Blind Eye. Stuart MacBrideЧитать онлайн книгу.

       13

      Someone was waiting for them in the hallway. She probably wasn’t much more than eighteen, but looked a lot older. Her face was pinched, prematurely lined, with matching purple bags under her eyes. Hair like deep-fried string. Spots. Wearing a silky negligee that had dried egg down the front. At least Logan hoped it was dried egg.

      She waited for him to close the door. ‘Did Harry…’ She coughed, wrapped her arms around herself, fidgeted from one foot to the other. Then glanced back at the lounge, and whispered, ‘Kylie’s sick.’

      Steel didn’t stop on her way to the front door. ‘What do we look like, the clap clinic? Use a bloody condom.’

      ‘No … it’s…’ Another cough. She grabbed Logan’s sleeve. ‘Please?’

      ‘We—’

      ‘Please!’ She dragged him towards a door opposite the kitchen.

      Steel marched out of the flat. ‘I’ll be in the car.’

      It was a small, brightly lit bedroom – the open window letting the sunshine in. Kylie was lying in bed, curled up on her side, a cigarette smouldering away between her cracked and swollen lips.

      It looked as if a herd of elephants had trampled across her head, leaving black eyes and bruises behind.

      Her friend let go of Logan’s sleeve and wobbled into the room. ‘Kylie? Kylie, there’s a policeman here. He’s going to help you, OK?’

      It might have started out as a sarcastic laugh, but it ended up as a wheeze and a grimace – Kylie’s face creased up in pain. Ash tumbled across her pillow.

      Logan sank down on the end of the bed. ‘Who did this?’

      She closed her blackened eyes and shook her head. ‘Fell down…’ Her voice was soft and wet, the sort of sound you get when someone knocks out a couple of teeth.

      The girl in the eggy negligee produced a bottle of vodka from God knows where and glugged a hefty measure into a chipped china mug. It had ‘WORLDS GREATEST DAUGHTER’ printed on the side, along with faded red hearts and teddy bears. Then she helped Kylie to sit up, fussing around, making sure she was all tucked in.

      ‘Thanks…’

      ‘Hey, what are big sisters for?’

      Kylie took a deep drink and shuddered. Then had another one.

      Logan waited for her to surface. ‘A lot of people seem to be falling down in this flat, Kylie. First Harry, now you?’

      This time the laugh turned into a painful coughing fit. She lay back in her pillows, sweat covering her bruised face. ‘He … he didn’t fall down shite.’ Pant, groan, mouthful of vodka. ‘Creepy comes round and he’s shouting his head off. Never seen him so angry… Usually he’s nice, you know? Well … he’s nice to me. He’s always nice to me.’

      Logan frowned at her. ‘Wait: Kylie? Like the tattoo on his arm?’

      Her sister nodded. ‘He’s always saying he’s going to take her away … but his mum won’t have it. You know? Like Kylie’s not good enough for her ugly bastard son.’

      ‘We’re like that Romeo and Juliet…’ Kylie closed her eyes and smiled – the liquid anaesthetic obviously starting to work.

      The silence drew out for nearly a minute, until Logan was beginning to think she’d fallen asleep.

      And then Kylie sighed. ‘But he was so mad, coz of Simon getting blinded, you know? Real pissed. He’s screaming at Harry and Harry’s all “yes Colin, no Colin”, but Colin wants to know who did it. And Harry says he doesn’t know… So he gets a kicking. And I’m hiding behind the sofa watching Colin do it.’ She drained the last of the vodka. Then stared into the depths of the empty mug. ‘Harry’s on the ground and he’s crying and his face is all bloody, and Colin … Colin takes this claw hammer from his jacket, you know? And it looks fucking huge.’

      She shuddered again and her sister topped up the mug.

      ‘He smashes it right into Harry’s knee. And Harry screams. Then he does it again and again and again, and Harry’s wriggling on the floor, only he can’t get away, coz Colin’s sitting on him. Battering away. And by now Harry’s all quiet and he’s not moving or nothing, but Colin just keeps on going. The hammer makes this horrible noise, wet thuds and squelching, and there’s bits of blood and bone and stuff going everywhere… And then he saw me…’

      The girl in the eggy nightie, took a swig straight from the bottle. ‘You’re going to help her, right? Get her a doctor or something?’

      ‘Colin McLeod did this to you?’

      Kylie shook her head, the motion sending a little vodka slopping onto the duvet cover. ‘No. Colin loves me… He just wanted me to blow him, coz he’s all … all hard after doing Harry over.’ The words were becoming slurred. ‘Harry’s blood all up his arm and on his…’ She waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Freckles. You know? Just like freckles…’

      ‘So who hit you?’

      Kylie’s sister spat. ‘Who do you think?’ She pointed back through the door towards the lounge. ‘Harry comes back from the hospital, like, about three in the morning, and he hits the booze. Starts going on about how he’s the man and Creepy’s going to pay. How no bastard pushes Harry Jordan around…’ She patted Kylie’s hand. ‘And this silly bitch starts laughing. Coz there he is, sitting in a wheelchair, telling us how nobody can push him around. And he grabs her hair, you know? So she can’t get away. And he starts punching and shouting about how it’s her fault Creepy’s round here the whole time… We tried to help her, we did, but he was… I’m sorry Kylie.’

      Kylie managed a smile. There were teeth missing. ‘I know, Tracey, I know.’

      Logan pulled out his notebook. ‘Right, here’s what we’ll do: I’ll call an ambulance. We can write up your statements while we wait.’

      ‘No! No way! No statements.’ Tracey was on her feet in an instant. ‘And no ambulance; Harry’ll go mad if he finds out. Can’t you just get someone to come and fix her up or something?’

      ‘You want him to get away with this?’

      ‘I won’t testify to nothing. You saw what he did to Kylie – I’m not stupid.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Please.’ Kylie started to cry. ‘Please don’t tell anyone! It wasn’t Harry’s fault. I made him do it. I shouldn’t have laughed.’

      ‘Kylie, we have to—’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Fine.’ Logan dug a Grampian Police business card out of his wallet, flipped it over and wrote his mobile number on the back. ‘If you change your mind, give me a call.’

      Tracey followed him out of the room, all the way to the front door. ‘What about a doctor?’

      ‘There’s a GP who owes me a couple of favours. I’ll give her a call, see if she can swing past.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      Logan stood in the doorway, looking down at the girl in the dirty nightie, with her needle-track arms and sunken cheeks. ‘You don’t have to live like this. We can get you and your sister into a rehabilitation programme, sheltered housing; off the drugs, off the streets, and away from bastards like Harry Jordan.’

      ‘Aye,’