by Simon Mason
Garvie nodded. ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘Do you know what?’ he said, ‘I probably don’t need to talk to him any more, so—’
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Here he is now.’
Headlights swivelled in front of the bungalow, and the shape of a Nissan Primera came jolting onto the gravel turnaround, and Paul Tanner got out and stood there in silhouette staring up at Garvie.
He rolled his shoulders a little, and came up the path.
49
Before Garvie could say anything Tanner’s wife called to him, ‘Lad here wants to talk to you about Damon. I was just saying you’ll have been at the casino.’
Paul Tanner stood there, looking at Garvie. Garvie noticed things about him, how tall he was, slim like Damon but more powerfully built, pale with dark stubble – like Joel – on his jaw and upper lip.
‘I can come back if you like,’ Garvie said.
Tanner looked at him. ‘No time like the present.’
He ushered Garvie down the hallway to a room at the back. It had glass-panelled French windows with views of the garden and countryside beyond, pitch-dark now. Toys of various kinds filled bright plastic cartons along the walls. There was an ironing board with a pile of clothes on it.
Garvie sat in a low easy chair and Tanner sat on a hard chair opposite. Tanner’s wife put her head round to say she was leaving.
Tanner nodded. ‘Stay out of trouble,’ he said, and she blew him a kiss.
Then there was only the slam of the front door and the grumble of car noise receding down the track before rural silence settled in.
Tanner looked at his watch. ‘How long’s this going to take?’ he said.
Garvie watched him for a moment. ‘How long will it take you to work out how dangerous I am?’
Tanner laughed. ‘You’re just a kid. You’re not dangerous.’
Garvie ignored him. ‘I think it’ll be quick,’ he said. ‘Quick chat about Joel. How you killed him. After that, Damon. How you killed him too.’
There was a slow beat of silence in the room. Tanner screwed up his face, blew out his cheeks. He said, ‘You must be out of your mind.’
‘Let’s pretend I’m not. It’ll save time. So. You met Joel at the Ballyhoo that night, didn’t you, and he lost it ’cause you hadn’t brought the money.’
‘I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘You’re a smurf. Play the slots at Imperium every night, wearing your lucky HEAT beanie, laundering the Winders’ dirty money. Problem was, when Joel started working there he must have recognized you from the Y.O. Hadn’t trusted you then, didn’t trust you now. So he did a bit of snooping in Accounts. And when he was sure, he named his price for looking the other way.’
Tanner gave a brief laugh, shook his head. ‘Nonsense.’
‘It was, yeah. And the next bit of nonsense was this. You didn’t pay. Result: he laid into you outside the casino. Result: he got sacked. Result of that:
Mr Angry. Mr Angry told you to meet him in Market Square. Nice quiet, public place where you could hand over the cash. The riot changed all that, didn’t it? What happened? Did he go for you again? Things get out of hand in that alley? Fortunately, you’d taken protection.’
‘All nonsense.’
‘Yeah. Starring Damon, King of Nonsense. Flaky boy floating by, doing what he does best, getting mixed up in what he shouldn’t. Perfect timing with all those police about, arresting everyone, and you with a murder weapon in your hand. Simple: you wrap it up in your beanie and hand it over, and stroll off without a care in the world.’
Tanner laughed. ‘Why would he take it off me?’
‘’Cause he trusted you. ’Cause you needed him to. ’Cause on the Y.O. you were his mentor, weren’t you, his hand-round-the-shoulder man, the man he looked up to, trusted, would have done anything for. His soul mate.’
There was a silence then. A flicker of something in Tanner’s face.
Garvie said, ‘Takes less than an instant to make up your mind to do something for someone you love, someone you trust. Damon took the gun from you, no questions asked. Just like Amy took it from him an hour later. Shows they’re a thousand per cent better than you are.’
Tanner shook his head. But his eyes were hard.
Garvie said, ‘It went wrong straightaway, though, didn’t it? You hadn’t expected Damon to pass the gun on to Amy, and by the time you caught up with him it was done. Suddenly, things were out of your control. You tried to get it back that night, in the woods, but you ran into Rex and Amy got away. You tried again at Red ’n’ Black. And then in Town Road when you attacked Amy to get Joel’s Imperium records.’
