interest.
    â€œDid you see something, Mary? Anything at all?”
    She shrugged. “I did look out the window. It was pretty dark, but I caught a glimpse of the man who was with Frankie.”
    â€œWhat did he look like?” I asked, my throat suddenly dry.
    â€œOch, I don’t know.” Mary’s shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t really see. He was a bit taller than Frankie and he had dark clothes on. Maybe that’s why it stuck out.”
    â€œIt? What was it?” I’d raised my voice involuntarily. Morag gave a frightened moan from the other side of the room. “Sorry,” I said more quietly. “What was it that stuck out, Mary?”
    â€œHis head,” she said, frowning at me. “His head. The hair was cut right down to the scalp.”
    Great. In a city where water’s rationed and decent shampoo’s scarcer than self-effacing guardsmen, there’s no shortage of men who shave their heads. Christ, some of the women do it too. “Anything else?” I asked. “Did he have any hair on his face?”
    She thought for a few seconds. “No, he was clean-shaven.”
    â€œWhat age do you think he was?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. He put what looked like a sunhat on as soon as he got to the pavement. The only other thing I saw was that he had a bottle in one hand.”
    I wondered if that had been the Ultimate Usquebaugh. “What build was he?” I asked.
    â€œSlim,” she said after a few seconds’ thought. “Definitely slim.”
    â€œAre you sure you don’t remember anything else?”
    â€œNothing. Except  . . . except I was just dropping off again when I heard this shout. From the river. Well, it was more like a scream now I think about it.” She shook her head and looked guilty. “Now I know what’s happened.”
    I glanced over at the corner. Morag was facing us but she was more interested in the conversation she was having with her doll.
    â€œDid you hear anything else?”
    â€œNo. I was knackered after my shift on the bus.”
    â€œThe other voice, can you tell me anything more about it? Was it a tenor or a bass?”
    She looked at me uncomprehendingly. “I don’t know. The two of them were singing. That’s all I remember.”
    I waited. It’s surprising what people remember if you don’t hassle them too much.
    â€œThe other guy’s voice wasn’t particularly deep, if that’s what you mean. Kind of in the middle.” She stared at me, the flawed skin on her face taut. “What happened to Frankie? Was he  . . . was he murdered?”
    â€œOf course not. He probably just had too much whisky.” I could tell she wasn’t convinced. “Listen, Mary. Did you know he was a demoted auxiliary?”
    She held her eyes on me then shook her head slowly. “Does that matter now?”
    I met her gaze. “Not to him it doesn’t,” I said, turning to the door. “But it might do to me.”

Chapter Four

    I came out on to the street, saw that Hamilton’s Jeep had gone and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d be