by Ray Banks
As I got to the doors, he was already coming across the gym. “What's going on?”
“You managed to get a hold of Innes yet?”
He shook his head.
I waved him back to the office. “Then what're you doing off the phone? Keep trying.”
More headlights, this time sweeping across the gym floor as a car pulled up outside. I didn't turn around, reckoned it was probably the ambulance and they'd take care of Innes just as long as I kept the poof indoors. I got close to him, put a hand on his arm and said, in my best soft and calming copper voice, “I need you to keep trying his line, Paul.”
Then there was the sound of closing car doors and someone shouted my name. I heard the club doors open.
“Can I see you outside for a moment?”
Turned to see Kennedy in the doorway to the club. I rubbed my nose, looked over his shoulder and saw Adams questioning the constable.
“Everything's fine.”
“Are you alright, Mr Gray?” said Kennedy.
“Fine.”
“What're you lot doing here?” I said.
Kennedy and Gray swapped glances. Then I realised that as soon as I was out of the fucking building, that was the poof dropping a twenty on us.
“Hang on a second,” I said. “He was supposed to be calling his boy in.”
“You do that outside?” said Kennedy.
I shook my head.
“What?” said Gray.
“Nowt.” I moved towards Kennedy, took his arm. “You wanted to see us, let's get it over with.”
Kennedy pulled his arm out of my grip. “At least tell me you called for an ambulance, Iain.”
“Ambulance?” said Gray. “The fuck d'you need an ambulance for?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It's nothing, honest.”
But it was too late. Gray was already storming for the door, and he looked like he was ready to deck anyone that got in his way. I didn't try to stop him. It was these arseholes' problem now. As soon as he clattered out through the doors, I heard Adams and PC John trying to calm him down, keep him back.
“I did call for an ambulance,” I said.
“When?” said Kennedy.
“Just now.”
“Did you say it was police?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I'm not strictly fuckin' police, am I?”
“Could've got your constable to do it.”
“Doesn't matter.” I pointed at Innes. “He's my collar.”
“What fuckin' collar?”
I moved out of the club, Kennedy following. “That bundle of shite over there, he's the boy killed Mo Tiernan.”
“No, he isn't,” said Kennedy.
Adams and PC John were still trying to bar the way to Innes. Gray was having none of it; he looked like he wanted to put both the coppers to the ground.
“Mr Gray,” I shouted. “You want to calm it down there?”
He turned to us, his face red and twisted. “Fuck yourself, Donkey.”
“That's it,” I said. “Constable, you want to restrain Mr Gray, you be my guest. Let's get this over with.”
Then there was a shout that stopped everyone in their tracks. Came from Innes, this animal roar. Adams shook back from his crouched position by the bloke. Gray made a move towards Innes, and PC John got in his way, just like I told him. I saw the flash of the cuffs in his hand.
“Iain, you want to get over here,” said Adams, and there was a sickness in his voice that got me interested. He turned and said to Kennedy, “He wants to talk to Donkin.”
Kennedy followed us as I approached Innes. I glanced at Gray, and the fight was seeping out of him. Looked like he was crying. I wasn't surprised — Innes had taken a turn for the worse. He was gasping for air, spluttering wet sounds out at us. When he saw us, his one good eye showed recognition. There was that fucked half-smile of his under the mess of a swollen, broken cheek, more like a fucking quarter-smile now. He said something I didn't catch.
I leaned in. Kennedy was right next to us. Didn't want to miss a thing, did he?
Innes said, “It was me.”
“What was?” I said.
“Mo … Tiernan.”
He coughed, and I thought that was it. But Innes had more balls than I reckoned him for. He swallowed and closed his eye, repeated until he'd built up enough energy for what he had to say.
“I killed Mo Tiernan.”
Then he fell quiet. Still breathing, but they were rough sounds.
I looked around at the coppers struck dumb, and the poof with the heel of one hand pressed against his eye, silently sobbing. Behind us, I could hear the ambulance come pulling up to the Lads' Club.
