Blood Tears

by Michael J Malone

  ‘So how many hours do you think you’d need to stir that sugar to get into the record books?’ he asks.

  Allessandra’s smile is weak but appreciative. He is giving her the opportunity to talk without forcing the issue.

  ‘I feel like shit, DD,’ she says.

  Daryl raises an eyebrow.

  ‘You heard then?’ she asks him.

  Daryl nods and keeps his eyebrow raised.

  ‘Can’t have been easy for you,’ he says and takes a sip at his mug.

  ‘Oh God. Have I done the right…’

  ‘Yes. I would have done exactly the same thing.’

  ‘But a fellow officer is stuck in a cell at the moment and it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Don’t you believe that for a minute, Allessandra. The reason that DI McBain is in that cell is DI McBain. He’s got no-one to blame but himself.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘But nothing. We’re talking murder here, Allessandra. Not some petty extortion. He covered up his tracks and he used you to help him.’

  Allessandra picks up her teaspoon and spears the sugar. ‘I thought there was an unwritten rule…’

  ‘Only in Hollywood and never when people are being killed.’

  ‘You’ve known Ray for a few years.’ She begins to stir.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Do you think he’s capable of murder?’

  ‘He lied, Allessandra. And he put you in an untenable position…’

  ‘Ooh. Untenable.’ She grins.

  ‘Aye.’ Daryl answers her grin with one of his own. Allessandra admires the even line of his teeth and the bright blue of his eyes. ‘Four syllables that mean he could have fucked your career right up.’

  ‘He’s certainly got something to hide. But murder?’

  ‘He was an excellent cop. Is an excellent cop. Murder? I hope not. But I would love to know just what he was up to.’

  ‘Can you answer this?’ asks Allessandra with the suggestion of a grin.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where do you go for the coloured contact lenses? Your eyes are dazzling, man.’

  Chapter 19

  This is seriously fucking weird. I’m being interviewed by my colleagues. I’m actually under suspicion of murder. My mind is racing, searching for connections and it doesn’t take too long to come up with one. Allessandra must have told Peters about the list of people at Bethlehem House. By deliberately excluding myself from the list, I would appear deeply suspicious to them. McBain, you idiot. And what about Allessandra? I should never have put her in that situation. Not only have I killed my career, I’ve damaged hers as well.

  Why didn’t you just put your name in and accept being withdrawn from the case until you were cleared? ’Cos that would have meant someone else getting the glory. No, dammit. This is my case. It had Ray McBain written all over it. It still is my case and no arsehole career policeman is going to stop me from finding that murderer.

  There is something else, a compulsion. I have to find this particular killer. I have to. I just don’t know why.

  My head is in my hands, my elbows on the table… and I’m on the wrong side of it. Facing me are Campbell and Peters. Both of them look like they’ve spent the night sipping from a vinegar bottle. But I can’t judge whether it is from the awkwardness of interviewing a fellow officer or from the distaste of actually suspecting one. There’s nothing worse than someone you trust pissing in your coffee. Do they seriously think I did it?

  They go through the rigmarole of explaining that the interview will be taped and asking me if I want a lawyer present.

  ‘Get on with it guys,’ I say, ‘then we can get on with catching the real killer.’

  ‘I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of this situation, DI McBain,’ says Campbell. ‘Not only are you a suspect, but you doctored evidence. So minimum we’re looking at Perverting the Course of Justice. Bye bye career,’ he pauses dramatically, ‘or we’re looking at fifteen years plus, for a particularly brutal murder. Bye bye life.’

  ‘Oh come on. You don’t actually think I did it?’ I look at them both. I get nothing back.

  ‘Where were you on the night of the murder, Ray?’

  ‘I was with the team on a night out. To celebrate the apprehension and conviction of a real criminal. Along with fuck-face here.’ I nod in the direction of Peters.

  He doesn’t give me the satisfaction of a reaction. ‘You left the pub early, Ray. In plenty of time to do the deed.’ His turn to wait for my response.

