by Ray Banks
“That's right.”
“And you're doing it nicely, because you can't throw your weight around. Because I don't have to answer a single fucking question you throw my way.”
I smiled. “I know that. And there's no need to look so fuckin' smug about it, is there? Specially when your boy's in the shit.”
“I've heard that before an' all.”
“He been missing before?”
“He's not missing.”
“He's not at home.”
“Yeah, so—
“And he's not here, unless you've got him hid in a fuckin' cupboard somewhere. Which means, to me, that he's missing. So. Here I am. Looking for him.”
“Why?”
“None of your fuckin' business.”
“It is when I'm the one forced to listen to your bollocks” he said, straightening up. “You want to play that game—
“There's a police constable outside in my car,” I said.
Gray stopped flapping his gums for a second. Another second passed and it sank in. “How bad is it?”
“We need to make an arrest tonight.”
“Who?”
I didn't bother to answer that. Made a face like it was fucking obvious, wasn't it? Gray stared at us, waiting for us to say someone else, anyone but Innes. But I didn't.
“What for?”
“He's going to help us with our enquiries.”
“What's the charge?”
“At the moment?” I scratched my ear. “Lad's looking at murder, but a good brief'll get it knocked down to manslaughter, I reckon.”
See, now that did something to the poof — made his skin crawl, got him all antsy. You mention murder to an average pleb, they don't take you seriously. Murder's the remit of the telly and movies, not something that worms its way into an average life unless you're either unhinged or unlucky. But you mention it to someone who's done time, you watch the skin crawl right off his fucking body.
He breathed out through his nose. “Who?”
“Who the fuck d'you think?”
“Mo?”
“No prizes.”
“He didn't do it.”
“Oh, well, that's a fuckin' relief. There was me, I thought he had something to do with it on account of he physically assaulted Mo about six months ago, threatened to kill him if he ever saw him again. In front of a pub full of witnesses. And then there's the history the two of them had. And the fact that he was on the fuckin' crime scene the night the body was called in, with blood on that walking stick of his like he'd just used it to beat the shit out of a corpse. So you've got to understand, even if he didn't do it, it's pretty easy for me to surmise that he's got something the fuck to do with it.” I rolled my shoulders, gave the poof a good hard stare. “But if you reckon he didn't have nowt to do with it, then that's good enough for me, isn't it? I might as well fuck off home.”
Gray watched me, caught every syllable of my sarcasm and swallowed the anger, even though it was a tough fucking gulp. Because he knew I was right; he'd been around the bastard long enough to know he'd had something to do with Mo's death. And for a second, I reckoned it might be worth bringing him in.
Then I figured, nah. I had to focus on my target here. Couldn't waste PC John on this nonce.
“You can't pin this on him,” he said.
“I'm not pinning nowt. Just enquiries at the moment.”
“You want to bring him in and sweat him.”
“And you need to call him,” I said. “Right now. Before this gets fuckin' daft and we both do stuff we'll regret.”
“No.”
“Then I can't vouch for his safety.”
“You're the fuckin' threat to his safety,” said Gray.
“You can't honestly believe that, Paul,” I said. “Because if you do, then you're an ignorant bastard — you honestly expect us to believe you don't know he's working for Tiernan again?”
Gray didn't say anything. He pushed off the desk. Made for the door, but I got in his way.
“What?” All aggressive now. “You want to start something, Detective?”
“No,” I said, trying to be as open as fucking possible. “You know he's working for Tiernan, and you've been around here long enough to know what kind of bloke Tiernan is. And what he fuckin' isn't is the forgive-and-forget type. So you know, the slightest fuckin' breath of your boy being involved in Mo's death — and there's going to be more than a fuckin' breath, you give it a couple days — and he's dead.”
“Fuck off.”
“He's dead. Because Tiernan doesn't take any prisoners. You know that. He can't afford to, especially not when it's his son that's been killed. He has to tie up all loose ends, and fuck's sake, your boy's out there flapping in the breeze, isn't he? I don't know what the fuck he's trying to pull, but he won't make it.”
“Because of you,” said Gray. And there was a genuine accusation in his voice. “Because you'll bring him in. Doesn't matter that he didn't do it, you're going to pin it on him. So he's dead anyway, right?”
“Not if we do this right,” I said, raising both hands. “I want to do this the right way. That's why I brought the constable along. He's the one who'll make the official arrest, and we'll do this by the book, and I'll do everything I can for him.”
“He didn't do it.”
“Makes no difference.”
Gray moves away from us, heads back to the desk. He looks down into his mug, looks like he's going to have another drink, then passes by. If I didn't know better, I'd swear the bloke was about to start fucking crying. I knew he wasn't, right enough — he couldn't have been — but he was emotional enough to listen.
“There's only one way out of this,” I said. “And that's with me.”
Gray put one hand on the desk. A part of us reckoned he was feeling around for a weapon. Then he said, “What do I have to do?”
“Call him,” I said. “Get him to come here. We'll do it nice and quiet, won't be any trouble for you.”
He looked at the phone. Put one hand on the receiver.
“Then it'll be over,” I said. “Promise you, on my daughter's life, I won't bother you again.”