Tanner stood up. ‘All right. You’ve had your say. Now you can fuck off.’
‘Sure?’
‘I told you. You’re not dangerous at all. You’ve got nothing.’
Garvie considered this. He said, ‘Couldn’t find the beanie in the outhouse, could you? My mate found it. It’s got your DNA on it. There’s a croupier at Imperium will testify you were the man fighting with Joel, and a smart little kid in Pirrip Street who’ll recognize you as the frightening guy Damon left a note for. There’s a maroon hoodie out there in your laundry basket you wore when you pretended to be Damon picking up the phone in town, trying to throw Singh off the scent. Oh, and by the way, there’s the CCTV footage from the roof of the multistorey.’
There was a pause.
Tanner shook his head. ‘No camera,’ he said.
‘Not covering the roof where Damon was,’ Garvie said. ‘But round the other side, where that other roof door is. Oh, did you miss it?’
Tanner’s face changed now, darkened.
‘Thing is,’ Garvie went on, ‘I got to thinking of my last conversation with Damon, just a few minutes before he died. He said something odd at the end. “Here it comes.” I thought he was talking about what he was going to do. But I think I misheard. What he said was: “Here he comes.” He’d caught sight of you, coming across the multistorey roof towards him.’
Tanner stared at him for a long moment. He said quietly, ‘You’re not dangerous. You’re stupid.’
Garvie shook his head. ‘I’m angry.’
Tanner didn’t take his eyes off him or change expression. ‘Give me your phone.’
Garvie hesitated, then took it out and handed it to him.
Tanner scrolled through the call log, dropped it on the floor and trod on it. ‘Who knows you’re here?’ he asked.
‘Oh, lots of people. My mother, for instance. Damon’s girlfriend, and her mother. Livia Drusilla at Imperium, her boyfriend, dozens of others, my mate Smudge, the man at the corner shop, why not. Oh, and the police of course. They’ll be here any second. What do you think? Do I look like I’m good with people?’
Tanner said nothing. Turning, he walked out of the room and locked the door behind him.
At once Garvie got up and tried the French windows. They were locked. The other windows were locked too, and all the keys had been removed and put away somewhere, and after a few moments going round the room searching he went to the door and listened. Faintly, he heard the sound of Tanner speaking to someone on his phone. He went back to his chair and waited.
Several minutes went by. Tanner returned.
‘I told work I’m going to be a bit late.’
He was wearing thicker boots, steel-capped, and gloves, and he stood there looking at Garvie.
He said, ‘You think you’re smart, but I’m smarter than you.’
‘And much more violent, of course,’ Garvie said. ‘Been working out with those barbells. The way you came after us in Red ’n’ Black. The way you attacked Amy. The way you pushed Damon off the roof.’
‘I didn’t push him,’ Tanner said. ‘He jumped. He couldn’t face me.’ He was breathing heavily now. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘I didn’t dislike Damon. He just wasn’t smart enough to look after himself. And you know what? You’re the same.’
‘That’s what they call in maths
a false proposition.’
‘No one knows you’re here. My wife’s got a terrible memory. You just got yourself into trouble.’
‘One of us did for sure,’ Garvie said. ‘But not me.’
There was a sudden loud banging on the door at the front of the bungalow, and Singh’s voice called out, ‘Garvie!’
Tanner looked at him, bewildered, and Garvie took out a phone from his jacket pocket and showed it to him. ‘Always check for the second phone,’ he said. ‘Do you want to have that conversation about stupidity now?’
Tanner lost it. He lunged for him, but Garvie got himself on the other side of the ironing board.
There was the sound of splintering wood down the hall.
‘’Cause you’re so smart,’ Garvie said, ‘you’ll know that the only result of chasing me round the ironing board is to give Singh enough time to get in here and make the arrest.’
Tanner shifted suddenly, and Garvie went the other way.
