To Kill For (19 page)

‘Independent.'

‘Meaning what?' Puffy Eyes said.

‘Meaning fuck you.'

Hayward exchanged looks with Puffy Eyes. Moustache pulled his lips back over his teeth and puffed his cheeks out. Here they were, trying to be nice, and the dumb bastard didn't want to play. What could you do?

‘You know your problem, Joe,' Moustache said, ‘I'll call you Joe, if you don't mind – your problem is you don't trust anyone. You see a person and straight away you think they've got an angle, they're blagging someone, they're double-crossing, they're stealing. You're so busy seeing the worst in everyone, you never see anything else.'

‘Get to it.'

‘We're not bent. We're not working with Paget or Glazer. We're not putting the screws on anyone, as you say. You're right about Operation Elena, but for the wrong reasons. We do have an interest in it, but not the one you think we have.'

He'd mentioned Glazer. Why? I hadn't mentioned him. Or had I? I couldn't remember. Still…

‘You haven't told me anything,' I said.

‘No. I haven't. I want to be able to trust you. I think we can help each other, and I think you want what we do, more or less, but I'm not going to spill confidential information without being sure. You understand that?'

They sat there and watched me. I took a long pull on the beer can. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. The beer was cold. I felt it going down my gullet. By the time I was through with that, I'd made a decision. I looked at Moustache.

‘It's personal,' I said.

‘What is? Your gripe with Paget?'

‘Yes.'

‘Go on. We're all ears.'

He slurped his beer. I wanted to ram it down his throat. He knew that and smiled.

‘I've got a score to settle.'

‘It's like pulling teeth,' Puffy Eyes said.

‘We're getting there,' Moustache said. ‘We're doing okay. Right, big man? What score?'

‘I'll go on when I get something from you lot.'

Moustache thought about that for a while. He took another gulp of beer and wiped his moustache. He nodded.

‘That's fair,' he said. ‘Within reason. I'll give you my name. Okay?'

‘Fine.'

‘I'm Detective Superintendent Compton. I believe you're already old friends with Detective Inspector Hayward—'

‘Funny,' Hayward said.

‘—and the miserable bugger over there is DI Bradley.'

‘Bollocks,' Bradley said.

‘Prove it,' I said to Compton.

He fished in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, flipped it open to show me his warrant card. I held out my hand. He tossed it to me. It was his name all right. It was real.

‘It's fake,' I said.

He just smiled.

So, two DIs and a Detective Super. For Paget? That didn't work. I threw the wallet back to him.

‘I'm putting a lot of faith in you by showing you that,' he said. ‘Now I want something from you. Why are you after Paget?'

I had to give him something, but I didn't want to tell him about Brenda. I didn't want him that close to me.

‘I knew a girl once,' I said. ‘A small girl. She was African. Paget used her.'

‘He used a lot of people,' Bradley said.

‘And Marriot?' Compton said. The bastard was ahead of me.

‘Who?'

He smiled. The others smiled.

‘Bollocks,' Bradley said.

‘Frank Marriot,' Compton said. ‘I think you've heard of him.'

I had the feeling they knew everything about me.

‘Yeah.'

‘Marriot,' Hayward said. ‘He's dead.'

‘Yeah.'

‘Know how he died?' Compton said.

‘No.'

‘Slowly, I hear,' Bradley said. ‘Gut-shot.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘You have anything to do with that?'

‘Why would I tell you?'

‘We got intel that it was some dispute with an Albanian gang. That they'd got word that Marriot had fucked them over some smack deal.'

‘Uh-huh.'

Bradley snorted. Compton glanced at him.

‘That never sat right with us,' Compton said, looking back at me. ‘Not their style.'

‘No.'

He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

‘You knew Marriot, didn't you?'

He waited for me to confess everything. When I didn't, he smiled and sat back.

‘Not that I care,' he said. ‘They can wipe themselves out as much as they want, as far as I'm concerned.'

While they'd been tag-teaming me with their questions, I'd remembered something Tina had told me. When I'd questioned her, she'd told me that she didn't know anything about Hayward, except she'd said that he was a friend of Glazer's. Not Paget's.

