on the other side of the apartment block round the corner from the body. Then he looked up again, asking what had happened to Kinsey. It was Pendrick, it seemed, who’d sorted Kinsey out, taken him to his bedroom and tucked him in. Meantime the rest of the crew were getting stuck into the curry, which turned out to be a big disappointment.
‘Splodge, you know?’ Lenahan pulled a face. ‘No theme. No story. Nothing to remember it by. It’s one of those nights you pick at the best bits but our hearts aren’t really in it. A lounge that big isn’t the cosiest place in the world and the truth is we’ve all had enough. Nine hard miles? Our collective fucking bodyweight in Guinness and champagne? Definitely time for bye byes. So Tash dumps the curry in the waste bin and does the washing-up. She’s got the little sports car for her and Symons but we need a cab so she makes the call. The guy’s there within five minutes. He has to do a bit of a circuit to drop the three of us off. Andy lives in Exeter so he’ll be the last man standing but you know what yer man does? He gets a price from the driver and then takes a whack from each of us before we even get in the bloody car. That’s how you get rich, I guess. That’s the kind of stroke Kinsey would pull.’
Suttle wanted to know more about Kinsey. Was he still in bed at this point? Or had he got up again?
‘Still in bed. Yer man’s spark out. This guy and alcohol are strangers. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. But that’s not the point. The place has got three en suite bathrooms and we’re still all thinking why hasn’t the eejit used one of those if he wants to be ill, but it’s Pendrick who puts his finger on it. Guy’s a dog, he says. The man has to leave his smell everywhere.’
It was a neat phrase. Suttle scribbled it down. Later Lenahan would have to volunteer a formal statement, but in the meantime – as precious background – this stuff was gold dust.
‘So you left . . .’ Suttle suggested.
‘Sure we did.’
‘Time?’
‘Gone midnight. Ask the cabbie.’
‘And you pulled the door shut behind you?’
‘Yeah. We do that grown-up stuff really well.’
‘No one else around? No one you saw? Inside the building? Out by the marina?’
‘Didn’t see a soul.’
‘And no calls when you were up in the apartment?’
‘Nothing. Just us.’
‘But a couple of hours later the guy’s dead.’
‘So it seems.’
‘Don’t you find that odd? Being a doctor?’
The word doctor brought the ghost of a frown to Lenahan’s face.
‘How do you know I’m a doctor?’
‘Molly Doyle told me.’
‘Ah, the Viking.’ The smile was back. ‘And did she tell you what kind of doctor?’
‘She said you worked abroad a lot. Médicins Sans Frontières.’ Suttle nodded at the photos on the wall. ‘I take it she’s right.’
‘She is. Fine woman.’ He studied his hands a moment, then his head came up again. ‘You really want to know about death, my friend? Then let me tell you. It’s getting towards sunset. It’s hotter than you can believe. Even the lizards are getting fucking stressed. But yer family are desperate and so they bring little you into the clinic. They’ve probably walked ten miles to get you to where it matters, and a journey like that hasn’t done you any good at all. So there you are on the knackered old trolley we use as a bed and after your last ten breaths your breathing stops and then you’re gone.’ He nodded, his voice soft, his eyes never leaving Suttle’s face. ‘You’re a couple of years old, maybe younger. Your mother screams and leaves the room. All the relatives outside, dozens of the fuckers, start to wail. Your father squats on the cracked old plastic chair which is the only one we’ve got and puts his face in his hands. A nurse cleans you up, removes the IV, swabs all the fucking blood and mucus away and then drapes something half clean over your face. Then your dad ties your big toes to
‘Splodge, you know?’ Lenahan pulled a face. ‘No theme. No story. Nothing to remember it by. It’s one of those nights you pick at the best bits but our hearts aren’t really in it. A lounge that big isn’t the cosiest place in the world and the truth is we’ve all had enough. Nine hard miles? Our collective fucking bodyweight in Guinness and champagne? Definitely time for bye byes. So Tash dumps the curry in the waste bin and does the washing-up. She’s got the little sports car for her and Symons but we need a cab so she makes the call. The guy’s there within five minutes. He has to do a bit of a circuit to drop the three of us off. Andy lives in Exeter so he’ll be the last man standing but you know what yer man does? He gets a price from the driver and then takes a whack from each of us before we even get in the bloody car. That’s how you get rich, I guess. That’s the kind of stroke Kinsey would pull.’
Suttle wanted to know more about Kinsey. Was he still in bed at this point? Or had he got up again?
‘Still in bed. Yer man’s spark out. This guy and alcohol are strangers. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. But that’s not the point. The place has got three en suite bathrooms and we’re still all thinking why hasn’t the eejit used one of those if he wants to be ill, but it’s Pendrick who puts his finger on it. Guy’s a dog, he says. The man has to leave his smell everywhere.’
It was a neat phrase. Suttle scribbled it down. Later Lenahan would have to volunteer a formal statement, but in the meantime – as precious background – this stuff was gold dust.
‘So you left . . .’ Suttle suggested.
‘Sure we did.’
‘Time?’
‘Gone midnight. Ask the cabbie.’
‘And you pulled the door shut behind you?’
‘Yeah. We do that grown-up stuff really well.’
‘No one else around? No one you saw? Inside the building? Out by the marina?’
‘Didn’t see a soul.’
‘And no calls when you were up in the apartment?’
‘Nothing. Just us.’
‘But a couple of hours later the guy’s dead.’
‘So it seems.’
‘Don’t you find that odd? Being a doctor?’
The word doctor brought the ghost of a frown to Lenahan’s face.
‘How do you know I’m a doctor?’
‘Molly Doyle told me.’
‘Ah, the Viking.’ The smile was back. ‘And did she tell you what kind of doctor?’
‘She said you worked abroad a lot. Médicins Sans Frontières.’ Suttle nodded at the photos on the wall. ‘I take it she’s right.’
‘She is. Fine woman.’ He studied his hands a moment, then his head came up again. ‘You really want to know about death, my friend? Then let me tell you. It’s getting towards sunset. It’s hotter than you can believe. Even the lizards are getting fucking stressed. But yer family are desperate and so they bring little you into the clinic. They’ve probably walked ten miles to get you to where it matters, and a journey like that hasn’t done you any good at all. So there you are on the knackered old trolley we use as a bed and after your last ten breaths your breathing stops and then you’re gone.’ He nodded, his voice soft, his eyes never leaving Suttle’s face. ‘You’re a couple of years old, maybe younger. Your mother screams and leaves the room. All the relatives outside, dozens of the fuckers, start to wail. Your father squats on the cracked old plastic chair which is the only one we’ve got and puts his face in his hands. A nurse cleans you up, removes the IV, swabs all the fucking blood and mucus away and then drapes something half clean over your face. Then your dad ties your big toes to
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