12
Harkins had primed the informant and promised him that this would be his last job before he retired.
The informant was a respected man, but way back he’d had to take out police insurance after getting involved with a piece of nonsense and having a visit from Harkins when he was in the Serious Crime Squad. He knew all about Harkins’ reputation and between them they’d struck a deal which kept them both happy. He kept his life on track as long as he threw Harkins the odd carcass – although he always had to buy the drinks when he met the detective. He regarded the arrangement as a good deal considering what he could have lost if the detective hadn’t stepped into his life.
Harkins asked him to see what he could get on Billy and Frank Drew.
‘Okay, to be honest Frank Drew’s a cowboy and better off the street. I know he’s doing a bit with his brother, Billy, at the moment. The trouble with Billy is that since his wife died, he’s decomposing and someone’s going to get messed up, so what do you want me to look out for?’
Harkins gulped on the beer that had been bought for him. ‘Concentrate on Frank because he’s a liability. Just listen for anything he’s up to or how he’s doing it. Anything he mentions about his brother would be handy.’
The informant was as good as his word and the same afternoon he wandered into the bookies where he knew Frank Drew wasted most of his money. Drew wasn’t there, but it was just a case of waiting, and he chewed the fat with a few of the local punters, all trying to find the magic formula that would make them happier than the bookie. He was a patient man so he could wait, and sure enough Frank Drew eventually breezed through the door as if he owned the place, although he’d certainly put enough through the grille over the years to buy the shop.
Drew didn’t see the informant at first, so desperate was he to get his money onto a loser, but once he’d finished with that, he looked round the shabby little betting shop and perked up immediately at seeing someone who meant something, rather than the usual collection of living dead.
‘What the fuck, man? What brings you to this dump?’
The informant chatted with Drew, playing on the fact that he was someone and Frank Drew liked to imagine that a real name actually gave a fuck about him. It didn’t take long to work out that Drew was skint, and despite working with his brother, he hadn’t learned to be discreet. He didn’t push too hard, didn’t need to; he arranged to meet Drew later for a couple of drinks, but it was clear that the boy wanted to blab and try to impress.
They split up and Harkins got the call from the informant filling him in on the story.
‘Good man, don’t rush it, and you’re sure he’s boracic?’
‘The bookies get it all. The boy’s a twat and God knows why Billy Drew has him in his team, but I suppose we all do things for our families.’
The informant enjoyed making these little oblique comments, knowing that Harkins didn’t actually have what most people called a family. He’d come to like Harkins over the years and felt sorry that he’d end up as the old pisshead at the bar that everyone tries to avoid – even his ex-colleagues. Still, that was life and he guessed that Harkins wouldn’t have swapped it even if he could – the man was a born thief catcher but fucked without the job.
Later that night he hooked up again with Frank Drew in a smelly little boozer that was safe and still sold a pint at real-life prices, unlike in the centre of town, where you could spend a week’s wages on a few drinks. The informant had told Drew that the drinks were on him. After the second beer and chaser, he just couldn’t shut the boy up; although he hadn’t got to specifics, he’d blabbed that he was working with Billy and Colin Jack, and they were busy. He just let the boy talk – it would come in time.
‘So, Frank, how’s the big brother? I was sad to hear about him losing his wife. I knew her. Terrible disease cancer.’
Frank Drew had hated his late sister-in-law because she saw him for what he was and was constantly warning her husband about having anything to do with him. He’d had to play the part though, and in any case, he couldn’t say anything against her that might get back to his brother. Billy had adored his wife, nursing her right up to her last day, and anyone stupid enough to insult her memory would definitely get a visit from big Billy Drew – and a pickaxe handle.
‘She was a wonderful woman; she never complained once about her illness. Trouble is that Billy’s definitely been wrong in the mind since she died. He seems to be alright most of the time, but every so often somethin’ just snaps and he goes radio fuckin’ rental. He’s completely lost the plot recently an’ I told him it was a disgrace. Keep that to yoursel’ though.’ He touched the side of his nose and winked.
The informant tried to keep his face straight but knew that the idiot who was drinking with him would have ended up in hospital if he’d ever called his brother a disgrace. The drink was taking its effect and he decided it was time to start pushing. ‘What’s that then, Frankie boy? Did he sort someone?’
Drew realised that he was talking in the wrong territory, but he admired the informant and he felt like a mate now, so he would tell him a bit to impress. ‘Can’t say too much but we were on a job through the west and it went tits up, and lucky I was there to keep us right. That’s all I’m sayin’.’
The informant had been around a long time, read the papers and was savvy enough to grasp what Harkins was after. He swallowed the rest of his drink in a oner. This was not what he wanted to be involved in, and the realisation of what these mad fuckers had been up to was enough to make him decide that he was no longer Frank Drew’s new best friend. He would make the call then tell Harkins to get on with it without him. He didn’t want Billy Drew at his door. ‘Got to go, Frankie, but it’s been good talking to you. I’ll probably see you around – and you always know where to get me if needs be.’
