“Myers twists my head around,” Larry said, making the point a second time. “I keep on fouling up.”
“That’s an understatement,” McKinnes told him. “Pass the HP sauce.”
Larry handed over the sticky plastic container. “I’m being honest, Mac. I can’t tell when he’s lying.”
“So.” McKinnes forked shepherd’s pie into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “You want off it? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“And what about the court case?” McKinnes shook sauce liberally across his plate and thumped the dispenser down on the bar. “I’ll tell you something — what with the bleeding marijuana, then screwing Myers’s girlfriend, you’re lucky to be still on the job.”
“I don’t want to quit the force, Mac, I just—”
“You just want to get out from under your involvement in this case, right?” McKinnes reamed his teeth with his tongue and pushed his plate away. “You think you can pick and choose, do you? I want Myers, Larry. I’ve got two weeks to get him before I lose him to Reading. If I have to get him via you it’s still okay, even if you make me sick to my stomach.” He shook his head wearily. “You want out, yet half the lads in the Met would give their eyeteeth for this caper.”
Larry swirled his beer, realizing he could have saved his breath.
“Take twenty-four hours and pull yourself together,” McKinnes said. “I’ll forget what you just bleated to me.” He nodded at the door. “Go on. Hop it, before I change my mind.”
Larry finished his drink and left. McKinnes caught the attention of the barmaid.
“Give us a Scotch, love. A double. It’ll make up for your shepherd’s pie. I think they left his crook in it.”
Larry went home. The house was empty. He went upstairs, got undressed, and climbed into bed. Within five minutes he was asleep.
At ten-fifteen that night Susan went into the bedroom. She undressed, put on her nightdress and dressing gown, and watched Larry slowly wake up. She asked him if he would like a cup of tea. He said that would be nice. She came back ten minutes later, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea.
“Larry,” she said, pushing the door shut behind her, “we really need to talk. I don’t think I can take much more.” She looked at the bed. He was flat out, facedown, the pillow over his head. “Larry?”
She put down the tray, sat on the edge of the bed, and lifted the pillow. He was fast asleep. She looked at him for a while, wondering if she would wake him. Finally she decided against it, and took the tray back downstairs.
Early on Sunday morning McKinnes was waiting on the pavement outside the safe house when a plain patrol car brought Von Joel back from the hospital. A covering car drew up sharply behind them as DI Falcon, handcuffed to Von Joel, pushed the prisoner out of the car ahead of him. DI Shrapnel climbed out of the front passenger seat. McKinnes smiled coldly as Von Joel paused beside him.
“Jefferson’s been wittering on about you wanting exercise, Eddie. You’re only just out of hospital. Fit for the morning jogs, are you? Is that what you want?”
“Anything for fresh air, Mac,” Von Joel said, grinning. “Where’s Jackson?” McKinnes nodded to Falcon. “Get him out of my sight.” Shrapnel came forward as Von Joel was hustled away. He looked at the boss uneasily. “What about Jackson? Is he in or out?”
“I’m thinking about it,” McKinnes said, getting into the patrol car.
“We just lost two days, Guv.”
“You’re telling me!” McKinnes yelled through the open window. “You think I don’t know? Sod off!”
Shrapnel watched the car move away. He turned and walked toward the apartment block, looking to left and right as he went.
At approximately the moment Shrapnel shut the safe house door behind him, Larry Jackson was climbing out of the bath at home, feeling wide awake and more alert than he had for days. He stood on the mat, toweled himself, then wrapped the towel around his waist. At the basin he soaped his face and began shaving. He had done one side when the telephone rang. It rang several times before the front door opened and he heard Susan pick up the receiver.
“Larry...”
He carried on shaving, removing the lather from his cheek in tidy strips, rinsing the razor after each stroke.
“Larry! It’s the phone for you! Larry!”
He was still shaving when Susan burst into the bathroom. She was still wearing her coat.
“Didn’t you hear me? It’s the phone for you. It’s Mac.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you answer it?”
She flounced out again. Larry put down the razor and dabbed his face dry. He tightened the towel around his waist, followed Susan downstairs, and picked up the phone.
“Dad.” Young Tony was standing at the open front door. “Will you come to football practice? Dad?”
“Mac?” Larry pressed the receiver to his ear. “You were right. I was just tired out. I want back on him. This time I won’t—” He paused, listening. “What? Have I been jogging? What? Oh, I see. Yeah, sure, yeah, I’ll pack em. Okay.”
The two boys were now hurtling up and down the length of the hall, kicking a ball. Susan came stomping out of the kitchen.
“I told you not to kick that around in the house!” she screeched. “Take it outside! Not in the street — the garden! Go on!”
“Hey!” Larry yelled, as the boys continued to play with the ball. “Shut it! I want none of that when I’m on the phone! Get them out,” he told Susan. “Go on.”
Susan, glaring at him, pushed the boys toward the door.
“Sorry, Mac,” Larry said, his mouth close to the receiver again. He listened, nodding. “Right. Fine. Will do. And Guv, thanks. I won’t let you down.”
He put down the phone and went back upstairs to get dressed. A few minutes later Susan came and leaned on the door frame as he stood by the mirror combing his hair.
“You seem very happy,” she said.
“I am.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us is.”
Larry picked up his small weekend bag and laid it open on the bed.
“Have I got any clean shirts? I need some socks, too, and my tracksuit, and my good trainers.”
Barely containing herself, Susan yanked open the wardrobe and began tossing shirts out onto the bed.
“You treat this place like a hotel,” she snapped. “I don’t know when you’ll be home, or when you’re going — and one minute you’re biting everyone’s head off and the next it’s all smiles.” She came and stood close to Larry, forcing him to pay attention. “One of these days you’re going to waltz back here and—”
“And?” Larry tried to embrace her but she pushed him away. “Oh come on, Sue — you know how important this case is to me.”
He turned away and started packing the bag.
“And me and the kids?” Susan said. “How importantare we? Don’t try and tell me you’re doing this for us. God!” She put her hands to her temples. “I’m beginning to sound like a tape recorder.” She glared at Larry. “Do you think I like being this way? If it wasn’t for Colin I wouldn’t know what the hell is going on.”
“Colin?” Larry stiffened. “You mean Frisby? What’s he j been saying?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does!” Larry grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s he told you?”
“Larry!” Susan jerked herself free. “You see? Look at you! ‘What’s he been saying?’” Again, as so often, she imagined she had performed an accurate impersonation. “This is me, your wife! You don’t speak to me as if I’m under interrogation!”
“Sue, listen...” He had his hands up. “I’m under a hell of a lot of pressure. I mean, last night I tried to quit. I did. But I can’t, not even if I wanted to...”