by Owen Mullen
A sardonic smile tugged the corners of his mouth. ‘Of course, you’ll go your own way. Wouldn’t expect anything else. But if you do, there’s no going back.’
Danny let him say his piece. Then, it was his turn. He began with a compliment – always a bad omen. ‘You’re wasted on the force, Oliver, d’you know that? Should’ve been a priest. Or maybe one of them motivational speakers. Thanks for the sermon. Now spit it out!’
Stanford hesitated and Danny went after him. ‘C’mon, don’t fuck me about.’
‘I’m not. I wouldn’t. The information about the drug shipment was solid. Only one other person knew about it.’
Danny leaned across the table. ‘Who? Tell me or I’ll break your back. See how much Elise loves you when you smell of piss day and night.’
‘Bob Wallace.’
The anticlimax was deafening.
‘Bob Wallace? What the fuck? Never heard of him. Who is he?’
‘A detective sergeant. I wasn’t sure about him so I let him in on the details. Hours later…’
There was no need to finish the sentence.
It sounded unconvincing. As if Stanford had stuck some poor unsuspecting bastard in the frame to save his own arse. Danny hadn’t got where he was by being stupid – he was thinking what I was thinking.
‘How sure are you about this? Because if you’re not, now’s the time to ’fess.’
On the surface the detective appeared unruffled. Underneath the tan I guessed he was pale. ‘As sure as I can be. Only three people on my side knew. I can vouch for me and Trevor Mills. The third was Wallace. Which means he told Rollie Anderson about the hit.’
‘What made you suspect him?’
‘It was a test. Something about him… was off.’
‘So you used me to set a trap for him?’
‘That’s not how it was. I was protecting us, both of us. If he was bent, we needed to know.’
Danny leaned over and slapped the policeman hard across the face.
‘Should do you just for that. Maybe I will. But let’s assume you’re right. Tell me about this Bob Wallace and don’t miss anything out. You’ve fucked up twice now, Oliver. You were in the dark about the attack on this pub and because of you Kent was a farce. One more and I’m cashing you in, understand? Then we’ll see how “galvanised” your pals are. ’Course they’ll have to find your body first.’
He grinned at me. ‘Don’t fancy their chances, do you, little brother?’
24
Danny had the name. Knowing him as I did, I didn’t have to think about what he’d do with it: Bob Wallace was a dead man. Stanford had signed his death warrant. The DCI followed his betrayal with more cautionary words, in reality, distancing himself from the murder of a police officer. ‘I meant what I said. It has to be clean.’ He paused, gauging whether his message was getting through. ‘Make sure the body isn’t found. The Met’s tenacious when it comes to avenging one of our own. They’ll never close the case.’
Danny looked like he’d discovered something nasty stuck to his shoe.
‘Shut it. Just fucking shut it, copper.’
‘I’m only saying it has to be done quietly, for all our sakes.’
‘And I’m saying put a sock in it.’
He ignored the detective and spoke to me. ‘Before you start, don’t dare.’
‘I haven’t said anything.’
‘Yeah, but you’re going to. I’m done letting Anderson walk all over us.’
He paced the room, raving and waving his arms. ‘“Make sure the body isn’t found.” What the hell good is that? We’re sending a message – don’t mess with the Glass family. Shouting from the rooftops so everybody gets it.’
Settling the score was overdue. Yet, I saw where Stanford was coming from, and he was right. The last thing we needed was every copper in London breathing down our necks.
I said, ‘Sending a message is one thing. Killing Wallace is something else. It’s stupid. Can’t you see he’s a gift?’
‘A gift? How so?’
‘With a man inside Rollie’s camp we can screw him.’
Danny looked as if he’d swallowed a wasp. Then, he got it.
‘Fair point, bro. Except every bastard in London thinks he can try it on. That can’t stand. I won’t let it stand.’ He remembered the detective was still there and dismissed him with a snarl. ‘Make yourself scarce, copper.’
