The Stone Gallows (21 page)

Except that, with Liz, I wasn't such a miserable bastard. I liked her as a person, knew that she liked me – as a friend.

Maybe there was more to it than that.

Liz picked a remote control off the arm of the settee. ‘You want to watch some television?'

‘Sure.'

She flicked it on, cycling through the channels. Football on BBC

One, Jeremy Paxman shouting at a hapless politician on Two. STV

had one of these crappy interactive game shows. Find the hidden word and phone in.

‘Boring,' Liz said, pointing and flicking with the remote.

Channel Four had a subtitled movie. Intense French people staring at a plate of cheese.

Five had what they called an “Adult Thriller”, which was really just a polite term for a soft core porno movie. The only thing less realistic than the breasts was the acting.

Liz left it there. And was it my imagination, or had she scooted a few inches closer to me?

We talked. I can't remember what we talked about, but we laughed and drank our coffee. I relaxed; she relaxed even further. Then she said, ‘Can I ask you something?'

‘Sure.'

‘What happened?'

I put down my coffee mug. ‘You didn't see it?'

‘See what?'

The accident had been caught by two separate traffic cameras. The TV stations were obliged to edit the footage, but an uncut video clip surfaced on YouTube and got downloaded into several million homes before being yanked. Why anybody would want to watch something like that was beyond me.

Liz shook her head as I explained. ‘I didn't mean that. I mean after.

How did you end up here?'

‘I was suspended while they did an internal investigation. It took them a while, and for a long time I didn't know what was happening.'

I told her about the head injury, the broken bones, the weeks of confusion. I even told her about the way Coombes tailored the truth to suit himself.

‘Did they help you at all?' she asked.

‘In what way?'

‘You know. Support you. Like a counsellor.'

‘I went a few times. It was hard. Her office was at the station, so I had to walk past all my colleagues to get there. I could see them thinking, ‘There goes Stone.' They wouldn't look at me. Some of them were friendly, some of them weren't, but you could tell that they were all relieved that it was me and not them.

‘It was like, I spent my time sitting at home. And I couldn't talk to anybody because I knew that whether or not it was my fault, it was me that did it. I kept replaying the whole incident over and over in my head, trying to see if there was any way I could have made things come out a different way. I mean, now I know the difference, that it was just one of those split second things that nobody could have helped, but at the time, I just blamed myself.

‘The rest is just a cliché. I started drinking. There wasn't much else to do. I couldn't go outside, not with half the country wanting to string me up by the balls, so I used to sit on my settee and watch Fern and Phil with a bottle of Bushmills in my hand. Before long, the drink had taken over.

‘So they completed the investigation and concluded that I wasn't to blame, but with the case being so notorious, I was taken off investigative duty and given a job riding a desk. They didn't want me out there, dealing with the public. And for a while I was glad of it, a simple, nine to five job where nobody hassled me. The police are very forgiving. I used to go in without shaving, stinking of drink, and they would just turn a blind eye. I think that the general opinion was that I'd had a hell of a time and I just needed a few months to pull myself together. And I thought they were right.

‘But I couldn't stop drinking. I was up to about two bottles of Bushmills a day. Barely able to function.' I looked at Liz's face briefly, wondering if I would see a trace of embarrassment. There wasn't one.

‘I. . . wasn't looking after myself. You know. . . eating crap, not changing my clothes. . . not washing. It must have been like sharing offices with a tramp.

‘One morning I got called into the Chief 's office. I must have been a state. Trembling, two weeks worth of stubble. The red-eyed wonder-boy. He told me that he was suspending me again, that I needed to get myself together. I threw up all over his desk.

Liz reached forward and took my hand. It surprised me, and I held on tightly. I'd never talked of this to anybody. There were so many things I wanted to forget. The smell of vomit, the shame that I felt then and still feel now. Most of all, it was the disgust in the Chief 's eyes.

I wanted to forget, but I couldn't. It wasn't just that I was unable to. Forgetting would have been an insult. It was only the knowledge of how far I could fall that kept me from stepping over that ledge again.

‘I. . . uh.' My mouth was dry. ‘That's not all.'

‘You don't have to tell me.'

I knew that. But it wouldn't do any harm. ‘I had a breakdown.'

She nodded.

‘There's a blank period where I can't really remember what happened. I've been told things, but I don't know. . . it's like you ever watch a film, and all the way through it you think it's new to you, and then five minutes from the end you realise that you've seen it before?'

‘I have.'

‘It's like that. Remember Coombes? My partner? Lazy bastard, on the take. I fucking hated him. And he knew that I knew he was on the take, but I didn't have any evidence so we had spent weeks dancing around each other. . . he viewed what had happened as an excuse to get rid of me. He said some pretty ugly things about me throughout the whole disciplinary hearing. . . like I was a loose cannon and unable to follow orders and shit like that.' I closed my eyes. ‘So, that afternoon, I apparently stormed out of the Chief 's office in a rage, just as Coombs was walking down the corridor. He said something, some snarky comment and it was just an issue of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

‘What did you do to him?'

‘I broke his nose.'

‘Oh dear.'

I'd hurt Coombs pretty badly that day, catching him unaware, punching him to the ground, stamping on him before pulling his arm up his back until he screamed like a woman. The whole thing took me less than five seconds.

If I could remember it, it might have been worth it. Just.

Liz said, ‘So they fired you.'

