He nodded. Another silence.
‘Miss you.’ She sighed. ‘It’s not the same without you at home.’
‘But you can watch Dynasty.’
‘Yeah, but it would still be better if you were there.’ She was trembling behind her words. Tom realised that being here with him was hitting her harder than she had expected.
‘It’s not going to be long now. Don’t worry. OK? I’ll just . . .’ He glanced round, conscious of ears everywhere. ‘It won’t take me long now. I’m getting close. I’ll get that done and . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Come home.’
She nodded, eyes down. He couldn’t tell how convinced she was by his words but he could guess. Not as convinced as he wanted her to be but desperately wanting to believe.
She looked directly at him and the fear, the pain was no longer hidden in her features. Tom’s heart went out to her but he had to keep it together. She was the one walking out of here, not him. He didn’t want to take all that back into a cell with him. Couldn’t.
‘How’s everything else at home?’ he asked again, not sure what else to say as everything felt unsure.
‘I’m still going to college.’
‘And you’ve a got a new friend. So everything’s OK?’
‘Yeah. Well, you know.’ Lila leaned forwards, suspicious. ‘Why?’
‘Has anyone been around to the house?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Remember, I told you and Pearl that I’d asked someone to keep an eye out? On the pair of you, on the house. Just in case, you know, anyone came along trying to poke holes in my story.’
‘So you’re asking if I’ve seen anyone suspicious.’
‘Well, I—’
‘Yes.’
Fear came suddenly into Tom’s eyes. ‘What?’
‘This biker was at the top of the hill the other day. Said he couldn’t get his bike started but it worked first time. I watched him leave. Haven’t seen him since.’
‘What did he look like, this biker?’
‘Tall, good looking. Nice leather jacket. Big boots. Black guy.’
Tom eased slightly. Sat back, a small smile on his face.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘That’s Quint. He’s the old mate that I asked to keep an eye on you both. And the house.’
‘Well he’s pretty shit at it because I spotted him straight away. Crap liar. Bike’s not working. Jesus.’
Tom smiled. ‘You’re good, aren’t you?’
‘Yep.’
A bell rang. ‘Time’s up,’ shouted a guard.
They looked at each other, their faces unable to hide their respective sadness.
‘Don’t give you long, do they?’ said Lila.
‘Never long enough.’
The guards walked round the tables, forced goodbyes, checked for contraband. Some seemed genuinely sorry to be intruding in private moments, some seemed to enjoy it.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Tom. ‘Thank you for coming. I mean it.’
‘Pleasure.’ Lila realised what she had said. ‘Well not a . . . well, you know what I mean.’
He smiled. ‘I know. It’s helped me, seeing you. Thank you.’
She gave a sad smile. They embraced under the watchful eye of a guard.
‘Won’t be long now,’ he told her.
Lila nodded, trying to keep tears at bay. Then turned and made her way to the door.
Tom tried not to watch her go. Instead he walked to the doorway, ready to re-enter the main body of the prison, queued up alongside everyone else.
Tried, like everyone else, to keep his face as devoid of emotion as possible.
32
The Double Locks Inn stood on the Exeter Ship Canal. An old red brick pub, the kind of destination cyclists and walkers made for during the summer. Accessible by foot or cycle path from the quay, an easy-going place where people would while away sunny afternoons, drink beer, eat home-cooked food and let their dogs splash about in the canal. Still technically walkable from the centre of the city but due to the silence and surrounding greenery, it felt out in the countryside, far from anywhere.
Winter nights were different. The trees and bushes denuded, now screeds of arthritic branches gnarled against the darkening sky. No walkers. No dogs. The only cyclists those pedalling home late from work. Approaching by car spoiled the rural idyll. A drive round a warren-like industrial estate, then avoiding the potholes to cross a rusted, narrow metal bridge, the plates clanging and loosening further with the weight of each vehicle, down a minimally surfaced road to reach the pub.