“I told you,” I said, walking away. “I told you he fuckin' did it.”
43
DONKIN
I watched them load Innes into the back of the ambulance on one of them folding trolleys. Gray insisted that he rode in the back; Adams went along to make sure everything was by the book.
I wasn't going anywhere. Didn't need to. Innes had already admitted everything to everyone here, I didn't need to track him all the way to the hospital for a follow-up. In fact, I didn't see the need for any follow-ups. The cunt did it. Pat on the back for Detective Sergeant Me, and I'll have my job back, thanks very much.
“Iain.”
I looked up and saw Kennedy coming towards us. For someone who was all set to beat the shite out of us not so long ago, he looked all kinds of knackered now. And the way I saw it, he was all kinds of knackered. The constable followed him at a short distance, looking at the ground as he walked like he was scared of stepping in dogshit.
I blew smoke at the pair of them and smiled. “Y'alright?”
“You proud of yourself, are you?” he said.
“Nah.” I sniffed. It fucking wrecked. “Well, yeah. A bit.”
“That was your collar, was it? That's the one you were fighting for all this time?”
“I was right.” I pointed at Kennedy with my ciggie. “And you were all set to let the case go.”
He nodded to himself, watching the ambulance go. Then he rubbed at the edge of his mouth and said, “That's what you were doing here, then. You were still running the case, despite what we'd told you, what Adams told you about. That, you know, being suspended and all, you weren't actually legally allowed to do any of this.”
“Can't keep a good man down,” I said. “And I might not be allowed to arrest anyone, but I'm allowed to be curious. And I was just waiting on Innes—
“Yeah, I understand that. But I've got to know, Iain, why did you bother?”
“Don't get you.”
Kennedy folded his arms and looked at us. “You knew what the likely verdict was going to be, and you know how difficult it's going to be to prosecute this now your chief fucking suspect is at death's door. So where's the perk for you in this?”
I took a big long drag on my ciggie, blew the smoke out through my teeth as I smiled. My chest got tight; part of us reckoned I was about to have one of those heart attacks you don't shake off. But then the feeling passed.
“The perk is seeing you know you're fuckin' wrong,” I said.
He nodded. “Right—
“I'm not fuckin' finished. Because you're one of those coppers, you think it's all a matter of reading textbooks and greasing the right fuckin' palms, you'll be set for life in this job. But you couldn't catch a criminal if your life fuckin' well depended on it. Because you haven't got the first clue as to how their minds operate, you've never been out in it. When two plus two doesn't equal four, you're fuckin' flummoxed. Y'know? Whenever the answer isn't right there on a fuckin' plate for you, you can't deal with it. And the last thing you're ever going to do is get your hands dirty, because that's what you've been taught to avoid. And that's what you're all about — you're a fuckin' collection of stuff you've been told, you're not a person. You're just going through the fuckin' motions. You lot, you know the insides of your bran
d-new cars, you know your HD tellies and your new-build fuckin' houses, and your X-Factor as quality time spent with the kids on a Saturday night. You know what you're having for your tea and when your missus fancies a bit or when she wants you to leave her the fuck alone. But the one thing you do not know, the one thing you should fuckin' know but don't, is this job.”
Kennedy didn't say anything. Standing there watching us with a thin smile on his lips. But his eyes didn't seem amused. His eyes told us he wanted to punt us into the middle of next week.
“You've known for a while, I'm not like you people. This is just another example. I go out there — I went out there — and I fuckin' investigated this the best I could, and what did I come up with? A solid suspect who just confessed to me with witnesses. And you've been at this just as long, with the kind of resources you have, what've you got?”
I opened my arms.
“You got me. Standing here in front of an empty club.”
“And a suspect who looks like he's been worked over to within an inch of his life.”
“I didn't do that.”
“Wouldn't be the first time you did do it.”
“Ask the constable.”
