Porter said,
‘We’re going to have to release him.’
McDonald near shouted:
‘You can’t, the guy is a total psycho, he enjoys the whole deal.’
Brant had a cold expression, said,
‘Your boss is waiting for you.’
‘The Super?’
Now Brant was smiling.
‘I don’t think he’s going to be pleased, you being his golden boy.’
McDonald didn’t want to let it go, tried,
‘But you must do something, you can’t just let him walk.’
Porter waved his hand in dismissal. After McDonald had left, Brant said,
‘How much longer have we got?’
Porter looked at his watch, said,
‘Nine hours. His lawyer’s on the countdown already. What do you say we interrogate him some more?’
‘Yeah, what else is there?’
As McDonald approached the Super, he saw the hope in the man’s face. Without thinking, he began to shake his head, the Super going,
‘What’s that mean? Shaking your head, that better not be what I think it is; you’d better have very good news.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Sorry! What the hell is sorry? How could you screw it up? You had a golden chance and you blew it. Plus, I’ve had a complaint against you.’
‘A complaint, sir?’
‘From a member of the public. She says you were not only drunk while in uniform but you used offensive language. I’d have let it slide, covered for you, it’s what I do, take care of my people, but you... You’ve made me look bad. You’re suspended pending an investigation, without pay. You’ll be lucky to hold on to your job.’
‘But, sir...’
‘Get out of my sight.’
Minutes later, McDonald was outside the station, bone-weary, not sure what to do. Porter spotted him and took a moment, said,
‘Don’t take it too hard.’
McDonald had a glazed look, said,
‘Someone should off him.’
‘The Super?’
‘That animal in the cells, Barry Weiss. If he walks, someone should do him.’
Porter looked around, moved closer, said,
‘Whoa, take it easy. You don’t want to let people hear that kind of talk.’
McDonald let out a high-pitched laugh, asked,
‘What’ll they do, suspend me?’
He headed home, to his bedsit in Lewisham. He’d thought it was functional, efficient and merely a step on the ladder. Now he viewed it as a step on the way down. He tore off his clothes, emitting obscenities as the recent events replayed in his mind, asked himself,
‘When did I last eat, am I hungry? Am I fuck.’
And climbed into bed.
‘Suspended without pay’; the unfairness caused him to toss and turn till he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of Barry Weiss, with the Super’s voice and the geek’s clothes. The phone dragged him awake. He was covered in sweat, said,
‘What...?’
The phone had that insistent shrill that warns:
‘Don’t answer, you’ll be sorry if you do.’
He answered, heard,
‘McDonald!’
‘Yes.’
‘This is Roberts, where the hell are you?’
Without thinking, he told the truth; always a bad idea, especially for a policeman, went,
‘I’m in bed.’
‘Jeez, get the hell up, I’ve good news.’
‘Yeah, sir?’
‘I know who killed our student.’
McDonald felt a shudder, said,
‘I’m suspended, sir, without pay. The Super...’
‘Bollocks. I’ll sort it out, get down here.’
Click.
In Morita Therapy, the principle is: be scared to death — and do what you have to do.
Falls was scared. The first few days were detox. Those days were a blur: she was crying out for a line or medication, anything to numb the pain. The doctor said,
‘If it’s not absolutely necessary, we don’t use medication. You are addicted emotionally, your body isn’t yet physically dependent. We caught it in time. Another week, who knows? Despite what you might think, it’s better in the long haul that you don’t have tranquillisers.’
Falls glared at him, said,
‘Easy for you to say. I’d risk medication if it’s no skin off your nose.’
He gave a tolerant smile — part contempt, part pity — said,
‘The best thing is lots of water, food and vitamins.’
He was holding her chart, asked,
‘You’re a policewoman?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Mmmmm.’
Roughly translated, that means ‘You sad bitch’. She said,
‘What?’
‘Well, I was wondering, isn’t it a tad awkward, in your line of work, being an addict?’
She was beginning to think: How bad could prison be?
And answered,
‘A tad awkward, yes, that describes it.’
On the fourth day, Mrs Fox, the one who called the shots, said,
‘Elizabeth, you’re going into population today.’
Falls couldn’t remember telling her her first name, asked,
‘Population?’
‘Yes, you’ll be sharing a room with Emily, taking your place in the house.’
‘Lucky me.’
Mrs Fox had the benign face they construct in therapy school. It said:
‘I’ve heard everything and nothing shocks me. More than anything else, I love you, you worthless piece of shit.’
And she had the voice to accessorise it. A quiet monotone that suggests depth, compassion and spirituality Mostly it bugs the bejaysus out of you. Now though, there was a slight chill as she chided,
‘No one likes sarcasm Elizabeth. It won’t facilitate your passage.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Falls was shown a bright room with two beds. Mrs Fox said,
‘Emily is at group. For the next four days, you are on probation.’
‘And that means what exactly?’
‘You don’t watch television, read newspapers, make or receive telephone calls.’
Falls sat on the bed, said,
‘You really get off on this, don’t you?’
The benevolent smile deepened.
‘It’s usual to be resentful at this stage, Elizabeth.’
‘Stop calling me that.’
The expression flickered then clicked back into place and she continued:
‘To qualify for privileges, you have to earn them.’
Falls decided to try a smile of her own, asked,
‘And whose ass do I kiss to earn them, apart from yours, of course?’
‘Cooperation and honesty, that’s all we ask, plus a complete willingness to join in the spirit of the house.’
‘To be part of the team?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.
As Falls didn’t ask any more questions, Mrs Fox turned to go, then:
‘We have made one exception in your case.’
‘I can’t wait to hear it.’
‘Detective Inspector Nelson, a special friend of our community has asked to visit you this evening. On this occasion, we’ve bent the rules and he’ll be here at seven.’
After she’d gone, Falls was surprised to feel she was looking forward to the visit. But then, what else had she going? Nothing.
The door opened and a woman entered. She was skinny, in her early twenties, with very thin, red hair and a pasty complexion. Put her hand out, said,
‘I’m Emily.’
Falls took her hand, which was clammy, no strength in it. If she’d squeezed, she’d have crushed the bones, said,
‘Hi, Emily.’
The woman closed the door, said,
‘Sh... sh... sh.’
‘Okay.’