The Devil's Interval

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘This place is bloody massive’ he said, as they were climbing the wide staircase.

  ‘Massively draughty, you mean.’

  ‘How many bedrooms are there?’

  ‘Well, er…’

  ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It just depends on what you call a bedroom.’

  Copeland laughed. ‘It’s not hard, Henry. It’s a room with a bed in it.’

  ‘I know, it’s just that this house has another floor, with some extra rooms.’

  ‘Servant’s quarters?’ He laughed again. ‘You’ve got servant’s quarters, haven’t you? You’re just too ashamed to say so. You wait ’til I tell them at work, mate.’

  ‘They’re just empty rooms now, Rex.’

  ‘How the other half lives, eh?’

  ‘Lived, you mean.’

  Henry gave the whistle-stop tour, and was glad that his dad wasn’t leading it. They’d have been there all bloody night if he was.

  ‘You don’t seem to be doing so badly for yourself’ said Copeland, as they headed back towards the kitchen. ‘I just can’t understand why you became a cop, Henry, unless it was to protect all this.’

  ‘Maybe I actually wanted to help people.’

  Copeland laughed again. ‘And how’s that going? Especially with Pepper in charge. If she had her way even our teenage shoplifters would be breaking rocks for a year or two.’

  ‘She’s alright. She cares about us, anyway.’

  ‘She’s quite the bloody lioness, that’s true. Talking of which, what’s on the menu? Nothing endangered, I hope.’

  ‘Pheasant.’

  ‘I should have bloody guessed.’

  But the meal turned out to be more fun than Copeland expected. For a start, it transpired that Henry Snr. knew a good deal about the West Indies than Rex did, having spent six months there after he qualified as a doctor, which was five months longer than Copeland himself had ever managed. And when Copeland said that these days he preferred Ibiza for his own holidays in the sun Henry Snr. seemed mildly disappointed. He’d never been there, he said. Eventually, over spotted dick and home made custard, the talk turned to cars.

  ‘Henry tells me that you’re keen on cars, Rex.’

  ‘I should grow up, right?’

  ‘Not at all. You have a BMW?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s all right, but the best thing about it is the stereo. It’s immense.’

  ‘Loud, is it?’

  ‘Yeah, but clear too. Where I come from your car is your own space, and it’s the only place where you can listen to your music when you want, without waking the neighbours. And round my way there are plenty of neighbours that you don’t ever want to wake, believe me.’

  ‘I can imagine. It’s not the same thing at all, but I’ve got an old car, an MGB. I’ve had it for getting on for forty years.’

  ‘It must bring back memories.’

  ‘It does, every time I get behind the wheel. That takes a bit longer than it used to, mind, thanks to my dodgy knee.’

  ‘I was going to ask you something about the car, dad’ said Henry, glancing across the table at Rex.

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘I wondered if I could borrow it, just for a few days.’

  ‘Of course, any time. But I must say I’m a bit surprised. You usually complain about how noisy, old and uncomfortable it is.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending to drive it, dad. I wanted to use it as bait, really.’

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re after some car thieves with a taste for the classics, are you?’

  ‘If you like, aye. They nick old cars anyway, and sell the bits to enthusiasts like you.’

  ‘So you’ll watch my car, twenty four hours a day, and arrest the thieves when they turn up? Is that the plan?’

  ‘Not quite. We’ll fit a homing device, and as soon as they move the car we’ll follow them, and then arrest them.’

  ‘But before they can start dismantling my car?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And you’re sure this plan will work, Henry?’

  ‘A hundred percent, dad. Your car will be totally safe at all times.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Come on, dad, we’re professionals. And it was one of the big bosses who tasked me with cracking this case, so you’d be doing me a huge favour.’

  Dr. Armstrong was the only one of the three drinking wine, and he took a sip before he answered.

  ‘What do you think, Rex? Is there an alternative approach to the one that Henry is suggesting?’

  ‘Not really, no. But that doesn’t mean that you should do it.’

