The Only Game

by Reginald Hill

  ‘I hit him. He’s dead. I put him in the river. Write that down on your paper and I’ll sign it. Nothing more, I don’t want to say anything more.’

  Parslow regarded her with unconcealed frustration. Dog said, ‘OK, we’ll get it typed up.’

  He went to the door, ushered Lunn out, then stood and stared at the superintendent till, reluctantly, he too stood up and exited.

  ‘We’ll need more detail, Dog,’ he said fretfully as they walked down the corridor together. ‘Especially about where she dumped the kid. Damn. I hate it when they dry up after only half a story.’

  ‘Let’s get this lot signed before she changes her mind,’ said Dog. ‘Half a story’s better than no story at all.’

  ‘Yes, of course, you’re right. I must give Tench a ring. He said he’d like to be kept in touch with developments.’

  And you want to keep on the right side of everyone, thought Dog scornfully.

  He turned on his heel and headed back to the interview room.

  ‘Your statement’s being typed up, Miss Maguire,’ he said. ‘Just one thing I’d like you to confirm, just so that we can keep our records straight. You left the Health Centre early yesterday. Mr Granger, your employer, says this was because you were dismissed. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said dully.

  ‘And he says the reason you were dismissed was a complaint laid against you by a client. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And was the complaint accurate? Did you in fact offer to masturbate Councillor Jacobs for a payment of twenty-five pounds?’

  She looked at him for the first time since his return, shrugged and said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘You confirm you made this offer? For twenty-five pounds?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes! Now will you leave me alone? For God’s sake, leave me alone!’

  Suddenly there was life and colour in her face and the Irishness of her voice came bursting through its overlay of Midland and mid-Atlantic English.

  Memories surged up in Dog’s mind. Sad memories. Bitter memories.

  He turned and left. Behind him was a woman he wanted nothing to do with, whose every word and feature could rouse emotions he thought he had quelled. Nothing would please him more, he thought, than to be able to take her story at face value, book her for child killing and leave her to the lawyers.

  But now for the first time since he met her he was sure of one thing – that whatever else Jane Maguire might be guilty of, she had not killed her son.

  Part Two

  1

  Noll Maguire sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the woman who had stolen him.

  She was of medium height, medium build, with a round pleasant face and short, light brown hair. Her voice was soft and musical, and if she kept quiet, you hardly noticed she was there at all.

  Noll liked her very much and not just because her handbag seemed to hold an endless supply of sweets. He knew a secret about her. She could be anyone in the world! When she told him stories, that gentle voice could rage like an ogre’s, roar like a lion’s, or trill like a lark’s; that placid face could twist into villainy, slacken to idiocy, go pop-eyed with fear. She could dance like a dervish, march like a soldier, or hop like a one-legged pirate with a parrot on his shoulder. She knew all the best riddles and jokes and games. He thought he probably liked her better than anyone else in the world. Except of course for one.

  ‘Auntie Bridie,’ he said. ‘Will Mummy be away very long?’

  ‘Not very long,’ she answered. ‘Now if you’ll do me the very great favour of putting those little pig’s trotters into your shoes, we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘They’re not pig’s trotters,’ he protested.

  ‘Surely they are,’ she said. ‘What else would a little piglet have at the end of his legs?’

  ‘Then if they’re trotters, I don’t need to wear shoes, ’cos pigs don’t wear shoes,’ he argued.

  ‘And have you never heard the tale of the pig who wore Wellington boots?’ she asked in amazement. ‘I’ll tell it to you as we drive along in the car.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked. ‘Are we going to see Mummy?’

  ‘No, my pet. Like she promised, we’ll be seeing her at Christmas, never you fret. Today we’re going to a new house in the country. Could be we’ll find some real piglets there. Billy, are you not done?’

  Billy Flynn appeared in the doorway carrying a canvas tool bag.

  ‘What’s your rush?’ he said. ‘You get the kid ready and leave man’s work to the men.’