The desire, the need to destroy Paget was in my blood. It had infected me, clogged my mind, choked me, blinded me to everything else. And now, looking at these three, listening to their vague answers, watching them skirt around, I knew I'd been wrong.

Compton talked for a bit, but I wasn't listening. I kept thinking, why did he mention Glazer? And then I knew, and realized what a fucking fool I'd been. Yes, I had been blind to everything except getting Paget. Once I took him out of the mix, things made more sense.

‘It's not Paget,' I said. ‘It's Glazer. That's who you're after.'

Compton flicked his eyes over at the others and I knew I was right.

‘What do you know about Glazer?' Bradley said.

‘Where is he?' Hayward said.

They'd picked up where they'd left off, but now they weren't fucking about. Well, I'd taken their combinations all I was going to.

Now it was my turn.

‘Undo my feet and I'll tell you,' I said.

Compton nodded to Bradley. Bradley mashed his cigarette in the saucer, stood, took his knife out and ambled over. He leaned down, sliced through the tape. I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it down as I brought my knee up. He was quick enough to move his face away. I felt cheekbone as I connected. He cried out, raising his hands in a reflex action. His blood spurted over my leg.

Hayward said, ‘Fuck.'

He was struggling to get my Makarov out of his waistband.

I ripped Bradley's jacket open, reached in under his left shoulder and tore out his gun. I jumped up, shoved my hands in Bradley's armpits, lifted him up and threw him at Hayward. Bradley flew, sprawling, onto Hayward, who gurgled a cry. The two of them crashed onto the wooden seats.

All this time, Compton had stayed where he was. His face had gone white, his eyes wide. He stared at Hayward and Bradley. I walked over to where Hayward was curled up, crying in pain, blood seeping through the bandage around his shoulder. I pulled my Makarov from his waistband. He looked up at me and recoiled, raising his good arm to defend his face. Bradley was almost out cold. He stirred a bit and murmured.

Bradley had been carrying a short-barrelled .357 Smith and Wesson revolver. I opened the chamber and let the cartridges fall to the ground. Then I checked my Makarov.

‘Why did you do that?' Compton said, still staring at the other two. ‘Why the hell did you do that?'

‘I wanted my gun back.'

‘You're mad.'

‘Yeah. Now tell me what the fuck is going on.'

He looked at me, his eyes fierce.

‘What are you going to do if I don't? Kill us all?'

‘Maybe.'

He shifted in his seat.

‘You're not that stupid.'

‘I might be that mad.'

The anger in his eyes lifted. He shook his head slowly.

‘No you're not.'

I put the Makarov in my jacket pocket. Bradley moved groggily and hefted himself up onto his hands and knees. Hayward wasn't making such a noise now. He was curled up still, holding his shoulder.

‘I'm going to get these two seen to,' Compton said.

It was as much a question as anything. He wanted to see what I'd do. I shrugged. He got up and went over to his men. Bradley waved him away and sat back on his ankles. He shook his head to clear it. There was a gash under his right eye. He wiped some blood off with his sleeve.

‘I'm alright,' he said.

Compton knelt by Hayward. The bandage was soaked through now.

‘He needs stitches,' Compton said. ‘They both do.'

‘I know someone,' I said.

It took me a half hour to get Browne out of his drunkenness. He was still bleary, but he could work okay. He complained for an hour, but I think he was glad to be doing something instead of brooding.

‘I suppose this is your doing,' he said to me when he saw the men laid out in his lounge.

He went to work quickly on Hayward, stitching him back together again. Then he took a look at Bradley and put a few stitches in his face.

I wanted to clear my head a bit. There was a lump at the base of my skull where Hayward had bashed me. I didn't tell Browne about it. I didn't want him fussing. I told him I was going to lie down.

‘They're law,' I said to him. ‘Don't tell them anything.'

‘I know, I know.'

I stared up into the darkness and let my mind clear, trying to work things out.

Everything went back to Brenda. Everything circled her, like those crows, flying around screaming, looking for carrion to feed on.