Sheridan pulled his car into a shadowed corner of the uneven gravelled car park, turned off the engine. Sat there, unmoving. He and Blake had arranged to meet to discuss what Harmer had told them. Somewhere neutral, well away from the eyes and ears of Middlemoor.
He never thought his career would come to this. Secret meetings in pub car parks, with his own colleagues. Yes, this kind of thing happened with CIs and others, but not fellow officers. It just wasn’t right. We’re supposed to be better than them, he thought. We have the moral high ground, we shouldn’t need to engage in this murky cloak and dagger kind of stuff.
When he had graduated from the academy he had felt bright, shining. Like the Christians would say, born again. So eager to fight crime, to make a difference, keep the streets safe, the first few weeks as a probationary constable were the happiest of his life. He might have annoyed his superiors, his peers even, with his earnestness, but that didn’t matter in the long run. He just hoped some of his enthusiasm rubbed off on them, inspired them to try harder at their jobs. And he had hoped, as he continued with his career, that feeling would continue. That he would never become disenchanted.
But he soon saw things, experienced things that were so far out of his field of reference that all of his beliefs were challenged. When he witnessed first-hand as a uniform the depths to which one human being was capable of sinking in order to damage another, the shine soon wore off. Especially as he saw it repeatedly. He was then faced with a choice: go along with it, become like everyone else on the force, accepting of the status quo and develop coping strategies to get through every shift, or declare it wrong and fight against it. Keep that part of himself shining. He chose the more difficult way.
And he still believed it had been the right thing to do. Even now, sitting in this car park. Whatever happened, no matter how unpleasant, how repulsive, he would always find something within himself to keep going. To not accept things as they were, to use his position to make things better. He completely believed that. And to prove it, lived this personal creed every day.
A knock on his window jolted him from his reverie.
He looked up. There was Blake, leaning down. She gestured for him to get out. He did so, locking the car behind him.
‘Have you just got here?’ he asked.
‘I saw you arrive. Came over to get you when you didn’t emerge. Come on.’ She turned, walked towards the pub. He followed.
A corridor with bare, uneven wooden floorboards gave way to a tiny bar with a fire roaring in one corner. The few people drinking inside barely looked up as they entered. Blake looked at the bar.
‘What you having?’
‘Sparkling water, please.’
She gave him a quizzical look.
‘I’m driving.’
‘One won’t hurt.’
He shook his head, personal credo still intact. ‘Sparkling water, please.’
She went to the bar, returned with a glass of red wine for herself and a bottle of sparkling water for him. Sat down opposite. ‘Cheers,’ she said.
She had changed her clothes from work, he noticed, and she looked very different. Now dressed all in black; tight jeans, boots, zip-up leather jacket with a scarf coiled round her neck. Heavy make-up. He had never seen her dressed like this before. He still wore his work suit, padded anorak over the top. He looked at his watch.
‘Let’s talk.’
She moved in
, head close to his. They looked, he imagined, like a couple having an affair before returning home to their respective partners. He tried straightening up, not wanting to give that impression, but she spoke so quietly he had no choice but to lean in to join her.
‘So. What are we going to do?’
Blake sighed. Nodded wearily to herself as if she been thinking hard, reached a conclusion. ‘Well, first I’ve got something to tell you. Then we’ll take it from there.’ She took a mouthful of red wine. His water was untouched. It was only set dressing so he could sit in a pub and not look out of place. He didn’t think it was fair to come into somewhere that made a living by selling drinks and not buy one.
‘I was a uniform up in Manchester when Foley was arrested.’
‘What? But how did—’
‘Just listen, Nick. I was on the scene the night he was busted. The night that Mick Eccleston sold him out.’
‘You were there?’ Sheridan couldn’t believe what he was hearing, or why he was only hearing this now. ‘Why have you never told me this before?’
‘I told Harmer. It was his call whether he told you or not. Apparently he didn’t think you needed to know.’