“I will. Once we have you in custody.” He nodded at PC John, who came towards us with the cuffs.
“Uh-huh, now here's a thing, Constable. You think you're putting them cuffs on us, you can also think about me knocking your fuckin' teeth out.”
“Come on, Donkey, how's that the sensible option, assaulting a police officer?”
“You don't arrest me.” I moved out of the way of PC John, dropped my ciggie, and pointed at him. “Hang on to yourself there, mate. What's the fuckin' charge?”
“Obstruction of justice do you?” said Kennedy.
“No. It's a bullshit charge.”
“Assault on Innes?”
“Can't prove that.”
“Or how's about,” said Kennedy, “we just pop down the nick and work through your story, see if we can't find something to pin on you. That's the way you work, isn't it?”
“Fuck yourself.”
“You sober, Iain? I'm guessing you might've had a couple pints, maybe a short or two, a touch of the Dutch courage. So I'm thinking—
“You're thinking drunk and disorderly, disturbing the peace, you can fuck right off.”
PC John came at us then. I thought about smacking him in the face, but once I'd let the idea roll around my head for a few seconds, I realised I couldn't do it. Couldn't give Kennedy the satisfaction of bringing us in on something proper. Because this entire thing was fucking bullshit, and it was all more evidence for Kennedy being bent as a nine-bob note. Because the only person that could've plausibly worked over Innes was Morris Tiernan, and this fucker wanted to make sure I wasn't going to blab about it.
Well, I'd make sure to convince him of that.
Then I'd have his fucking job.
So I held out my hands, let the constable cuff us. He was a good lad; he didn't do it too tight or anything. Then he steered us towards the back of Kennedy's Rover.
“You understand my position, Iain,” said Kennedy. “If I let you roam free on this, you'll fuck it all up. Because that's what you are — a fuck-up. It's in your nature. You never succeeded in a single thing your entire life. Only way you managed to hold on to your job was because of your grasses. Imagine that, eh? Only reason you had a job was because of shit like Paddy Reece. Next time you see him, you should probably thank him.”
“Rather hang with shit like Reece than the turd you work for,” I said.
Kennedy opened the back door to his car, the constable putting a hand on the back of my head. Guided us into the back of the car and was about to shut the door on us when Kennedy held him back, told him to get settled in the driver's seat. Then he leaned in to the back of the car.
This was it. This was him telling us that he was going to kill us, something to drop him in it, admit he was working for Tiernan. Christ, I wished I had a tape recorded on us to capture it, ready for when I put my appeal in, assuming I managed to get that far.
I would. I knew I would. I was strong. Not like Innes.
“Callum Innes didn't kill Mo Tiernan,” said Kennedy.
“That right?”
“Yeah. You know who did?”
“Who?”
Kennedy smiled. “Mo Tiernan.”
“Fuck off.” I couldn't help myself laughing. “You're out of your fuckin' mind.”
“Oh, we know Innes beat the corpse up, but he didn't kill him.”
I sniffed, cleared my throat, but I was still smiling as Kennedy put his hand on the roof of the car, leaned further.
“You see, if you'd been doing your job like us wankers, Iain, you'd have been allowed on the actual crime scene. And if you'd been allowed on the crime scene you would've seen the blood and everything, right enough, but you also would've seen the empty wraps lying around the place, and the pin cushion your boy Mo made out of his arm.”
“Mo wasn't a smackhead,” I said. “He dealt uppers. Didn't bother with smack.”
“Official cause of death was overdose.”
I shook my head. “He didn't do it.”
“Just started. Must've had a reason. Maybe he was in pain, wanted to end it.”
I stared at him, my mouth open. “Mo fuckin' Tiernan?”
“People change.”
Kennedy slammed the door shut. I watched him go round the car, get into the passenger side. He grabbed his seatbelt, nodded at PC John to start the engine.
I stared out the window for a long time as we drove back to the nick.
