The Barber Surgeon's Hairshirt (Barney Thomson series) Read Online Free PDF

watching Only The Young Die Young .’
    ‘Oh, aye, I saw that episode,’ said Proudfoot. ‘The one where Curaçao had the sex change operation so she could impregnate Gobnat.’
    Agnes nodded. Didn’t smile in recognition.
    ‘Barney?’ said Mulholland, trying to reclaim the conversation.
    Proudfoot shook her head. ‘No, Barney wanted to marry New Orleans, but she was engaged to Flipper.’
    A pause. Pursed lips. A raised eyebrow.
    ‘Oh,’ said Proudfoot.
    ‘Your husband, Mrs Thomson?’
    Agnes didn’t need to think.
    ‘We didn’t say much at breakfast,’ she said. ‘In fact, we didn’t say anything at breakfast. Never did. Didn’t talk much, that was just us.’
    Go and see the wife again , M had told him. Woods might have missed something .
    Mulholland nodded. There was nothing to miss. Wondered if the rest of the investigation would mirror this moment. Asking questions already asked, receiving well-trodden answers. A pointless round, an unbroken circle. At some stage he would be kicked off the carousel and some other poor bastard would be put in charge. That was how these things went. Thomson might have just disappeared, never to be heard from again.
    ‘There was nothing different that morning? No casual comment, he didn’t pack a bag? Eat a little more than usual, wear different clothes? Anything?’
    ‘Tell you he was going to Bermuda and that he’d never see you again?’ added Proudfoot. Drew a look from Mulholland.
    Agnes shook her head. The same old questions, put in the same old way. The futile circle.
    A thought occurred. She put her fingers to her mouth, stared at the ceiling. A vague light came to her eye.
    ‘You know, now that I finally think about it, I think he might’ve said something about whether he needed a visa for to go to the Seychelles. Aye, I think it was that.’
    Proudfoot and Mulholland leant forward, curious. It couldn’t be this easy.
    ‘The Seychelles?’ said Mulholland. ‘Are you sure?’
    Agnes looked a little unsure, then said, ‘I think so. Maybe it was Saltcoats.’
    A pause.
    ‘You’re taking the piss,’ said Mulholland.
    ‘You are a detective.’
    Mulholland kept the expletive in check.
    ‘This is a serious business, Mrs Thomson. Very serious. Your husband stands accused—’
    ‘Look, I know fine well what he stands accused of, all right? It’s my life, not yours. But I know nothing about it, nothing about where he is now. I’ve told fifty of you. Would you just please leave me alone?’
    They sat and stared at one another. There were other questions to be asked, but Mulholland knew there was little point. And of all the people who would’ve suffered through the previous two weeks of hysterical press speculation, Agnes Thomson would have suffered more than anyone. The husband disappears, the wife is left behind to face the music.
    ‘Look, why d’you not just accept it? Barney left the shop that morning to get a sandwich. He comes back, sees your lot all over the place like a blinking rash, ‘cause you’d charged in like you were rounding up the flipping Mafia, and for whatever reason, he legs it. I know how it looks, but if you want my opinion, I doubt he ran because he’d murdered anybody. My Barney was too stupid for that. Too bloody stupid.’
    Mulholland sat back, looked at the floor. You were told so many lies in the job; along the way you developed an instinct for the truth. How well the instinct developed led to how good a copper you were. He liked to think he could always tell. Truth or lies.
    Agnes Thomson was telling the truth. They were wasting their time.
    ‘So, you haven’t heard from Barney since he disappeared?’ he asked. Had to.
    Agnes drew her breath, shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I haven’t.’ If they’d never made the effort to speak when they lived together, why should they now that they didn’t?
    ‘You’ll let us know if you hear from him?’
    She shrugged. The interview was over, she stared at the blank