The Unravelling of Thomas Malone

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Stupid, stupid, b***h. Look what you made me do. He was right. I knew he would be, all the signs were there, cheap booze, cheap perfume and that filthy kitchen. I tried to ignore it. I almost convinced myself you were my friend but he knew you were just a w***e. Why did you do it? I don't understand. If you needed money I would have given it to you, that's what friends do, they help each other. You only had to ask me.

Stupid, stupid, b***h. Now look at you, lying in the dirt. I could have been your friend. But no, you had to offer me your disgusting body for money to buy drugs. As if I would want you that way. I'm not a loser. Dirty, dirty, w***e. It's all your fault. Everything is your fault. Look what you made me do.

* * *

Angela found it difficult to get the image of the dead girl out of her head. It was just so shocking. She thought that once she was out of the apartment she could push it all from her mind, but instead everything seemed more vivid as she walked along the street in the fresh air. If Frank Martin was right about the death scene being staged and linked to a previous murder, what kind of monster would they be dealing with she wondered?

“Are you all right, you're very quiet and rather pale. Are you not feeling well?”

Liz's words broke Angela's train of thought. “I'm sorry Liz, I was miles away. I'm okay, just a bit dazed from being in that apartment. It was pretty awful in there.”

“We could take a walk around the block before we go to interview Mrs Ali, if you'd like,” Liz offered.

“Thanks, Liz, but we'd better not. Time is important and she might know something that will help us nail the bastard who did this.”

The terrazzo steps leading to Mrs Ali's main-door apartment were scrubbed and gleaming and the brass surround of the front doorbell was polished to within an inch of its life. When Angela rang the bell the door was opened by a short, plump woman aged about forty. She had a clear, pale complexion and she was dressed in a two piece suit made from burnt-orange coloured chiffon fabric. The sound of children's squeals and laughter drifted from behind her.

“Mrs Ali?” Angela asked. “I'm Detective Murphy and this is Constable Brown.”

“School holidays,” the woman said by way of a greeting. “Doesn't it drive you mad?” It was more of a statement than a question.

They were ushered into the large, front room and offered a seat on the leather, cream-coloured suite. Mrs Ali disappeared for a couple of minutes to chase her curious and noisy children into another room leaving Angela and Liz to take in their surroundings. The room was an odd mix of style and colours. The carpet was a patterned blue and, at the window, heavy curtains of plum and gold brocade hung from a pelmet to the floor. Wine-coloured, Regency striped wallpaper adorned the walls. From the ceiling hung a magnificent crystal chandelier and gold-coloured, glass-topped, occasional tables were placed at various parts of the room. Everything was spotlessly clean and smelled of polish. Angela was very impressed, although not to her own taste, there was no doubt that a lot of money, time and effort had been spent creating and maintaining this room.

“Would you like tea?” Mrs Ali asked in a broad Glasgow accent when she re-entered the room. Angela glanced at Liz who smiled and shook her head.

“Thank you, no, I'd like to get started on my notes if you don't mind,” Angela replied and Liz took her notebook and pen from her pocket.

“I'm sorry for that poor lassie's mother. Imagine finding out your daughter was a p********e. Imagine the shame of it,” Mrs Ali began. “Her name was Magrit you know, everyone knew what she was.”

“Margaret as in M.A.R.G.A.R.E.T.?” Liz spelled.

“Aye, that's right, Magrit, Magrit Deacon. When she first moved here she said she was a nursery nurse and she asked me if there was any baby-sitting work about. As if anyone would leave their children in the care of a junkie p********e. We all knew what type of girl she was. Men visiting day and night, she couldn't fool anyone. This used to be a decent community you know. Then the Council began renting flats to all and sundry and now we have a dead p********e on our doorstep. I've told my man we'll have to move. I'm not having my children exposed to that sort of rubbish.”

“Could you tell us what you saw and heard last night that made you think something was wrong?” Angela interrupted.

