Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [46]
But Park couldn't leave right now. He needed an alibi before the police spoke to him. He knew how they worked. Knew that in their twisted minds he was a suspect. Do a five-spot and, in their eyes, you were automatically the sort of sick fuck who'd kill his own son.
He whispered to Effie, "Did you tell them I was at home with you this evening?"
"Of course."
She was a good girl. Didn't even have to be primed. "What was on TV?"
"We watched a movie."
"Which one?"
"The one Grant brought round. God's Little Acre."
That was one he could remember. "And afterwards?"
"You went home."
"To Old Mrs Yardie's?"
"That's where you live."
"But the police don't know that."
"Which is why they couldn't get in touch with you."
Park nodded. "And why was Mum at yours?"
"I'm her daughter. Why not?"
"Good point," he said. He eased Effie to the side. "Go talk to her. See how she's taking it."
"She's no idea what's going on, Dad. You know that."
"Do it for me. Your mother needs someone to comfort her."
The cop smiled as Effie passed him. He moved towards Park, close enough for his breath mints to mask the antiseptic hospital smell for a second. "Mr Park? A few moments of your time?"
And a few moments was all it took. Even a cop could tell Park was hurting.
When the doctor arrived to speak to them, Park knew what he was going to say.
***
A CONSULTING ROOM. Desk, chairs, a bench for the patient to lie down on, a plastic curtain.
Bright light.
Everything shimmering.
Trippy.
Death was like this.
Park wondered if Grant had died like McCracken. Did death look the same?
McCracken.
"Sit down, please," the doctor said, poker-faced.
It was probably a cop who'd told McCracken's old man.
There were only three available chairs. Liz, Effie and Martin sat. Park stayed on his feet, behind Liz, hands on her shoulders. The doctor offered Park his seat. Park shook his head. He needed to hold onto something.
Imagined himself walking out of the building. Going to the car. Getting Carlos's gun out of the glove compartment. Opening the boot. Shooting Tommy Savage.
But that was letting him off too lightly.
Park had needed to get McCracken alone. And that required patience. No point trying to do it at the Home. Too obvious. So Park found out where he lived easily enough. It was in the phone book. Park kept an eye on McCracken's house for a couple of days when he was on day shifts, and on both occasions noted he took an evening jog round Lochend Park. Third day Park went for a jog too. Piece of cake. Didn't matter that McCracken spotted him.
Park's kneecaps were jigging up and down. Couldn't stop them.
He didn't want to hear this.
McCracken had slowed down as Park headed towards him.
Park too. Came to a stop right in front of each other.
"What are you doing here?" McCracken asked, sweat dripping off his nose.
Park felt Carlos's gun digging into his thigh through his jogging bottoms. Gun in one pocket. Clothesline in the other. "Can't a man go for a jog?"
"Haven't seen you here before," McCracken said.
"Don't normally hang around slummy areas like this."
"So why today?"
"Business. Locally."
"Oh. Right."
Park knew McCracken wanted to say something cheeky but was holding back. Almost a shame to kill him, him being so well behaved and all.
"I'm very sorry to have to say this," the doctor said.
"You cold?" McCracken looked at Park's gloved hands.
"Bit chilly, aye." Park clapped his hands together. Managed to stop himself from shivering. Didn't want to overdo it.
"Better get going, then," McCracken said.
Didn't ask about