The policeman was relieved and left without another word. When he’d gone, Danny said, ‘If you’ve got a plan, let’s hear it.’
My brother needed blood. It was time to let him have it.
‘We hit them on Friday night. After that, Wallace won’t have anybody to report to because Rollie will be dead. It’ll finally be over between us and the Andersons and you’ll be the Birthday Boy. Drunk as a skunk with a room full of witnesses to prove it.’
The idea of revenge relaxed him.
‘Time for a splash, I’m thinking.’
He took a bottle of Chivas Regal and two tumblers from the bottom drawer of the desk, poured a large one for each of us and gave the toast I’d been hearing most of my life.
‘To Team Glass.’
It never got old for him. A familiar light came into his eyes and I groaned inside; he was about to take us on another stroll down memory lane.
‘Meant to tell you. Remember that girl you were keen on when you were seventeen?’
I didn’t answer.
‘Yeah, you do.’ He snapped his fingers, trying to recall. ‘Janice. Jennifer. Joan.’
‘Julia.’
‘Yeah, Julia, that’s the one.’
I hadn’t thought about Julia Kingsley in a long time. We’d gone out together for a year and were talking about getting engaged when it ended. Or, more accurately, when Danny ended it.
‘What about her?’
‘Saw her at a bus stop the other day. Didn’t realise she still lived round here. Hasn’t changed. Always was a looker.’
‘You stopped me from seeing her. Told me I’d thank you someday.’
‘So I did. Why was that? What was wrong with her?’
He’d forgotten, that was how important it had been to him. I hadn’t. We’d had a major bust-up over it and I’d threatened to leave home. In the end, he’d sat me down and explained why Julia wasn’t for me. Inevitably, it became another us-against-the-world speech. He was rolling out the Team Glass bollocks even then.
I refreshed the gap in his recollection. ‘Her brother.’
Danny put his feet on the desk. ‘That’s right. That’s right. She had a brother, didn’t she? What was his name?’
‘Zach.’
He slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Of course. More than enough reason to split you two young lovebirds. A Zachary? From South London? Fucking hell!’
His fierce objection hadn’t been Julia’s brother’s name – it was what he did, or rather what Zach Kingsley had wanted to do. ‘It’s coming back to me. Joined the Met, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah, and you stopped me marrying his sister because of it.’
Even after all these years, he was unrepentant. ‘Too humpty-tumpty. If you’d got hooked to that tart, he’d be your brother-in-law. How was that gonna work?’
‘She wasn’t a tart, Danny. I was in love with her.’
‘’Course she was. They’re all tarts. Time you wised up to it.’ He sipped his drink and gazed into the past. What he saw amused him.
‘Thought your life was over. Wouldn’t speak to me for a month. Having a copper in the family? No chance. Not then and not now.’
Suddenly, I didn’t feel like drinking with him and got up. Danny saw I was annoyed.
‘Don’t tell me you’re still mad? It was nearly twenty years ago. Lucky escape, if you ask me. Surely you can see that?’
A message arrived on his phone and cut his laughter short. He passed the mobile across to show me a YouTube link and a strawberry emoji.
‘Better play it, Danny.’
He tapped the
screen and held his breath. At first, it was muddy. After ninety seconds of nothing, a white Transit came out of the pre-dawn mist. Suddenly, I knew what we were seeing and why. Rollie Anderson had failed to find his mark with the raid on the King Pot – Team Glass had survived. It wouldn’t survive this.
I wanted to look away. Christ knows, I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Beside me, Danny moaned a low moan and shook uncontrollably. Hearing his tough-guy speech to the back of the van was beyond embarrassing, even more ludicrous than it had been at the time. When the doors opened, the camera zoomed in, catching his stupefied expression in a close-up. Then, the unmistakeable voice of my brother… ‘Strawberries. We’ve jacked a load of fucking strawberries. Stanford, you cunt!’
