Kill Clock Read online

  "Yeah," she said. "Who?"

  "Doesn't matter." Pearce unclipped Hilda's lead. "Here, say hello." Hilda groaned like an old man as Pearce lifted him over the seats and into the back.

  "Fuck me." Kirk's eyes widened. "A real three-legged dog."

  "Fuck me," his sister said.

  "You two," Julie said. "What have I told you about swearing?"

  "Look, Mum. His head's too big."

  "Don't fret yourself, Kirk."

  "He looks like a sausage."

  "Sausage!"

  "Would he taste like a sausage, Mum? Can I lick him?"

  "Me! I want to lick him, too."

  Pearce turned to Julie. "Will he be OK back there?"

  "He'll be fine. They're used to dogs." She started the engine. "Though maybe none quite as funny-looking as that one."

  7:15 pm

  Julie's daughter was called Devon – after the place where she was conceived – and Pearce found out soon enough why the kids were used to dogs.

  "Sheba went to Heaven," Devon said, out of the blue after they'd been driving for a minute.

  "Who's Sheba?" Pearce gave Julie a glance.

  She was a good driver. Kept looking in the mirror like you were supposed to. Could have picked up the speed a bit, maybe, but there was no hurry. There was nowhere they had to be.

  He still hadn't worked out what she was after. Another thousand-pound engagement ring? Well, just let her try that again.

  They were heading out of town, along Portobello High Street.

  "Sheba was our dog." Julie lowered her voice. "Border collie. Got run over."

  "All stuff came out of her like yucky messy goo," Kirk shouted from the back. "She went to Heaven. Eh, Mum?"

  "You bet." Julie dabbed at her eye with the back of her hand. Her red nail polish was chipped.

  "Heaven," Devon said.

  "Sorry to hear that." Pearce sighed. "Not quite sure how it concerns me, though."

  "It doesn't." Julie looked in the rear-view mirror again. "There are people after me, Pearce."

  "Yeah?" If she was going to make up a story, you'd think she could rustle up something a little more inspired. Anyway, that explained why she kept glancing in the mirror. Checking to see if she was being followed. Or at least to make him think that. She was overdoing it, though. Hardly the world's greatest actress.

  Well, Pearce was happy to play along for a while. He had no idea where he fitted into the scam yet. He didn't have any money, so she couldn't be after his cash. Surely she wasn't going to ask him to borrow money from a loan shark again. "They following you now?"

  She gave her head a shake. "Don't see them."

  "What do these people want with you?"

  She dabbed at her eye again, eyelashes glistening. "Would you pass me my fags?"

  "I'd rather you didn't smoke in the car."

  "Tough." She coughed. "It's my car."

  Pearce plucked the packet out of the hollow behind the gear stick. The packet was empty.

  "Shit," she said when he showed her.

  "So, you going to answer the question?"

  "OK." She looked at the ring on her left hand. "It's because of Mike."

  Pearce looked at the ring too. Not as nice as the one he'd bought her. "Your husband?"

  "We're not married. Just engaged."

  He felt something shift in his stomach. As if he'd swallowed a jewellery box all those years ago and it had just sprung open.

  "But, yeah." Julie nodded towards the kids in the back. "He's their dad." She tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel.

  "So what did Mike do that's got people following you?"

  "Not here." She pulled into the kerb. "Not in front of the kids." She unfastened her seatbelt. "Hang on a tick."

  "Where you going?"

  But she was already halfway out the door and didn't hear him. Or maybe she was ignoring him. In any case, she was gone now.

  So. Fine. He was alone in the car with two strange kids. Well, all kids were strange. And actually it wasn't fine. He'd rather have been alone in the car with a pair of mass murderers.

  This wasn't Julie's scam, was it? Dump her kids on him?

  Course it wasn't. She'd gone to stock up on cigarettes. That was all.

  At least Hilda was keeping the kids happy. They cooed and crooned, stroking his head. The wee fella's tongue hung out. He was having a grand time being the centre of attention.

  Pearce peered out the window trying to spot Julie. She'd disappeared. Had to be in the newsagents. Wouldn't be long. Maybe she was rehearsing the next part of her story.