  ‘Fuck you.’ Basic, I know, but hey, we are all only a step forward from the cave.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Home to bed. On my own.’ I can’t tell them I went to Theresa’s, her marriage would be down the sinkhole then. I realise I have some sort of strange loyalty to informants and lovers: never give out the detail on either. And so far, she’s given me no reason to doubt her. So I’ll keep schtum.

  ‘Can you prove it?’ asks Campbell.

  ‘I believe the burden of proof is yours.’ I was impressed when that weirdo Ally Irving came up with that when we interviewed him. I’ve been saving it up for a special occasion just like this.

  ‘Ray, give us some help here. The last thing we want is to convict a fellow cop.’ Campbell’s hands are open, palms facing me.

  ‘Convict?’ I shove my face into his. ‘You’ve already decided I’m guilty, you prick.’

  ‘Why don’t we calm down, DI McBain,’ says Peters, reminding me of my rank and, thereby, how I should comport myself. ‘The sooner we get this cleared up the better for everyone.’ I look around the room from the vantage point of my bucket chair. The room seems different from this point of view, the walls look thicker, the soundproofing looks sinister, whereas I always used to think it looked comical, like cast-offs from an egg boxing factory.

  Everything I’ve worked for all these years is fast dissolving before my eyes. I need some quick thinking to save my career.

  ‘Look, this is all a mix-up. I have a list from Bethlehem House back at the flat. My name is on it. I must have given Allessandra Rossi the wrong one.’ It sounds feeble even to me.

  ‘Bullshit, McBain.’ The feet of his chair do the chalk-on-blackboard sound and Peters’ face is in mine. ‘Not only have you damaged your own career, but also you may have done harm to a young cop with real promise. And that is unforgivable.’

  ‘Scared you won’t get your leg over if Allessandra loses her job? She’ll have no reason to look up to you then, you sanctimonious prick.’ His eyes widen and I brace myself for a fist. His breath lessens on my face and I realise Campbell has pulled him off.

  ‘For the record,’ I aim my voice at the tape recorder, ‘DS Peters has adopted an aggressive stance.’ Peters sits down, his face going through a rainbow of red.

  ‘Also for the record,’ I continue, ‘DS Peters has a grudge against me and should not be involved in this interview.’ I know I’m acting like a child but I can’t help it.

  ‘A grudge, what grudge?’

  ‘I believe that DS Peters has had feelings of antipathy towards me since I was promoted over his head and what’s more…’

  ‘Stop it, Ray,’ says Campbell.

  ‘And what’s more,’ I continue, ‘he is having a relationship with the chief witness against me in this case and…’

  ‘Rubbish. Absolute crap. Allessandra Rossi and I have nothing more than a professional relationship.’

  ‘You named her, not me,’ I smirk. ‘You go out with each of your female colleagues on an individual basis, do you?’

  ‘Only when they have deep concerns about the conduct of their commanding officer.’ He is wearing a smile of triumph. How I would like to wipe it off with the tread of my size tens.

  ‘Ray. None of this is helping.’ Campbell is talking while Peters and I stare each other out. ‘Can you then explain why you would want to doctor the evidence?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t want to get taken off the case. I know I’m not the murderer,
and to replace me with an arse like Peters would only have delayed catching the killer.’

  ‘Aye, and you’ve done a fantastic job so far,’ Peters offers in a stage whisper.

  ‘And that was worth damaging your career, likely beyond repair?’ asks Campbell. That would be the one thing that he couldn’t understand. I couldn’t either, so I didn’t bother attempting a reply.

  ‘I’ll ask you again, Ray. Where were you on the night of the murder?’

  ‘In bed, sleeping. Alone.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘I turn off the home CCTV during the hours of darkness.’

  ‘Wonderful. Sarcasm. So helpful, DI McBain,’ says Peters. If he says “DI McBain” in that tone again, I swear I’ll kick his teeth in. They can add assault to the rest of the charge sheet.

  ‘How would you describe your relationship with the deceased?’ Back to Campbell.

  ‘There was none.’

  ‘You didn’t know him?’

  ‘From Adam.’

