A Long Way Down

by Ken McCoy

  ‘No chance, I reckon Redman would have blown us both out – us bein’ in here, we were no use to him anymore.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t have got paid for what you did yesterday, which includes losing a leg?’

  ‘No, he only paid for results, did Redman.’

  ‘And now he’s dead.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Oh, he’s dead all right. Burnt my cottage down trying to kill two of my friends, but I brought in an armed-response unit. Have you ever come up against one of those before? They frighten me to death and I’m on their side. I told them I’d prefer to have Redman kept alive but when a man’s armed and shooting they don’t piss about don’t them lads. Animal tried to run for it but he didn’t get far. Hmm, I wonder if the Piper brothers know who this bloke is who worked for Santiago?’

  ‘Doubt it. Them two thick twats don’t know their arses from their elbows.’

  ‘One of them’s got a mental problem,’ said Sep, annoyed at the man’s attitude.

  ‘That’s not my fuckin’ fault.’

  ‘No, it’s not his either. Anyway, I’ve got more important people to see in this hospital, so I’ll maybe see you later.’

  ‘What about our deal?’

  Sep had left, but not without the satisfaction that the fool Butterbowl had believed him about the deal.

  Sep went to the nurse’s station in the Accident and Emergency ward, where a nurse looked up at him with a questioning look on her face.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so. Ignore the crutches. I’m a policeman, DI Black.’

  ‘Yes, I know who you are.’

  ‘I’ve come to check on my good friend Elijah McMurphy, who was brought in last night with gunshot wounds.’

  ‘I believe Mr McMurphy’s still in theatre.’

  ‘After all this time?’

  ‘Yes. He sustained very serious injuries, including smoke inhalation. The lady who came in just after him discharged herself. She should have stopped overnight. She had smoke inhalation injuries herself.’

  ‘Ah, well, she’s actually at the Grand Hotel. Do you think I should get her over here?’

  ‘Don’t bother. She was actually quite rude when I tried to insist she stopped here.’

  ‘Well, she’d had quite a trying time … almost died, as did Eli.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Two of the men who caused it are in here as well.’ She smiled at his raised eyebrows before adding, ‘In the mortuary.’

  ‘They were bad people,’ said Sep. ‘Had they lived they’d have spent the rest of their days in prison.’

  ‘What about the other one? The one with the funny name?’

  ‘You mean Stanley Butterbowl? He likes to be called Wolf.’

  ‘I can see why. While he’s in here, he’ll be Stanley Butterbowl.’

  ‘His future doesn’t look too bright either,’ said Sep.

  ‘Someone needs to tell him to agree to having his leg amputated. From what I’ve heard it’ll come off eventually anyway.’

  ‘I’m not too concerned about his well-being, I’m afraid. So, how’s it looking for Eli? He’s one of the good guys.’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you want me to find out?’

  ‘Please.’

  She picked up a telephone and dialled a single number. ‘I’ve got Detective Inspector Black here enquiring after Elijah McMurphy.’

  The answer had her frowning, then saying, ‘… Oh.’

  She put the phone down and paused before saying, ‘I’m sorry to tell you that they lost Mr McMurphy in theatre.’

  ‘What? He’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. His wounds were too severe. He sustained a lot of internal damage.’

  The shock of losing an old and valued friend had Sep wobbling on his crutches. The nurse came around her desk and supported him.

  ‘Here, take a chair for a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sep had known Eli for years, first as a burglar whom he’d arrested several times, until, after his last stretch in prison, he eventually placed him in the cottage as a caretaker and odd-job man. As far as Sep knew, Eli had gone straight ever since and now he was dead, at the hands of Sep’s adversaries. He sat there with his eyes misting with tears. Right then he only wanted one person – Winnie O’Toole. He looked up at the nurse.

  ‘I need a taxi.’