  So, no problem. He could handle the kids alone for a few minutes. Couldn't be that hard. He'd done okay so far. He eyed them in the rear-view mirror. "Rain's off. Nice evening now, eh?"

  No reply. He liked the idea that they weren't into small talk. Neither was he. He'd be more than happy if they just sat in silence and waited for their mother to return.

  He was beginning to relax when Hilda growled, a sound Pearce rarely heard. He looked to see what was causing it and saw Devon tugging hard on the wee man's tail.

  "Stop that."

  "Why?"

  "It's hurting him."

  "Why?"

  "Yeah." Kirk wiped his nose with the back of his arm. "Why's it hurting?"

  Devon let go of Hilda. "Would it hurt if I had a tail?"

  "That's dumb." Kirk picked up Hilda and set the dog on his lap. "You're a stupid poof, Devon."

  "Am not!" She threw up. All over herself. Without the tiniest hint of what was about to come. "Scusey me." She burped and started to grin. Lucky she'd let go of Hilda or the dog would have been a spewy mess too. "I did a puke."

  Jesus Christ. Where was Julie? What if their mother had dumped them? The stench floated from the back and Pearce thought he might throw up too. He'd cleaned up plenty of dog puke in his time, but the human variety was a different story.

  He opened his window. Leaned out. Caught a glimpse of Julie coming out of a shop about fifteen feet away, looking around as if she was trying to spot someone she knew.

  She hadn't run off. Thank God.

  "He's hungry!"

  Pearce turned to look in the back and saw Hilda at Devon's side, lapping away at something, tail wagging like it did every mealtime.

  Oh, Jesus.

  He grabbed Hilda and lifted him into the front. The dog wasn't happy. Pushed against him, wanting to get back to his unexpected snack.

  Kirk said, "Your dog eats sick."

  Then Julie opened her door. "What's that stink?"

  "Your daughter."

  "Oh, she throw up again? She does that. You OK, babe?"

  Pearce put his hand over his nose. "Don't suppose you have something to clean it up with?"

  "Should do." Julie climbed in. "Surprised your dog didn't want it. If that was Sheba, she'd have polished it off in a heartbeat."

  7:30 pm

  Julie found some wet wipes in the glove box and mopped up the mess as best she could. She tied up the gunk in a plastic carrier bag and gave it to Pearce.

  "Thanks." He got out of the car. The sun was breaking through the clouds, the shadow of the nearby bus shelter stretching across the pavement. The rubbish bin a few feet away, already overflowing, was the only one in sight.

  The plastic rustled as he poked it into a gap between a greasy polystyrene fish and chips box and a navy blue sock clarted in tomato sauce. Or something worse.

  He checked his fingers to make sure he'd avoided the gunk. Gave them a sniff just to be sure. Slight trace of onions, but nothing too bad.

  Julie reached across and opened the car door for him.

  Her cigarette smoke didn't entirely mask the smell of sick but it was an improvement.

  She switched on the ignition. "Where was I?"

  He turned his head to face her. "You were telling me about your boyfriend."

  "Mike, yeah." She pulled out without indicating. "So I was." She drove for a while, cigarette burning between her fin
gers.

  "So, you going to tell me what he did?"

  "Mike!" Kirk's voice. "That's my daddy! Where's Daddy?"

  Julie leaned towards Pearce. "Keep your voice down."

  Seemed as if she was having trouble remembering her lines. Maybe he should help her along. He whispered, "He didn't kill anyone, did he?"

  "Daddy! Bollocks!"

  "No, he didn't kill anyone." Julie looked up, raised her voice. "Shut your cakehole, Devon."

  Pearce stroked Hilda's chin. It was wet and a bit sticky so he stopped. "That's good, then."

  "Not necessarily." A fingernail of ash fell onto Julie's sleeve.

  He looked at her. "You wanted him to kill someone?"

  "Not me." She brushed at the ash. Made a grey smear, and rubbed it with her thumb. "Banksy wanted him to kill someone."

  "Who's Banksy?"

  "You know, the loan shark."

  "Never heard of him."

