The Sinner

by Martyn Waites

  Sheridan could barely sit still. Back at work, at his desk, staring at the screen, but hardly seeing it. Mind otherwise occupied with what he had discovered on Harmer’s computer.

  DCI Harmer had given the go-ahead for Operation Retrieve with Killgannon. But he was also the one who had dismissed Sheridan’s concerns for his safety. And now there was this. Harmer was compromised, but Sheridan couldn’t say or do anything about it to anyone higher up the chain of command. Especially not concerning how he had come across the information. It would be a huge black mark against him, potentially even a demotion or suspension.

  So there he sat, unable to progress until he knew what to do. But he had to do something, tell someone. And the natural person would be Blake.

  He watched her working at her computer, her face expressionless, nearly angry. He had heard of this thing called resting bitch face. One of his kids had said it at home over dinner describing a girl at school, the other had laughed. He had been angry at first. It sounded insulting and he questioned why one of his own children would use language like that. They had laughed in response, told him what it meant. A face in repose that looked angry or cruel. A part of him felt bad thinking that about her. Especially since he felt he had something like it himself.

  He reached his conclusion. No choice, really. He had to talk to her. But not here, not now.

  He kept working, one eye on his screen, the other on her until eventually she rose from her seat, picked up her lanyard and a box of cigarettes from her desk, made her way to the door. Sheridan rose, followed her out.

  She was standing in the self-appointed smoking area, outside the back door by the vans. The gulag, it was called. A uniform lit up, nodded to her. She nodded back, her expression telling him she didn’t want company. He sauntered away. Sheridan took his place.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  She looked at him, suppressed a smile. ‘Come over to the dark side, Nick? Didn’t think your fitness regime would allow it.’

  She proffered her packet. He saw a cancerous mouth on the side, winced as he shook his head.

  ‘It’s about work,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to say it in the office. Thought it was best when we were on our own.’

  She looked round the car park. Officers and detectives were coming and going all the time, cars and vans on the move. ‘And you chose here?’ she said, smiling once more.

  ‘Better than inside.’ He paused. Gathered himself for what he was about to say. ‘Look. There’s no good way to say this. The Killgannon thing. I . . .’ He sighed. ‘Harmer hasn’t been straight with us.’

  She froze, dead as a statue, cigarette on the way to her lips. Slowly, she turned to face him. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I . . . hacked his computer.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘Just listen. He’s got stuff on there about Tom Killgannon and Dean Foley that he shouldn’t have. Or at least should have shared with us before we sent Killgannon in there.’

  ‘Like what?’ She glanced sideways at anyone who might be listening in, made the movement as natural as possible. Her face gave nothing away.

  ‘I think he knew Foley was in Blackmoor when we sent Killgannon inside. He knew their history, what Killgannon had done, how he’d got him in there.’

  She took a huge lungful of smoke, let it percolate within her, slowly blew it into the air. Then let the cigarette fall from her fingers, stubbed it out casually but firmly with the toe of her boot. ‘I don’t know what to say, Nick. I’m as confused as you are.’

  Sheridan looked round. Shook his head. Then looked back at Blake, mind made up.

  ‘We’ve got to go and see Harmer.’

  ‘When, now?’

  ‘Why not? We’ve got to know what’s going on.’

  Blake looked unconvinced. ‘It’s risky. Let’s think about it.’

  ‘We don’t have time. Come on.’

  He walked back into the building. Blake watched him go, then followed him.

  *

  ‘Come in.’

  Sheridan walked into Harmer’s office, Blake running along behind him. Harmer sat back, regarded the pair of them.

  What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s about Operation Retrieve,’ said Sheridan. ‘We’ve been doing some digging and—’

  ‘Is this about Foley and Killgannon?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Blake.

  Sheridan was pleased she was speaking up, backing him up.

  Harmer nodded. ‘Sit down. And make sure the door’s shut.’

  They did so.

