But this evening, he really wanted to kill. Throttle Shona with his bare hands and bury her in Bentley Senior’s grave. He speed-dialled her number for the twentieth time in as many minutes. Straight to voicemail. He’d left about six or seven messages, ranging from “Please call me”, to “I’m gonna fucking kill you”. Each had been met with silence. No return call. No lame excuses why the bitch wouldn’t pick up.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Jim regretted ever getting stoned. Or, more particularly, stoned the night that blasted kid went missing. Here was the thing eating away at him like a parasite on speed: he couldn’t swear that he had nothing to do with her disappearance. The truth, stark and terrifying, was that he didn’t know. There were too many chunks of his life missing between Thursday evening and that stupid DS turning up on his doorstep.
He remembered being in Abbasi’s, but not actually walking there. He remembered seeing that retard Hillock on a bench and sitting with him when the girl walked past. But everything else was a blur. Dope could do that to you. One minute you’d be watching TV, the next, you’d be sitting in the communal garden with nothing but blank spaces in between. But Shona could give him an alibi. Say she was with him all day when the kid went missing.
All well and good, Jimmy-boy, but you told that copper you picked Shona up from Didcot around half eight that night.
Shit! His stomach felt as if it was about to evacuate its contents and add soiled boxers to his list of troubles. His head pleaded for a spliff. Request denied. He was staying sober for the foreseeable future. And he was never touching skunk again. Bloody shit was way too strong. He didn’t want to end up a paranoid schizophrenic like Archie Harper.
Maybe he could say he got his days mixed up. That he picked her up on Wednesday night instead. She was at the flat with him all day Thursday, apart from when he’d nipped to Abbasi’s to get some Rizla papers.
Good idea. If only the stupid little mare would answer her phone!
He dialled again. Same result. Definition of stupid: to continually repeat something and expect different results. He was left with no choice but to drive to Didcot and risk the wrath of Shona’s manic mother, Trish.
After rummaging in the kitchen cupboards and emerging triumphant with a packet of Imodium, he swallowed two, brushed his teeth for the first time in a week, combed his dark matted hair, and left the flat.
Half an hour later, he was parked outside Shona’s house with the engine running. He didn’t dare switch it off in case he had to beat a hasty retreat. Trish McGee had two dominant traits: moody and psychopathic. At least Shona’s brutal Irish father was no longer in residence. Thank heavens for small mercies.
He tried to call Shona again. No answer. He gripped the steering wheel to steady his hands. Not because he was afraid, but because he needed drugs. He tried to swallow, but there was no saliva in his mouth. And, as always at times of great stress, he needed to take a leak.
He walked to the door and rang the bell. He didn’t have to wait long before Trish opened the door. It was as if she’d been standing guard behind a dirty veil of net curtain, ready to pounce if he came within a hundred yards of her precious daughter.
He tried to calm his nerves by telling himself he knew things about Shona that would make Trish’s hairs stand on end, and there were plenty of those black buggers adorning her arms and top lip.
‘What do you want?’
Bentley skipped formalities and cut to the chase. ‘Is Shona home?’
‘Why?’
‘I wanna talk to her.’
‘What about?’
‘It’s private.’
Trish laughed. A throaty sound that bubbled like a witch’s cauldron. ‘Well, she doesn’t wanna talk to you.’
‘It’s important.’
‘We’ve had the police round.’
‘Huh?’
‘Talking about that kid who went missing.’
Bentley’s heart dropped a stitch.
‘I told ’em you attacked Shona with a razor blade. If I had my way, I’d have you charged with assault. But Shona, God help her, doesn’t wanna press charges. She’s softer than a pig’s underbelly, that one.’
‘Assault?’ Bentley squawked. ‘I ain’t done nothing to her.’ But his mind begged to differ. What if it was true? What if he’d done more than just try to shave her pubes? Jesus Christ and Mary, why were there so many holes in his life? All of them offering him a free burial.
‘And you think I’m gonna believe you ahead of my daughter, do you?’
‘Please, Mrs McGee, I need to see her.’
‘It’s all right, Mum. I’ll talk to him.’
To Jim’s tortured mind, Shona’s words sounded as if an angel had just descended from Heaven and spoken of enlightenment.
Trish turned to face her daughter. ‘After what you told me? Have you taken leave of your bloody senses?’
‘I just want to hear what he has to say.’
Trish turned back to Jim. ‘You say one wrong word, and I’ll have the coppers on you. Do you understand?’
Jim nodded.
‘You pressurise my daughter in any way, and I’ll have you locked up for intimidating a witness.’
The holes in Jim’s mind grew deeper. He cautioned himself to stay calm in the face of provocation. ‘I just want to talk. That’s all.’
‘Words can be as dangerous as a weapon in the wrong mouth,’ Trish warned, stepping aside to let Shona pass. ‘You need me, I’ll be right here.’
‘Can we go for a walk?’ Jim asked. ‘Just around the block or something. I need to clear my head.’
‘I don’t wanna walk. I’d rather stay here.’
‘At least come and sit in the car.’
‘Are you stoned?’
‘No.’ Possibly the first time he’d ever been completely straight with Shona.
‘Pissed?’
‘I’m clean. I swear.’
After a slight standoff, Shona agreed to sit in the car, as long as he switched off the engine and she could leave the passenger door open. Jim was in no position to argue. If he wanted Shona to lie for him, he would have to make sure he buttered her toast first.
Seated in the car, Jim switched off the engine and tried to order his thoughts into a coherent sentence. It was like trying to command puppies to sit still and behave.
‘Why do the police think you’ve got something to do with that missing kid?’
‘Because I saw her in Abbasi’s, and I saw her when I was sitting on a bench with Mathew Hillock. But that’s it.’
Are you sure, Jimmy? Are you one hundred and fifty percent sure you didn’t follow her along St John’s Road and take her back to the flat? Do things that only usually happen in your worst nightmares?
‘I don’t get it,’ Shona said. ‘They asked me to confirm that I was with you on Thursday.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘The truth. You picked me up around half eight, then we went back to yours.’
‘Shit!’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I just need an alibi from six until eight on Thursday, or I’m gonna end up doing time for something I ain’t done.’