  Her eyes narrowed. "You worked for Cooper, right?"

  "A bit."

  "Banksy was one of Cooper's collectors. You don't remember him?"

  Pearce thought for a moment. "You mean Kevin Banks? He's moved up?"

  "Branched out on his own after Cooper went to jail."

  "So Banks is a loan shark now?" He scratched an eyebrow. "Mike owed him money? And Banks wanted someone dead? Maybe you should just tell me instead of making me guess."

  "Banksy's more than just a loan shark." She took a final puff of her smoke and dangled her hand out the window. Let the slipstream take the stub. "At least, he thinks so. Sees himself as Leith's answer to Tony Soprano. Dabbles in anything and everything that makes money, as long as it's not legit. Small crew. Main players are Banksy and two other guys: his brother Ray and an older guy called Jack." She checked the mirror. "Don't punch your sister, Kirk."

  "She likes it."

  "Do not."

  "Kirk? Stop it now." She breathed out sharply. "Yeah, Banksy has his slimy fingers in everything. Mike owed him big time."

  "How much?"

  "Twenty grand."

  Her story was getting better. She'd clearly worked hard on making it convincing. Involving Kevin Banks was smart. The brief period Pearce was working for Cooper was the same time Julie was on the scene. She'd forged a neat connection there. Impressive.

  "I'm guessing a lot of that twenty grand was interest?"

  "You bet." It was less noisy in the back now. Kirk was chattering away to himself while Devon hummed tunelessly. "Anyway, Mike lost his job about six months ago. Landlord said he'd evict us. So Mike borrowed a few grand from Banksy to tide us over till he got more work. But days passed, and weeks passed, and months passed, and still no job. And meanwhile the interest grew. Got out of control." She touched her forehead with the back of her hand. Very melodramatic. She swallowed, placed her hand back on the steering wheel. "In the end, Banksy wouldn't wait any longer. Said he wanted his money back. All of it. Right away. And Mike had no means of getting it."

  Pearce could see where this sorry story was going. Broken arm for poor old Mike. Money needed urgently or it would be a broken head next time. That kind of thing.

  "Can I trust you, Pearce?"

  He sat forward. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

  "I suppose." She gave her head that familiar little shake. "Look, what I did to you was terrible and I'm sorry. I needed the cash and I used you to get it." She squinted, as if she had something in her eye. "But whatever you think, I did honestly like you."

  "I've heard better apologies."

  "What can I say?" She sniffed. "I've paid attention to what you've been up to. Heard all about your mum. About her dying. Sorry."

  He looked down at Hilda. Clenched his fists. "Long time ago."

  "And I saw all that in the papers about you rescuing some crazy guy who'd been held prisoner in a cage in somebody's basement. Weird shit you get yourself involved in."

  "That's one way of putting it." Pearce didn't want to think about that. It had taken a while but he was over it now. "Didn't exactly rescue him, though."

  "Oh," she said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is, I haven't forgotten you." She placed her hand on his arm, her fingers unexpectedly cold. "Pearce, I don't know who else I can turn to."

  He nearly laughed. She thought she was playing him for a sucker. Well, let her. He had no idea where this was leading, but he was going to hear her out, just for the pleasure of telling her he'd seen through the charade all along.

  Her fingers were shaking. He felt the tremble in his forearm. Fine bit of acting. She was improving all the time.

  She moved her hand away, let it rest on her thigh. "Do you know what a kill clock is?"

  7:45 pm

  "It's when you have to murder someone within a set time." Julie flicked her cigarette away. Walked over to it and ground it beneath her foot.

  "What, like you get an hour to kill someone?"

  They'd parked in a quiet side-street off the main road and stepped outside to talk some more. Pearce had left Hilda in the car with the kids. Bit of a risk, but they seemed to be keeping each other amused. And no injuries so far.

  Devon waved at him. Pearce waved back.

  "Usually longer. Twenty-four hours. So you can prepare a bit. That way you have a slight chance of getting away with it."

  He leaned against the bonnet. "Mike got one of these … kill clocks?"

  "Yeah." She crossed her arms. "There's a guy Banksy wanted out of the way."