  ‘I was going to talk to you both. After your visit the other day I looked into the Foley case. And there are some . . . irregularities. To be honest, I don’t know how we didn’t see this earlier. This could be a real mess.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Sheridan.

  ‘Like I said, I looked into Foley’s file. And I think there’s something else going on here. A huge amount of money went missing the night Killgannon busted Foley. Foley’s money. And the last person to see it was Killgannon. Or Mick Eccleston as he was then.’

  ‘So?’ said Blake.

  ‘Everyone was questioned. No one saw anything. No one knew what had happened to it. Like it had just disappeared into thin air. But someone had taken it. And the suspicion was always on Killgannon.’

  ‘How much went missing?’ asked Sheridan.

  ‘Over two million.’

  ‘What?’ Sheridan again. ‘And we think Killgannon has it?’

  ‘We don’t know. We don’t know anything about this Tom Killgannon, do we?’

  ‘He’s got a good record.’

  ‘For doing underhand, dangerous things. Not always on the right side of the law, either. For all we know he could be dodgy, shall we say? In fact I think he might be.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘As I said, I’ve been doing some digging. And Killgannon wasn’t the only one undercover in Foley’s gang. And that other one didn’t have such a good ending as Killgannon.’

  ‘What, he’s dead?’

  ‘May as well be. Poor bastard.’

  Sheridan flinched. Harmer hardly ever swore. This must be serious. ‘What, Killgannon sold him out?’

  ‘I’m trying to find out. So we’ve got more to go on. It’s not easy.’

  Sheridan thought. ‘But none of this changes the essential job, though, does it? Whether he’s taken money or not, it doesn’t matter. He’s there to do a job and he’s been compromised. We have to get him out.’

  ‘He’s safe where he is at the moment,’ Harmer replied, voice hardening. ‘He’s in segregation, away from the wing, from Foley. Let’s think about this.’

  ‘What’s to think about?’

  ‘This could be a major complication, DI Sheridan. We have to proceed carefully. As I said, he’s fine where he is. I need to think about this.’ He sat up straight, looked at the door. ‘I have work to do.’

  Sheridan reluctantly stood. Blake also.

  Sheridan walked slowly back to his desk, Blake to hers. Neither spoke. He stared at his screen once more. Thought.

  How did Harmer know Killgannon was in solitary? Who had told him? Sheridan was waiting to hear from Killgannon. And what about this other undercover officer? What had happened there? It sounded like Harmer knew more than he was letting on. And not sharing it. This wasn’t how Sheridan did things. This wasn’t fair play.

  He tried to work. Think what to do next.

  But he couldn’t concentrate.

  30

  ‘God, it looks awful,’ said Lila. ‘Like a haunted house or something.’

  ‘Or a concentration camp. Look at all that barbed wire . . .’

  They had driven to HMP Blackmoor in Anju’s Citroen C3, that her parents had bought her for passing her GCSEs and to bribe her to keep studying. She had laughed as they drove off, asking Lila what they would think if they knew she was using the car to drive her friend to see someone in prison. Lila had laughed along,
but apprehensively. Parents buying gifts like cars for their children and nurturing their education was completely alien to her. A world she had never been in and could never be part of.

  The morning was crisp, the winter sun shining and the sky a pale robin’s egg blue. Consequently the drive had been pleasant, Lila almost forgetting the purpose of the trip, feeling instead they were just out for the day. She felt slightly guilty about Tom for thinking that.

  She also felt very nervous about seeing him again. It had been over two weeks since he had set off on this assignment and she hadn’t heard from him at all. While she admittedly hadn’t tried to contact him, he had told her not to. If he could, he’d said, he would phone her. She hadn’t expected him to, not really. And he hadn’t. She knew it would be difficult for him and talking to her would make it even worse. That was the reason she hadn’t reached out either. She felt he would understand. Or hoped he would. But now she was changing all that by coming to see him. She just hoped neither of them would regret it.

  They pulled into the car park. Looked at the prison once again. It seemed to suck all the light from the sky into itself, making the day darker, colder. Lila felt her stomach turn.