Frank Drew was disappointed that it was all ending so suddenly, especially as he hadn’t the price of another drink and was just getting into that groove where he believed he’d have an interesting view on almost any subject. ‘Don’t suppose you could spare me a bit?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be fine when we get the next job. You’ve always got it back with interest in the past.’
The informant clapped him on the back and laughed, threw down a twenty on the damp bar top and made his getaway. He’d forgotten to bring the clean mobile he used for contact with Harkins but a phone box was the next best option. He got as far from the pub as possible before opening the door of a rare phone box and trying not to inhale the smell of pish.
Harkins was ordering his third pint when his phone trembled in his pocket. He picked it up, nodded to the barman and walked outside to talk.
‘What’s up? I’m in the middle of a very nice session and now I’m standing in the pissing rain.’
‘Listen, Mick. We’ve known each other a long time so I want to make sure you understand. I’ve just filled young Frankie with lager and he’s off at the mouth. All I can tell you is that they pulled a job through the west, Billy lost it completely and someone seems to have got hurt. Whatever it was, the boy hasn’t a bean so there was no big score and Billy is out looking for another job at the moment. Now I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I listen to the news and can put two and two together and all that shite. I want fuck all to do with a double murder, and I particularly don’t want mad Billy Drew opening up my head. They’re the boys and it’s over to you. Too many risks, Mick. I’m enjoying life and don’t want to end my days staring at the sky from a skip. To be honest, if you can’t get that daft fucker that I’ve spent money on then you need to retire now. By the way, will I ever get expenses?’ He laughed – Harkins had never given him a penny in expenses all the time he’d known him.
Harkins knew there was no point arguing, and in any case the informant was right and it was time for him to step back. He’d enough to say that Billy Drew and his team were legitimate targets now for an operation and he smiled at the thought. ‘No problem and understand. Fancy a drink some time?’
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The informant laughed down the phone and knew that their long relationship was coming to an end. ‘Not while you’re after this team. Tell you what though – when you get them wrapped up, do us all a favour and retire. I’ll have a glass with you and you can pay for a change.’ He put the phone down and breathed a sigh of relief.
Harkins went back to his seat at the bar and started to work on the fresh pint that was waiting for him. He should have had the old buzz, but it wasn’t there. He should have been spinning the ideas round his head, what moves to make next, but they weren’t coming. He felt flat and realised that even his long relationships with his informants were coming to an end.
He wasn’t even supposed to have informants since the new system had come in and they’d put an end to developing and owning your own. There had been so much abuse of the system and payments that specialised source-handling units had been set up to take over ownership of informants and bring in tight rules on managing them. Harkins had played along but put up an act that the best ones wouldn’t speak to anyone else but him.
He knew that his type was being replaced by the O’Connors of this world, and for the first time in years he felt something he realised was fear. Fear of the future, because he couldn’t see it. He had nothing against O’Connor, and Grace Macallan was the first person he’d actually liked in a long time. She and O’Connor were good in a way that he could never be. His way had been to kick doors in and go face-to-face with the villains, but those days were over. The criminals were smarter, more violent and had dropped the old rules of the game.
He sipped his pint and sighed. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’
He knew that the job kept him from the full-blown alcoholism that would be his fate once they gave him his pension cheque and a pat on the back.
He sank the rest of the beer and stuck his hand up to the barman. ‘A wee goldie to go with the pint this time.’
Macallan walked in then and he waved to the barman again to fix her drink. She pulled a stool in beside him and stretched her back and neck. ‘I’m knackered, Mick, so make it a large one. Have you heard anything from your unofficial sources?’
Harkins told her what the informant had reported and she nodded without interrupting. He waited for her reaction. ‘Think that’ll do for us, and I’ve done the application for authority to bug him. If we can get the car wired for sound then we can stay well away and watch where he’s scouting from the office. We’ll keep a team near enough to go in if needs be but far enough away not to spook him. Cheers! Now let’s see how good we are. I’m going to arrange with the murder squad to give him a visit; we’ll go with what you said about him expecting that.’
Harkins nodded. ‘Good. This guy won’t give a toss about a pull from the Glasgow team, and he’ll be looking for it. The sooner we can get it done the better.’ They clinked glasses.
‘Consider it done – I’m on it in the morning. By the way, you look like you’ve had a better day. You okay?’
He swallowed the whisky and gave her a tired smile – only it was forced and just for effect. They both knew it.
‘Right as rain. Now tell me about Belfast. I’ve heard the stories but you’ve never mentioned it, even though I’ve given you the privilege of my friendship.’ He cheered up at his own joke and it moved his mind away from the future.
She stared at him for a moment. He’d disarmed her, and for Macallan that was the puzzle that was Harkins – despite his fearsome reputation and all the warnings, he’d been with her from day one. No threats, no crude advances by an older man looking for a scalp to hang on his collection.
