Выбрать главу

When Resnick made inspector, things would change; like Skelton he could make his excuses and leave, knowing full well the men were glad to be shot of him, free to talk, to call him names behind his absent back.

When he and Elaine had a child …

“What d’you reckon then, Charlie?”

“How’s that?”

“What Rainsey here was saying, these blaggings down to Prior.”

“I thought we’d been through all that?”

“We have.”

“Checked him out.”

Rains leaned forward, jabbing a finger at the air. “Pulled him in twice, brief right alongside him, all through interrogation, every step of the sodding way.”

“The way it’s meant to be,” Resnick said.

“Bollocks!”

“Alibied to the armpits, wasn’t he?” Cossall said.

“In bed with his old lady, middle of the afternoon …”

“I should fancy!”

“Not if you’d seen her you wouldn’t. Face sour as last week’s milk. Real scrubber.”

“What’s his form again?” Resnick asked, interested almost despite himself.

Rains eased back in his chair. “Couple of stretches, aggravated burglary. Fancied him for a post office job, eighteen months back, his face all over it but nothing we could prove. That time, reckoned he and the wife had driven her mother up to Harrogate, bit of shopping, afternoon tea.”

“Family man,” said Cossall quietly. “That’s nice.”

“Villain, that’s what he is,” Rains said. “Nothing else.” He leaned forward again, looking into their faces. “What d’you think he’s been up to this last eighteen month, filling in his Spot the Ball coupons?”

Cossall shrugged and Resnick checked his watch and Rains downed his Scotch and got to his feet. “Another of these and then I reckon we go round and knock him up, see what he’s got to say.”

“What grounds?” Resnick asked.

Rains winked. “Information received. Reasonable suspicion. Probable cause. Who gives a toss? Scotch, Reg? Charlie? Vodka?”

Resnick shook his head.

“Suit yourself.”

“Jesus, Charlie,” Cossall said, watching Rains disappear in the direction of the bar, “most of us get tireder as the night gets longer-each hour he’s awake he gets bloody brighter.”

“Think there’s anything to what he says?” Resnick asked.

“Prior? He’ll be into something right enough. His sort always are. That’s not counting shagging his missus the wrong side of Blue Peter. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give him a tumble at that.”

Resnick shook his head. “Not like this. Not now.”

“Be off his guard.”

“For how long? No warrant, we’re not going to find anything. Get him down the station and he’ll be back on the street before breakfast. Besides, state Rains is in, no telling what he might get up to.”

“What, Charlie?” Cossall laughed. “With you there to hold his hand?”

“You’d go along with it then?”

“Like hell as like! Way Rain’s getting himself pumped up, time he gets there, be near enough out of his skull.”

Rains arrived back with doubles all round, setting one down in front of Resnick as if he’d never said a word; from the gleam in Rains’s eye he’d slipped in an extra one while being served.

“Here’s to us, then.” Rains raised his glass in front of his face. “And here’s to a life of crime.” He downed the whisky in a single swallow. “What d’you say, then, skip?” He rested a hand on Resnick’s shoulder. “Tune to see if Prior’s all tucked up?”

Resnick got to his feet, leaving his drink untouched. “Time we all went home. Got some sleep.”

“Bollocks!”

“Come on,” Resnick said.

“Keep your hands off me,” Rains said. “Leave me a-fucking-lone.”

“Quietly,” Resnick said. “I’ll walk with you down the square, cab it home.”

“I don’t need a cab, I’ve got my sodding car.”

“Leave it where it is. You don’t want to drive.”

“Who says?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Who’s fucking drunk?”

Reg Cossall stood up heavily, taking hold of both their arms. “This isn’t so good. People are starting to pay attention. What say we hold it down?”

Rains swung himself clear of Cossall’s grasp. “The rest of you can do as you like. Just don’t try and fucking interfere.”

Resnick caught up with him near the foot of Bottle Lane. Rains was leaning forward against the wall, urinating on to the uneven cobbles and his own feet. The car keys were in Rains’s right-side coat pocket and Resnick had found them and fished them out before Rains could react.

“You can have these back in the morning. Now get home and sober up. And don’t go within a mile of Prior. Clear?”

Rains’s eyes were glazed and he shook his head from side to side, bringing Resnick into focus.

“You’ve got no …”

The index finger of Resnick’s right hand stopped no more than two inches from the center of Rains’s face. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. Not you. I spent one of the worst mornings of my life in court today, bending over backwards to keep the shit off your shoes. I’m in no mood to do the same thing twice. Now get home and get yourself sorted out.”

Resnick let the keys fall into his own pocket as he turned away; glancing back from the corner of Bridlesmith Gate, he saw Rains had not moved. Resnick hailed a cab rounding the square and gave his address.

“Good night?” the driver asked pleasantly.

“Yes.” Resnick said. “Terrific!”

Only the front-hall light was on and Resnick switched it off as he went through to the kitchen. There was a piece of Stilton in the fridge and the remains of some pasta Elaine had made in a covered bowl. He shook some Worcestershire Sauce onto the pasta, cut slices from the cheese, and sat at the kitchen table with the local paper. Fifteen minutes later, shoes in hand, he climbed the stairs to bed.

Elaine was tucked in on herself, most of the covers dragged over to her side. Resnick undressed quickly, sliding in alongside her, finding some space beneath the sheet.

“Charlie,” she said softly. “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Charlie,” Elaine said, turning towards him, “you smell of drink.”

Twenty-Three

Resnick had his feet behind his desk before eight and by eight fifteen Rains was standing in front of him with an apologetic grin.

“Way out of line last night, sorry.”

Resnick drew breath.

“Try not to let it happen again, eh?”

“Right,” Resnick said.

“No hard feelings?”

Resnick shook his head. “No.”

Rains held out a cupped hand and Resnick dropped his car keys into it. Rains smiled. “Tell you something interesting,” he said. “Bloke got picked up this morning, Rossi. Early hours. Shinning down a drainpipe out near the castle. Neighbor got up to let out the cat, spotted him, phoned in. Your mate, Ben Riley, got out there in time to help him to the ground. Once he got him talking, hardly get him to stop. Put his hand up for twenty break-ins going back two years. Says there’s more but he wants to cut a deal.”

“Go on.”

Rains shrugged. “Usual kind. Not so keen on going back inside. Something about four walls, not good for his nerves. He wants to trade.”

“Information?”

“What else has he got?”

“You know what we stand to lose? Lies and half-truths, God knows how many hours chasing after things we can’t make stick.”

“All the same,” Rains was nodding, “one little titbit-reckons he knows something about the Sainsbury’s job. Reckons he knows the driver, friend of a friend.”

“Name?”

Rains shook his head. “Not yet. Not so easy.”

“Okay,” Resnick said, “get him in an interview room. I’ll have word on high.”

Rains went off smiling.

On his way back from talking to Jack Skelton, Resnick ran into Ben Riley on the stairs; Ben, still in uniform, sergeant’s stripes in place. When Resnick had applied to return to CID, his friend had opted to stay put. “Not me, Charlie, all that hanging about in pubs, rubbing shoulders with the scum of the earth. Rather keep them at a distance-close as the end of this truncheon, that’s about as close as I want to get. And besides, I like the uniform. Smart. Lord alone knows what you’ll look like when you’re back in civvies. Without you get Elaine to sort you out every day and I can’t see her being much in the way of that.”