‘You and him got a bigger share,’ Katie spat.
Now he looked up, pointing at Liz. ‘It was people like your husband who brought it out. Okay? Their ability to walk through the rain without getting wet. And I’m not just talking about murder or fraud, like the trial Ron just beat. People like him, they’ve got the clout and money to put up a fight, and the government always backs down. That’s what changed Mick. The law tied his hands, and it put people like your husband back on the streets. So, Mick didn’t respect the law in return. I don’t mean he turned corrupt. He wasn’t, at first. He didn’t fit up innocent people, or take bribes. How Mick put it once: he was bridging the gaps. Overstepping lines to do what was necessary. At least, that’s how it started. When he made DCI and got control of investigations, he came up with something he called the Loyalty Box. He kept incriminating evidence to force people to work for him. Some of that evidence was kept in order to take down the bigger fish. He was always working to put bad people away.’
‘How commendable,’ Liz said, full of scorn.
‘Is it really any different to how police informants work? Think of Mick’s people as informants who don’t get paid. That guy he sent to your shop, for instance. Król. Mick’s team searched his flat after an old Asian shopkeeper was stabbed. The knife was right there, but Mick secretly took it. That might seem like a bad move to you because Król didn’t go to prison for assault. But in Mick’s hands he’s given up two killers in the last few months. And he wasn’t paid. Two murders solved that wouldn’t have been if Mick hadn’t held that stabbing over Król. One of those guys, there was no evidence against him for murder, but the Loyalty Box got him for a burglary he had nothing to do with. The bottom line is that the guy is in prison and wouldn’t have been if not for Mick.’ Nobody looked impressed. Brad tossed his phone. Karl caught it.
‘What happens now?’ Karl said.
Brad looked at Katie. ‘I’m sorry I pushed you into Mick like that, and for tricking you. I know you’re pregnant, but there was no other way to get him off guard.’ He turned to Karl. ‘Start filming, Hitchcock. Show the cops. It’s all you’ll get. I’ll tell you what happened that night. I think you deserve that, daft as that might sound. Whatever. I’ll tell it and then I’m out of here.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ Liz asked.
‘You wouldn’t get it.’
‘Don’t act like you know me. You don’t. Not any more.’
‘Melius est nomen bonum quam divitae multae,’ Brad said, which puzzled everyone. ‘See. You don’t know me, either. Now, if you don’t want to hear this, start walking.’
Nobody moved.
Ninety-Two
Mick
Despite the rush to get out of the city, Mick opted to head back to Stepney to collect his car. It had things inside that he needed. He showed his badge to the taxi driver and told him to bill the Metropolitan Police. A few minutes later he was behind the wheel, heading out of London. Despite the rush, he pulled into the side of a desolate road as he spotted something.
The Alsatian, digging its nose into rubbish in the gutter, watched his approach with caution but didn’t scarper. It even took his stroke. Not a beaten animal that had escaped a hell of a home, then. Maybe just a stray.
He looked around. He and the dog, the only living things out here with fewer than six legs. Good, but not essential: happening regardless.
‘Good boy. What do you weigh, about four stone? Needs must, eh?’
It allowed itself to be led to his car where there was a packet of crisps. He held a crisp high, and the dog reared up to put its forepaws on his waist in order to take the snack.
‘Since I’ve been nice, would you like to help me with something? You’d like to reward my kindness, wouldn’t you?’
He got in his car and jabbed the button for the window until it was open six inches. The dog got its head through by turning it sideways. It snatched the next crisp and yanked its head back out to chomp.
‘Did you know that a dog called Horand was the first of your kind? I bet you’d like that name.’
The dog stuck its head through to get the next crisp.
‘But I’ll have to call you Grafton, I’m afraid. Watch my paintwork, won’t you?’
The dog took the crisp just as Mick jabbed the window button and raised glass into its throat. Its paws raked the door as it tried to drag its head out. Mick had to use one hand to help the window up because the mechanism wasn’t powerful enough to do the job.
He got out the passenger side as the dog struggled. It was still struggling as Mick stopped behind it, with his knife, but its shrieking changed to a low moan, somewhat pleading.
‘I promise it won’t hurt and will soon be o…’ He stopped. The knife slipped from his fingers. ‘You're a girl.’ He realised that punishing the dog wouldn’t satisfy his urge to kill. She wasn’t Grafton or some scumbag that deserved to die. He watched Horand struggle for a few more seconds, then got back in the car. He dropped the window.
In his headlights, he watched Horand flee.
Ninety-Three
Mick
‘On the night in question we drove in a stolen Mazda to Bexley, and transferred into a stolen Volvo for the trip to Ronald Grafton’s hideaway. We had to wait until he was released after his trial, which we knew he’d win. It was supposed to be a beating and a robbery, because we knew Ron had some rainy-day money stashed. And we were going to drop a piece of jewellery that would make Grafton suspect Ramirez. We went in the back way, through the kitchen. Just sneaked in, three guys in black. I had a knife, Mick had a handgun, and Dave carried a shotgun. We heard voices and laughter. I think they were a little bit drunk. In the living room, there they were: Grafton, and two other people I didn’t know. We knew you were upstairs, Liz, when we heard you shout down. Everyone was drinking and talking. Grafton was standing in front of the sofa, while the other two sat there. Laughing and having a great time when we burst in…’
Brad was giving up their secrets for the world on the video that had made its way onto YouTube after some bobby had leaked it from the station. It was the very last thing Mick had expected in a wild week of newspaper headlines. He could hardly believe what his eyes were seeing. But amid the shock… joy. He hadn’t thought much about the events prior to Grafton’s death, but Brad’s words sent his mind sailing back.
He had led the way into the hideaway cottage, handgun pointing ahead. They’d stopped at the living room doorway, listening. Grafton had been centre stage, talking some horseshit or other, and his wife had shouted down. Something Mick couldn’t remember, but it had made Grafton groan with embarrassment and the others laugh. That was when Mick had made his move. It was the height of their fun, as laughter echoed. Fast into the living room, behind pointing guns and bellowing voices, for maximum shock – that had been the plan. But he saw a sweeter vision float behind his eyes.
He slipped in, quiet as a mouse, and managed to get right up behind Grafton before his guests even noticed. He jabbed the barrel of the pistol against the back of his neck and actually sighed. A beautiful moment, long, long awaited.
‘You forgot our party invites, arsehole,’ he said.
The unknown man and woman started moaning, but Dave cocked his shotgun and ended all that. Grafton, hands up, didn’t even try to turn around.
‘Brad, get his wife,’ Mick said.
Brad scuttled past and through a doorway and up the stairs.
Grafton turned. His hands were up but his eyes held no fear, even after they recognised Dave and Mick. In fact, the man had relaxed somewhat, as if he thought he was going to be okay because this was a cop holding a gun on him, not a rival. Cops had to toe a line. Another trial he could walk away from.