  ‘Don’t try that macho crap with me, Billy,’ she said wearily. ‘After your half-witted performance yesterday, you’re on probation with this team. I thought that would have penetrated even your thick skull.’

  He flushed angrily and said, ‘It showed how tight we could pull the strings, didn’t it? That’s why she’s roaming loose. Jonty said I did him a favour.’

  ‘So he almost pulled your pecker off to show his appreciation,’ she said contemptuously. ‘Anyway, it was yesterday afternoon I was talking about. Last night was just the shit on the blanket.’

  ‘How the hell was I to know she’d be leaving early? No one said …’

  ‘How the hell did they ever think you were good for anything beyond burning buses and throwing rocks?’ she asked. ‘Hands aren’t enough out here, Billy. You’ve got to use your head too. You’ve got to plan for everything, even the things you’ve forgotten to plan for.’

  ‘Which is your way of saying even the famous double act can cock up?’ he mocked. ‘It was you who let this address out of the bag, wasn’t it? And didn’t Jonty say the pigs wouldn’t bother us here?’

  She frowned and said, ‘Even the pigs have dickheads like you who don’t do what they’re told.’

  ‘Pigs?’ Noll caught at the word. ‘Are we going to see the pigs now, Auntie Bridie?’

  ‘Sure we are. Billy, get these cases down to the car. I’ll see you down there.’

  He touched his forelock in mock deference, ruffled Noll’s hair and said, ‘Pigs, is it? Next pig comes here, it’ll be fried bacon for supper.’ Out of his tool bag he pulled an Uzi 9mm pistol which he flourished melodramatically, crying, ‘Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!’

  Noll’s eyes grew round with envy and he said, ‘Is that for me, Billy? Is that my Christmas present?’

  ‘Will you listen to the boy?’ said Flynn, delighted at the disapproval registering on the woman’s face. ‘Well, maybe Auntie Bridie and me’ll drop Santa a line and see if we can get you one, then you could blow all your little English friends away, would you like that?’

  Laughing, he went through the door.

  ‘Will you really get me a gun, Auntie Bridie?’ asked the boy hopefully.

  ‘We’ll have to see what your mammy says, won’t we?’ said the woman. ‘Now get your coat on. It’s cold out there.’

  She went through into the kitchen to check it out. Everything was neat and tidy and gleamingly clean. The only discordant note – literally – was the drip-drip-drip of a tap into the stainless steel sink.

  They’d blame Jonty for the loss of this safe-house, even though it was down to Billy’s cock-up. And as for Billy, if his little farewell present worked, it would be marked up to him as a triumph. Life wasn’t fair, never would be, especially for women. Look at her and Maguire, both where they were, what they were, because of the men they’d chosen to orbit around.

  Chosen! Now there was a word.

  Noll had entered the kitchen unnoticed as she stood in thought.

  ‘Tap dripping,’ he said. ‘Mummy says I should turn taps off.’

  He set off across the tiled floor. She caught him in a couple of strides and swung him high.

  ‘And your mammy’s right,’ she said, ‘only we don’t have the time. Not if we’re going to see those little piggies in the country. Let’s have a song, shall we? When you’re going on a journey, doesn’t matter whether it’s somewhere good or somewhere bad, you should always set out
singing. Now do you recall that song I taught you?’

  ‘Yes! Green grow the rushes oh!’ he shouted.

  ‘That’s it! All together now. I’ll give you one oh!’

  And with the boy laughing and singing over her shoulder, she turned and went out of the door.

  2

  Dog Cicero shuffled a pack of cards and dealt himself four aces, shuffled again and dealt four kings, shuffled a third time and dealt three queens and a six. He grimaced and took a long pull from a mug of coffee liberally laced with the Strega he kept in his desk. Just when you thought you had things under control, something always went wrong.

  ‘Is this a private game or can anyone buy in?’

  Charley Lunn was standing in the doorway holding a sheet of paper delicately between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand as if it were either very fragile or very dirty.

  ‘I only play cards with strangers,’ said Dog.

  ‘And yourself.’

