[Eddie Collins 01.0] The Third Rule

by Andrew Barrett

  “This doesn’t make sense to me,” he said. “You hate me for killing Sam, you hate me for drinking, you hate me smoking too much. Jilly, you hate me. I kind of got used to begging, but I don’t want it if it means setting up a standing order to those fucking freaks back there.” He shook his head, looked earnestly at her. “Why would you want me back?”

  “You’re an arsehole, Eddie. Let’s just get that straight.”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “But I can see that you’re trying to be good again. I can see it now.” She brought her palms together, shoulders forward. And her eyes said, bear with me on this one. “And I don’t hate you. And you can’t say I hate you for killing Sam–”

  “You’ve said it often enough.”

  She sighed. “I have, I know. I was wrong, I suppose.”

  “Oh, you suppose you were wrong.”

  “Just shut up and let me finish, dammit!”

  “Sorry.”

  “I lost my son,” she began. “I had to have someone to blame; can’t you see that? I don’t know who ran him over, but I figured if you’d been on time…” she shrugged. “I blamed you. Past tense.”

  Eddie retook his seat, folded his arms defiantly. Headway demanded a hard stance. “And the drinking?”

  “I want you to stop. Am I wrong for that? If for no other reason than it’ll stop you killing yourself. And I don’t want you to kill yourself. I’m not angry with you anymore, Eddie.” Jilly flopped back into her seat. “That’s why I want you back.” Her big eyes never strayed from his.

  He searched her face for traces of the hatred he thought she still had for him. And a pang of homesickness, the kind of sweet nostalgic pain that grips your heart and tweaks it, blundered back into his mind like an old friend falling through a door with a six-pack under his arm and a silly grin on his face. It was good to be back.

  Eddie almost allowed himself to begin feeling at home again, to take off his coat, kick off his shoes and lie on the settee with his arm behind his head flicking through the channels. Like he would in the old days.

  In the old days.

  The days when nothing mattered. When Sam was out back playing on his swing and Jilly was out playing bingo or trimming the plants in the rockery.

  How strange things can get. You wish so hard for something that you can’t quite believe your damned luck when it lands, plop, in your lap as though all you had to do was say please. And when finally your wish comes true, you can’t help but treat it with suspicion. After all, how many wishes do you make in thirty years, and how many of the damned things ever come true? So when one does, your eyes slit up, you take a deep breath, and you poke it once or twice, making sure your worst nightmare isn’t rolled up cunningly inside.

  It was this suspicion that caught Eddie as squarely as a pike on a barb. Two things had happened, like something out of a reverse psychology game show. Both had changed perspectives. She wanted him back. And he didn’t trust it; it came too easily. It would have been much easier to close the door behind him and head home to the empty flat in Wakefield city centre, safe in the knowledge that the only pain he would ever feel again came entirely from himself.

  Hey, think it over. Surely the offer will still be on the table this time next week. Call it a cooling-off period where either party can change their mind without recourse to legal action. And then, call it a safety net. If she blows hot and cold like this, you don’t want it to blow hot when you bailed out of your shitty slum with nowhere to go except the back seat of your car.

  “Mind if I think about it?” He looked at her through the tops of his eyes, face downwards, voice quiet, tentative.

  She covered her shock well, hiding the embarrassment she obviously felt with an endearing smile. “Sure. But why? I thought you’d snap my hand off.”

  “It’s the mountain thing.”

  She only nodded, didn’t try to hide the hurt this time.

  “Tell you what, Jilly. Let’s give it a couple of days, and if you still feel the same, I’ll bring my toothbrush and all my crap over. What do you say?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She puffed the words out through thin lips.

  Ten minutes later, Eddie was on his way home with a glowing feeling in his chest and a proud, victorious smile on his lips. He reminded himself how good – and rare – it was to have a wish granted.

  49

  Tuesday 23rd June

  “You must be mad.”

  Mick’s words took away that feeling in his chest. “It was you who suggested I go–”

  “Whoa there just one minute. Don’t you dare blame me–”

  “Who’s blaming anyone? It’s a good deal, I’m getting back with her, I’m going back home and I can’t believe you’re not happy about it.”

  “Hmph.”

  Of course Mick wasn’t happy about it. Eddie could live without the debauched language, the binge-drinking and the sloppy behaviour once he was back home. But Mick would find it difficult. “We could still go down to the pub. It’s not as though we have to stop drinking together.”

  Mick’s face said, Yeah, right. Prick. “Don’t forget how you managed to change your luck. You found Sam. You now share a common theme again.”

  “No, we don’t. I told her we wouldn’t be relying–”

  “And she believed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believed her when she said that?”

  He paused. “Yeah.”

  “I repeat my earlier response: hmph.”

  “I could come over to your place, maybe; drink with you there.”

  “We’ll see.” Mick didn’t look up.

  “I’ve never been to your gaff.”

  “You’re not missing much.”

  Eddie drank the brandy, stubbed out his cigarette and stared at the dejection that tumbled from Mick like hail from a winter sky. “You’re really naffed about this, aren’t you?”

