He was getting tired of being told off.
He sighed.
‘So you want me to contain that little creep but you don’t want me to – what, Max? – violate his human rights?’
‘I can’t be put away, Jackson. I’ve got Scout. I’ve got a daughter to bring up. I’ve got a life. A home. A family. I can’t be around this stuff. I’m not like you,’ I said, starting the engine. ‘I’ve got something to lose.’
I saw the flash of pain in his eyes and I was glad to see it there.
We drove back to Smithfield in silence, the summer-night city empty now, and the BMW X5 always two or three mph below the speed limit.
There was a rage in him and it had always been there.
When we were two boys who didn’t have one parent between us, I always thought of it as his wildness. But it was more than that – beyond the gap-toothed grin was a deep and abiding anger that Jackson Rose would carry to his grave.
Both of us were raised by someone who had to step in for our parents. My grandmother and his adoptive parents. But my parents died. And his left. Perhaps that was the difference between us. He had a father who didn’t want his mother and a mother who didn’t want him.
And it leaves a rage in you, being left like that.
I had always felt blessed. Lucky to have the mum and dad I had, although I would have liked them for longer. Lucky to have my grandmother, although I wished she hadn’t enjoyed her smokes so much and had never got lung cancer. Lucky to have Scout, even though I would spend the rest of my days wishing she had known a family life without divorce. But I never felt sorry for myself, and I never felt that kind of rage.
I was, I guess, a glass-half-full kind of guy. My friend Jackson was a glass-half-empty, smash-it-on-the-bar-and-wave-it-in-your-face kind of guy.
I had seen his rage when we were young and trouble came calling. But it was different now, for now it was honed and polished.
Now someone had trained him for murder.
Stan came to greet us when we opened the door. The dog hated it when nobody was home and my eyes quickly scanned the loft for signs of the small puddles he sometimes deposited when he was anxious. But the floor seemed dry.
Jackson looked at the dog and not at me. He got down on his knees to fuss over the small red Cavalier.
‘I was trying to help,’ Jackson said quietly. ‘That’s all.’
‘And you did help. In your own mad bastard way – you did.’
‘But you can’t be around this stuff.’
‘No.’
‘And that means you can’t be around me.’
We were silent for a long moment.
He looked up at me and I nodded.
‘That’s right,’ I said. I felt something fall away inside me, something that I knew I would never get back. ‘You’re too dangerous,’ I said.
He nodded, as if it was all settled.
‘I’ll pack my stuff and ship out. Say goodbye to Scout for me, will you?’
‘Christ almighty, Jackson, you don’t have to go now.’
He stood up and faced me.
‘Ah, but I think I do, Max.’
We both looked down at Stan. The dog stared back at us, confusion in those perfectly round eyes, unable to read the mood. I wasn’t sure I could read it myself.
‘What are your plans?’ I said, and the sudden formality between us broke my heart.
He shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I’ll do what the army trained me to do,’ he said.
‘And what was that, Jackson?’ I said.
He just gave me his gap-toothed smile.
Stan padded behind him to his room.
Jackson turned in the doorway.
‘Max?’
I looked at him.
‘You think that little gangster will bother your friend any more?’
‘No.’
He nodded, satisfied.
‘Me neither,’ he said.
And then my oldest friend went into the guest room to pack his things.
24
It felt wrong from the start.
I turned into Abu Din’s street and the only police presence I could see was one unmarked 3-series BMW parked outside the large council house and the same young black policeman standing guard at the end of the road.
DCI Whitestone came out of the house with Edie and Billy Greene. Whitestone and Edie were in dark headscarves. I nodded to the two officers in the unmarked BMW as I went up to the front door.
‘This is it?’ I said. ‘Feels a bit light. We just gave the guy an Osman Warning. We just told him his life was in mortal danger and offered him police protection.’
‘The Chief Super considers it a proportionate response in this community,’ Whitestone said. She indicated the street. Several groups of bearded young men hung around, quietly conferring as they watched the detectives. A solitary woman struggled home from the shops with stuffed Tesco bags, her face and body covered by a full black burka. ‘That’s an Armed Response Vehicle outside the house,’ Whitestone continued. ‘CO19 are going to stick around until we’ve nicked these people. And there’ll be two of our team in the house for the next forty-eight hours. It’s not a bad idea to keep it semi-low-key around here, Max. We don’t need lots of uniforms on the street.’
I nodded and watched her face beneath the headscarf, waiting for some sign that she knew what I had done last night with Jackson. Anger. Relief. Gratitude. Disbelief. I didn’t know what to expect.
But DCI Whitestone just looked at her watch.
‘So you’re OK to take the first shift with Billy? Mr Din prefers having male officers in his house during the night.’
‘Fine.’
‘Then Edie and I will see you in the morning,’ Whitestone said.
Edie took off her headscarf. ‘Or by the end of the Dark Ages,’ she said. ‘Whatever comes first.’
After they drove off Billy went back into the house while I stood there watching the sun go down over the rooftops of Wembley, the last rays of the day glinting on the great white arch of the stadium that looms above everything in that part of town. It was only eight in the evening but already the day was done and there was a chill in the air that hadn’t been there for months. Yes, summer was almost over now. I knew Scout felt as if it had gone on forever. But to me the season had passed in the blink of an eye.
I walked down to the young copper at the end of the street.
‘PC Rocastle? I’ve got the graveyard shift. We’re going to be in the house.’
‘I’m on until midnight.’
I watched him hesitate.
‘What’s on your mind, officer?’ I said.
‘You really think they might come back, sir?’ he said.
I pointed at the unmarked ARV parked outside the big council house.
‘If they do,’ I said, ‘they better be ready to start shooting.’
The street was emptying as I walked back to the house. A middle-aged white woman and man were walking their German Shepherd. I nodded to them. They ignored me. I smiled at the dog’s proud face and reached down to pet him.
And the woman spat as we passed each other.
A great glob of saliva glistened on the pavement between us. I stopped and stared at their backs. I saw tattoos on white flesh. And I saw their glances back – the man afraid, the woman more willing to show her contempt.
They don’t get it, I thought. They have no clue what we do.
Without fear or favour, we protect everyone.
I had taken the watch in the living room at the front of the house and Billy was in the back garden. I stared beyond the net curtains as Abu Din reclined in his long grey robes and watched me.
‘Who are those men parked outside my home?’ he said.
‘They’re police officers who are trained in the use of firearms.’
He laughed. When I turned to look at him, Abu Din gazed at me with great amusement.
‘You don’t seem very worried about the threat to your life, Mr Din.’
‘Because there is no threat to my life. It is not my time for shaheed. Hasn’t that been proved already?’