  ‘That’s what I said. What’s new, Charley?’

  ‘She’s signed her statement and been charged,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Maguire, of course.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Dog. ‘I’m off the case.’

  He had told Parslow he didn’t believe the woman’s confession. The superintendent had looked as sick as a dog when told of Jacobs’s guilt, but to do him justice, he had listened closely and patiently before saying, ‘You mean, because you reckon her small admission is false, the big one has to be false too?’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ said Dog.

  ‘It doesn’t sound more. I don’t know the truth of that Health Centre business, Dog, but let’s accept that Johnny Jacobs likes having his bishop bashed by a pretty girl now and then. Can’t blame him. Have you seen his old lady? And let’s accept that Maguire’s innocent of offering her services. So why does she admit to it? Because it doesn’t seem important by comparison with killing her kid, that’s why! Because she’s so full of guilt she’s ready to admit to anything we care to put to her! That’s my logic, Dog, and it sounds a damn sight more logical than yours!’

  He’d argued, got nowhere, felt, not altogether comfortably, that perhaps he didn’t want to get anywhere, and when Parslow wondered whether he might feel better off the case, he’d taken a childish satisfaction in agreeing and dumping the file on the chief super’s desk. Not that he imagined it would stay there very long.

  Lunn proved him right.

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve spent the last hour going through the file, haven’t I? Mr Parslow says with my promotion board coming up, a bit of responsibility will do me good. Under his even-handed supervision, of course.’

  Dog smiled. They both knew about Parslow’s even-handed supervision. He took the credit while you took the blame.

  ‘You need some help, Charley?’

  ‘You said you checked out Maguire’s story about this Gosling woman, but I can’t see anything …’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Dog, digging through a tray and producing reports on his abortive interviews with Mrs Tobin and Mrs Osterley. ‘Though now you’ve got a confession, you hardly need these.’

  ‘Always keep a tidy file,’ said Lunn, echoing one of Parslow’s maxims. ‘Anyway, I thought you didn’t rate Maguire’s confession?’

  ‘I don’t. But if she’s willing to make a false confession of killing her kid, what’s she really guilty of, eh?’ It was a feeble attempt to assuage his own guilt at letting himself be so easily edged off the case. Charley Lunn raised his eyebrows and Dog went on irritatedly, ‘Her confession might well be a lie, but her original story certainly is. There’s the boy friend she says doesn’t exist, who we know does. And there’s Gosling, who we know doesn’t. No, whatever’s going on is very dirty and I’m glad I’m out of it. But keep me posted, Charley, especially if you feel anything’s been laid on you that doesn’t feel right.’

  This was more than just a conscience-salver. He genuinely liked the brash young sergeant who came as close to being a friend as anyone he’d met during his decade in the Force.

  ‘Thanks, Dog. And, taking instant advantage, what do you make of this?’

  He placed the sheet of paper he was carrying on the desk. Dog glanced through it once very quickly, then again more slowly and with growing incredulity.

  ‘Bail? She’s being given bail? Has she had her brief in?’

  ‘No brief. No request. Bail on her own security.’

  ‘But why? Up before the beak, remanded for psycho report, that’s the form even with a clever brief shouting the odds. What’s Steady Eddie playing at?’

  ‘I don’t know. What I do know is he had a long phone conversation after you left him. So my snout on the exchange tells me.’

  ‘And does your snout say who with?’

  But Dog knew the answer before Lunn said, ‘Your old oppo with the funny fellows.’

  Tench. So keen yesterday to have her accused of murder. So keen today to let her run free. What kind of game was being played here?

  Lunn said, ‘What’s it mean, Dog? It don’t feel right. Is there anything we should do?’

  Dog regarded his eager face affectionately and shook his head.

  ‘We should do nothing. This is crusty old bachelor country. Man with a promotion board coming up and family responsibilities should keep his nose clean.’