Then Paulo Gray looked up at us. His eyes were dry, his jaw set.
He picked up the phone, started dialling a number.
“I'll take you up on that,” he said.
And, looking at him, I didn't doubt it for a fucking second.
41
INNES
It's ringing.
Somewhere through that red fog that means I can't see, can't hear, can't move without pain, I can hear my mobile ringing. Bringing me out of unconsciousness and into a fresh, stinging reality where every breath feels like it's made of smoke, and the smell of shit and piss and blood and sweat hang heavy. I can't move. Can't even think about moving because the thought alone puts me on a bad route.
“Shit.”
Cutting through the haze. Tiernan's voice. A low growl, thick in his throat. Then there are hands on me, and they feel like they're made of fucking metal, gouging into my flesh. He's rifling through my pockets, but he might as well be wrenching out my fucking organs and throwing them to the floor.
“Dad. Don't.”
“You still here?”
“Yeah. So's Sam.”
“I told you to go to the bonfire, love.”
“I can't take him to the bonfire.”
“Why? Kids love fireworks.”
“Not Sam. He doesn't like them. They're too noisy.”
“Then he has to get used to them, doesn't he?”
“No, Dad, he doesn't.”
“It's going to happen every year. You don't want to have to tranquillise him, do you?”
“He's not a dog, Dad.”
“But he needs to go out for a walk, right? Busy here.”
“We've been for a walk, Dad. Remember?”
“Huh.”
And there's a moment where I picture Morris Tiernan standing there, his vest wet with my blood and spit, looking at
me like he's wondering where all the time went. Then one hand clamps on my hip, I jerk like I've been shocked, and a weight moves from my pocket. I try to breathe out slowly, but it feels like boiling hot liquid spilling out of my throat.
“Fuckin' things.”
“Dad,” says Alison. “Seriously. If Sam hears you swearing, he's going to copy it, alright?”
The ringing stops. Tiernan breathes out. “Alright. Okay. Sorry, love.”
“And I'm not bringing him in here,” she says. “The mess you've made.”
“Yeah.” Tiernan sniffs. “Might want to put him to bed?”
“I will. But get it cleaned up. Properly, okay?”
“Right.”
“I mean it, Dad. I want it spotless.”
“I heard you. I'll get Darren in. You won't know we've been here.”
The kid screams from outside the door. The sound is enough to make me flinch on the floor. Alison tells the boy she's coming, but there's a pause before she leaves. I'm guessing she's shooting her father a glare.
Then there's nothing but silence apart from the sound of my own wet, sick breathing.
Tiernan shuffles his feet against the lino. He says, “You better be awake, Innes.”
I cough.
“Good.”
Another shuffle.
Then he plants one in my head that knocks me out.
****
The smell of pine in here. The slow, steady thrum of a car engine. The SUV. I'm on the floor in the back of the van, and when I move there's a plastic sound, which means they've taken the precaution of lining the fucking floor.
Just in case they have to wrap and dump my body somewhere.
And it's not far off. I should know. I've been there before. And there's that same smell in the air around me that I can't shake off. It's cloying, a musty mixture of sweat and urine that's overpowering enough to make me want to pass out. But I can't do that. Because if I do that, I know I won't wake up again. Something jarred loose in my head. I can almost hear it rattling around in there. Unconsciousness would mean it slides right into the fleshy part of my brain and then that'll be it.
Can't happen. Not the way Tiernan's talking now. Staring right at where he thinks I am in the rear view. Darren — or someone who smells just like him — is driving. He hasn't said anything the entire time I've been awake.
“… you hear me?”
I hear you, Morris.
“Think I'm daft, Callum, you ought to know me better than that by now. Thought we had an understanding. I don't know. Since the Newcastle thing — I told you I appreciated that, right? Well, since the Newcastle thing, I thought I could count on you as part of the … extended family. I thought if I had a problem, I could come to you and you'd help me out. That was certainly the way you seemed to approach the situation. But to have you mess us around like this …”
I hear a sigh from the front seat. Tiernan turns to Darren.
“You know what it's like, Darren? You trust someone and they play silly buggers with you.”
Darren grunts.
“Because that's all it is, Callum,” he said, back staring at me now. “I don't know what you thought you were playing at, trying to make us believe my own daughter was involved, when I know for a fact she wasn't and wouldn't have owt to do with Mo. I mean, you were all adamant about this hair or whatever, but you honestly think you're the only bloke I asked to look into this?”
I shift a little on the floor of the van. Try not to let the fear show on the working half of my face. When I move my features I realised that it's unlikely, considering I'm swollen to fuck. Tiernan doesn't see me, anyway. He might call me by my name, but he's talking to a bloke he didn't just pound into shit.
Tiernan looks out of the windscreen for a second. “You want to know what I heard?”
I don't say anything. Can't say anything.
“I heard that you were at the scene of the crime before the coppers found the body. Which means you know where my boy was. I also heard that he was beaten to fuck, but he was beaten to fuck there. Not wherever he was killed. Which means you put a beating on my boy after he was dead. And I'm wondering why.”
He looks at me again in the mirror.