‘But—’
‘Just listen, please. I was there when Foley was arrested. And when the two million quid went missing. For a while we thought it was going to throw the trial, that we wouldn’t get a conviction. But Eccleston’s testimony was more than enough to put him away.’
‘And you thought it was Killgannon, I mean Eccleston? Why?’
‘He was the logical suspect. The last one seen with it. But he was thoroughly investigated, and it seemed he was clean. He was at a loss to explain it as well. Claimed he had followed the chain of evidence with it back to the station. I don’t know. Emotions were running high that night. It was a big bust. Would have been easy for something to slip through the cracks. Eventually we had to let it go. And it’s never turned up.’
‘So what has this got to do with what’s happening now?’
‘I’m getting to that.’ Another sip of wine. ‘You see, there was another guy undercover in Foley’s operation that Eccleston didn’t know about.’
‘Witness N. I found that in Harmer’s files.’
She nodded, a small smile playing across her lips. ‘Right. And his career ended that night. He crashed the car he was driving trying to get away from the bust – on the orders of Foley’s lieutenants – and bang. That was the end of that for him.’ She sighed. ‘He took the force to court for substantial damages but they fucked him over. He refused out of court settlements, expected a big pay-off. He lost. Got nothing. Not even his pension.’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Sheridan.
‘Who said anything about life being fair?’ Another mouthful of wine. ‘They dropped him. Not even a handshake. He tried to get work. But it was difficult. So long story short, he dug out all his old acquaintances from working with Foley. Went back to work with them. It was easy work, strong-arm, violence, extortion. But he got nicked. And sent down. For a long, long time.’
‘I’m sure he deserved it,’ said Sheridan.
Blake smiled. ‘Everything’s black and white to you, isn’t it?’
‘It has to be. There’s good and bad. We’re the good guys, they’re the bad guys. We behave in a better way. We set an example. If an officer turns to the bad side I’ve got no sympathy. He deserves everything coming to him. We should be better than that. Have you read a writer called Ayn Rand?’
She shook her head, amused. ‘No, and I’m not about to. Anyway, this guy who according to you should have known better was eventually transferred to Blackmoor and reunited with Foley.’
She sat back, looked at Sheridan, waited for him to speak. Sheridan just looked confused. ‘So . . . what does that have to do with what we were talking about?’
‘Everything. Because . . .’ She leaned forwards once more, fingers toying with the stem of her glass, a look on her face that Sheridan could only describe as seductive. He had never seen her like this before. The straight-faced almost angry coworker was gone. This was a completely different person who sat in front of him.
‘Because,’ she continued, ‘this is where you come in. You see, that guy in prison, the one you have no sympathy for, is an old friend of mine. We came through the academy together. Even had a bit of a thing going at one time. Both wildly ambitious, both on our way to the top. We were the golden couple. And now look at us. He’s where he is, I’m playing second fiddle to you.’
The way she spoke that final word couldn’t have sounded worse if it was the harshest swear word Sheridan had ever heard. He just stared at her.
‘You play everything by the book, and that’s your trouble. No imagination.’ The words angry, hushed, at odds with the flirtatious smile and body language she was presenting to the rest of the bar. ‘You believe in fair play. And because of that, you expect everyone else around you to as well. Don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. You know I do.’
‘You would never believe another copper would go behind your back, have secret meetings with her boss. Would you?’
‘No.’ His voice full of sadness more than anger. ‘No I wouldn’t.’
‘Well I did. You see, I moved down here to kickstart my career. I became a DC but I don’t think there’s much higher I can go on the ladder. Not on this force. And time’s running out for me. So I went to see Harmer. Had a word. Well, more than a word, actually. He’s easily flattered, our boss. Especially by a pretty young officer, telling him how brilliant he is . . .’
Sheridan’s throat was dry. He wished he could drink his water but his hands wouldn’t move. ‘You slept with him.’