‘Best thing you can do is get out of it, fast as you can. The French windows are locked, but the key’s hidden under the plant pot on the windowsill over there. It’s pitch-dark outside, and it’s not far to the woods across the field, so there’s a reasonable chance you could get there before Singh can catch up with you.’
Tanner grabbed hold of the ironing board, and Garvie grabbed hold of the other side of it.
‘Course,’ he said, ‘it might be you’re not so smart after all.’
Tanner’s face twisted until it was unrecognizable. There was another crash from the front of the building, and staggering footsteps in the hall, and he spun away towards the windowsill.
By the time Singh had forced his way through the back-room door, Tanner had disappeared into the darkness of the garden outside. Singh ran panting over to Garvie, who stood by the French windows.
‘Are you all right?’
‘He broke my second-best phone,’ Garvie said. ‘I hope he falls and twists his ankle really badly.’
Singh moved towards the open French windows. ‘Stay here.’
‘Wait,’ Garvie said, peering out into the darkness. ‘Something’s wrong.’
‘What?’
‘If he was making for the woods he would have gone that way.’
He found a light switch on the wall on the other side of the windows and the bungalow garden was instantly flooded with white light. Tanner stepped out from behind a water butt unwrapping something.
And faced them with a gun in his hand.
Singh shouted out, but Tanner sneered and turned away and took aim at Garvie.
‘You fucking smart-arse,’ he said in a hiss.
He fired.
It made a deafening noise like a slap on the ear with an agonizing echo and aftermath of crashing arms and legs as Singh flew sideways, in front of Garvie, and smashed into the ironing board.
A spray of blood spritzed across Garvie’s shirt.
Clothes fell onto Singh’s face, where he lay still.
Now there was only Tanner and Garvie.
They faced each other, the boy inside the window, the man in the garden outside pointing the gun towards him, suspended together in the moment before whatever moment was about to happen.
Then there was a small intrusion of movement in the opposite corner of the garden, and Dowell appeared, gun first.
‘Throw it down,’ he said to Tanner as he edged forward. He held his gun in front of him.
Tanner hesitated only an instant before spinning to face him, and Dowell came to a halt, and they stood there pointing their guns at each other, watched by Garvie.
‘Gun down,’ Dowell said softly in his Scots growl. ‘Now.’
Tanner said nothing. It looked like he was shaking too badly to speak. All his composure was gone – his face was shockingly pale, a vein sticking out at the side of his head. But he made no move to give up his gun.
They stared at each other intently.
Dowell took another cautious step forward and Tanner jerked up his gun to point it at his face, and Dowell stopped again.
There was a moment of silence, then another moment.
Slowly Dowell bent down and placed his own gun on the grass.
‘There,’ he said quietly. ‘Now give me your gun.’
Tanner said nothing. Jerked a little. Held the gun as steady as he could, pointing it at Dowell.
Dowell took a step towards him. ‘I’m going to come over to you now,’ he said, not moving his eyes from Tanner’s, ‘nice and slow, and you’re going to give me the gun, and no one’s going to get hurt.’
Tanner worked his mouth. His lips moved.
‘Bob,’ he croaked. ‘Get back.’
Dowell came on slowly. One step. Then another.
‘Back,’ Tanner said more loudly.
‘Easy,’ Dowell said. ‘Easy. No one gets hurt here.’
He was only a pace or two in front of Tanner now; he could have reached out and snatched the gun, but he took another step instead, and stood there with his chest against the muzzle of Tanner’s gun, holding out his good hand. And as he lowered his gun Tanner began to cry.
‘Thank you,’ Dowell said softly.
Then something went wrong. It happened in a jerk, like a glitch in a video. Dowell shouted, ‘No!’ The gun was in Dowell’s hand, then Tanner was grabbing at it, it squirmed up between them like a piece of wet soap and there was a shot, then another, and they fell squashed together onto the lawn, and struggled there a moment until Tanner stopped moving.
Dowell got to his feet, moving sluggishly as if underwater, already bleeding from a wound in his arm, and began to talk into a microphone on his collar. His eyes, full of pain and hostility, met Garvie’s as he talked.