It was all bullshit, what Kennedy said. As much as it started to make sense in the back of my mind, I refused to believe it. Innes confessed to Mo Tiernan's murder, loud and clear. Let Kennedy explain that. A fucking confession, right from the horse's mouth. Then I realised that Kennedy didn't need to explain nowt. He'd already made his arrest, and he had Adams and PC John as back-up. Whatever Innes said, it was long forgotten.
But I knew better.
Innes killed Mo Tiernan.
Kennedy was bent as fuck.
And people didn't fucking change.
44
INNES
There's a copper in the back of the ambulance. He's watching Paulo and trying to ignore me.
I'm used to that.
Paulo's on my right side. I think he's holding my hand.
Poof.
Tiernan needed a name. He has one now.
“Callum.”
Paulo will be okay. That's all that matters.
“Callum.”
I move my head slightly. Look at him.
I hear him say, “Thanks.”
His lips don't move.
So maybe he doesn't say that after all.
45
DONKIN
The sun was out for the funeral. Even God was chuffed that this one wasn't trampling over His nice green earth anymore.
Still, I never expected him to die. Didn't think the blokes that beat the shit out of him did, either. He was dumped outside the poof's gym for a reason. A warning not to mess. Whether it had anything to do with Mo Tiernan, I didn't know for sure. Probably. Wasn't going to bother my arse to find out, though.
Not now they'd fucking canned us.
It was Kennedy, of course. Couldn't handle being told off, couldn't handle that I knew more about what happened than him, and that Innes wanted to confess to me and only me. The fucking disciplinary about Paddy Reece was nothing more than a formality with Kennedy's oar in there.
Fuck it, they'd wanted us out for ages. Brass just saw their chance and took it.
No job meant no Annie. It'd be official soon enough.
There weren't many people turned up for the funeral. The poof, obviously. The big lad, Frank Collier. A young lad I heard the poof call Liam, and a couple of other lads from the gym who looked like they'd been dragged there. I didn't spot any family. To be honest, I didn't know if Innes had any apart from his brot
her.
Nobody cried.
From the turnout, it would've been weird if they did.
I hung back at the edges, in the shade. Meant I didn't get too warm. Dressed in my one good suit, and I didn't want to get too sweaty else I'd have to dry clean the fucker. When they finished putting Innes in the ground, I rolled a cigarette and started walking.
Didn't get far before I heard the poof's voice.
“You couldn't stay away, could you?”
I turned, pulled the cigarette out of my mouth, blowing smoke at the same time. Didn't know what to say to him. Didn't want to say anything.
But he was standing there, waiting for an answer.
“I'm sorry for your loss?” I said.
“You still on the force?” said the poof.
“No.”
“Kicked you out?”
“That's right.”
“So I won't be seeing you round the club anymore.”
“Yeah.” I spat tobacco onto the ground, immediately wished I hadn't from the look I got. “I didn't mean—”
The poof moved his shoulders like he was ready to take a swing at us. And he could've done, no worries. Not like I was going to arrest him. He could've had a free shot, and with the lads coming up from the grave now, they could've watched his back when I hit back.
But he never took the chance. Something stopped him, made him settle back. Still that sour look on his face, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The lads passed by. Frank Collier didn't even glance at us, looked like a kid in a huff.
“You got a hole in your sleeve,” said the poof.
Then he walked off before I got a chance to reply. Good job, too. Because I was all set to tell him I wasn't sorry for his loss, I was sorry for my fucking loss. Wasn't like I wanted Innes dead; I just wanted the cunt behind bars where he belonged.
Just because he was dead, didn't make him a fucking angel.
But that's what you got for being polite. I watched him get into a taxi outside the cemetery, watched it pull away.
Then I went down to the grave. Took it slow because it was a hill and the shoes I was wearing didn't have grips anymore. The grave side was empty. The priest had done a runner back to the church. Something about that service was awkward for the bloke, like he wasn't sure if he was burying a poof or not.