‘It wasn’t an easy choice, telling you this. I’m a very loyal person. There are plenty of people who would see this as a betrayal of the squad – and this squad means a lot to me. I want you to at least show a little appreciation for what I’ve done here.’
Another minute and he’ll have himself worked into a full froth of outrage, and I’ll have that to clean up before I can go back to business. ‘I appreciate it,’ I say. ‘I do. I just don’t get why you’re telling me.’
‘Because someone needs to. Your partner should’ve done it months ago – come on, Conway, of course Moran knows; you think Roche let him get through his first week without cornering him to tell him what he’d hooked up with?’ He’s still scanning for a reaction, cold hungry cop-eyes above the touch of smirk. Breslin’s aiming to end this chat with me sobbing my little heart out or punching walls or both. All the energy he’s putting into it; what a waste. ‘Your partner’s supposed to have your back. We wouldn’t need to have this conversation if he’d done his bloody job.’
I say, ‘Maybe he didn’t see any reason why I needed to know.’
‘What the hell? Of course you fucking need to know. You need to know now – no, fuck that: you needed to know months ago. You’re on your last legs here. Are you getting this, Conway?’ Breslin’s leaning in, too close, the hulking loom he uses on suspects wobbling on the edge of a confession. ‘You’ve still got a shot, but it’s your last. If you pull your head out of your arse and quit treating me like the enemy, then we’ll have this case put to bed by the end of the week. I’ll be able to vouch for you in the squad room, and my word actually carries a fair bit of weight there. And then, if you can manage to act civil to the lads, then you’ll be sorted, and you’ll be an asset to the squad – and like I said, that means something to me. But if you keep blocking me because you’ve got some martyr complex going on, then this case is going to go to shit, and I’m not going to be on your side any more, because I don’t like being associated with cases that have gone to shit. And then, not to put too fine a point on it, you’re fucked.’
He leans back against the wall again, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s your call.’ The knight in shining armour, all ready to rescue me, if only I would let him.
I don’t get rescued. I’ll take help, no problem, just like I took it off Gary and off Fleas. Rescue – where you’re sinking for the third time, you’ve tried everything you’ve got and none of it’s enough – rescue is different.
If someone rescues you, they own you. Not because you owe them – you can sort that, with enough good favours or bottles of booze dressed up in ribbons. They own you because you’re not the lead in your story any more. You’re the poor struggling loser/helpless damsel/plucky sidekick who was saved from danger/dishonour/humiliation by the brilliant brave compassionate hero/heroine, and they get to decide which, because you’re not the one running this story, not any more.
I had Breslin wrong all the way. He’s not out to sink me, not necessarily. He’s out to own me.
This is what McCann was softening me up for, with his salvaged statement sheet and his heart-of-gold routine. Maybe Breslin has some squad split in the works, him against Roche, and he’s building up his team. Maybe he’s got a hint that the gaffer is putting in his papers – the golden boy would know – and he figures bringing the bad girl into line would boost his chances for the job. Maybe he’s got nothing specific lined up, just figures I’m an easy opportunity and I’ll come in useful somehow, down the line.
I could laugh, if I had the energy. I’m not gonna come in useful to anyone, not on this squad.
Breslin taps his phone pocket. ‘Conway,’ he says, more gently. ‘I didn’t have to share this with you, remember? I could have just pulled Rory in myself and gone at him solo. I’m sharing because I think it’s better for everyone if you and I work together. Better for the case, for the squad, for you – and yeah, better for me.’ He smiles, putting in just the right balance of fatherly warmth and professional respect. ‘Let’s face it, Conway: you and I, we make a good team. We did nice work together on Rory, Sunday afternoon. With this’ – the phone pocket again – ‘we can do a lot better.’
I’m gearing up to tell him where to stick his rescue effort, when I realise it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to worry about Breslin rescuing me, owning me, sinking me, any of that fancy crap; whatever he has in mind for me, I won’t be here for it. He’s right, we’re good together, and all of a sudden I’m free to use that, without going into a tailspin about consequences like Rory bloody Fallon himself. This quitting thing is fun; I wish I’d thought of it months ago.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it. But we don’t bring up that footage till I give the word. I want to save that.’
‘No problem. You call it.’ Breslin grins at me. ‘This is going to be a lot of fun, Conway. When we show Rory this, he’s going to wet his frilly knickers.’
‘It’s better than that,’ I say. Breslin raises a questioning eyebrow. ‘We’ve been looking for a motive, or at least something that could’ve triggered the attack. Right?’
Breslin blows air out of one corner of his mouth. ‘Well. You have. I still don’t actually care why he did it, as long as we can show that he did it.’
‘Rory gets over to Aislinn’s place,’ I say, ‘all amped up for the big night. He’s a bit early, but that’s no big deal; she lets him in, they’re delighted to see each other. And then, somehow, the stalking comes out. Maybe he lets something slip that tells Aislinn he knows Stoneybatter. Or maybe she mentions having seen him around the area, and he doesn’t cover it fast enough.’
It feels good, coming up with a story. I can see why everyone’s so hooked on it. I’ve got the whole scene playing out in front of me like another video clip, but one I can tweak and nudge till everything about it suits me right down to the ground. ‘Either way, Aislinn’s not happy. She’s already been having doubts about how full-on Rory is; she dismissed those, but this takes him over the line into whacko territory. She tells him to leave, and he loses the head.’
Breslin has his lips pursed and he’s nodding away. ‘I like this,’ he says. ‘I like it a lot. Conway, I think you’re onto something here. I knew there was a reason I had faith in you.’
I say, ‘Let’s see what Rory thinks of it.’
Breslin smiles at me, a great big warm smile like I’m the best thing he’s seen in months. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s get out of here. This place stinks.’
I could drink the air in the corridor in one swallow, after that snot we’ve been breathing. Breslin shuts the incident-room door behind us with a neat contemptuous slam that says, You won’t be needing this place any more.