  “Bet you forgot to tell her you might be heading for the sack, and possibly a Rule One.”

  It was true, he had forgotten. Genuinely. She would be mortified when she found out. But it was the way Mick said it, as though he was jealous.

  The night had crept up on them; the window was dark now, only the subdued light from the snooker hall showed itself, that and the orange glow from outside. Every time a bus passed, light from its upper deck swept briefly across the wall behind Eddie. In here, it was warm, homely. It also stank like the threshold between the bar and toilets in an old geezers’ pub. But it was safe.

  “How’s the investigation going?”

  Mick lit a cigarette and looked at Eddie through the rising smoke. “Okay, I suppose.”

  “What’s wrong with you? You’ve got a face like a bashed crab.”

  “It’ll never be the same, you know.”

  “What won’t?”

  “Being together again after a while apart. Things’ll feel strained, you know, as though you have to make polite conversation instead of just letting a rasper echo around the room. You’ll feel false and you’ll try to conjure that old you again, but you’ll fail and all you’ll find instead is a plastic you with the real you inside begging to be free again. Because you’ve changed, Eddie; your boundaries have widened and you’ll feel trapped.”

  “Christ, you’re cheerful tonight.” Eddie wondered who Mick was talking about: him and Jilly, or him and Mick? “Thanks for that.”

  “Pleasure.” Mick looked away.

  “Hey, look; either put a smile back on your face or piss off home.”

  Mick stood.

  “Lighten up, I was only kidding.”

  Mick made it to the door, even opened it before Eddie said, “Don’t you want to know the post-mortem results?”

  Mick stopped, hand on the door.

  “Got them right here. Interesting reading.”

  “You bastard.”

  “I know.”

  Mick closed the door, filled the Mick-sized indentation in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Those t
hings I said about getting back with Jilly…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I never thought you’d actually do it. I hoped you would, I just never thought you’d have the balls.”

  “More brandy?”

  “Lots more.”

  Eddie half-filled their glasses and raised his to Mick. “You are a dear friend of mine,” he said, “even though all you want me for is information–”

  “Hey, that’s–”

  “Below the belt? Anyway,” he said, “it might not work out yet. I’m keeping this place just in case it goes tits up.”

  “Odds?”

  “In favour of me being back here within a week.”

  “You think so?” Mick sat forward.

  “You ever tasted the grass on the other side of the fence and realised it was just as shitty as your old stuff?”

  Mick laughed.

  “I got a sneak preview this afternoon. I think she’ll be disappointed.”

  Solemnly, Mick nodded. “Where’s the PM results?”

  “You’re all heart.”

  “I know.”

  Eddie pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, smoothed out the creases and passed it across to Mick.

  Mick almost danced as he took it, but his happiness faded quickly. “Thanks,” he said absently. “I don’t understand all the numbers and the bloody Latin.” He looked at Eddie.

  “Basically, they’re all normal. Go straight to conclusions, turn over.”

  Mick did. “Ah, now I see. He wasn’t drunk, had no other drugs in his body other than non-steroidal drugs for rheumatism. Had very early signs of heart disease – but he was seventy-eight, to be expected.” Mick looked up again. “All other organs were normal; he was a fit old bird really.”

  “Until his brain fell out.”

  “There was light ante-mortem bruising to his shoulders and upper back, also some to his lower arms.”

  “Could have been a struggle in the chair he was sitting in,” Eddie shrugged, “Not too sure though, could be a thousand other things.”

  “It’s the sample list I’m interested in.”

  “I can guess which bit.”

  “Nail scrapings.”

  “They’re not in yet,” Eddie said. “Definitely some foreign tissue under his nails, but we’ve no idea who it came from. They’re being rushed through the processing right now.”

  50

  Wednesday 24th June

  – One –

  Eddie turned off the engine, let the wipers skitter to a stop on the sodden windscreen and sat there watching the car park of Morley Police Station dissolve into a blur of nothingness. He reached for the glove compartment, stalling before he even opened the catch. “No,” he said, “leave it.”

  There was a strong cup of coffee steaming on his desk as he threw his coat over his chair. “Thanks,” he said to whoever had made it. He expected Ros to peek around the storeroom door and say, “It’s okay. Morning.”

  “My pleasure.” Stuart walked tall out of Jeffery’s office, teeth glowing as though he’d gargled with Dulux gloss white only moments before. His tongue was still brown though, noted Eddie.

  Eddie moved the drink aside and sat down.

  “It’s not poisoned,” Stuart said.

  “Probably not; but I shudder to think what you stirred it with.”

  “I’m just trying to be friendly, that’s all.”

  “Why, what’s in it for you?”

  From his office, Jeffery snapped, “Eddie!”

  “Only joking; I’m sure it’s wonderful coffee.”

  “Only the best for my good friend.”

  Eddie whispered, “Piss off, Stuart. I preferred you when you openly despised me. At least I knew where I was then.”

  Stuart smiled his widest smile and between his row of perfect teeth, seethed, “Fuck you, Collins. You’re still a drunken wanker who doesn’t realise how close he is to being an unemployed drunken wanker.”