  Lunn had married young and had a boy and a girl aged four and six. Dog had been to his house and met his wife, a sharp-eyed, sharp-minded young woman who had smiled and made herself pleasant. But he’d overheard a snatch of conversation as he returned too silently from the bathroom. ‘… But be careful, Charley. Cold bastards like that can get you into trouble without even trying …’

  He didn’t want to prove her right.

  He handed back the sheet and with it his own reports.

  ‘Now bugger off and get that file nice and tidy for Mr Parslow.’

  When Lunn had gone, he picked up the cards, shuffled, and dealt five. Slowly he turned them over. Royal flush in spades.

  He swept the cards into a drawer and reached for his topcoat.

  He’d been sitting in his car for the time it took to smoke three of his skinny cigarettes when Maguire came out of the station. She stood on the pavement, sniffing the air like a rabbit suspicious of an open meadow. Then she made up her mind and in two strides changed from frightened coney to red deer. Red deer. Madeleine Salter’s image, Madeleine who loved her, who felt responsible for what had happened, who felt herself judged that she hadn’t been turned to in Maguire’s time of despair.

  So who had she turned to? And what had happened to make her confess to the unthinkable?

  Suddenly his recent certainties felt solid as a sandcastle. His intention had been to follow, but he no longer had the patience. In any case, God knows who else was following her! There was probably a procession as long as the Lord Mayor’s Show.

  He started the engine and kerb-crawled till she started to cross a side street. Then he swung sharply in front of her, flung open the passenger door, leaned across and snarled, ‘In!’

  She froze, shock on her face, flight in her mind. He reached out, grabbed her hand and pulled. As she fell into the car he pressed the accelerator and began to move away, giving her no choice but to scramble in.

  ‘You crazy bastard,’ she exploded.

  ‘Pull that door shut,’ he ordered.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want?’

  He said, ‘I’m sorry. You’re needed. They’ve found …’

  He let his voice tail away.

  ‘What?’ she screamed. ‘Noll, you mean? Is he … hurt? Oh Christ! He’s not dead? Tell me he’s not dead?’

  ‘No, Miss Maguire,’ he said softly. ‘It’s you who are telling me that.’

  For a second she looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then she said in a low, intense voice, ‘Oh, you bastard. You unfeeling bastard! Let me out of here.’

 
She would have got out even with the car moving at speed if he hadn’t grabbed her arm again.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, how will it help anyone if you kill yourself?’ he cried. ‘How will it help Noll?’

  That locked her muscles, but mind and spirit were still in a turmoil which showed clearly on her face.

  He turned down a service road behind the shopping precinct and ran the car between a pantechnicon and a loading bay.

  ‘We should have a few minutes before they find us,’ he said. ‘Let’s use them well.’

  ‘Before who finds us?’

  ‘Does it matter? Tench. The people who made you come to the station this morning. They’ll all be watching. Look, you’re everyone’s puppet. Is that what you want?’

  He had meant to be reasonable. Instead the question exploded out of some underlying emotion he didn’t understand. But his agitation had the effect of caulking hers.

  ‘There’s only one thing I want,’ she said. ‘What about you, Inspector? Which of my strings is it you want to pull?’

  He said, ‘You’ve got to trust me. There’s no time for explanations.’

  ‘Make time.’

  He frowned and said, ‘It might take ten years. And I’d probably end up talking myself out of it.’

  ‘Out of what?’

  ‘Out of trying to help you, you stupid bitch!’ That confusion of emotion again! This was no way to play cards. On the other hand it was probably his unfakeable rawness which was keeping her listening. If you’re sick on the table, watch who wants to keep playing. The bastard must really need that pot. He smiled.

  She said, ‘It’s so funny, calling me a stupid bitch?’

  ‘I was thinking of something my Uncle Endo said. Sorry. And I’m sorry for yelling at you. Listen, Jane, I want to help, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘And I want to know why I should believe you.’

  ‘Because I know you didn’t harm your child any more than you offered to jerk Jacobs off.’

  ‘And knowing that makes me worth helping? Funny it doesn’t work with all your colleagues!’

  She was right, Tench certainly knew as much.