Garvie crouched by Singh who lay in the complicated mess of the ironing board, very still. His lips were slightly open, eyes closed. His uniform trousers were wet with blood from thigh to ankle. As Garvie watched, the eyelids fluttered once and he looked up, and when he tightened his grip Garvie realized that he was holding the policeman’s hand.
Singh winced, moved his eyes slightly.
Garvie said, ‘What the hell did you do that for? You could have been killed.’
Singh gave a faint smile. ‘I promised your mother,’ he whispered.
‘Sounds like a strategic error to me.’
‘We are our errors,’ Singh said quietly and fainted again.
Dowell was talking outside, radio crackling. Sirens sounded, faraway. Garvie continued to hold Singh’s hand.
50
In the living room of number 12 Eastwick Gardens Uncle Len put down the newspaper. On the front page was a picture of Detective Inspector Bob Dowell wearing two slings and a stiff-eyed expression. It was the second time in a month Dowell had received a wound in the line of duty, but it was his privilege, he said in an uplifting commentary, to serve the city in safeguarding it from violent criminals such as Paul Tanner, who had suffered a fatal wound as he resisted arrest.
It was the fifth day since Tanner’s death and the papers had not yet tired of it.
‘The situation was messy, I agree,’ Singh said to Uncle Len, from where he lay on the sofa, leg up, ‘but Dowell took great personal risk. He showed remarkable bravery. If he hadn’t tackled Tanner it’s probable the man would have done worse, and perhaps got away. He was desperate. He knew he was looking at a very severe sentence.’
‘You took an extraordinary risk yourself,’ Uncle Len said. ‘You weren’t even armed. You could have come away with much more than a flesh wound.’ He turned to Garvie, sitting on the carpet with his back against the wall, and considered him for a while. ‘And what sort of risk did you take?’ he asked his nephew. ‘Going on your own to his house.’
‘Me? No risk at all. The man was a dunce.’
Garvie’s mother said, ‘Your smart-alec rudeness must have made him stupid.’
‘I cannot agree with Garvie about the risk,’ Singh said. ‘But I will say this. It is because of Garvie that the truth about
Tanner came out. Tanner had hidden himself well. He even fooled me into thinking he was Damon with that business of the phone being picked up from outside the station. And as for that final evening, Garvie texted me twice, once when he found the maroon hoodie, and again when Tanner left the room. And kept Tanner talking long enough for me to get there. I think we must acknowledge these things.’
Uncle Len said, ‘What Garvie has to acknowledge is that you saved his life, Raminder.’
‘Tanner wasn’t a very good shot,’ Garvie said. ‘I expect he would have missed me altogether and no one need’ve got hurt.’
He avoided their looks.
Uncle Len said, ‘What happens now, Raminder?’
Singh wasn’t sure what posthumous verdicts would be handed down on Tanner. CCTV footage from the camera on the building adjacent to the multistorey had shown him arriving on the roof a few minutes before Damon fell to his death. Further forensic tests on the beanie revealed that the unidentified DNA on the HEAT beanie was indeed Tanner’s. Livia Drusilla’s testimony would be taken into account. So too Garvie’s. Best of all, Garvie had recorded his conversation with Tanner on his second phone. But the investigations into the deaths of Watkins and Damon would now feed into the more wide-ranging investigation into the Winders’ money-laundering at Imperium. It appeared already that Tanner had links to a criminal network who evidently had used him in their efforts to clean their dirty money.
‘It will be a slow process,’ Singh said. ‘I’m not directly involved. Also I am invalided for the next month. And anyway,’ he added, ‘I am still facing a potential action for negligence over the failure to prevent the death of Damon Walsh.’
‘What about that fellow PJ?’
One Shot had looked again into the pilfering and had belatedly concluded that PJ was responsible. But the man had disappeared. The police had visited PJ’s garage in the woods and had found it boarded up.
‘He’s gone,’ Singh said. ‘I don’t know where. Garvie?’
‘Looking for himself, I expect. He’s a bit of a lost child.’