  ‘Here we are, then,’ said Anju turning the engine off.

  The mood in the car changed, reflecting the prison, turning from light to dark. No more laughing or singing along to music, no more convincing themselves they were on a carefree day out. This was it.

  ‘Well,’ said Lila, ‘time to go in.’

  She looked over at the main gate where other visitors were beginning to gather. Dressed against the cold they resembled a huddled, sad mass of broken people in Primark clothes, their urban dress at odds with the surrounding countryside. Blank-faced women, old before their time, holding on to small sullen children, their hard eyes counting down the years until it would be their turn inside, their tiny fists clenched to demonstrate how they would get there. Older relatives beaten down by time and circumstances, their prematurely aged features roadmaps of wrong turns and dead ends. A few wild-eyed, gap-toothed crackheads trying to pretend they hadn’t taken anything before coming, hoping they wouldn’t be turned away.

  Lila knew she would have to join them. Be one of them.

  ‘It’s hard to tell,’ said Anju quietly, ‘whether they’re like that because visiting the prison made them that way, or it’s the end result for them being like that.’

  ‘We do sociology,’ said Lila, equally quietly, ‘I think we know the answers.’

  Anju said nothing.

  ‘It’s like stepping back in time, going to join that lot,’ said Lila.

  Anju frowned, turned to her. ‘What d’you mean?’

  A hard sigh from Lila. ‘I used . . . I wasn’t always like this. Student, regular life, all of that. I used to . . .’

  ‘Don’t. You don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘No, I . . . I feel like I should. I didn’t used to have a . . . what could you call it? A life like yours. It was more like theirs.’ She gestured to the crowd.

  Anju smiled. ‘So what? Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. You’ve come a long way from . . . wherever you were before. And you fought hard to get there. I can tell.’ She placed her hand on Lila’s knee. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not who you are now.’

  Lila felt a near electric charge from Anju’s hand, the warmth penetrating through her jeans. She looked up, straight into Anju’s eyes. ‘Who am I now?’

  Lila would think back on this moment, try to remember who had moved in first. She couldn’t remember, didn’t know. Sometimes it had felt like her, others like Anju. Most of the time it had felt mutual, both at the exactly the same time. But the result was the same. They kissed. Long and with increasing passion, hands gripping the other’s body, each pulling the other towards them, getting as close as the car would allow. Lila’s heart hammering like it was about to explode, shaking from everything. Fear, lust, desire, love. And things she couldn’t name too.

  Eventually they pulled apart. Eyes wide, chests heaving, as though they had both run marathons. Both still staring at each other.

  ‘That’s who you are now,’ Anju said eventually.

  Lila just stared. Couldn’t find any words.

  From out of the corner of her eye she saw the gate open, the mass of visitors move forwards.

  ‘You’d better go,’ Anju told her.

  Lila nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t move.

  ‘Quick, before they shut the gate.’

  She nodded, got out of the car, closed the door, her movements seemingly done by someone else.

  She made her way to the gate. The words, questions, in her head bursting like fireworks before they could properly form.

  She tried to pull herself together. Prepare herself to see Tom.

  31

  ‘Visitor. Off your arse, come on. Lucky you’re about to go back to the wing. Wouldn’t normally be allowed this.’

  Tom was still on the seg block when the door opened and an officer stood there. He was barely squeezed into his uniform, more angry bovine than human, face like a shaved bull, ready to charge at the merest excuse of a red rag. Tom stood up slowly, not wanting to do anything that could be misconstrued as a violent attack. This guy wasn’t just ready, he was hoping for it.

  ‘Out here.’

  Tom left the cell.

  ‘Face the wall.’

  Tom did so. The officer locked his cell door, turned to open the door off the wing.

  ‘Go on.’

  Tom walked through it, waited at the other side.

  ‘Get moving.