The phone dropped from his trembling fingers. Danny’s eyes bulged in his skull, his face so red I thought it might explode. Nobody did rage as he did: rising from his core, spewing like lava, scaring those around him to the bone. He upended the desk, scattering everything on it, and let out a roar they’d hear at King’s Cross.
His next target was his pride and joy – the jukebox – flipping it over as if it were made of cardboard. It hit the floor in a cascade of broken glass and cracked vinyl. Danny spun like a blind man in the centre of the room, punching his face, beating his head off the wall, again and again. I grabbed him in a bear hug and we crashed to the carpet, locked together, while he thrashed and struggled against the humiliation Rollie Anderson had dealt him and the demons it had loosed.
My arms ached, but I held on. We lay there for a long time. Until he whispered, ‘It’s okay. I’m all right. Let me up.’
Down in the pub, the gang of grizzled old guys in the corner would be sheltering their dominoes in the palms of their wrinkled hands, counting the white dots laid out in a line on the table, debating with themselves whether to play the four-two or the five-one. Harry would be pulling pints and chatting to the customers, laughing at jokes he’d heard before. Nobody would guess the crazy scene that had gone on upstairs. I’d been there and still couldn’t.
Even before he told me to let him go, I sensed a difference in him. Danny got to his feet and helped me off the floor; his hand was firm and dry as always. I felt like a bus had run over me and doubled back a couple of times. He ignored the overturned desk and the jukebox on its side. None of it registered or, if it did, at that moment they weren’t important to him. Almost the only thing to survive unscathed was the photograph of the Queen on the wall.
He sat in his usual chair facing me, his face bruised from where he’d hit himself, not looking at me – I might as well not have been in the room. My brother was as strong as an ox and just as unpredictable. But the shock of seeing Anderson’s video and knowing he was already a laughing stock had affected him: his arms hung at his sides, his shoulders drooped, and there was an emptiness in his eyes.
The silence was eerie and went on for minutes. After a while I couldn’t stand it. ‘Are you okay? I mean, is there anything I can do?’
His voice was cracked and tinny and disconnected, how it had sounded on the phone seven years earlier, telling me about Cheryl and Rebecca.
they’re dead, Luke
that bastard Anderson
‘We’ve got to hit him and hit him hard. Send a message they’ll never forget.’
‘Yes, we will. Of course, we will.’
He got off the chair and crawled on his hands and knees until he found what he was looking for: his mobile. His fingers tapped a number. Danny mumbled to himself – I’d become invisible again. ‘I’m not the only one who’s fucked, copper. Deal with this.’
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d just done. If Detective Chief Inspector Oliver Stanford hadn’t seen the video before, he had now. And suddenly, Danny was back, his eyes full of life.
‘You still here?’
‘Where else should I be?’
‘Don’t you have places to go and people to see? Like that Julia we were talking about.’
‘That was twenty years ago. She could be married with half a dozen kids. I’ve no idea where she lives.’
‘Then you’re not trying hard enough. Go on. Give me some space. Got calls to make.’
The change was too sudden. Bravado for my benefit. After what I’d just witnessed, I didn’t trust it.
‘Not while you need me.’
He laughed like I’d heard him do all my life – harsh and cruel – though rarely directed at me. ‘Need you? What you on about? Never gonna happen. Fuck off out of it before I lose my rag with you.’
Vale parked his car well away from the flat and walked the rest of the way, in no hurry to get there. Eugene was a coward. Knowing he’d have to tell Nina about the mess he’d got them into made him feel sick. Around six o’clock, when he was on the floor having Yvonne for the last time, it had started to rain, hammering against the window – the perfect soundtrack to what he was doing. She’d writhed and moaned under him. He’d fucked her harder, savouring his dominance.
Who would’ve guessed the dynamic was about to change?