  ‘You think I shouldn’t?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t, if it was mine.’

  ‘But perhaps I should have got rid of it years ago, anyway. Made a clean break with the past. That’s the thing about memories, isn’t it? They’re not all equally sunny, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I get you. Well, it’s up to you, of course.’

  ‘But these tracking devices do work, do they?’

  ‘Yeah, we use them a lot at work. They’re pretty good, really.’

  ‘Come on, dad’ said Henry. ‘It’d only be for a few days, I promise.’

  ‘All right, fine. Never let it be said that I’m not ready to help the police with their enquiries.’

  By the time coffee was poured Dr. Armstrong had extracted all of the key facts of Copeland’s life. Rex felt as if he’d been in the consulting room. He was glad that it was almost over, anyway.

  ‘So why did you join the police, Rex?’

  ‘I never meant to, not really. And my parents didn’t want me to join, that’s for certain. They thought it would be far too dangerous. But I didn’t do brilliantly at school, not well enough to get into a decent university, and I thought I’d turn my being black into an advantage. There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? At the time I joined the Met there was still a huge push on to reflect the ethnic diversity of the community better, so I got straight in. Not sure I would have, if I’d been white, to tell the truth.’

  ‘But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Having more black officers?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, don’t get me wrong. But the thing is that the ethnic mix of a place like London changes all the time. The bosses seem to think that black officers like me, from an Afro-Caribbean background, will immediately understand African communities, Ghanaian or Nigerian say, and we really don’t. I’m a Londoner, born and bred, just like the white cops, so I’ve been well out of my depth a few times, I can tell you.’

  ‘But you don’t regret becoming a policeman?’

  ‘No, I don’t. There’s loads of boring paperwork, and some of the bosses do your head in, but lots of the lads are a great laugh, including at Carlisle nick, even though I still don’t understand half of what they say.’

  ‘And you do a job that’s of real service to the community.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that too, of course.’

  Copeland was nearly back in Carlisle when his phone rang. He glanced at the display and saw the name. It was an old colleague from London.

  ‘Dave’ he said, cautiously.

  ‘Christ, mate, this place is a shit-hole.’

  ‘And nice to talk to you, too. Which place is that, exactly?’

  ‘Carlisle. I didn’t know there was anywhere in England this far from London. I needed bloody Ray Mears to guide me here. And I’d be better off eating twigs and worms, based on the take-away I just had. No word of a lie, mate.’

  ‘You’re in Carlisle? Now?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.’

  ‘On the run, then?’

  ‘Working, mate. Up here in the land that time forgot doing a security audit at a bloody biscuit factory, would you believe.’

  ‘They’re worried that someone will nick the custard creams?’

  ‘Something like that, yeah. Anyhow, I was phoning to see if you fancied a beer?’

  ‘What, now?
Sorry, mate, but I’m bushed.’

  ‘Just a quick one. You know you want to, Rex. And it’d be good to catch up.’

  Copeland thought about it for a moment.

  ‘All right, Dave. Where are you staying? But it’ll be just a quick one, OK?’

  Twenty minutes later Copeland walked into the almost deserted hotel bar. Former Detective Sergeant Dave Jones looked much the same, like someone you wouldn’t mess with, even if you couldn’t see much of an alternative. Copeland had never liked him much, or trusted him at all.

  ‘Dave’ he said, ‘good to see you again, mate.’

  ‘You too. What are you drinking? On expenses.’

  ‘Then I’d better pay. You know the rules.’

  ‘Since when did you come over all Queen’s Regulations? It’s just a pint, mate.’

  ‘Even so. What are you having?’

  Copeland bought the drinks, and they walked over to a table in the corner. There was no-one within twenty feet of them.

  ‘I was sorry about what happened’, said Copeland, because he thought it was expected, and not because he meant it.

  ‘Yeah. Well, it’s not so bad, not really. I kept my pension, and I resigned you know, they didn’t sack me. I was pissed off at the time, because we did nothing wrong, did we? How are we supposed to catch cons if we don’t bloody get to know them?’