  ‘I’ll get you one.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Winnie was sitting at a table on a public balcony, high over the sweeping panorama of Scarborough Bay. She was looking out to sea, smoking her pipe. Her wounded arm in a sling, resting on the arm of her chair. There were two glasses of beer on the table. Sep hobbled over on his crutches and sat down opposite her, grunting with pain as he landed in the chair. She winced in sympathy.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Eli didn’t make it.’

  She stared at him as his words sank in. ‘You mean …’ She paused before she got the next words out. ‘He died?’

  Sep gave a single, sad nod. ‘On the operating table. He was too badly injured – they couldn’t save him.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Sep reached across the table and took her good hand in his.

  ‘He was a good man,’ he said.

  ‘I know. He had a lot of devil in him but I really liked him.’

  Sep shook his head in sadness. ‘Me too and it’s my fault he’s dead. They were after me, not him. I should never have left you two back there.’

  They sat there for a while, clutching each other’s hands, as they shared the pain of a friend’s death.

  ‘The cottage has gone as well,’ he said, eventually. ‘All that’s left is a lump of useless land. No Eli, no cottage, no nothing. Why the hell did I come out here with that murderous lot on my tail? Eli was a happy man out here – happier than he’d ever been in his life and I took that life away from him. What right did I have to do that?’

  Winnie tried to diffuse the unhappy subject by changing it. ‘We’ll have to explain to the mobility shop that their wheelchair was burned in a house fire – that’s where a bit of home contents insurance would have come in handy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not bothered about bloody insurance, Winnie! You’re still alive. That counts for a lot in my book.’

  He let go of her hand and turned his head to look out to sea, where the world was calm and harmless, but it hadn’t always been. On the horizon were two large tankers, heading south from the North Sea oil rigs.

  ‘In 1914,’ Sep said, ‘there were two German ships out there, shelling this town. One of the shells hit this hotel. A lot of innocent people were killed that day.’

  ‘Why do people do such terrible things?’

  ‘It’s what human beings do when they go to war; they get very destructive. History books call it the horrors of war. With me, it sometimes goes with my job.’

  Winnie nodded, remembering that since she’d met Sep she’d killed twice, both in extreme situations in order to save her own life. ‘I suppose some people don’t deserve to be on this Earth,’ she said.

  ‘Well, the ones who killed Eli didn’t … and two of them aren’t anymore.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Winnie, ‘but it won’t bring Eli back. ‘He told me he was seventy-eight and that’s the oldest he’d ever been.’

  Sep smiled. ‘Yeah, that sounds like Eli.’

  ‘He told me that when he knew we had no chance of getting out alive.’

  Sep smiled. ‘Probably his last joke, eh?’

  ‘No, he told me he’d always wanted to be shot at the age of ninety-eight by a jealous husband. Mind you, he told me he was old enough to die and that this was a hell of a way to go.’

  ‘Maybe it was,’ said Sep. ‘He’d lived a wayward existence, a lot of it locked up. Maybe he thought it was a fitting end. I imagine he was very pleased that you were with him at the end,’ he said, looking u
p at the sky.

  Winnie’s eyes widened in amazement as she followed his heavenly gaze. ‘Bloody hell, Sep! Don’t tell me you’re religious.’

  ‘Not really. I suppose I’m an agnostic, but God comes in handy at times like this. We’ll give Eli a decent funeral and we’ll both be in the chapel, praying along with the vicar that he’s gone to a better place, will we not?’

  ‘Yes, we will.’

  They both stared out to sea once more, with Winnie blowing smoke rings into the calm air. Sep watched this and asked, ‘How did you manage to fill your pipe with one hand?’

  ‘The fingers still work on both hands. Any more questions?’

  ‘Yes, who’s this other beer for?’

  ‘You, if you turned up before I drank it.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll have a toast to our good friend Elijah McMurphy.’

  They clinked glasses and called out, ‘Elijah McMurphy.’

  ‘He was a prophet, you know,’ said Sep.

  ‘Elijah McMurphy was a prophet?’

  ‘Not our Elijah. In the Bible, Elijah was one of God’s first prophets.’

  ‘Good. Our Eli should do well up there, then. It’s always handy to be well in with the main man.’