  And that brought it all back. Last night’s visit to Brandypuke Farm had erased it all from Eddie’s mind, until Stuck-up Stuart gave him a reminder. And things went downhill from there. Though nowhere near stratospheric, his mood hadn’t been in its customary place in the gutter, and he’d even imagined getting through the day without inventing new ways of suicide. Now the kettle flex at home looked ever more inviting, especially with the McHue business and the HoD interview to look forward to.

  Eddie thanked Stuart for the coffee and gulped it down.

  He spat it out all over his desk and up the wall, and dropped the cup on the floor. He coughed until his face was red and the veins stood out on his forehead. Stuart flashed his glossy teeth and stood at Eddie’s side, slapping him on the back, and Eddie struggled to vocalise the profanities queueing up on his tongue. Jeffery came out of his office, and Ros appeared at his side, coat still on, bag slung over her shoulder.

  “What’s happened?” She flicked rainwater from her hair.

  “What’s–” Eddie coughed and then gagged again, holding his fist over his mouth as Stuart pounded. “He put fucking salt in it.”

  “No, I never…” Stuart looked shocked. “I must have picked up the wrong–”

  “You twat!” Eddie turned, and knocked Stuart with his shoulder. Stuart doubled up and fell to the floor coughing, holding his stomach.

  “Eddie!” Jeffery shouted and ran across the office. “Why did you do that? It was an accident. Anyone could mistake–”

  Ros shouted, “They’re in different jars, how could he mistake–”

  “That’s no excuse for elbowing him in the guts.” Jeffery helped Stuart stand, guided him to his seat and then turned on Eddie. “Clean this mess up and then appear in my office in ten. Got it?”

  Eddie stood there with spittle hanging off his chin, eyes flitting between Stuart, Jeffery, and Ros, unable to believe what just happened. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” he said. “You saw–”

  “Ten minutes.” Jeffery turned to Stuart. “You alright?”

  “Feels like my ribs are bruised. But I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

  Jeffery gritted his teeth and slammed his office door.

  Eddie stared at the coffee on his desk, at the coffee running down the walls over his photos of Sam and his CRFP certificate, and at the puddle forming on the floor. The cup was smashed.

  Stuart winced, clutching his stomach, and two things grew in Eddie like fungus on dead wood: anger at Stuart, and the need for a drink.

  “You want me to come in there with you?” Ros asked.

  He thought about it; thought about what he’d said to her yesterday about staying away from him because he was a trouble magnet just now. But she would keep his tongue civil and maybe prevent him being summarily dismissed.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “It would get me away from the smell for a while.” She looked at Stuart.

  – Two –

  Eddie closed the door and Jeffery indicated that Ros should sit. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing Ros in?”

  “You’re entitled.”

  “Is this a disciplinary hearing?” Ros asked.

  “No, it’s not.” Jeffery folded his arms.

  “But, I–”

  “You seem determined to sink further into the quicksand. I’m not gonna be able to pull you out, you know. And now,” he nodded to the office door, “there’ll be even more trouble to answer for. You can’t go around physically abusing your colleagues.”

  “He did it on purpose!”

  “Even if he did–”

  “You can’t mistake the sugar and salt containers, Jeffery–”

  “Ros; you’re here to make sure he gets fair treatment, that’s all.”

  “But I’m not getting fair treatment.”

  “You smacked him in the stomach. What do you want me to do, give you a medal?”

  “You should make him apologise,” Ros said.

  “You elbowed him in the stomach. It’ll go on your file. And the He
ad of Department will study that file–”

  “You know you’re handing me a disciplinary notice, don’t you?”

  Jeffery leaned forward. “Let’s get this one hundred per cent crystal, shall we? If you are sacked or you go on to a Rule One, or you find yourself on a Stage 2 disciplinary, it has nothing to do with me. Your name will be at the top of the form, not mine. Clear?”

  “No. Not fucking clear. He provoked me, he taunted me and he took a dive like a professional footballer. You saw it. You chose to ignore it.”

  “Enough.”

  Eddie closed his eyes. As Ros was about to speak, he said, “Forget it. He’s not listening, Ros. Keep out of it before you end up alongside me.” He turned to her. “But thanks,” he said. Then to Jeffery, “When’s the meeting?”

  “Yet to be decided. Soon, though.”

  “Yippee.”

  “I want you two to stay together; you’ll have less chance of getting out of control if you have Ros watching over you. Okay?”

  Eddie looked back at Ros again, shrugged an apology.

  “Here’s your work for today. And it will take you all day.” Jeffery held a computer printout.

  “A car?”

  “Yes.”

  “That won’t take all day, not with two of us.”

  “I said that it will take you all day. Clear?”

  Eddie snatched the paperwork.

  “CID wants a full job doing. Thoroughly.”

  – Three –

  They walked together up to the window marked “security”. A bald man, smoking a roll-up with a reserve parked behind his left ear, sat behind a clear Perspex window, peered at their ID cards swinging on lanyards around their necks, and waved them through. “I think I’ll be with West Yorkshire Police for another three weeks if I’m lucky.”