Читать книгу Sacrifice - Paul Finch - Страница 12

‘Get stuffed, Heck!’ Shawna McCluskey said. ‘That wasn’t me.’

‘It was,’ Heck assured the bunch of detectives crammed around them in the pub vault. ‘I drive round the back to try and cut these idiots off. I look up, and there’s two uniforms coming down the other side of the pub. One of them’s Shawna. These two lads they’re chasing see me in the panda car, and cut across this patch of grass. Shawna veers over it to intercept. Best rugby tackle you’ve ever seen. She took this big bastard right out, almost killed him.’

There was laughter.

‘That wasn’t me,’ Shawna informed everyone for the umpteenth time.

‘And what had he done again?’ Des Palliser asked.

‘He’d only bitten some bugger’s nose and ear off in a fight in the pub,’ Heck said. ‘The other one had kicked the shit out of the landlord when he objected. Anyway, she takes out Jaws, and then wallops the other one as well. Puts him down with one punch.’

There was more laughter.

‘That wasn’t me either,’ Shawna said tartly. ‘It was Ian Kershaw. “Dreadnought”, we used to call him. He didn’t want the lock-up because it was ten minutes to finishing time and it was his sister’s wedding the next day. I took the prisoners for him.’

‘What did the two scrotes say?’ Gary Quinnell asked.

‘Nothing,’ Heck replied. ‘They were out cold. They didn’t know who’d hit them.’

There were further roars of laughter.

The Chop House was located under the arches on the edge of Borough Market, and was redolent with Victoriana: leaded windows, etched mirrors, elegant hardwood décor, and an open fire. Its various rooms were packed with off-duty police and police civilian staff, the booze was flowing and there was an atmosphere of bonhomie.

Shawna shook her head as though tolerating the boyishness around her, and handed Heck her empty glass. ‘For that, it’s your round.’

Heck nodded and threaded his way through to the bar, taking a rash of orders en route. Bob Hunter was leaning there, a treble scotch in his hand. He looked rumpled and sour-faced; his tie hung in a limp knot.

‘Everyone’s having a good time, I see,’ he said as Heck put the order in.

‘Gotta give Des a send-off, haven’t we?’ Heck replied.

‘No sign of the Lioness yet?’

Heck looked around. ‘Thought she’d be in by now.’

It was possible that Gemma was in one of the other rooms – she always had a lot of flesh to press at police functions – but the bulk of SCU were squashed into this one, so he’d have expected her to come in here first, probably to buy Des Palliser a drink.

‘Second round of interviews this afternoon for the Media Liaison job, wasn’t it?’ Hunter said.

‘Oh yeah, that.’

‘Yeah … that. What a fucking joke, eh? This is the way they repay us for taking nutjobs off the street.’

Heck shrugged. ‘Won’t interfere with our work, will it?’

‘Says who? I’ve been demoted to fucking duty-officer!’

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘How temporary is temporary, Heck?’ Hunter barely acknowledged the double scotch that Heck placed in front of him. ‘Fucking Lioness wants me out, I can tell.’

‘She doesn’t,’ Heck said.

‘Why, has she told you that?’

‘No, but …’

‘Exactly … no.’ Hunter swallowed whisky. ‘Suddenly the way I work doesn’t suit her anymore. I wonder why that is? I’d say it was because some over-decorated twat on the top floor had her by the gonads … but as a bird she hasn’t got any, has she?’

‘Bob … it was a fuck-up. We should never have spoken to the press.’

‘Alright, I accept that.’ Hunter looked surprisingly contrite. ‘But it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Christ’s sake, Heck … we’d just topped and tailed the fucking M1 Maniacs. Some kind of result, that. No wonder we were all a bit excited. I’ll tell you, I’m fed up with this fucking job.’

Heck had heard such a sentiment before, of course; he’d expressed it himself.

‘You may as well know, I’m putting my papers in for a transfer,’ Hunter added.

‘Where to?’

‘I don’t know. Anywhere out of NCG.’ Hunter wrinkled his nose, as though the whole thing literally stank. ‘Could’ve been the best gig in town, this, but now it’s going like everything else. It’s all politics these days. I mean, you of all people ought to be pissed off by that.’

Heck was; he’d had his share of reprimands over the years, and when in his cups he too was inclined to make such comments, though in reality he kept soldiering on.

‘Just don’t do anything hasty, Bob,’ he said. ‘We don’t know how long this duty-officer thing’ll last. At least you’re working nine-till-five again.’

