Taylor accepted the words of comfort grudgingly. Not completely happy, but nevertheless, he was intrigued.
He allowed them into the threadbare lounge which was furnished like some 1970s throwback. Typical of cheap rented and furnished accommodation.
‘ Sit down.’
Gallagher sat. Tattersall shook his head and stood next to his boss. Taylor settled himself on the settee and waited.
Gallagher coughed and attempted to come across as fairly uncomfortable, though inside he was completely at ease.
‘ First of all,’ Gallagher began, ‘I want to reassure you that what we say from now on is completely confidential. Nothing will go beyond these walls.’
‘ I’m not sure I can give you that reassurance,’ Taylor said. ‘Mainly because I don’t know why the hell you’re here or what you’re gonna say.’
‘ I appreciate that… but I do ask you to keep it confidential.’
Taylor gave a non-committal twitch of the head.
‘ I’ll come to the point quickly, Sarge. We’re here on behalf of Henry Christie. He’s asked us to come and speak to you to ask for a favour.’
Taylor perked up. He was listening now. His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘ You were the Custody Sergeant last Saturday evening when DS Christie allegedly assaulted a youth then stupidly forgot to enter it up on the record.’
Taylor said nothing.
‘ Well, Henry’s looked through the custody record and noticed that you were the last person to make any entries on it up to and including the point where this youth was taken to hospital. There are no entries after that because he was subsequently released from custody and reported for summons for the offence he had committed.’
Taylor watched Gallagher closely, hardly able to believe what was being said.
‘ Henry wondered if you’d do him a favour. See, he’s in a lot of trouble over this — or could be — and it’s hanging over his head and, well, the thing is, without an independent witness to back him up, it looks like he could be in for some rough times ahead.’
‘ Tough. And I’m not sure I like what I’m hearing,’ Taylor said stonily.
‘ OK… but let me finish, please. Henry wondered if you’d be willing to… how shall we say?… amend the custody record in his favour to say you witnessed the whole thing.’
Taylor’s heart, by now, was ramming against his ribs. He almost expected it to break them and splurge out. His face tightened up. ‘How dare you?’ he demanded.
Gallagher held his hands up, palms out, defensively. ‘We understand your initial reaction, Sarge.’
‘ Look, you bastards, are you setting me up or something? Are you wired up? I’m an honest cop and this is completely out of order.’ His voice rose as he began to rant. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but as far as I’m concerned you can fuck right off out of my house. I’m going to complain about you both — and Henry Christie! Though I can hardly credit he would have sent you. It’s not like him. For a start, he’d do his own dirty work.’
‘ He’s in trouble, Eric,’ Gallagher said earnestly. ‘A colleague in trouble and he’s asking a friend to do him a favour, that’s all.’
Taylor remained steadfast. ‘No.’
‘ And that’s your final word on the matter?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ I believe you have some money problems, Eric.’
‘ And that’s fuck-all to do with you, pal.’
‘ We are prepared to help you, if you help Henry in return. No, don’t say anything.’ Gallagher reached for the briefcase which he had put down by the chair. He placed it on his knees and flicked the catches, opening it so Taylor could not see into it. He took out an A4 sheet of paper which the Sergeant instantly recognised as a custody record. Gallagher laid this on the smoked-glass coffee table which was between them.
Eric’s anger bubbled. It was the custody record he had filled in last Saturday, one of over fifty that day, but one he remembered well. The name on the top was Shane Mulcahy.
He glared at Gallagher.
‘ Get out,’ he spat.
Gallagher held a finger up. ‘One second,’ he said.
He placed the open briefcase on the coffee table next to the custody record and slowly swivelled it round so Taylor could see what it contained.
On top of the contents was a note, printed in capital letters. It read: THERE IS?10,000 IN USED BANK OF ENGLAND NOTES IN HERE. YOU MAY COUNT IT IF YOU WISH. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO RECEIVE THIS MONEY IS TO ALTER THE CUSTODY RECORD AND HELP A FRIEND IN NEED. ERIC, PLEASE HELP ME. The signature could have belonged to Henry Christie. Taylor wasn’t sure.
He looked at the note and the money underneath it.
Then his eyes met Gallagher’s over the lid of the briefcase.
Gallagher gave him a quirky smile.
It was a lot of money, for not much effort.
‘ You’ve made me leave, John,’ Isa said. Glassy tears were twinkling in her eyes. ‘I wanted to love you… I do love you… but you’ve spoilt it.’ She bent down and picked up her suitcase.
‘ There was absolutely no need to do what you did. No rhyme, no reason, no excuse. Cold-blooded murder.’ She shook as she said the words.
‘ I didn’t have a choice, Isa,’ Rider said simply. They were standing in the lounge area of his basement flat, the bedsits above. There was a huge crash from the room above which juddered the whole ceiling. Probably the couple in the ground-floor flat having one of their usual domestics. Rider was not bothered by what was happening above. It was his own, fairly subdued domestic dispute which was his problem at the moment. He was very tired now. The action of the day had sapped everything, including his resolve to keep Isa. He was too weary to put up much of a fight, although he knew what was happening was very important. He wished it could be put off until tomorrow when he was feeling stronger.
‘ Everybody has a choice. You made yours without even thinking about me — and after what we said, promised each other, only hours before.’
‘ He killed innocent people. They burned to death on my property. I was responsible for them.’
‘ Did he kill them? How the hell d’you know that for sure? Where’s your evidence? It could just as easily have been one of your crack-crazed residents out of his tiny mind. Those idiots are capable of anything.’
As if to confirm what she said, there was another crash from upstairs. They both looked at the ceiling, then at each other.
‘ Why didn’t you tell the police? You had the opportunity.’
‘ Because they’re useless, corrupt bastards. Munrow would have paid them off, like Conroy does. You know what I think about cops.’
‘ John, you are a fool,’ she said sadly.
‘ So is this it?’
‘ Yes.’ It was a quiet, almost inaudible word. One she did not wish to utter.
She walked to the door, opened it and went through without looking back. Rider made no attempt to stop her, even though something inside him was willing him to do so. He knew he was being pig-headed and stupid.
He heard the front door close softly and saw Isa walk up the steps past the net-curtained window.
Maybe tomorrow.
Another crash from upstairs.
Rider’s nostrils flared. Noisy bastards. He was going to throw them out on their arses right now if they couldn’t damn well behave.
He stormed out of the room to the door in the short hallway which gave him access up a flight of stairs to the flats above without having to go outside. He unlocked the several bolts and chains and opened the door, treading carefully onto the darkened and narrow stairway.
They burst into the flat before he knew what was happening.
Two men. Blue boiler suits. Heavy boots. Hoods with eye and mouth slits.
One had a straight, extendable baton.
The other had a gun.
At the moment Shane Mulcahy opened his door, the one with the baton rammed it into his stomach, causing him to bend double; the baton was then expertly smacked across Shane’s face, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch of bone.