  ‘And you were aware of the detail of the deceased’s wounds,’ Campbell continues, ‘before you were told? All three of us were present while DS Peters read out the details. You were able to finish off the list before he did. How can you explain that?’

  ‘A Catholic education.’

  ‘On its own that might seem plausible. But when added to the other evidence, it’s quite damning.’

  ‘Yes. But is it enough to put me in front of a judge?’

  ‘We think so,’ Peters jumps in.

  ‘You don’t have enough and you know it. What you have is all very nice. All very circumstantial, but you have nothing to link me to the crime scene. Because there is nothing.’ I stand up.

  ‘We’re not finished with you yet,’ says Campbell.

  ‘Yeah, well life’s full of disappointment. I’m leaving.’

  ‘Sit down, Ray.’ With a look of protest and a great sigh I do so, letting them know I’ll behave myself for now. Besides, it’ll look better for me if I “help with their enquiries” rather than wait until I’m arrested and then be forced to answer their questions.

  The door opens. It’s Drain. Without as much as a glance in my direction, he motions for Campbell to follow him out.

  ‘This interview is being temporarily suspended,’ Campbell says to the tape recorder. He and Peters leave the room, leaving me to stew in my own thoughts. A technique I myself find effective when dealing with the criminal fraternity. But it’s not going to work on me.

  I rub my hands together. They are slick with sweat. Why did you do it? You stupid, stupid bastard McBain. You’ve ruined your career. Fuck! What will they do with me? I was a good cop… am a good cop. Surely that will count for something? Unless they want to make an example of me. The police should not be above the law and all that bollocks. Except I agree with it. I deserve everything that’s coming to me. But what about Allessandra? Acid roils in my stomach. She doesn’t deserve to be punished. I abused the power I had over her. At least it’s in her favour that she volunteered the information. If the powers that be had discovered what had gone on without her coming forward then her career would be as dead as mine. I hope the arseholes take this into consideration.

  I look around myself. Is it my imagination or is the room smaller? I shift my cheeks, the hard plastic quite literally a pain in the arse. I lean forward on to my elbows, then sit back in the chair, the lip of plastic digging into my back, just under the shoulder blades. Where the fuck are they? What are the bastards cooking up? I lean forward again. Look at my watch. Five minutes have passed. Feels like five hours.

  The door swings open, Campbell enters with someone else, another cop.

  ‘This is Inspector Hackett from the Complaints and Discipline Branch.’

  Hackett offers me his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you Detective Inspector.’

  The grip from his hands is just a touch from painful. Even for a policeman, this guy is big, six feet seven at least, and almost as wide. The smile that pushes back his plump cheeks appears to be genuine. I wonder how many courses he’s been on, or is he a natural at putting people at their ease? Better not let my guard down, the nice guys can be the worst.

  ‘I’ve a few questions for you, Ray. Mind if I call you Ray?’ He switches on the tape recorder and mentions all of those present, to show me who is in charge in the room.

  I shrug to show that use of my first name is not an issue.

  ‘What is your relationship with Allessandra Rossi?’ No messing about for this guy.

  ‘Purely professional.’

  ‘In your opinion, why did she comply with your request to keep your name from the list?’

  ‘Because I bullied her into it.’ If I make things bad for me while trying to clear Allessandra, it will be worth it.

  ‘You’re a bully?’ His lips flatten into a thin line as he says this, as if his distaste for the word is such he can barely say it. Then he looks into the near distance as if searching for something else to say. Then another big-daft-boy smile. A ploy to minimise my opinion of his intelligence. It doesn’t work. I can sense a quick mind is in the room. Besides, nobody gets into his job by being thick.

  ‘My nickname is Bastard McBain. Does that not tell its story?’ The nickname falls from my lips like a drop of oil, assisted by the lubrication of the lie.

  ‘Bastard McBain. Good one, Ray.’ He smiles, and his eyes slide up to the left. ‘Haven’t heard any of your colleagues call you that.’

  ‘Give them time. Disgraced cop and all that. They’ll be sharpening their knives as we speak.’

