‘Shit.’
He apologised for the language and headed downstairs again. Water came third to another glimpse out the window and a double-check that the front and back doors were locked. For a silly moment he considered staying up all night, in case a group of killers was right now riding his way, weaponed up like a SWAT team. But what could he do, fight them off with a broomstick? Besides, they might come tomorrow night, when he’d be unable to prevent himself dropping off to sleep.
‘Besides, she’s full of shit,’ he said aloud, unable to contain his frustration.
‘What?’ Katie called down.
‘Nothing,’ he said when he returned to the bedroom. He handed over the water and undressed, but left his boxer shorts on – to save the ambulance crew some embarrassment, his mind joked. He got into bed, and Katie switched off the bedside lamp. She pulled him close so his chest pressed against her warm back. That was a comfort he needed now it was pitch-black.
‘You’re cold,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I set the Sky Box to record something for you. That cage fighting event you like.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied. He loved how thoughtful she was, even recording the sports events she couldn’t stand herself. ‘And you’re my big hot water bottle.’
As he lay in bed, he hoped this was all some scam after all. He’d love to get to the shop tomorrow and find Liz and all his stock gone. But then he had a worrying thought: what if her crime boss husband got angry because Karl had dumped Liz to fend on her own? Perhaps he should take her home tomorrow after all? His mind was all over the place.
‘Remember you’re back early tomorrow to take me for my nails.’
‘Yeah. Twelve o’clock. Hair last week and nails tomorrow. You start buying new underwear and I want a paternity test.’ That got him a heel kick in the shin.
His mind whirred. He pictured a scene: Grafton and his minions are in the middle of chopping up the guys who stormed their house, and Karl rolls up with Liz as the bin liners of body parts are being loaded into a van. Now he’s seen too much.
‘I ate your pie, I’m afraid. Cravings.’
‘It’s okay. Michael needs shot-put muscles.’
The wild thoughts tumbled. He worried that Grafton would thank him. He’d seen gangster films before, so he knew you didn’t turn down the generosity of the kingpins. And once you’d accepted what they gave you, you were in their pocket. Before he knew it, he’d be asked to make some dodgy delivery, or to hide a suspect package at his house, or to drive three hooded men to a bank and wait outside with the engine running.
‘Doctor Jane says night night.’
‘Night, Michael.’
Or Grafton thanks him and lets him go, just like that. But the police have the ganglord under surveillance, and now they’re very interested in the new player who just shook hands with him. He might get swept up when the cops take everyone down. Or other enemies could be watching, and they might decide Karl was one of Grafton’s men and needed carving up.
So, taking her home was out. Hopefully she’d be long gone, giving him no choice at all. But if she was still at the shop, he was going to drag her out into the street and be rid for ever.
‘I love you.’
One final scenario played out in his head. Karl rolls up with Liz, but Grafton, instead of being thankful, is suspicious. Accusations of sexual misconduct fly, and the minions fetch another bin bag. Love was a powerful force.
‘I love you, too,’ he replied.
Fourteen
Mac
Mac was driving home when he got a call from DC Cooper. Ramirez was adamant now that he’d been set up, but he’d turned his focus onto the police. His new defence: the cops had been into his attic, and they had taken his dog tag to plant at the scene of Grafton’s murder. He was screaming his new theory from his cell like a town crier.
Mac turned his car around. At the station, he haphazardly parked across a disabled spot and, much worse, his superintendent’s, and ran up the stairs. Ramirez didn’t get off his bunk when his cell door was opened, but he jumped to his feet when Mac walked in.
‘Jesus Christ. Of all the wankers. Macintosh, eh?’
‘McDevitt. I’m running this case.’ He sent away the uniform who’d unlocked the door. Normally not protocol to leave a high-ranking officer alone with a violent criminal, but an aggressive nature didn’t equal superhuman powers, and Mac had forearms as thick as the other man’s calves.
‘I know you,’ Ramirez said. ‘The takeaway thing way back. I remember you. I knew there was something booky about all this shit. It was your team of cunts back then, when my tag went walkies, and now you’re back with a new team of cunts, and my fucking tag is miraculously back. You fuckers planted that dog tag, just like I thought. Shit, man, let’s go tell that to my lawyer.’
He stepped forward, meaning to barge past the big cop, who was almost a foot taller. Mac grabbed him around the throat with one hand and pushed him back, hard. Ramirez staggered into his bunk, collapsed across it and banged his head on the wall beyond.
‘What the fuck?’ he yelled, clutching his skull.
Mac didn’t move from the doorway.
‘Stop swearing, Mr Ramirez, and stop using stupid gang slang in front of my officers. Now listen. Are you listening?’
‘You’re done for this, dickhead.’ He pulled a hand away to find fingers slick with blood. ‘This is your fucking job down the swanny. I should bust your other ear.’
McDevitt ignored the threat. ‘Shut your trap and listen to me. Maybe you didn’t kill Ronald Grafton, and maybe you did. If you lost your dog tag and someone planted it at the scene to frame you, it will soon come out. If you dropped it while you were cutting him to bits, it will soon come out. Are you still listening?’
Ramirez didn’t answer. But that meant the threats stopped, too.
‘But you will stop this lark about planted evidence. It muddies the water and gives everyone a headache. Say planted evidence again and I’ll spread the word to local hard boys that we’re looking closely at you for child molestation. Then I’ll have to lie to your bawling mum by saying I’ll do everything in my power to find out who strapped her son down and set a wild dog on his balls.’
They faced each other for a time, silent. Then Ramirez said: ‘Okay, since we’re off the fucking record here, answer me one question. Do you think it was me?’
‘You got arrested, Ramirez. That means there was some evidence, and people will remember that. Even if we convict someone else for it, people will still wonder if you did it. They’ll fear you. They’ll respect you. You’ll love it. Bear that in m—’
‘Hey. I said do you think it was me?’
‘And you slipped here today, right? Accusations of police brutality give everyone headaches, too.’
‘Me, yes or fucking no?’
‘The truth will out, Mr Ramirez. But let’s just say you’re an idiot skinny runt wannabe with an ego problem, and no idiot skinny runt wannabe could have done this to Grafton.’
Fifteen
Mick
Mick cursed almost all the way home, but mellowed a little when he started to think about Ronald Grafton. Specifically, his eyes. He dumped his bag of Grafton’s goodies in the hallway and turned off the light in his son’s bedroom. Then he called Brad.
‘The police are onto the Volvo,’ he snapped. ‘Tell me you two put that thing back in the garage, please?’
‘Yeah,’ Brad said. ‘Shit. Wait, if you have to ask that, it means they haven’t actually found it.’
‘Tell me you sterilised it?’
‘We sterilised it. Don’t worry. So they haven’t physically found it?’
Mick sighed. Pure relief. ‘Some interfering and helpful good citizen saw us driving near Grafton’s, that’s all. Got the reg. Called it in when he saw flashing blue lights around Grafton’s place. But if it’s sterile, we’re okay. No CCTV near that garage.’