  Sep studied her and asked, ‘Have you managed to wash your hair?’

  ‘Why, does it look OK?’

  ‘It looks better than it did back at the cottage. There was smoke still coming out of it back there.’

  ‘There’s a hairdresser’s up the street, they washed it for me. Like you said it was full of smoke and in a right mess.’

  ‘Was any of it burnt?’

  ‘Singed a bit, but they cut all that out.’

  ‘You like to get your priorities right.’

  ‘I always feel ten times worse when my hair’s a mess.’

  ‘Your hair’s always untidy but it always suits you.’

  ‘You mean I’m always untidy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you must know it’s a style of my own, I call it called tastefully dishevelled.’

  ‘Tastefully dishevelled—that describes you.’

  ‘Thank you, Septimus. I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘My pleasure … Winifreda.’

  ‘How did you know I was Winifreda?’

  ‘I’m a copper. It’s my job to know such stuff.’

  Sep smiled. He felt better and he knew that was because he was with Winnie O’Toole; she had that effect on him. He watched her puff away on her pipe, an action that wouldn’t be endearing in most women, but in Winnie O’Toole he found it both amusing and endearing. He looked at her face which would be better described as handsome rather than beautiful. It was an intelligent face, well-framed within a mass of beautiful auburn locks, which, apart from the smoke from her pipe, was now washed clean of fumes. Locks that were ‘tastefully dishevelled’. She had beautiful teeth that gave her a dazzling smile and her skin had a light, natural tan and a few freckles that spoke of a mixed race somewhere in its history, it gave her a gypsy appearance that added to her attraction. As he looked at her, an awful thought struck him. His friend Eli had died in the carnage at the cottage but – and it was this thought that sent a shudder up his spine – it might just as easily have been Winnie and her loss would have been unbearable, especially with it being his fault. She became aware of his gaze.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing, it’s just that …’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Well … if you’d died as well, it would have been too much for me to handle. I er … Oh dammit, Winnie! It’s my job to look after you, not put you in danger. This is ridiculous! I’m not going to be able to do without you.’

  ‘Now there’s a coincidence.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Oh, Sep, you’re a detective. What the hell do you think it means? We live together, we sleep together; do you think I’m some sort of slapper who’ll do that with anyone?’

  In view of her past occupation as a prostitute Sep decided to say nothing but she read his mind, as she often did.

  ‘Sep, the stuff you’re thinking about, it’s all in the past. On top of which I love you, which is something that’s never happened to me before.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sep, ‘my reaction back at the cottage tells me I love you as well and I’d really like to kiss you but you’ve only got one working arm and I’m on crutches.’

  Winnie got to her feet. ‘Oh, stop making lame excuses, you miserable bugger and get your arms around me!’

  They were in their room, doing their carnal best, despite their collective injuries, when Sep’s mobile rang. It was a call he’d been expecting – dreading – all day. Superintendent Jane Hawkins.

  ‘DI Black, in the light of recent events I need you back here for a full debrief of the events of yesterday. Where are you and how soon can you get here?’

  ‘I’m actually in bed, ma’am, trying to catch up on a night’s sleep.’

  ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘Some smoke inhalation but otherwise fine.’

  ‘Good. I’ve called a meeting here for eight o’clock this evening. I want you to attend. DCI Wood will also be here, along with one of our superiors – if you get my drift.’

  ‘Drift well and truly got. I’ll be there, ma’am. Oh, I’ll need another wheelchair. Mine was destroyed in the fire.’

  ‘OK, we’ll sort you one out.’

  ‘Maybe you could explain what happened to the hire company. It might sound better coming from you.’

  ‘I’ll, er, I’ll see to it, Sep.’

  Sep turned to Winnie. ‘Duty calls, but not just yet. That was Jane Hawkins. I’m due at a meeting in Leeds at eight o’clock. My good friend DCI Wood will be there.’

  ‘Do you think she’s going to expose him?’

  ‘I think she’s going to try. It’d help if I had more on him.’

