Ammunition (11 page)

‘Bill…

His voice faltered, a sorrow leaking over it, then continued:

‘Lord rest him, he saw a copper on the beat, outside that new shopping centre in Balham?’

Falls knew how easy it would be to see who was on duty there, and already she had a sinking feeling as to who it might be. Only one copper was pulling those shite details.

He continued:

‘Bill saw him ram one of those hoodies against a wall, it sure impressed Bill. Those kids, they wear the hoods pulled up, adds to their intimidation, and they got to talking. Bill told him of the problems we were having in the street here.’

Andrews interrupted:

‘Which problems were they?’

Falls shot her a look, Jesus, never interrupt a witness in full flow. He was taken aback then focused, said:

‘Every weekend, they gather outside, shouting and drinking, taking God knows what drugs, that crack cocaine no doubt, playing loud, awful music, that rap stuff, and sometimes, they’ll throw a brick through the window. And if you go out? Well, you didn’t ever go out, too many of them, the
ringleader was an Asian fellah, nicknamed Trick. He was a nasty piece of work.’

Andrews did it again, asked:

‘Why didn’t you call the police?’

His laugh was slightly louder than Falls’s was, he said:

‘Yeah, they’d rush over our area, it’s a real high priority on their list.’

His bitterness was deep and set, he went on:

‘So, this copper, he suggested we form a group, take them on, deal with it our own selves.’

Andrews again:

‘Tim, I’m a little surprised you were so easily convinced to form what is, in reality, a criminal group?’

His shout startled her as he echoed:

‘Criminal? I’ll tell you what’s criminal, lass, and that’s to live in fear.’

Falls nearly smiled, it shut Andrews up. He said:

‘It seemed like the answer to our prayers and it was going good… ’

His face lit up as he briefly relived the rush of laying out on for the thugs. He had real energy in his voice as he said:

‘The little bastards never knew what hit them, and we were winning, till Bill… till Bill got, well… you know.’

Andrews, trying to regain some ground, asked:

‘Please describe the alleged policeman?’

He shook his head, said:

‘No need.’

Falls was definitely warming to the guy. Andrews, a note of petulance in her voice, sat up straight, asked:

‘Are you refusing to give us… ’

He cut her off with:

‘Calm down, lass. I don’t need to describe him.’

Andrews, standing now, leaned over him, said:

‘Sir, let me remind you that failure to cooperate with the police…’

He put up his hand to stop her, said:

‘I have a photograph.’

Neither of the policewomen spoke. He stood up, went to a chest of drawers, said: ‘My niece gave me one of them phone camera jobs, and I got a snap of him the night we went to war.’

He produced the photo. Falls was up, grabbed it out of his hand, flipped the cover, and hit the button, the photo came up and her heart sank

McDonald, in all his reckless glory, the stupid fuck. Andrews was reaching for the phone, but Falls snapped it shut, said to Tim:

‘We’ll need to take this into evidence.’

He was upset, asked:

‘How will I call my niece?’

Falls was heading for the door, said:

‘We’ll see you have it back by the end of the day. Thank you for your cooperation.’

Andrews looked like she had no idea what Falls was doing but followed, Tim stood on the footpath, asked:

‘Will I be on the telly?’

Falls gave him a brief look, the poor bastard, and felt a moment of pity, which she quickly suppressed. She said:

‘Oh, you’re going to be real famous.’

His face lit up, those white teeth gleaming in the ancient face, and she could see in that smile the man he used to be.

Andrews put the car in gear, asked:

‘Back to the station?’

Falls had the phone in her hand, said:

‘Drive over Lambeth Bridge.’

Andrews, proud of how well she was learning the geography of the area, said:

‘There’s a shorter way.’

Falls gripped her by the right arm, hissed:

‘For fucking once today, do what you’re told and enough with the bloody questions, you screwed up a perfectly good witness with your by-the-book routine. What the hell is the matter with you?’

Andrews wanted to go:

‘Show me the photo.’

They reached the bridge and, surprisingly, traffic was light. Falls said:

‘Pull up here.’

She rolled down her window, hefted the phone in her
hand, then chucked it high and wide, tilted her head as if she was waiting to hear the splash.

She didn’t.

Andrew’s gasped. She couldn’t believe what had just happened and when she found her voice, said:

‘That was evidence.’

Falls didn’t look at her, simply said:

‘No, that was ammunition.’

I wish I could write a book and not have to make a living.

—John W. Dean, Watergate conspirator

ANDREWS THOUGHT LONG and hard as to whether she should report Falls. She knew the code…
never rat out another cop
. You might not like your fellow officers and, right off the bat, she could bring to mind at least six she downright loathed but… you stuck by them. The enemy were civilians. On the other hand, Falls had treated her like shit, yeah, as if she couldn’t be trusted with seeing the photo of the rogue vigilante guy.

Fuck that!

And, if Falls were reported, she’d lose her stripes, that was for damn sure, be lucky to even stay on the force and that meant a vacancy. Andrews was still relatively new, but she knew one bloody thing, the powers that be would have a white face any day of the week.

Then she told herself, all of these considerations aside, morally she was obliged to do the right thing and that was shaft Falls.