The rain had stopped but the pavements were still wet and a cold wind had picked up, ruffling his hair, making his eyes water. Vale gathered his coat around him and kept his head down, not close to being ready to confess. He passed a young couple, too busy eating the face off each other to notice he was even there. Their lives would be bland and uncomplicated; he envied them. The truth was clear, the evidence overwhelming – one way or another he’d ruined every relationship he’d ever been in, because it was never enough. A woman only had to look at him a moment longer than she needed to and he was after her. Once they’d had sex, he soon lost interest and ended it. Though not always: he’d married two of them, a mistake he wouldn’t be making again. Both wives had divorced him for infidelity and avenged themselves through their lawyers.
Bitter experiences. Bitter and expensive. He’d learned nothing from them, which was why he was here, dragging his feet to avoid Nina’s predictable rage.
At the end of the street, he remembered how late he was and reluctantly quickened his pace while his brain searched for the words to explain. He didn’t find them. Yvonne was a greedy little tart, that much was true, but if he’d settled for what he had with Nina, none of it would be happening.
Vale forced his nerves under control and pressed the buzzer, not expecting to be welcomed with open arms. Nina was feisty, a woman who wanted what she wanted when she wanted it – keeping her waiting wouldn’t go down well. She detested her older brother and prided herself on not being the same. Of course, she was wrong – they’d come from the same gene pool: biochemistry had had the final say. Like Danny, Nina was driven and unpredictable. Now, his trampy secretary had him by the balls and was getting ready to squeeze.
The door opened. Nina looked him up and down, her expression blank. She was wearing a black and orange silk robe with a Japanese design. Eugene guessed there would be nothing underneath and silently cursed himself.
Her voice matched her expression, emotionless, at the same time, hostile.
‘We agreed seven o’clock. Or am I wrong?’
Vale stuttered an apology. ‘Sorry… Sorry, I’m late.’
She stood aside to let him pass and he caught her perfume on the air. Nina was dressed for a session – she was going to be disappointed. When he said what he needed to say, they’d have more important things to think about. On the coffee table, two red wines were already poured. She picked them up and handed a glass to him.
He refused it. ‘I’d take a whisky if you’ve got any. Make it a large one.’
‘What’s the matter? Getting cold feet? I told you – everything’s cool. Danny’s got no idea what we’re doing.’
‘Cold feet? No.’
‘Then what the hell’s wrong with you?’
‘We’ve got a problem.’
Nina tensed. ‘What kind of problem?’
Vale took a deep breath and stepped into the abyss. ‘Yvonne knows.’
Nina
took a moment to let what she was hearing sink in. ‘Yvonne? The little trollop who files her nails all day?’
‘Yes. She knows about us.’
‘About you and me?’
He hesitated. ‘And the money.’
‘She can’t.’
‘I’m afraid she does. She overheard us on the phone.’
Nina processed what she was being told.
‘I called your mobile. She couldn’t have been listening in?’
Vale said, ‘Can I have that whisky?’
‘No, you bloody well can’t. How much does she know?’
‘She was there, in the office.’
‘She was there. Why would…?’
The flesh around Nina’s eyes tightened, the corners of her mouth twisted in a mixture of anger and revulsion, as realisation dawned. For what seemed like a long time she didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Fury built from within, rising slowly, her limbs trembling. Vale sensed what was coming and edged away just as Nina erupted and threw herself at him, snarling like a wild beast. He stumbled and fell; she followed him down. The robe parted, revealing a flash of pubic hair, dark against the creamy thighs, and Vale knew they’d never part for him again. She straddled his body, out of control, beating his chest with her fists. He turned his head to the side but there was no escape; her flailing nails found him and raked his cheek. Eugene felt the sting and knew she’d marked him.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.
Nina collapsed onto the sofa, pale and panting and spent. He lay on the carpet, his body aching, too exhausted to move. Eventually, she spoke, her contempt for him undisguised. ‘You fool. You stupid bloody idiot. What the hell have you done?’
‘Nina… Nina, I—’
‘You were fucking her. That’s why she was there. How she overheard.’