And these coppers; why were they interested in Glazer and not Paget? Surely Paget was the greater catch. He was involved in shit up to his neck. He was well known. Glazer? Nobody had heard of him. And Operation Elena was about people smuggling, using children. Paget had his hands dirty there. But Glazer…

When I went back into Browne's lounge, everyone was watching TV. On the coffee table were empty plates and mugs, a pack of cigarettes, a couple of half-f ashtrays and a lighter. The room was foggy with cigarette smoke. I thought I'd been gone thirty minutes. From the look of things, it was more like three, four hours.

Nobody was talking. Bradley and Hayward were on the sofa. They glared at me, but I got no lip from them so I guessed Compton had told them to shut it. Browne was in his armchair, Compton in the other one. Browne was asleep. I nudged him and he blinked his eyes open. He looked around at the others.

‘Oh,' he said. ‘Now I remember.'

He stood with an effort and told us all he was going to bed. He shuffled off.

Compton hadn't taken his eyes off the TV. There was some film on. Some clean-faced kid was running around with a gun too big for him. I sat down where Browne had been.

‘How are you feeling?' Compton said.

‘Fine.'

Now he looked at me.

‘What say we start again?'

‘Fine.'

Compton flicked a look at Hayward and Bradley.

‘Can I have my gun back?' Bradley said.

I'd left my jacket in the bedroom. I went and grabbed it and took it back to the lounge. Bradley held out his hand. I took his Smith and Wesson and my Makarov and put them on the coffee table. Compton looked at the weapons and nodded.

‘Good,' he said. ‘Now maybe we'll get somewhere. We've all made mistakes. You've made a few. You really shouldn't have gone to Del's house like that, not armed, not with his wife there. And we, well, we underestimated you.'

If Compton thought I was going to clap him on the back and shake hands all round, he was wrong. He shifted in his seat.

‘He's a good man,' he said. ‘Your doctor friend. He is a doctor, isn't he?'

‘Sort of.'

‘Well, he's a good man.'

Bradley leaned forward. I thought he might go for his gun, but he took a cigarette from the packet and the lighter. He lit up and leaned back and blew smoke rings.

I still had the feeling that I was being played, used. Bradley blowing smoke rings, Compton making small talk; it was too casual, too false. I knew the law, knew how their minds worked. I didn't trust them.

Besides, things still didn't make sense. Something gnawed at the back of my head, something about this lot, about Paget and Glazer, about their interest. They were too senior to be bothered with vice, surely. And I still didn't get the secrecy thing, why they'd had to keep their activities quiet from the London law.

‘He told us about the girl,' Compton said. ‘Kid? That was her name?'

‘Kindness.'

‘Right. Anyway he told us about her. Why did he do that, do you think?'

‘He was drunk.'

‘Maybe, but he told us anyway, and I believed what he said. He said you rescued her from Marriot, that you shot the place up just to get her.'

‘Bollocks,' Bradley said. ‘We know about the robbery on Cole's casino. We know that Beckett was behind it and that Marriot and Paget were behind a double-cross and scalped the money off him. Cole hired you to get the money, didn't he? Eh?'

Compton put an innocent expression on his face.

‘That true, Joe?'

‘You went after Beckett first.' This from Hayward. ‘We know Beckett liked little girls. You knew it too so you used the girl to get you in and then you killed him and Walsh and Jensen. But they didn't have the money. Marriot had it, so you went after him. That's why you wrecked his club. That's why you killed him.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

Bradley said, ‘Did you use her, Joe? That little girl. Was she your way in?'

Compton shook his head at his two men. He looked at me.

‘I don't think he used the girl,' he said. ‘I think she was just caught up in the middle of it.'

I said, ‘Was she?'

They'd figured it wrong, but they were close. They didn't have me for the original robbery and they didn't know that Marriot had used Kid's junky sister to force her to get to Beckett and open the door to let Paget in. They didn't know Paget wiped out Beckett and his crew and took the money back to Marriot. Or maybe they knew everything and were just fucking with me.