Read Online Garnethill by Denise Mina by Garnethill - Free Book Online
Authors: Garnethill
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rucksack and a mustard cable-knit jumper. McMummb gave her the watch and looked inside the bag. He examined the clothes, held them to the light and checked the pockets. Another man in a white paper suit came into the room and checked them again.
She picked out four pairs of her most going-to-the-doctor knickers, some T-shirts, a tartan scarf and her charcoal cashmere overcoat. The two men looked them over with intense professionalism, running their fingers down the coat's silk lining. They handed them back to her. She shoved the T-shirts and knickers into the bag. "Can I get things out of my handbag?"
McMummb saw it on the floor and picked it up defensively, holding the long strap in front of him with two hands as if he were pushing a pram. "What do you want?" rags.
He took out the fag packet and looked at it. He didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for. He shoved it at the Forensics man, who took the trouble to open the packet, look inside and poke the fags about with a long, bony finger. "I think we should keep these," he said, addressing McMummb solemnly.
"I think we should keep them," said McMummb.
"Okay," said Maureen. "Can I get my wallet?"
McMummb took out the wallet and leafed through the cashpoint receipts and pound notes. The Forensics man did the same and handed it to her.
"And my keys?"
"You can't come in here unless we're with you," said McMummb.
She nodded. "When will I be able to come home?"
"We'll notify you," said McMummb, as he opened the bag and took out the keys. He shook them, as if some vital clue might be hidden among them, and handed them to the Forensics man. The Forensics man held them up and shook them. He waited for them to stop jangling and handed them to Maureen.
"Thanks," she said, and put them in her rucksack.
The less the police picked up about Liam's movements the better. She went down to a battered, pissed-in call box in the next street rather than use her own phone and, finally, caught up with him at Benny's house.
At the base of Garnethill on Sauchiehall Street is a small and comfortingly grubby cafe called the Equal. Maureen took Douglas there for breakfast sometimes. It's a genuine sixties throwback, when fifties decor had just reached Glasgow: the tables are black Formica with a gold fleck through it and the coffee machine looks like a red and chrome prototype steam engine.
They sat down at an empty table near the window.
Liam tapped her on the forearm. "Where have you been all day, hen?" he asked, watching her closely to see how she was.
"I've just been sort of running around," said Maureen, her head bobbing nervously when she tried to relax her shoulders. "I didn't want to stop in case I couldn't get started again. I haven't eaten all day. That must be why I feel so shaky."
"It's probably got something to do with what happened, though, eh?"
"Well," she said, "yeah, that too."
"Scary day, though, eh?"
"I've had scarier."
He smiled at her bravura. "Could you eat something?"
When Maureen got upset the first thing to go was her appetite.
She had almost starved herself irredeemably before Liam found her in the hall cupboard and took her to the hospital. "Strangely enough, I'm starving today."
The surreal character of the cafe was enhanced by the depressed, elderly waitress with a sore leg. When she brought them the wrong order for the second time they accepted it to save her walking all the way to the kitchen again.
"Mum's been hassling the police," said Maureen, sliding her knife into the underside of an unrequested bridie and letting the excess grease run out of the pastry parcel. "She was phoning the station all day demanding my release."
"Yeah." Liam sipped his coffee. "She's gone into full Jill Morrell mode. They told me about it and I phoned home. Got Una to unplug the phone."
"What kind of things did they ask you about?"
"They asked about you and about Douglas. They didn't have a clue what I'm into so that was all right."
"Jim Maliano was dead
She picked out four pairs of her most going-to-the-doctor knickers, some T-shirts, a tartan scarf and her charcoal cashmere overcoat. The two men looked them over with intense professionalism, running their fingers down the coat's silk lining. They handed them back to her. She shoved the T-shirts and knickers into the bag. "Can I get things out of my handbag?"
McMummb saw it on the floor and picked it up defensively, holding the long strap in front of him with two hands as if he were pushing a pram. "What do you want?" rags.
He took out the fag packet and looked at it. He didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for. He shoved it at the Forensics man, who took the trouble to open the packet, look inside and poke the fags about with a long, bony finger. "I think we should keep these," he said, addressing McMummb solemnly.
"I think we should keep them," said McMummb.
"Okay," said Maureen. "Can I get my wallet?"
McMummb took out the wallet and leafed through the cashpoint receipts and pound notes. The Forensics man did the same and handed it to her.
"And my keys?"
"You can't come in here unless we're with you," said McMummb.
She nodded. "When will I be able to come home?"
"We'll notify you," said McMummb, as he opened the bag and took out the keys. He shook them, as if some vital clue might be hidden among them, and handed them to the Forensics man. The Forensics man held them up and shook them. He waited for them to stop jangling and handed them to Maureen.
"Thanks," she said, and put them in her rucksack.
The less the police picked up about Liam's movements the better. She went down to a battered, pissed-in call box in the next street rather than use her own phone and, finally, caught up with him at Benny's house.
At the base of Garnethill on Sauchiehall Street is a small and comfortingly grubby cafe called the Equal. Maureen took Douglas there for breakfast sometimes. It's a genuine sixties throwback, when fifties decor had just reached Glasgow: the tables are black Formica with a gold fleck through it and the coffee machine looks like a red and chrome prototype steam engine.
They sat down at an empty table near the window.
Liam tapped her on the forearm. "Where have you been all day, hen?" he asked, watching her closely to see how she was.
"I've just been sort of running around," said Maureen, her head bobbing nervously when she tried to relax her shoulders. "I didn't want to stop in case I couldn't get started again. I haven't eaten all day. That must be why I feel so shaky."
"It's probably got something to do with what happened, though, eh?"
"Well," she said, "yeah, that too."
"Scary day, though, eh?"
"I've had scarier."
He smiled at her bravura. "Could you eat something?"
When Maureen got upset the first thing to go was her appetite.
She had almost starved herself irredeemably before Liam found her in the hall cupboard and took her to the hospital. "Strangely enough, I'm starving today."
The surreal character of the cafe was enhanced by the depressed, elderly waitress with a sore leg. When she brought them the wrong order for the second time they accepted it to save her walking all the way to the kitchen again.
"Mum's been hassling the police," said Maureen, sliding her knife into the underside of an unrequested bridie and letting the excess grease run out of the pastry parcel. "She was phoning the station all day demanding my release."
"Yeah." Liam sipped his coffee. "She's gone into full Jill Morrell mode. They told me about it and I phoned home. Got Una to unplug the phone."
"What kind of things did they ask you about?"
"They asked about you and about Douglas. They didn't have a clue what I'm into so that was all right."
"Jim Maliano was dead
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