  ‘Actually, in the time that I’ve spent in this office and speaking to your team over the weekend, there hasn’t been an insult in sight. Not so much as a whisper of a bastard.’

  ‘Give them time.’

  ‘Or do you just pick on the female members of your staff?’ No smile this time. His carefully constructed control is slipping. Was that a hint of irritation in his voice? He hates that I’ve used a young officer. What’s new? So do I.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I’m a discriminating bully.’ I think I see where he’s going with this. I don’t care if they think I’m sexist or a bully, as long as it helps Allessandra.

  ‘Very few people would admit to that in this job.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’

  ‘Tell me what happened at Bethlehem House with you and DC Rossi.’ He leans forward on his elbows, fingers entwined in prayer.

  Knowing that he will have asked Allessandra the very same question, I tell him exactly how it happened, right down to the camp waiter in the crap café, and hope that Allessandra has done the same. When I stop speaking he just sits back in his chair looking at me, waiting for me to rush in and fill the silence with another little detail that will be the final nail in the coffin. I’m too experienced to fall for that particular trick. Besides I’ve told him everything.

  ‘This is serious, Ray.’ He must be getting tired looking eyeball to eyeball.

  ‘No kidding.’

  ‘You’ll probably lose your job over this.’

  I shrug nonchalantly, stare at the scratch marks on the tabletop and ignore the pain that’s squeezing my heart.

  ‘And then there’s the murder.’ Silence. ‘Why did you do it, Ray?’

  ‘I had no hand in that murder.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘Was changing the evidence worth it, Ray? Just what did you have to gain by doing so?’

  ‘It kept me on the case. I’m not a murderer. I catch the bastards. I’m the good guy.’

  ‘Were the good guy, Ray. Were. The moment you concealed your early life at the convent, you lost the right to call yourself that. Or was it the moment you conceived of a murder?’

  ‘I’ve killed no-one.’ And I’m getting tired of saying it.

  ‘There is evidence to the contrary.’

  ‘What? Hearsay? I was able to describe the wounds of the stigmata quicker than a thick DS could read his own handwriting? That’s fuck all and you know it.’
/>
  ‘There is the small matter of you doctoring evidence.’

  ‘I told you why I did that. I needed to be kept on the case.’

  ‘Why? Why did this particular case mean so much to you, Ray?’

  How could I give an answer that I hadn’t managed to fully articulate myself? Because I wanted to? Because I had to? All my instincts told me that I had to solve this case. My life was bound up in this murder and I had no idea why or how. How do you explain that?

  ‘I already told everybody. It was my case. I didn’t want some moron like Peters to ruin it and let the killer get away.’

  ‘Put yourself in the jury, Ray. Sounds weak doesn’t it?’ Campbell speaks for the first time during the interview.

  I had no answer to that, so I said nothing.

  ‘You’re all we’ve got, Ray. And we can make a strong case against you. You had the opportunity, you left your colleagues during a night out. That in itself looks suspicious…’ Back to Hackett.

  ‘If that’s the case, why didn’t I wait and leave when they were too pissed to notice?’

  ‘… you had the means. The wounds of the stigmata are part of a Catholic child’s education and you are more than strong enough to subdue a weak old man.’ Campbell’s turn.

  ‘And how many Catholic schoolchildren are there in Scotland?’

  ‘And how many of them have just been caught changing evidence that removes them from the list of potential suspects?’ Hackett takes up the baton this time. It’s like they’re winding themselves up for the grand close.

  The lights seem to dim, my ears clog with panic. I can sense what’s coming.

  ‘You are immediately suspended from all duties,’ says Hackett from the end of a long tunnel.

  ‘Ray McBain, I am arresting you for the murder…’ the rest of Campbell’s words evaporate into a fog of disbelief. I’m being charged with murder. I’ve lost my job… and I brought it all on myself.

  Wait, I’ve an alibi, I want to shout. I was with someone. I’m protecting a married woman. What’s the pain of a divorce for Theresa when compared to life in prison for me? But I can’t speak. The words that will free me are trapped behind the bars of my strange loyalties.