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‘Tell me,’ Villani said.
Birkerts caressed his shave, found something under his chin. ‘New light on the matter,’ he said. ‘I would say Kidd and Larter do the SAS stroke SOG stuff, kill Vern Hudson, hang the brothers up. Then they hand over to someone.’
‘Could be Kidd talking to Larter.’
Birkerts went to the window, prised open two venetian slats, peered.
‘I find it hard to believe,’ he said, ‘that even a cross-trained killer would take on the Ribs and their mate by himself and then send for the other bloke. But that’s just me.’
‘It’s always just you,’ said Villani. ‘I wish it wasn’t always just you. What do we do with this?’
Birkerts turned. ‘Have you ever asked a question you didn’t have the answer to? Mind made up. Know how much that grates?’
‘That’s cheeky. Insubordinate. Know how much that grates?’
Birkerts didn’t look at him. ‘I’m quitting,’ he said. ‘Monday. Had it.’
‘Steady on,’ said Villani. ‘Don’t do this to me.’
‘Why not? Anyway, it’s not to you, it’s to the fucking job. You live in some kind of communion with the dead, you never get a decent night’s sleep, it’s always on your mind, people treat you like you’re an undertaker, mortician, it fucked my marriage, now it’s fucked the only decent relationship I’ve been in since then and another…’
Birkerts fell silent. ‘Yeah, anyway, I’ve had it.’
‘You’ll do what for a living?’
‘I don’t know. My ex-brother-in-law says he’ll give me a job selling real estate.’
‘Sell property? Are you mad?’
‘What’s wrong with real estate? You make money. You don’t get called out to some fucking shithole where a mental defective’s been burnt to death for fun, you can smell burnt meat a block away.’
Villani got up, went around the desk, no purpose, body humming with tension, kicked Singo’s box, full swing of the leg, his toecap dug into it, the boxer shot out, hit the floor with its head, which broke off.
‘Oh fuck,’ he said, bent and picked up the pieces. ‘Typical force shit, can’t even give you a bloody metal trophy. I’m supposed to send it to his nephew.’
Birkerts took the pieces from him. ‘I know a bloke can recast this. Do it in aluminium. The nephew won’t know.’
‘I don’t actually give a fuck about Singo’s nephew,’ said Villani. ‘I’m quitting too.’
‘Come on?’
‘Not the only one who’s had it, mate.’
Birkerts shook his head. ‘Boss of crime, the word’s out. You can be the complete bloody sun in all its glory.’
‘No,’ said Villani. ‘Sunset. My little girl says I did things to her. Sex.’
Birkerts frowned. ‘Jesus. Well.’
‘Smacked-out, on the street, feral scum,’ said Villani. ‘I’m finished. Fucked.’
Silence. In it, the radio was heard:
…the Morpeth-Selborne complex have been told to expect the worst tomorrow when extreme conditions are predicted, temperatures in the mid-to-high forties and winds that could approach…
‘On Kidd,’ said Villani. ‘He texts this stuff, changes nothing. Oakleigh is over.’
‘My Lord, what is this job?’ said Birkerts. ‘We drive an hour in the shitawful so you can sniff the fucking roadside and find this, now it means fuckall?’
‘Basically,’ said Villani.
‘I have work to do,’ said Birkerts. ‘Maybe we can have a drink on Monday when we’re both moving on to new careers. New lives.’
At the door, he said to Villani, ‘This is why the wife kicked you out?’
‘Keep moving,’ said Villani. ‘Sell inner city, can’t go wrong. Is that right?’
He rang Bob’s number. It rang out, he tried again, again.
‘Yeah, Villani.’ Bob.
‘What’s happening?’
‘I’m busy, on a bloody bulldozer.’
‘Where’d you get a bulldozer?’
‘Borrowed it. Me and Gordie’s putting in an airstrip in front of the trees. Talk later.’
End of call. Man in the door.
‘Boss, hospital just rang, there’s a lady, a Mrs Quirk…’
A WOMAN from hospital management met Villani and took him to the fourth floor, along a blank corridor to a room with eight beds, curtains drawn around them.
A young nurse, cheerful farm-girl face, was coming towards them.
‘Nurse, please show Inspector Villani to Mrs Quirk’s bed.’
Villani said his thanks, followed the nurse to the last bed on the left.
The nurse said loudly, ‘Mrs Quirk. Visitor.’
‘Who?’ said Rose from behind the curtains.
‘Me. Stephen.’
‘Well, come in the bloody tent,’ Rose said.
‘Not on her last legs?’ Villani said to the nurse.
‘Not just yet.’ She ran a curtain aside.
Rose on two pillows, head bandaged, face the matching colour. Her right forearm was in plaster to the first knuckles.
‘Jeez, ma,’ said Villani. ‘You’ve got to stop getting in these fights.’
She drew her mouth down. ‘Little shit run me down. What took you so long?’
‘Have a heart,’ said Villani. ‘Only got the message ten minutes ago. You could’ve said you were okay, not given me a fright.’
Rose made a noise, scorn. ‘Probably thought, good riddance, bloody old bag.’
Villani sat on a moulded plastic chair. ‘Yeah, that crossed my mind. What happened to your head?’
‘Can you believe it?’ said Rose. ‘The one little bastard knocks me over, the other one’s on a skateboard. I’m lyin there dyin, he rides over me head.’
‘Who saved you?’
‘Across the road come and put a cushie under me head, held me hand.’
‘Probably didn’t want the street’s free veggie supplier to cark it,’ said Villani. ‘Arm broken?’
‘Nah, the wrist.’ Rose craned towards him. ‘Listen, Stevie, can’t stay here, don’t want to die here, bloody germatorium. Tell em to let me go home. They’ll listen to you. Bloody inspector.’
‘Inspector doesn’t carry weight with the medical profession,’ said Villani. ‘Doesn’t carry weight with anyone actually.’
‘Please, love.’
Rose put her left hand out to him. He took it, chicken bones in a bag of skin, held it in both his big awkward hands.
‘They give me all this health shit,’ she said. ‘Blood pressure’s too high. The weight on me heart, surprised it don’t shoot out of me ears.’
‘I’ll lean on them, ma,’ Villani said. ‘Get you out of here. Those mobile nurses can come around.’
‘Don’t need em,’ said Rose. ‘I’m gone. Little arse hit me, saw me spirit float out of me body.’
‘Cigarette smoke,’ said Villani. ‘Out of the lungs. Time to cut down.’
She pointed at the tin cupboard beside the bed, winked. ‘Get me bag. We’ll have a little ciggy.’
‘No, ma. That’s the only reason you wanted me here. Got to go, attend to the dead, you’re the living.’
Rose sighed. ‘Stevie, Stevie,’ she said, ‘do somethin for me?’
‘What?’
‘Trust you? Cop scum.’
‘Depends. Maybe. No. What?’
‘I’m scared about me money.’
‘What money?’
She put her head back, closed her eyes, lids of old silk. ‘Little treasure chest. Savings. Me float.’
‘In the bank?’
She opened her eyes. ‘Jesus, mate, wake up to the bloody world. Under the kitchen table, lino comes up. There’s a trapdoor, stick a knife in.’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t bugger me knives either. Little treasure chest.’
‘Yes?’
‘Keep it safe for me, son? Had a nightmare, house burns down, it’s all ashes. Like Black Saturday, I’m walkin around there, pick up a cup. Promise?’
‘House locked?’
‘Left it locked. Get me bag.’
Villani opened the cupboard, took her bag from the top shelf.