  She sat up in bed and lit her pipe. ‘Good thinking about the wheelchair,’ she said. ‘Do you think they’ll pay for the other one?’

  ‘It’ll do no harm to ask. It was damaged in the course of my duty. By the way,’ he warned her, ‘you’re not supposed to smoke in these rooms. I’ll be getting a bill for de-fumigating the place.’

  ‘Shut up, it helps me think. Sep, do you reckon that estate agent in York knew about the cottage?’

  ‘He’ll have known about it, yes.’

  ‘And he might well have mentioned it to Wood?’

  ‘There’s no “might” about it. He definitely did.’

  ‘Ah! Mystery solved then. Do you think those two thugs in hospital will know the name DCI Wood as one of Redman’s contacts in the force? It could be that he mentioned it to them. You might be able to tempt it out of them in exchange for a vast reduction in sentence.’

  ‘I must buy you some tobacco for that pipe. Keep smoking, Winnie, you’re on a roll. I’ll be back later. I need to get me a taxi.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Back at the hospital, Sep swung into Roscoe’s ward on his crutches. A police constable was sitting by the criminal’s bed reading a newspaper. He got to his feet as soon as he recognized Sep. Roscoe was attached to his bed by a handcuff on a long chain, as Butterbowl had been in another ward.

  ‘Can I take your chair, constable?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Sep leaned his crutches against the bed and sat down. ‘Well, you might just be in luck, Roscoe,’ he said. ‘Your mate Stanley Butterbowl, or Mr Wolf as he likes to be called, has given me practically nothing, which is just plain stupid, considering Redman is dead.’

  Roscoe laughed out loud. ‘Stanley Butterbowl? Is that his name? I didn’t know that. Bloody hell!’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Not the name you want if you’re a dangerous hitman, which he won’t be when he’s lost a leg.’

  ‘Havin’ a leg off, is he?’

  ‘Very likely. Compared to him you got off lightly back there.’

  ‘I took a bullet in me side and
one in me arm. The bastards knew they’d got me in the arm, there was no need to shoot me again.’

  ‘I know. It’s a risk you take on your side of the law.’

  Sep pretended to gather his thoughts and looked intently at Roscoe, as if he were about to impart some important information.

  ‘Look, I’m only allowed to guarantee a reduced sentence for one of you and it’s not going to be him, silly man. I’d actually despaired of you having anything useful to tell me … but there might be something that will reduce your sentence quite drastically.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I want to know how you knew where we were last night. Who told you? And remember you don’t have to worry about Redman or his knuckle-dragger, Animal, whose real name was Colin Lonsdale by the way. Both of them are dead. I’m asking you first because I think you’re the best of a bad lot. If you can’t tell me, I’ll ask Butterbowl and if he knows anything I’ll guarantee he’ll tell me and leave you to rot in prison for the next twenty odd years. I’ve had a word in the right ear and, given good information, I can get that reduced to a five stretch, before you’re in front of a parole board telling them what a good boy you’ve been and no longer a threat to anyone on the outside.’

  Sep made the sentence slightly indefinite to make it sound more genuine. Roscoe said nothing for a while as he mulled over Sep’s incredibly generous offer. Sep was wondering if he’d made it too generous, so he added, ‘Like I said, I can’t guarantee it’ll only be five – that’ll be left up to the judge, but I reckon you can do a six stretch standing on your head.’ His lack of certainty helped to ensure his offer sounded valid.

  ‘I can, yeah.’

  ‘So what’s it to be? And look, Roscoe, for me to get you off all that time I need to record your answer on this.’ He took out a pocket voice recorder he’d bought in a local electrical shop in anticipation of such a need and switched it on, holding it out towards Roscoe. ‘It’s the way we do things when we’re doing deals with people. I’ll get a copy made of the tape and give it to you, so you can show it to your brief.’

  It was an outright lie, but in Sep’s world Roscoe was a man who didn’t deserve the truth. The police constable gave a baffled frown. Sep looked round at him, saying, ‘I’d like you to be witness to this, constable and to take notes.’