3
Irvine stood outside Joanna Lewski’s building in Bridgeton. It was on the corner, three storeys built in red sandstone with a charity shop at street level and flats above. The sun was sinking in the sky and it glowed red-orange.
She looked at the address she had scribbled on a piece of loose paper. Lewski’s flat was on the top floor, back right. She went to the entrance door and was looking for the buzzer for the flat when she noticed that the door wasn’t locked. She pushed at it and it swung into the common hallway. She wasn’t much of a fan of the red and yellow paint job in Logan’s building, but this one had bare plaster walls in charcoal grey. She could barely see the stairs at the far end in the murky light cast down from the grimy window on the landing.
For a moment, Irvine thought about going home. This was something she could do tomorrow when Armstrong was with her. If he was happy to leave it tonight, maybe she should be as well.
Nothing to do with the less-than-inviting interior, of course.
She pushed the piece of paper into her bag and stepped into the hall.
‘Get on with it,’ she whispered.
Halfway along the hall she was startled by the sound of her mobile ringing.
‘Hey,’ Armstrong said. ‘Where are you? I thought we were going to see this Suzie Murray together.’
Irvine closed her eyes.
‘Before five you said. It’s now …’ she checked her watch – ‘nearly seven.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Had a bit of a domestic.’
‘You’re married?’
‘Why so surprised? But, no. It’s my girlfriend. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Murray’s building now. I was going to see her on my own.’
‘You want me to come too? I can be there in ten minutes.’
‘Do what you want. But I’m going up to her flat to get started. It’s late enough already.’
‘Go ahead. I’ll be there.’
Irvine put her phone away and walked to the stairs at the end of the hall. The dirty grey walls continued up to the next floor and, if anything, it looked even darker.
She started up the stairs and heard a noise above – like shouting. A male voice. She strained to hear but it had stopped and she wasn’t sure where exactly it had come from. It could have been at the end of the first floor hall or higher up. Sound echoed off the walls and down the stairs, distorted from its origin.
She waited for a moment and started up again when there was no further sound. The stairs were old stone, polished by the foot traffic that had passed over them since the place was built over a hundred years ago. The centre of each stair was dimpled where the heaviest traffic had worn it away. Irvine was careful to look where she was walking, one hand on the rail screwed to the wall for support.
As she neared the top of the stairs leading to the second floor she heard more noise. This time it was like a thump, followed by someone choking back a sob. It sounded like it was coming from the far end of the hall. Where Suzie Murray lived. Where Joanna Lewski had lived.
Irvine stepped up into the hall and looked along to the door of the flat. There was a narrow window seeping dirty yellow light from the streetlights outside.
She waited, straining to listen for any more sounds from down the hall. She thought she could hear whispers, but couldn’t be sure. There was another thump, this time definitely emanating from the flat she was going to visit. Irvine stepped back, wondering if maybe it would be a good idea to wait for Armstrong after all.
She turned to look back down the stairs, didn’t see the door to Suzie Murray’s flat slowly open, revealing the black interior of the flat.
She heard a slow creaking sound behind her as the door to the flat opened all the way, turned and saw the silhouette of a man against the light from the window. His face was indistinct in the gloom of the hall.
She heard what sounded like a woman crying.
The man didn’t move.
Irvine reached into her bag and took out her warrant card, holding it up.
‘I’m a police officer. DC Irvine, Strathclyde Police CID.’
Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. That’s how they taught you – got to sound like a cop, even if you don’t feel it.
The man turned his head and looked inside the flat. She saw him in profile – long hair with a prominent brow and a boxer’s flat nose. Realised now that he was tall and wide.
Wished to Christ she’d waited for Armstrong.
The man turned back to look at her.
‘Bad timing,’ he said, and walked towards her.