  He did as he was told, not minding the deliberate dignity-sapping instructions. This is it, he thought. Sheridan’s come through. He had to stop himself from smiling as he walked.

  They reached the visitor’s room.

  ‘Face the wall.’

  Tom did so.

  The door was opened.

  ‘Go on, then.’

  Tom scanned the room. Strip lit from above and painted a colour of green that only existed in institutionally depressing paint charts, it had official posters on the walls warning of expected penalties for smuggling contraband, breaking contact laws or attempting to pass gifts. Everyone sat at tables, leaned in, hunched together, trying to create invisible bubbles of privacy. Wives, parents and children desperately trying to reconnect with increasingly distant husbands, fathers and sons. Like the most depressing restaurant ever. Officers took the place of waiters, watched and listened. Reminded everyone where they were. Not that anyone would forget.

  Tom’s heart sank. He couldn’t see Sheridan.

  Then he saw who was there.

  Lila.

  And a completely different set of emotions overtook him.

  She looked up, smiled. No, beamed. So pleased to see him. She stood up as he approached, attracting the attention of a prowling officer. She hugged him.

  The guard broke them up. ‘Come on, enough of that.’

  They both sat down at either side of their table, just like everyone else. Tom’s initial euphoria at seeing her drained swiftly away. He didn’t want her to see him like this. In here. Subjugated. Powerless. It was like something had shifted inside her too, like she was experiencing something similar.

  They both gave each other tentative smiles, both not wanting to be the first to speak. Unsure how to proceed.

  ‘So here you are, then,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Yep. Here I am.’

  ‘So . . . how you doing? At home. Everywhere.’ Like English was no longer his first language.

  ‘Fine, yeah.’ A nod and a quick look round. Hoping no one was listening in, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone else. Not sure she could believe she was actually here. Then trying for honesty. ‘Missing you.’

  The words hurt as much as he had expected. Reminding him why he hadn’t been in touch with her. He tried another smile. It didn’t disguise what was in his eyes. ‘You too.’ Then, bef
ore either of them could linger on that, he went on. ‘How’s things at home? You managing?’

  ‘Yeah. Pearl’s moved in.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Good. Company for each other.’

  ‘Yeah. We’re getting on OK. She’s . . . OK. Yeah.’

  ‘I’m glad. I hope you two can be friends.’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Almost a smile. ‘We watch films together. The kind I can’t watch with you.’

  Tom smiled. Easier this time. ‘Stuff about bursting into song over dying boyfriends?’

  ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah. And she’s managed to get the wifi set up. Got me into Riverdale and Glow on Netflix. And Dynasty.’

  ‘I take it back,’ said Tom, properly smiling now, ‘she’s a horrible person and you shouldn’t be friends with her.’

  Lila laughed. The moment passed and died away to nothing. Silence fell once more.

  ‘How did you get here?’ asked Tom. ‘Did Pearl drive you? Why didn’t she come in?’

  ‘No, I got a lift from someone at college. A friend.’

  Tom picked up an undertone to Lila’s words. ‘A friend?’

  Lila looked away, eyes down to the right. ‘Yeah. A friend.’

  Tom picked up on the gesture, what it meant. ‘What’s he like?’ He smiled as he spoke.

  Lila glanced up, then away again. ‘She.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  Tom stared. So much he wanted to ask her but knew this wasn’t the right time. Then arrows of sadness and regret. Anger. He should be at home with her, looking after her. Listening to her, trying to guide her. The pair of them getting ready for Christmas next month. Not here in this place.

  ‘You look like you’ve been in a fight.’

  Startled, her words brought him out of his reverie. ‘Oh. Yeah. Nothing serious.’ Playing it down. Knowing she wouldn’t be convinced.

  Her look told him she wasn’t.

  ‘It’s a harsh environment. It doesn’t mean anything. You’ve just got to stand your ground. Not get pushed around.’

  Lila sighed. ‘I worry about you in here.’

  Tom tried to smile the worry away. ‘You should see the other fella.’

  ‘No thanks.’