“Aye, aye, let me think now. I was standing in the street outside Mrs Rehman's house speaking to Mrs Rehman. She lives next door to Magrit. It was about six o'clock and I had just been to the fruit shop to buy onions when Magrit and a tall, slim, man in a hoodie went into the house. I just thought it was another of her customers. At eight o'clock I was walking past again because I was collecting my daughter, Nusrat, from her friend's house where they'd been studying together. She is such a good student my daughter, my man and I are expecting her to get five 'A's' in her 'Highers' you know. He says she can go to University if she gets good grades. In my day girls rarely went to University because you got married young and had a family so there was no time for further education. But it's different now, girls have much more opportunity.”

“What happened at eight o'clock?” Angela prompted trying to get Mrs Ali back to the question.

“I was passing Magrit's house and the door was open. I could hear shouting coming from inside.” She hesitated and looked uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, but I don't swear I can't say the words I heard.”

“Could you write it down for us Mrs Ali?” Liz asked. “I have some paper here.”

“It's so embarrassing, I hate bad language, but as it's just us here, I'll tell you if one of you stands at the door to make sure that none of my children overhear.”

Liz handed Angela the notebook and walked over to the door then she nodded and mouthed an okay to Mrs Ali.

“He shouted 'stupid b***h', stupid b***h, over and over again. Then he shouted the 'F' word over and over again. I thought I heard Magrit shout, 'get out' then there was a scream. To tell you the truth, I was a bit frightened so I didn't stop. I went to pick up my Nusrat, I thought it was just Magrit and one of her customers. Mrs Rehman told me there was often a lot of noise coming from that house. I didn't know the lassie was being murdered.”

Liz returned to her seat retrieving her notebook from Angela. They gave Mrs Ali a moment to blow her nose and regain her composure. She was obviously much more upset than she'd first let on.

“What happened that prompted you to call the police?” Angela asked.

Mrs Ali concentrated she touched her forehead with the fingertips of her right hand then said, “I was walking along the street at about twenty past eight with Nusrat. We were talking about making her a new three piece suit with some pretty fabric she'd seen in the sari shop. We were just passing Magrit's house when a man ran out and he bumped into my Nusrat. If I hadn't caught hold of her arm she would have been knocked to the pavement. Her schoolbag fell and her books were all over the place. It was the same man I saw earlier, the tall man in the hoodie. He didn't stop to apologise, he didn't stop, period. He just ran down the street towards the main road. As he passed us I'm sure I saw blood on him. His hoodie was light grey and it was covered in dark red patches.”

She stopped to blow her nose again. “Please go on,” Angela said.

“I saw that Magrit's door was still open, but I didn't want to go in because I was frightened and besides, I had Nusrat with me. So I rang the bell at Mrs Rehman's. There was no answer because Mrs Rehman and her family were visiting her son round the corner. Her daughter-in-law just had a baby, a boy, eight pounds ten ounces and they'd gone to see the baby.”

“So you came home with Nusrat then you phoned the police from here?”

“Aye, that's right. I telephoned Govanhill police station and told them what I'd heard and seen.”

“You didn't call 999?”

“No, I didn't want to waste police time. I didn't know she was murdered. How could I know?”

“Would you recognise this man if you saw him again, could you give us a description?”

“Not really, I didn't see his face, he was tall and he was wearing a hoodie that's all I know. Are you sure you won't have tea?”

“No, thank you Mrs Ali, I think we're about finished now,” Angela said and stood up. “I'll prepare your statement then, if you don't mind, would you come into the station to sign it?”

“I'm not going to the police station. I don't want the neighbours to think I'm complaining about them. These Albanians are dangerous, you know. They could stick you with a knife as soon as look at you. I don't mind going to the incident room on the street because they'll know then it's about Magrit and not them.”

“That's fine Mrs Ali, I'll be in touch.”

Angela and Liz left the house and made their way back down the street.

“She saw the murderer, didn't she?” Liz asked.

“Yes, I'm sure she did. I just hope he didn't see her. He's a very dangerous man and by the sound of things he's got a short fuse. According to Mrs Ali there wasn't much time between his shouting and Margaret's scream.”

“And Magrit sounded delightful, a junkie p********e. Her mother will be so ashamed.” Liz said mimicking Mrs Ali's voice with comical accuracy.

“You're terrible Liz. How can you poke fun at a time like this?” Angela asked unable to stop smiling at her.