She nodded. ‘Not much sleeping went on.’
‘But . . . do you find him attractive?’
‘That’s not the point. He finds me attractive and that’s enough. Way it works, Nick.’
‘So . . . what has this to do with our operation to get Cunningham to talk?’
‘You think that’s what this is all about? You poor, deluded man, Nick.’
‘Well, what then?’
‘It was never about that. It was always about the money, Nick. That missing two million. You see, I’m a good copper. No matter what you think of me. I’ve got good instincts. And they’re never wrong. I think Eccleston, or Tom Killgannon, or whatever he’s calling himself, now has it. I’ve always thought that and every year that goes by and it never turns up, I’m more and more convinced. So the next step was simple. I heard about the trouble in St Petroc a few months ago and recognised Killgannon as Eccleston straight away. So, I thought what if we can get Killgannon into prison next to Foley and Foley can persuade him to give up that money? I did my homework. Found out Cunningham was in there, wanting to confess to the right person in exchange for seeing his dear old mum again before she pops off. And of course Harmer came to see it the same way. The cherry on top, though, was putting you in charge. Because when the whole thing went tits up – as it’s going to do – you’d take the blame, possibly a demotion and I wouldn’t have to care about my career because I’d have enough money to invest in my future. Foley would see to that. And that would have been that.’ She sighed. ‘But you had to find out about it, didn’t you? The one incorruptible copper on the force. Don’t suppose there’s any point in offering you a cut?’
Sheridan sat there, unable to move. He felt like his whole world had been rocked off its axis. He couldn’t find the thoughts, the words, to express what he was feeling.
‘Thought not.’
He looked round the bar, couldn’t believe that the night was still going on as it had before, that nothing seismic had happened around him to match what had happened inside.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ asked Blake, taking another mouthful of wine.
‘I . . .’ What was he going to do now? He had to think. Sit quietly, let his inner moral compass find true north once more before he could even speak, let alone
make his mind up. ‘I don’t know what I can do . . .’
She took another mouthful of wine, drained the glass. ‘I’m empty. Time to go.’ She didn’t move. ‘But before I do, I need to know where we stand. What are you going to do about what I’ve just told you?’
He just stared at her.
She shook her head, stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s talk about this outside. Maybe the fresh air’ll wake you up.’
She put her arm within his, snuggled into him as they walked out together.
Through the door the cold wind hit them like ice. Sheridan looked around. Confused, like he had just woken from a dream.
‘Let’s walk to the car.’
Still arm in arm, she walked him through the dark night down to the unlit car park, their feet crunching on gravel the only sound. They reached his car.
‘So,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye, ‘What are you going to do? Have you made up your mind?’
He looked at her face, like she was slowly coming into focus. And with that, so was his mind. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know what I’m going to do. There’s no point talking to Harmer if you’re both in it together. I’ll find someone who’ll believe me. You two won’t be on the force anymore and Killgannon’ll be out like a shot. I would never have been party to this if I’d known.’ His voice had become stronger as he spoke. He was finding that shining part of himself once more. Being true to it like a good police officer should. Being better than the bad guys. Even if the bad guys turn out to be female colleagues.
Blake looked sad for a few seconds. ‘Oh, that is a shame, Nick. I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.’
Sheridan had found his voice. ‘You knew I would never agree with you, so why tell me all this in the first place?’
‘Because you found out about Foley, Nick. I really didn’t want you to find out. Honestly, I didn’t. For your sake, I mean.’
‘What d’you mean, for my sake?’
‘Because there’s no going back, now. Sorry.’
Sheridan was about to ask her what she meant by that but he didn’t get the chance. Unseen by him, a tall, black man wearing an expensive leather jacket detached himself from the shadows and stepped up behind him, put a restraining arm around his neck, pushed him onto the roof of the car, placed a silent automatic against the back of his ribcage, pulled the trigger and blew his heart away.
The Sinner Page 16