  "Why couldn't he get rid of this guy himself?"

  Her voice cracked. "No idea. Didn't want to get his hands dirty, I suppose. Anyway, he gave Mike twenty-four hours to kill this guy."

  "Twenty grand for a hit? Good pay." He didn't know if that was true, just wanted to see how Julie responded.

  "Banksy wasn't going to let Mike off the hook that lightly. But it was going to be a start. Pay off a big chunk. Leave an amount we could manage."

  Pearce smiled. She was fast on her feet. "Did he do it?"

  She stared up the road. There wasn't much to stare at. A few squat bungalows with neat gardens and, in the driveways, cars basking in the last of the evening sunlight.

  Julie looked back at him. "He tried," she said. "Mike's dead, Pearce."

  The story was getting more and more elaborate. And she even had a tear in her eye as she spoke.

  He felt like clapping.

  "That right? How did he die?"

  She looked at the ground. "The guy Mike was supposed to kill? Seems he killed Mike instead."

  Beautiful. Just beautiful.

  Pearce cleared his throat. "You've been to the police?"

  "Yeah."

  "And what did they say?"

  "Didn't believe me."

  "Why not?"

  "They think Mike's done a runner."

  "What about the body?"

  "There isn't one." She looked up again, eyes wet. "The guy Mike was supposed to kill sent Mike's … he sent Mike's head back to Banksy."

  Pearce was silent for a moment. "Did you see it?"

  "Banksy got rid of it."

  "Well, maybe Mike has done a runner?"

  She shook her head. "He showed me a picture … It was … "

  "I can imagine. When did this happen?"

  "Day before yesterday."

  "You're taking it well."

  "You think?"

  She looked genuinely upset. Teary-eyed, bottom lip quivering.

  It was all fake, he knew that, but somehow he still wanted to give her a hug. "Why come to me?"

  "'Cos I need help."

  "Did you tell the police what you just told me?"

  "Yeah." She grabbed a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. "They think I'm making it up."

  "It's a hell of a story, right enough."

  "Doesn't help that I've spent time in psychiatric care."

  "Why should that make any difference?"

  "I was committed, Pearce. I'm a nutjob."

  "Ah."

 
; "My head was all over the place when I was a teenager. Didn't used to have my shit together like I have now."

  Pearce hadn't known about her being a loophead, but if anything she'd told him this evening had the ring of truth about it, that did. "It's done, now." He crossed his arms. The air was chillier now but the rain looked as if it was gone for good. "Mike's dead. The debt's written off. End of story. No?"

  "Wish it was." She looked at him. "Banksy still wants his money. Says that with Mike gone, it's all down to me. Gave me twenty-four hours to pay it back."

  "Heart of stone, Kevin Banks. That much hasn't changed. When's your time up?"

  She looked at her watch. "Fifty minutes ago."

  Pearce pushed himself off the bonnet. "So where is he? Shouldn't he be coming after you by now?"

  "I've been careful. He'll have to find me."

  "Still don't see how I can help, Julie."

  "I just want you to talk to him for me. You know him."

  "Not really."

  "But you worked with him."

  "Nope. Heard plenty about him. But the only guy I worked with apart from Cooper was Joe Hope."

  "But you know people Banksy knows. You can talk to him. You have to, Pearce." She grabbed his arm. "Get him to let me pay him back in instalments. I'll pay it all back. I will. Honest. I just can't do it all at once. I don't have the money."

  "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

  "He won't listen to me." She squeezed his wrist. "Says me and Mike already had too many chances."

  "I really don't think I can help."

  She took a step back and folded her arms. "And you think Banksy has a heart of stone?"

  8:00 pm

  Pearce watched a car approach and drive slowly past and when he faced Julie again, she was still staring at him. "Julie, last time I saw you, you made a complete tit out of me." She opened her mouth to say something but he carried on. "You don't get in touch for years. Then you swing by as if we're best friends, with some bollocks story about your dead boyfriend and a loan shark." She tried to speak once more and again he cut her off. "You know what? I'm not falling for it this time."

  She waited. "You finished?"

  He said nothing.

  She looked him in the eye. "So you don't believe me either?"