“You want to tell us? Nah, don't suppose you can, can you? Even if you could, I get the feeling you'd come up with some fuckin' excuse.” He rubs his face. “You're a tough cunt, Innes, I'll give you that. But you're trying to protect someone and it's not going to fuckin' work, I'll tell you that an' all.”
Tiernan turns round in his seat, makes sure I'm looking at him. When he grabs my face, the pain is unbearable. “I'll find out who killed my son, Innes. I'll find out who did it, because I'll pay the fuckin' police to give me a name. Your fuckin' bent bastard mate Donkin should do the trick — he'll give it up. Whoever you're protecting with this bullshit won't be protected anymore. You're not in a position to warn anyone, and I'll make sure that even if the cunt's arrested, he won't last a week. You understand, mate? You got off easy.”
He lets me go. I drop back to the floor, concentrate on my breathing.
“Because for all of this,” he says, “I still like you. I just don't fuckin' trust you anymore.”
Streetlights flash through the van. I look at the roof, breathe slow and jagged out through my mouth.
And that's when I realise I'm going to die.
42
DONKIN
Gray put the phone back down.
“Well?”
“He's not answering.”
I knew he wouldn't. Somewhere out there, Innes knew I was coming for him and he was laying low, wouldn't even take a call from his boyfriend. My head started banging again.
“Try him again,” I said.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Don't fuckin' start.” I pointed at him. “You try him again, and you keep trying him. He'll answer some time. And when he does, you tell him to come in. To me. Don't matter how long it takes, because I'm not going anywhere until I get some fuckin' face time with your boy.”
I went for my baccy, pulled out the tin and the poof's face started to blotch red.
“No,” he said.
“You what?”
Nodded at the tin. “No smoking in here.”
“You're the boss, Mr Gray.” I backed out the office, grinning. “But you make sure you keep trying that fuckin' line. I want him here.”
I turned, pushed out of the club. PC John was up out of the car and watching the door. Up the road I could see headlights, too far away to see if they were coming anywhere near us. I leaned against the wall, pinched some baccy, dropped it into a Rizla.
“What's happening?” said PC John.
“He's calling our man,” I said, and licked the ciggie shut. “You might as well stay out of sight. I don't want him doing a runner because he's seen a uniform.”
The lights swung round at the top of the street. Closer now. Something big, like a van or something, slowing to a stop. As I lit the ciggie, I tried to see beyond the glare.
“Detective,” said the constable.
“Thought I told you to get back in the fuckin' car.” I moved off the wall, headed back towards the Granada. Then I heard a van door shutter open, caught a glimpse of people in the van.
Then I saw the bundle. About the length of a roll of carpet, but wider and wrapped in what looked like tarpaulin.
“Oh shit,” said PC John. He broke away from the Granada just as the van door slammed closed and the vehicle pulled away. “You might want to call an ambulance.”
I walked towards the constable, took it slow. Couldn't run and smoke at the same time. He was bent over the bundle, his face white in the darkness. He turned to me as I approached — didn't take much detective work to realise this was a bloke wrapped in plastic. I stopped and stared at the disappearing brake lights. Couldn't see the plate.
“You get the registration?” I said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Didn't have ti
me. It's dark.”
“The fuck kind of copper are you, Constable?”
It didn't matter, because when PC John pulled the plastic from the bloke's face, I forgot all about the van, concentrated instead on phoning for an ambulance toot fuckin' sweet. Then I ditched the ciggie and got down on my knees.
“You hear us?” I said, nice and loud. “You conscious, son?”
Innes opened his eyes, shifted in the plastic. Christ, and I thought I'd took a fucking kicking. Whoever did this had done it for more than business reasons.
“Aye, best you don't do that, eh? Got help coming for you now.”
But he kept moving, the one eye that wasn't blood-red staring wide at us. I heard the plastic crinkle and buckle as he tried to pull himself out of it.
“Wait a second,” said PC John.
It wasn't that he wanted out of the plastic. Innes was trying to get away from us.
Fuck's sake, you had to admire the persistence of the bloke.
“Better move back. He's going to kill himself if he keeps that up. he's fucked and panicking.”
The constable got to his feet. I rubbed my face, looked down at the mess in front of us, then back at the poof's club. Wondered how long it would take an ambulance to get here, then realised unless it turned up sharpish, there wouldn't be much point.
“Stay here,” I said. “If you see the poof, make sure you keep him away from Innes.”
“This is him?” said PC John, a bit too loud for my fucking tastes. “This is your suspect?”
“Yeah, aye, and keep it fuckin' down, will you?”
“You can't—
“Listen to us, alright? The poof in there sees his boy like this, he's liable to think I had something to do with it.”
“That's daft, he's covered in plastic.”
“Going to be difficult to explain that to the poof when he's gone mental on us. So better you shield the lad from the bloke's sight until we get the ambulance here, get a few more bodies in case he loses it.” I started to walk away, then stopped. “You know any first aid, now's your fuckin' chance, by the way. Don't be shy.”
Then onwards to the Lads' Club. I pinched the top of my nose, which sent my brand new headache into the middle of my brain for a second. When I let go, the pain rushed back to the bridge. I really needed another ciggie, but I didn't bother.