‘Why should that appeal to me? I’ve nothing to go home to. Sal took the kids yonks ago.’ Hunter shook his head as if that was someone else’s fault too. ‘Fucking Lioness! Sorry, Heck, I know you and her were an item.’

‘That was a while ago.’

‘But when she bites …’

‘She’s here,’ Heck said, spotting that Gemma had entered the pub in company with a slim young woman in a smart skirt-suit. ‘Keep it down, eh?’

Hunter took another big swallow. ‘Don’t worry, pal. I’m not stupid enough to give her any more ammo than she needs …’

‘Drink ma’am?’ Heck said, stepping away from the bar to hand out the rest of the round he’d just bought.

‘Perrier please, Heck,’ Gemma said, taking her raincoat off. She turned to the woman beside her. ‘Claire?’

The young woman, who was girlishly pretty – her black hair was cut to shoulder-length in a cute ‘pageboy’ bob, she had a fresh complexion and startling peppermint-green eyes – smiled nervously. ‘Same for me please,’ she said.

Gemma nodded. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Heckenburg, by the way. Heck, this is Claire Moody, our new Media Liaison.’

Heck was caught by surprise. He hadn’t expected a candidate to be selected so quickly. ‘Oh … you got the job then?’

Claire seemed equally amazed. ‘Looks like it.’

‘Congratulations.’

She nodded her thanks.

‘I thought this’d be a good opportunity for Claire to meet the rest of the team,’ Gemma said, eyeing the raucous crowd gathered around Des Palliser, who was sniffing at an exotic-looking cocktail someone had just bought for him. ‘But I’m not so sure now.’

‘We are what we are, ma’am,’ Heck said, adopting his best blokish air.

‘And she must take you or leave you, eh?’ Gemma said.

‘Something like that.’

She turned back to her new employee. ‘DS Heckenburg is one of our more … persuasive officers. He could sell STD ointment in a nunnery, if you’ll pardon the crude terminology. So long as you remember to believe only five per cent of everything he tells you, you’ll get along with him fine.’

‘Ouch!’ Heck said, which Claire seemed to find amusing.

Gemma sighed. ‘Well … might as well try and get everyone’s attention while they’re not totally bladdered. Come on, Claire. I’ll introduce you.’

The two women moved away, Gemma clearing a path through the mob.

‘Cute little thing anyway,’ Hunter remarked. ‘Looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’ He snickered. ‘I give her a month at the most.’

Heck said nothing.

Hunter remained for another half-hour, before downing his drink and sloping away without saying goodbye. Claire Moody, rather to Heck’s surprise, lasted a little longer, which in some ways was admirable given that she didn’t really know anyone here. She stuck fairly close to Gemma, probably because most of the rest of the team had moved in on her in predatory fashion, alternately trying to flirt or wind her up, though he later saw her being led to one side and getting her ear bent by Shawna McCluskey.

‘Heck … hey Heck!’ Shawna shouted. ‘Come over here a sec!’

He drifted over. Everyone was now well-oiled. Deafening laughter boomed; beer was sloshing. Shawna was on her way to getting drunk too.

‘Claire … you met Heck yet?’ she shouted, gesturing with a lager bottle.

Claire smiled awkwardly. ‘Sort of.’

‘Heck’s our ace thief-taker. Me and him were in GMP together when we were whippersnappers.’

Claire frowned. ‘GMP … that’s Greater Manchester Police?’

Shawna laughed. ‘Bang on. The pride of the northwest.’

‘And you both ended up in London?’

‘We didn’t come down together,’ Shawna replied, burping. ‘Sorry. Heck transferred to the Met while he was still in uniform. It was a few years later with me. I joined CID in Manchester, then the Major Crimes Squad. When I heard SCU had a vacancy, I jumped at it. I arrived here and stone me, Heck’s on the next desk … a bloody DS! Mind you, I shouldn’t have been surprised. When he was in uniform he did more locking-up than the rest of the relief put together. If he fell over a wall he’d find two tea-leaves on the other side waiting to do a job.’

‘Yeah, I’m so lucky I passed my inspector’s exam fourteen years ago, and I’ve never had a sniff of an interview,’ Heck replied.

Shawna slapped his shoulder. ‘Too gobby, pal, that’s your trouble. Always too gobby.’ She turned to Claire. ‘He’s not like me – I’m not gobby. I’m just crap. Not be a mo … gotta pee.’

Shawna blundered away, leaving her half-drunk bottle in Claire’s hand.

‘She’s not actually,’ Heck said. ‘She’s a pretty good detective. She wouldn’t be in SCU otherwise.’