Sorry, report the suppression of evidence.

Thus, ethically uplifted, she headed for the Super’s office
and was dismayed to find he was golfing. She was moving away when she almost walked into Roberts. He asked:

‘What’s up?’

It was now or never, so she asked if she might have a word, a private one. He said sure and led her into his office, closed the door, indicated she should sit.

She did.

He sat on the edge of the desk, told her to fire away. She gave him the whole story. His expression remained neutral, and she was pretty sure he was. impressed. Such zeal as she was showing was out of the ordinary. She sat back, waiting for the heap of praise, perhaps even his backing for her nomination as acting sergeant.

He said,

‘You treacherous bitch.’

Forthe next ten minutes he lectured her about loyalty, snitch cops and what happened to them, and wound up with:

‘You want to stay being a policewoman?’

She assured him she did, and he snapped:

‘Then shut your fucking mouth. Now get out of my office.’

Crushed, she was in the corridor, Porter came by, asked:

‘You alright, love?’

She strode off without answering him. He knocked on Roberts door, heard:

‘Come in.’

Roberts was pouring a shot of whisky into a mug, asked:

‘Care to join me?’

Porter wanted to say it was a little early for him and certainly too early for a chief inspector, but the look on Robert’s face stopped that. He merely shook his head and Roberts asked:

‘You ever see
Serpico?
’

Porter had, anything with Pacino, he’d seen a couple of times. He said he had and Roberts asked:

‘Did you agree with him, ratting out cops?’

Porter realized this was a loaded question, tried for:

‘We have to stick together.’

And got the look from Roberts, the one that said:

‘Are you shitting me?’

So he did the obvious, asked:

‘Were you thinking of giving someone up?’

Roberts gave him a glance of such withering contempt that he felt it all the way to his backbone. Roberts said:

‘I’d put a bullet in my head before I’d screw another cop.’

Porter hadn’t anything to reply to this. He felt as if Roberts was testing him, see if he was the type who, given the right circumstances, would fuck over another policeman. He settled his face in what he hoped was a look of…
Me?… shit, I’d never give up one of our own
.

Roberts said:

‘Andrews, she’s got a bee in her bonnet. She might be about to shop someone.’

Porter wanted to ask who but settled for:

‘She’s young, she’ll learn.’

Roberts face was a mask of restrained fury, he said:

‘She fucking better.’

There was an uneasy silence and Porter was unsure where to go. Roberts asked

‘What’s the story with Brant?’

So Porter filled him in, gave the breakdown on their encounter with Rodney Lewis.

Roberts was smiling, not a smile of warmth or humour but the one that said it was exactly what he expected from Brant. He said:

‘This Lewis, he has juice I’d say.’

Guys who worked in the city, they usually had an in with the Super: money, Freemasons, golf, all the usual old boys’ network. Porter said:

‘If he reports Brant and I’d imagine he will, Brant might be up the creek.’

Roberts mulled it over, said:

‘Brant is always up the creek.’

No argument there.

Roberts asked:

‘Your own instinct, is Lewis the guy, the one who contracted the shooting?’

Porter considered carefully. With Roberts, you committed yourself, he’d hold you to it. He said:

‘He sure has motive and certainly has the cash to hire a shooter.’

Roberts went through some files, said:

‘The dead shooter, Terry Dunne, he had a girlfriend. Go see her, find out what she knows, maybe she can shed some light on the deal.’

Porter thought it wasn’t a bad idea, and before he could say so, Roberts snapped:

‘You still here, she isn’t going to come and see you, get your arse in gear.’

Porter had a lot of responses to this but none that wouldn’t involve violence, he stood said:

‘Right away, sir.’

And he was at the door when Roberts added:

‘You see Andrews, you put her straight, got it.’

He did.

Outside, he muttered:

‘Fuck.’

The American cop, Wallace was striding down the corridor, a large Starbucks in his fist. He went:

‘Porter, what’s up?’

Porter looked at him and, on impulse, asked:

‘Want to see how we intimidate would be witnesses?’

Wallace lobbed his Styrofoam in a long wide arc and… slam dunk, it landed in the waste bin, he said:

‘What are we waiting for, intimidation is my speciality.’

They got a car from the pool, and to Porter’s disgust, only a Volvo was available. He said:

‘Might as well write
Cops
on the front.’

Wallace asked if he could drive.

He could.

He made a grinding mess of the gear shift, asked:

‘The fuck is the matter with you guys? Didn’t you ever hear of automatics?’

Porter was amused, said:

‘We heard of them, we just like to do things the hard way.’

Wallace finally got the swing of it, said:

‘Yeah, I’ve had piss you guys call beer.’

Wallace ’s bulk took up most of the front seats, and Porter had to squeeze himself against the window. He asked:

‘Shouldn’t you be doing counterintelligence stuff?’

Wallace gave him a look, impossible to read, asked:

‘What makes you think I amn’t?’

FALLS PAID A visit to McDonald, she’d checked the duty roster, it was his day off, she got to his place early, checked the names of the apartments, he was on the ground floor, she rang his bell and smiled, thinking:

I’ll be ringing his bell in more ways than one
.

Her smile was grim, tinged with foreboding. She heard: