by Chris Petit
He felt superfluous and imagined Deidre going to bed, briefly naked as she slipped on her nightdress and into warm sheets – an unwelcome reminder of the tatters of his day.
Doody, in charge of the scene-of-crime team, stood above the rest, enormously tall, enormously bigoted. He had been investigated for passing police files on Catholics to loyalist paramilitaries, and cleared, though the accusation had stuck. Cross wondered if his own charge would give him the reputation of a sex pest, clearance notwithstanding. He had already noticed some WPCs looking at him askance.
Cross found Hargreaves and asked why there were so many vehicles. Hargreaves ticked them off on his fingers. The police and soldiers from the four chase vehicles were still hanging around. Then there were the traffic mob, called in after the accident, and the emergency services, including firemen for the trapped driver of the crashed vehicle, plus scene-of-crime, summoned by the traffic police, and them.
‘What about the body?’
‘First hit by the stoley, then by a police car, and, after that, by an army car in the group behind.’
‘Three in all,’ said Cross in disbelief.
‘There’s a dip in the road. It would have been difficult to see. The head’s all over the tarmac and in the treads of three separate vehicles.’
‘Is this a joke?’ Cross asked and Hargreaves looked put out. ‘Never mind. It sounds more like a farce than a murder.’
‘They say it’s not as straightforward as it looks.’
Cross felt his patience tested. ‘Who’s responsible for us being here?’
Hargreaves pointed out the sergeant from traffic. The sergeant, sensing Cross’s mood, passed him on to a nervous young constable.
‘Rees thought you ought to see the body, sir,’ said the sergeant, sounding unconvinced. ‘I’d rather have got this lot tidied up and sent home, but Sherlock here had other ideas.’
The sergeant moved away, leaving Rees’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he stammered to find the words.
‘In your own time, constable.’
‘It was the way the body was lying, sir,’ he eventually managed. ‘Like it was there when it got run over. If he’d been hit standing he would have been thrown aside or dragged by the vehicle.’
Rees had bad breath. Cross wondered about the state of his own. ‘Is that all?’
‘No, sir. I noticed the wrists—’
‘Sir!’
It was Hargreaves with the news that the driver had been cut out of the Range Rover and was on the way up. Cross asked Rees to excuse him and followed Hargreaves. A stretcher was being carried up the bank, the ambulancemen cursing as they slithered on wet leaves. Hargreaves told Cross that the driver was still unconscious. Cross took a closer look and turned in surprise to Hargreaves.
‘Did you know it was a her?’
‘Yes, sir, but I didn’t see it made any difference.’
Hargreaves was rarely mischievous. Cross had to laugh. ‘What about the other one. It is a boy?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Hargreaves with a straight face. ‘I’ve already cautioned him.’
Cross spotted a pale, skinny youth sitting on the steps of an ambulance, wrapped in a red blanket. One wrist was cuffed to a rail, which let him smoke with his free hand. He drew deeply on the last of his cigarette and flicked it towards them as they approached. The youth looked the kind with a ready excuse. Cross wondered what it would be this time.
‘What’s your name?’ asked Cross.
‘O’Connor.’
‘First name?’
‘Vincent. I already told your man.’
‘What do you remember about the accident?’
‘I didn’t see.’
‘What else do you remember?’
‘Nothing. I must have got a bang on the head.’
They shifted to one side to let the ambulancemen load the stretcher.
‘Is she all right?’
‘I don’t know. You’ll be taken to the hospital for a check-up, then if you’re fit you’ll be transferred to a police station and charged.’
Cross sought Rees out again for the rest of his story, which grew increasingly bizarre. Cross shook his head, trying to make sense of it.
‘Did you notice any other marks?’
‘Well, no. I thought of that and couldn’t see anything without disturbing the body.’
‘Thank you, constable. You did the right thing.’
Cross felt the start of a headache and wondered if it was a delayed reaction to Deidre’s news. He sighed and walked over to the scene-of-crime squad.
‘Nice to have you back, sir,’ said Doody insincerely.
‘Mind if I take a look?’
Why he was bothering to be polite was beyond him. Doody wouldn’t think any more of him for a bit of civility.
‘Help yourself, sir.’ Always the supercilious use of ‘sir’, after the insolent pause.
Cross stepped over a puddle of vomit and bent down to inspect the body. At last he was doing what he was there for. He felt calm for the first time since arriving.
He took in the details, the crushed skull fragments, the bits of brain tissue and shattered jaw bone and tongue. None of this told him anything. Turning his attention to the body, Cross guessed from the condition of the hands the man was in his fifties. He looked more closely at the wrists. Each was as Rees had described, both pierced by a neat puncture about the size of a large nail. Apart from church crucifixes, Cross could not recollect seeing anything like it. He asked Doody if anyone had inspected the man’s pockets.
‘We were waiting for you’ – again the slight pause – ‘sir.’
The man really was the limit. Cross felt a surge of anger at his own lack of authority. Christ, he thought, this constant doubt had to stop, and it was getting worse. He stared at Doody. ‘After you.’