  ‘Good question.’

  ‘Still, you survived the night of the long knives, didn’t you? I was always wondered how you explained that business about the flat away, Rex.’

  ‘I didn’t know who owned it.’

  ‘And they believed you? They didn’t believe a bloody word I told them about the nature of my relationship with the Ferris brothers.’

  ‘So why didn’t they just sack you? Why didn’t they charge you, come to that?’ Copeland couldn’t help himself. It was the one question that he really wanted an answer to.

  ‘No proof. The Ferris boys weren’t exactly going to grass me up, were they? Not that they could have, of course. Look, mate, I’m not saying that we didn’t get too close, or that we should have thought harder about why they gave us the intelligence that they did, but we got results, didn’t we? Four significant convictions in under three years, that’s not bad going. Lots of lads don’t make that number of meaningful cases in their whole careers. I was just hung out to bloody dry. They liked the results well enough, they didn’t say a bloody word then, but as soon as it went tits up on us, then I was all on my own. No-one in my corner when it mattered.’

  Copeland knew it was a dig, and he almost let it pass. ‘I just told the truth, Dave, that’s all. What did you bloody expect me to do? I’m a copper, aren’t I?’

  ‘I thought you were a mate.’

  Never that, thought Copeland. He took a breath. ‘That’s got nothing to do with it. And I didn’t incriminate you in anything criminal, because I didn’t see you doing anything criminal.’

  ‘What would you have done if you had?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it didn’t happen. Look, mate, I need to get off. It’s great to see you, and I’m glad you’re back on your feet, but…’

  ‘I had a bit of info for you, actually.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘It’s about the Ferris brothers, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Word is that they’ve been expanding. Taking their very own pyscho-based business model out to the provinces. Even up here, I hear.’

  ‘Who told you this?’

  ‘Never mind who told me, mate. But it makes you think, don’t it? You’ve run away, right up to the edge of the known world, but it still might not be quite far enough.’

  ‘I never ran,’ said Copeland, looking hard at Jones. But his face was deep in shadow, and Rex couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘Tell that to the judge, mate. Tell that to the bloody judge.’

  Monday, December 1st

  9.01am Superintendent’s Office, Carlisle Divisional HQ

  The Super hadn’t made Pepper wait, wasn’t sitting behind her desk, and there was another pot of tea on the table when Pepper walked in. These were probably good signs, although she knew better than to take anything for granted. Bosses could be such sly bastards. But the tea got poured, some small-talk was made, and Jane started to relax.

  ‘I wanted to catch up’ said Clark, ‘just to see how you’re getting on.’

  ‘I had my first session with your friend the trick cyclist.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ll be going back.’

  ‘Good. I think that’s a good decision. Like I told you, he can help. He’s helped me already.’

  Pepper tried not to look surprised.

  ‘You don’t feel, you know, weak? When you talk to him, I mean.’

  Mary Clark smiled. ‘Trust you to think that, Pepper. No, I don’t. I can honestly say that I’ve felt all kind of things lately, but not that. I’ve wondered if it was doing any good, and whether I’m just being self indulgent, but I can spend my money on what I want, can’t I? I think I told you about that bloke at my old work, the married one?’

  Pepper nodded, but hoped that Clark wouldn’t go on. She had work to do, even if the Super didn’t. But her hope was in vain.

  ‘For two years I told him, and myself, that he should leave his wife, his family, but when it came to it, and he was actually going to leave, I had to break it off. Just couldn’t do it, not in the end. How fucked up was that?’

  Pepper made a sympathetic noise. But Clark should spend a bit of time downstairs, in the interview suite, if she wanted to see what fucked up really looked like.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Clark, ‘we’re not here to talk about that, are we?’

  ‘Another time, maybe?’

  ‘Aye, exactly. Just a couple of specific things I wanted to chat through with you, Pepper, as acting DI. First, the Roberts death, and second the corruption enquiry.’