She told him as much as she could, and he marvelled at what she described without a shred of self-pity. She trusted him to listen and he realised that she was something good in his life, but if anything the thought made him feel empty again and that the choice he’d made all those years ago wasn’t going to pay him a dividend. Friends and family gave you a life of problems, but if you were lucky they gave you something to hang on to when you realised that you were the past. He hoped Grace wouldn’t make the same mistake.
Over the course of three rounds she talked about her former life as if Harkins was her confessor, and at times her honesty baffled him – as did her vulnerability, given her talents and strengths. In the end she took Harkins right to the day she’d left the shores of Northern Ireland, the memory sharp, clear and painful.
The Belfast Incident – Leaving Northern Ireland
Grace Macallan pulled the collar up on her coat to protect her face from the cold north-easterly wind that tossed her hair and ruffled the waves on Belfast Lough. The ferry pushed slowly away from its dock and the engines growled up a beat as the ship gathered speed for the trip to the mainland. Her face was pinched and thinner than it had been months before, on the night that Tommy Doyle and Cowboy had met their ends. Her complexion was pale and dark shadows propped up her eyes. She hadn’t smiled in a long time, but at least she felt some relief that Northern Ireland was moving into the distance behind her.
No one had come to the docks with her although Bill Kelly had joined her for one final drink the previous night. He’d told her she’d be fine, that she was strong, just a bit beaten up – and so she should be. This had been bad, but she would learn from it, and it would make her stronger. They’d lifted their glasses for the last time.
The ship beat past Carrickfergus as the Irish Sea opened up ahead, but she couldn’t prevent herself musing, for the thousandth time, over what had led to her current situation.
When it got out about the statement she’d made against Jackie Crawford, she became marginally less popular than PIRA with the men and women in the force. To make it worse, the commander had parked her behind an administration desk in HQ, just to make sure she could spend her days being cold-shouldered. The senior levels had to praise her publicly for her courage and honesty but privately they were cursing her treachery. There was no such problem for the junior ranks, and they just cursed her openly and, whenever possible, in hearing distance. Bill Kelly, who never ate in the canteen, made a point of joining her whenever he could, but in a way that only made her isolation stand out even more. She could never say that to him though, and knew that he would pay his own price for loyalty to her.
She thought of young Jackie Crawford and how her evidence had corroborated the medical findings and put him away. No one else admitted to seeing a thing that night. The truth was that if she could turn the clock back, she would have seen and done nothing herself. Tommy Doyle would still be dead and she’d have Jack. He was the real hammer blow, and the shock of his last visit had stunned her for weeks after the event. She remembered the call the evening after she’d met the commander and been interviewed by the internal investigation team.
‘We have to talk.’
Those words were such a well-used precursor to the message that one half of a relationship is off in a different direction. She’d been so sure of Jack. How naive! That evening had been bad enough but she’d thought she could get through it with his support. The problem was that he wouldn’t tell her the why – just that it was over. It had to be connected to the incidents; maybe he didn’t want the fallout touching him once their relationship became public.
The strange thing was that she hadn’t even been able to get angry that night; she’d just told him to go. She’d never felt lonelier and had called in sick the next day, which she’d spent lying in bed. She’d wondered why women made the same mistake over and over again with guys like Jack Fraser – that was their real curse.
Eventually Macallan had taken Bill Kelly’s advice and applied for a transfer to a mainland force.
As the ship punched across the sea the last sight she had of Northern Ireland was a thin grey strip on the horizon. Macallan’s mood calmed – the daily reminders of her position were being left where they belonged. She promised herself that she would never go there again.
She walked to the front of the ship and saw the mainland come into focus, and fo
r the first time in weeks she thought things would get better at some point in the future. She was tired but in good health, and it was time to get her act together again. She was tempted to order a drink at the bar but realised it was time to get back to tea and coffee during the day. She ordered a black tea, smiled for the first time in weeks and thought that whatever the future held it couldn’t be worse than the past.
She touched glasses again with Harkins and smiled. He smiled back and was glad that she’d told him her story, because he could spot a fraud a street away. Grace Macallan was flawed but no fraud, and the only problem was that in this game that was a weakness. She would be hurt a few times or make the choice that he did and build a protective shield of cynicism. He hoped she’d just go with getting hurt, as at least it kept you in touch with the human race.
‘Right, that’s enough of that, Macallan, now I’m going to tell you a proper war story.’
He hailed the barman for the round that was the point of no return and guaranteed a double aspirin breakfast in the morning.
13
Billy Drew got his visit from the murder squad two days later, and he almost felt relieved when they knocked at the door. Colin Jack got the knock at the same time. Macallan didn’t mention Frank Drew to the Glasgow detectives and agreed with O’Connor that they’d take the risk and leave him as a possible weak link for later.
Billy Drew had a day in the local CID office not answering questions and he’d rehearsed what they’d say with Colin. He wasn’t surprised that Frank hadn’t been lifted and presumed that the fact he’d been on a couple of jobs hadn’t been picked up by the boys in blue. He was thankful for that and realised how little trust he had in his younger brother. He’d have to ditch him at some point or they’d all go down the swanny.
Cause of Death Page 9