They were behaving like children. Doody relented and put on a pair of clear polythene gloves and felt his way through the dead man’s pockets. There was nothing in the trousers.
‘He isn’t wearing a jacket and the shirt hasn’t got a pocket,’ said Doody.
‘Unbutton the shirt.’
Doody gave Cross a quizzical look before doing as he was told.
‘Are there any marks or scars?’
‘No,’ said Doody.
The left coat pocket yielded a handful of coins. They were placed in an old jubilee-year biscuit tin that served as the squad’s container for the dead’s last possessions.
The only other item was a piece of newspaper folded in four. The constable in charge of the tin, who wore polythene gloves like Doody, smoothed out the paper and placed it in a cellophane envelope.
Cross asked to see it. The paper measured roughly eight by five and, though torn at the edges, it had been folded carefully to suggest it had been kept for a reason. On one side was a selection of display advertisements, on the other columns of classifieds. Cross scanned the cross-headings: PERSONAL, SERVICES, TUTORING, WEDDING DAY, LOST ¤ FOUND, KIDDIES’ CORNER. There was no date.
Doody interrupted to ask if they could move the body. Cross nodded and returned to the classifieds. He became aware of Hargreaves standing by.
‘Why would anyone keep this?’ he asked.
He heard Doody mutter, loud enough for him to overhear but not to challenge, ‘To wipe his arse with.’
Someone sniggered. Cross let it go. He’d have Doody gutted and fucked in hell one of these days. He turned back to Hargreaves, who seemed embarrassed by Cross’s lack of grip. ‘Get someone to work through these adverts. There may be a connection.’
‘What do you think, sir?’
‘About what? Whether it’s sectarian?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
A dumped body suggested sectarian. Informers were often tortured, though crucifixion was not something either IRA or loyalists went in for, as far as he knew. In other respects the body displayed none of the usual signs of an informer – money pressed into the pa
lm, or bare feet.
Cross felt his headache slowly working its way down the side of his head, making his teeth throb. The dentist had been on the list of things to do during his suspension, but he had never got round to it.
Driving home, he realized there was something at the accident site that he hadn’t been able to identify. He thought back and pictured the mess of pulped flesh and bone until he could see every detail. He listed the separate components of the skull and mentally ticked each off – brain tissue, skull fragments, tongue. What there hadn’t been were any teeth.
5
AFTER being cleared by the hospital, Vinnie had been moved to the police barracks where they had taken away his things, logging each item in a large red book, and led him down to the galleys. As the mandrax wore off he became aware of the sour smell of fear on himself. He lay alone on a hard plastic mattress under a harsh light that wouldn’t switch off and tried thinking about having a wank to see if it would make him feel better, then decided it was the last thing he wanted. Anyway they’d be watching, which made him think of doing it all the same, just to show what he thought of them. Then he remembered the state of the girl after the crash.
He had only met her that evening, introduced by his friend Brendan in the Duke of York. He hadn’t caught her name. She was from the Markets and teased Vinnie for being a country boy when he said he was from Andersonstown.
She wore black and looked dead cool to Vinnie, wild and available, if he could impress her. When Brendan moved on because of others to meet, Vinnie stayed, buying her expensive foreign lagers until he was cleaned out. He talked about cars, and noticed her eyes shine at the mention of speed. Cars he knew about, stealing them, at any rate, and he named all the ones he’d ever driven, trying not to make it sound like bragging, but she knew them all and others too.
‘Now that’s dead sexy,’ she said of a Cosworth he’d mentioned. ‘Hail Manta, full of Audi, the Astra is with thee, Blessed art thou among Sierras.’ Vinnie, shocked in spite of himself by such casual blasphemy, laughed too loud. ‘Did you ever see a car in flames?’ she went on. ‘Best sight in the world. Sex in a car, did you beat that?’
Vinnie smirked, thinking he was into the swing of her mood. ‘No hard-on like a hard-on at speed.’
‘If you were half the man you make out, you’d be at the bar getting another drink.’
From the way she slurred her words he’d thought at first she was drunk but now he wasn’t so sure. She seemed so in control as he watched surreptitiously, waiting for the drinks.
‘You’re great,’ he said later, lost in drunken admiration. ‘I’ve been waitin’ all my life.’
‘You didn’t have a life until tonight.’
‘Where did you learn to be so smart?’
‘What about a takeaway?’ she asked, ignoring him.
‘A carry-out?’ Food was the last thing on his mind.
‘A car, dickhead.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
Outside they necked in the rain, Vinnie high and itchy with lust, pressing himself against her to show the state of his excitement.
‘Christ! Give that dog a bone,’ she said, laughing.
Vinnie bayed at the sky.
‘Are you goin’ to stand there barking all night?’
They decided on the Range Rover because neither had been in one and Vinnie claimed ownership by pissing on the wheel.
‘Let’s see the size of it, then.’
‘Get away.’
‘You were all for puttin’ it in my pocket a minute ago.’
As Vinnie finished up, she grabbed him and they ended up sprawled awkwardly on the bonnet of a car.
‘Is it the cold that makes it small? And you were steamin’.’
‘I’m still steamin’,’ he said in a thick voice, kissing her hard.