  ‘Well, I can’t tell you much about the first, ma’am. In fact, I’m sure that you know more than me. DI Francis hasn’t requested any assistance at all from us, anyway.’

  ‘And you’re not undertaking any enquiries of your own?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m not.’ Pepper smiled. ‘I’m not saying that I wouldn’t, like, because they’ve got the job all bloody wrong. But I’ve just not got the time, or the resources. And if I know Dai Young they’ll not lay a finger on him anyway. Plus, why should I help Jane bloody Francis out, even if I could?’

  ‘All right, stop there. I’ll believe you, though thousands wouldn’t.’

  ‘It’s true. I promise, I’m leaving well alone. And on the Mike Robson corruption enquiry I’ve got someone downstairs waiting for interview right now, in fact. A new face, no less.’

  ‘Really? Of any interest?’

  ‘It’ll be a waste of time, I expect. A lad called Pat Nixon. He’s a villain, all right, but he’s strictly on the manual labour side. Punching, threatening, all that. Thinking wouldn’t really be in his job description.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing his name in the file.’

  ‘Exactly. We’ve been on with this investigation for six months, and Mike Robson’s arrest got lots of local media coverage, so why has it taken Pat so long to come forward? His brain cells might not talk to each other all that often, but even so it’s a bit slow, is this.’

  ‘He was put up to it, then?’

  ‘Possibly, aye. But it’s the risk that every bobby takes, isn’t it? Being fitted up by cons, like.’

  ‘But I thought you were sure that DC Robson was acting corruptly?’

  ‘Oh, he was. No doubt about that, not in my mind, anyway. But proving it definitively, well that’s another thing. There’s not much of a paper trail, no traceable cash, and Mike doesn’t deny having contact with cons. He was a detective at the time, after all. So that means that even all the phone calls and that prove sod all, really.’

  ‘So maybe Mr. Nixon will hand over the smoking gun, Pepper. But just one
quick thing, before you go. Are you a bit happier now, in yourself, like?’

  ‘Than what, ma’am? A pig in shit? A pig in the abattoir?’

  Clark smiled. ‘All right, point taken. But some people are genuinely happy, or so I hear. The self-righteous bastards.’

  DC Copeland was already in the interview room when Pepper arrived. He was looking anxious, and pleased to see her. Nixon was a big man, but Pepper didn’t think that was why Copeland was so palpably relieved to see her. And then she realised; Copeland didn’t understand a single word that Nixon was saying. He spoke fast, his accent was strong, and he seemed to be telling Copeland a story about a frozen fish.

  ‘Shut up, Pat’, said Pepper, as she sat down. ’DC Copeland doesn’t want to hear you talking a lot of old rubbish, and nor do I.’

  ‘All right, Pepper, love. Whatever you say.’

  ‘So what have you got for us, Pat?’

  ‘Don’t we need the tape on, and all that? I want this to be all official. Do the job right, like.’

  ‘Only if you’ve got something worth recording. So come on, what have you got for us?’

  ‘It was me who used to the courier the cash for Mike Robson, out to the Isle of Man, like.’

  ‘How do you know it was for him?’

  ‘Because I met him there, twice. Handed the money over personal, like, I did.’

  ‘Shit’ said Pepper. ‘Right, don’t piss me about, Pat. I’m not in the mood. You know that if you say this again, when we’re recording, that you’re going to get nicked too? You understand that you’re admitting to an offence here?’

  ‘Oh, aye. I know that, like.’

  ‘Would you like to have a lawyer present? I’m sure that John Porter would send you his. He’s still your boss, I take it? Or you could use the Duty Solicitor. That’d be better than nothing, like.’

  ‘No, love. You start recording, I’ll start talking, and the job’ll be reet. Don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Pat.’

  ‘You want to know if I was put up to it?’

  ‘No, of course not. I know bloody well that you were. We’re not total idiots in here, Pat. But why has it taken you so long to come in to do your grassing, that’s what I want to know. Why now, mate?’