‘I was a bit intimidated about that,’ Claire admitted; her accent was refined South Coast, which was rather fetching. ‘I mean, you chaps are not just any old police unit are you? I heard you’ve cracked some really big cases.’

‘Well, things haven’t gone totally swimmingly for us in recent times.’

‘I heard about that too. And … I’m hoping that’s something I can help you with.’

‘Claire!’ someone else shouted. Gary Quinnell, minus jacket and tie, lurched towards her. Beefy red faces grinned behind him. ‘Can we have you over here?’

‘Sure,’ she replied, handing Shawna’s bottle to Heck, giving him a nervous glance.

‘There’s something you need to know about if you’re going to work with us,’ the burly Welshman said, leading her away. ‘But it isn’t covered in any manual.’

‘Okay …?’ She still sounded nervous.

‘It’s called the Ways And Means Act …’

‘I’m going to miss all this,’ Des Palliser said, appearing at Heck’s shoulder.

‘Don’t beat yourself up too much,’ Heck replied. ‘It’s not like we roll out the barrel every week.’

‘We should. Reminds everyone what life’s really about.’

Briefly, Palliser looked pensive. He was a grizzled oldster with a lean frame and a scraggy grey beard. A knowledgeable detective with good political acumen, he knew how to play the game but, with such long service in, he’d had little personal ambition left and thus had become something of a ‘father-figure’ in SCU; a font of wisdom and reliable advice for those junior officers he regarded as his protégés.

‘What I meant was I’m going to miss you lot,’ he said. ‘Bunch of scruffy urchins. Who’s going to knock you into shape if I’m not there?’

‘Enough, thank you!’ Gemma’s voice carried across the pub. In one corner, Detective Constable Charlie Finnegan was standing on a table with his trousers around his ankles. ‘Remember who we are and where we are, please!’ Finnegan got down, abashed.

‘Who do you think?’ Heck said.

Palliser smiled fondly. ‘Taught her everything she knows.’

‘I always knew we had to thank you for something.’

‘I’m glad you could come, pal.’

Heck glanced around at him. ‘No one had to drag us here, Des. You’ll be missed too.’

‘I want you to do something for me.’

‘Name it.’

‘Be careful, okay?’ Palliser regarded him gravely. His face was a nest of wrinkles, his teeth gnarly and yellowed by decades of smoking, yet all of this served to give him character. ‘No more go-it-alone heroics like we saw during the Nice Guys enquiry. No job’s worth putting your life on the line for.’

Heck smiled. ‘It’s not something I plan to make a habit of.’

‘And that M1 Maniac thing was almost as bad. You got some kind of death-wish?’

‘Just the way the cards fell, Des.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Palliser put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Heck, you’ve got a good boss in Gemma. Make use of that. Try and forget you and her once had a thing going. Unless of course, well …’ he almost sounded hopeful, ‘unless you feel like going there again?’

Heck glanced towards Claire, who, though she was besieged by shouting, guffawing coppers, was also laughing. Gary Quinnell made some jibe, but she responded sharply and they fell about again.

‘I don’t think so,’ Heck said slowly.

Palliser followed his gaze. ‘Something more interesting on the horizon?’

‘Who’s to say?’

‘Well … if it gives you a reason to go home at night, all to the good.’

‘Who are we kidding, Des? She’s probably got a boyfriend with a Ferrari.’

‘Just remember what I said, eh? Do what you do, Heck … you’re bloody good at it. But be sensible and be safe.’

Heck nodded, surprised by the depth of feeling in his colleague’s voice.

‘Anyway, what’re you having?’ Palliser lurched away to the bar.

‘Bitter please,’ Heck said to his retreating back. ‘Pint of.’

Gemma strode up. She looked as cool and unruffled as ever, despite the heat and noise. She glanced after Palliser. ‘He sorry to be going?’

‘Thinks SCU will fall apart without him,’ Heck replied.

‘The perceptiveness of old age.’

Heck nodded towards Claire. ‘Our new recruit looks comfy already.’

‘Good.’ Gemma sipped her mineral water. ‘Because there’s no point us handling her with kid gloves. This’ll be a testing job.’

‘Presumably she’s well qualified for it?’

‘Worked for a major financial house in the City and at least two government departments.’

‘When does she start?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘That soon?’

‘She might as well get her feet under the table while things seem to be fairly quiet.’

Heck pondered that, wondering if they were challenging fate. He wasn’t superstitious, but one thing he’d learned during his seventeen years as a police officer was that you didn’t make any decisions based on an assumption that nothing tumultuously crap was about to happen. Because, almost invariably, it was.