‘Showing promise,’ she said when they broke. She kissed him again. Vinnie was up for it there and then, and her jittery, thrusting motions as she squirmed beneath him made him think she was too, until he saw it was laughter she was helpless with. She rolled away from him.
Vinnie worked the lock of the Range Rover. It took time, being drunk. The girl scratched her crotch with impatience. When he opened the door she pushed in front of him.
‘Hey, I’m drivin’,’ Vinnie protested.
‘Are you getting in or not?’
She jammed a pair of nail scissors into the ignition. Vinnie’s annoyance gave way to admiration. ‘You’ve done this before.’
‘Beginner’s luck.’
Vinnie found a four-pack of beer by his feet and flourished it in triumph.
They sped exhilarated through the Belfast night. Vinnie watched her: a real daredevil, foot down and feeling him up as she drove.
‘Hey, hands on the wheel.’
‘I’ll drive with my knees if I want.’
‘Ah, fuck me bendy, if mother could see me now!’
‘Give me one of those sexy French kisses,’ she shouted and didn’t even slow down, making Vinnie nervous about chasing this wildest of girls. He felt caught in what Brendan called that old machismo bind, wanting to urge caution, not wishing to lose face.
‘Is this as fast as we’re going?’ he shouted.
His erection was wilting in the face of her recklessness, though with what she was doing with her free hand he might just— Then he heard her swear as the car behind switched its lights to full beam.
‘It’s the fucking peelers!’ she shouted, accelerating away.
Cross looked at Vinnie, who sat across the table from him in one of the barracks’ many interview rooms. The strain of his arrest made him pinched and furtive.
‘There’s nothing to tell. I was driving with this girl.’
‘With several vehicles in pursuit.’
‘I don’t know what that was about.’
‘But you didn’t think to stop and find out.’
‘I told her we should of but I wasn’t drivin’.’
‘What did you see on the road before the crash?’
‘She said something like, “What’s that?” and before I could see she’d hit it.’
‘What did you think it was?’
‘I didn’t see.’
‘There was no one standing in the road?’
‘I told you, I didn’t see.’
‘Whose was the car?’
‘Hers, I suppose.’
‘You suppose.’
‘We’d only just met.’
‘What’s her name?’
Vinnie looked concerned for the first time. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Just give me her name.’
‘Marie or Marian, something like that.’
‘Why didn’t you stop when ordered?’
‘She was worried, being over the limit. She freaked.’
‘And if I told you it wasn’t her car, would you be worried at that?’
‘I’d have to say I know nothing about that.’
‘What happened when you got in the car?’
‘Nothing. We drove off.’
‘How did she start it?’
‘With a key, of course.’
‘Weren’t you surprised at her having a car like that?’
‘I think I thought it was her dad’s. I was pretty well staggered.’
‘What happened after you broke into the car?’
‘I’d have to say I don’t know about that. I was in the gents’, see. She went off to get the car. It was a Range Rover she said, and when I got there she was waiting with the motor running.’
‘But you already said you saw her start it with a key.’
‘I didn’t see, but what else would she start it with?’
‘Then where’s the key?’
Vinnie shrugged and looked sulky.
‘The girl’s in a coma. We’re trying to trace her next of kin. You can help us find them.’
‘I’d tell her name if I knew.’ He looked at the floor for a long time.
Cross asked, ‘Is there anyth
ing you want to add?’
‘I’m telling the truth in all this.’
‘You were seen breaking into the car by two witnesses.’
‘I’m sticking to my story.’
Cross told the constable with him to take a full statement.
Vinnie was taken back to his cell. The last time he had been arrested he’d been let off with a warning. He wondered what he was facing now: one or two years, plus remission. He thought back to school and what happened between one year and the next and tried to imagine all that time put away.
It was not the peelers or prison he feared, compared to what the IRA would do if they knew he had been joyriding again. Dermot they’d got drunk on scrumpy first because they felt sorry for him, and Chancer was back stealing cars while he was still on crutches and his leg in plaster. It was a point of honour to show you weren’t intimidated, but Vinnie was still scared from the last time.
Two of them had come to the house. Vinnie had been still in bed with a hangover. His first thought was it was the police, except it was too early for them. Nevertheless, he was half out of the window when the bedroom door opened and he found himself staring at two armed men wearing black gloves. One carried a CB radio.
They addressed him by his full name and for a moment Vinnie thought they were going to shoot him astride the windowsill, dressed in his underpants.
‘You’ve got the wrong O’Connor,’ he managed to say.
‘We’re from the Provisional Irish Republican Army,’ one of them announced gravely to his mother as she arrived upstairs. His father stood ineffectually behind, the pair of them a pathetic picture of formal anguish. Vinnie’s fear was worse for the embarrassment he felt at being seen undressed in front of his mother.
‘Listen, Ma, I swear on my life, they’re mixing me with another fellow.’
The Provisional standing nearest him turned to his mother and spoke politely, making it sound like she had some choice in the matter.
‘Go downstairs now and make yourselves a cup of tea. It’s just a little talk we’re wanting. He’ll be back safe in the hour.’