‘No,' I told her. ‘They didn't fire me. I left. There was a lot of people who were sympathetic. They all suspected that Coombes was dirty, and they'd all seen his campaign against me, so they discouraged him from pressing charges against me and they let me walk away. And that's exactly what I did. I went home and climbed inside a bottle and I didn't sober up for a month.'

‘But you don't drink now?'

I shook my head. ‘Not much. I think I was just using the booze as an anaesthetic. There came a day when I wasn't as thirsty. I sobered up, had a bath and went and asked Joe for a job.' I shrugged, as if to say, and here I am.

In reality, it hadn't been quite that simple. For the first couple of weeks of working for Joe I wanted nothing more than to crawl back inside the bottle. Every face I saw, every person I spoke to, I felt like they were judging me. It took a couple of months before I stopped automatically checking behind me when I walked down the street. I was lucky; Joe understood what I was worried about and was patient.

Anybody else would have fired my pathetic ass.

We sat together in silence for a few minutes. Then she pulled me toward her and kissed me gently on the lips. I didn't know what it meant – if it was supposed to offer comfort – but I kissed her back.

Her tongue touched mine, and I felt her hand on my neck. She let out a little moan before pulling away. ‘Do you want to stay the night?'

I nodded and kissed her again. She stood up, took me by the hand, and led me to the bedroom.

8.1

For once, I didn't wake up at the crack of dawn. I slept all the way through until quarter to seven. When I finally did open my eyes, I spent a pleasantly confused few seconds wondering where I was. The bed may have been comfortable, but it wasn't mine.

I looked to my left; Liz was beside me, hair spread across the pillow in a blonde wave. I shut my eyes and pretended to roll over in my sleep so that my elbow nudged her gently. When I opened them, her eyes were open. Emerald green. Nice way to start the day.

‘Morning.'

She kissed me briefly on the lips. ‘Morning.'

‘How are you?'

‘OK.'

She sighed and snuggled closer; I lifted my left elbow so that she could lie with her head in the crook of my arm. Her body pressed against mine, soft and warm and sexy.

Hell of a nice way to start the day.

After a few minutes of lying like that, she lifted her head. ‘You OK?'

‘I'm good.'

‘Any regrets?'

‘None.'

‘You know how it is. You spend the night with somebody and then all of a sudden everything's different.'

‘Everything
is
different,' I told her. ‘Everything is better.'

‘You know yesterday, when I opened the door and I wasn't. . . you know. Dressed?'

‘Yeah?'

‘I knew that it was you.'

‘I forgot to thank you for that.'

‘Don't mention it.'

We drifted off for another ten minutes. The sex had been good – excellent, in fact – but for me, there had been something else as well.

There had been nobody but Audrey for a long time, and things had been very different between us. Animalistic and unfulfilling. I'd forgotten that there it could be tenderness as well.

‘Cameron?'

‘Uh huh?'

‘I don't want to freak you out, but what happens now?'

‘What do you want to happen?'

‘I like you.'

‘Thank God for that. I wasn't quite sure.'

She poked me gently in the side. ‘You know what I mean.'

‘I do, yeah. And I like you. A lot. Have done ever since I moved in.'

‘How much is a lot?'

‘Enough to break it off with Jessica Alba.'

‘Who?'

‘She's an actress.'

‘Will you stop taking the piss? I don't do stuff like this. I don't sleep with somebody on the first date. Ever. But I've broken my own rules and now I want some answers.'

‘Alright. The truth is that you are the best thing I've got in my life just now, and I'm looking forward to getting to know you better. The sex was great, but even if we had talked all night and I had slept on your sofa, I'd still feel the same. If you tell me now that you want to pursue a relationship, but you have no intention of sleeping with me again for the next five years, then I'd probably still be sleeping on your couch in five years time. I like you, Liz. Not what we can do with each other. Sex is good, but if you begin a relationship by defining it as a sexual one then it probably won't work. And whatever happens, I like you for everything you are. You might be sexy – damn sexy, by the way – but you're also funny and smart and kind. I'd be daft if I thought that sex was all you had to offer.'

She was silent for a few minutes. Then, ‘If you begin a relationship by defining it as a sexual one then it probably won't work. . . Wow.

That's deep.'

‘Read it in
Cosmo
.'

We drifted away again. Warm. Safe. Happy.

This time, it was me to break the silence. ‘It wasn't really our first date, you know. We've been friends for a while. All we did was move on.'

‘You're just saying that so I'll sleep with you again.'

‘Not
just
so you'll sleep with me. So that you don't go feeling guilty for what we did.'

‘What did we do?'

‘You know. . .'

‘I can't remember.' She giggled and rolled on top of me. ‘You'll need to remind me.'

Like I said, a hell of a nice way to start the day.

8.2.

Late for work again. If I wasn't careful it could become a habit.

The office block that Banks Investigations was situated in included underground parking, and as lease holders, we were allocated two spaces side by side. Joe's space was empty. Even though I was an hour and a half later than usual, I'd still managed to beat him into work.

I got up to the office, made the coffee and sorted the mail. It included a cheque from a satisfied client to the value of ten thousand pounds. I remembered typing up the invoice; the actual amount was nine thousand, six hundred and fifty pounds. He had included a note, telling us to think of the extra as a bonus. The day just kept getting better and better.

When Joe hadn't arrived by ten, I called him at home.

The phone rang for a full two minutes before he picked up. The second I heard his voice, I knew why he was late. He sounded like he had been ridden hard and put away drunk. ‘Morning, boss.'

‘Morning. I think.'

‘Good night, was it?'

‘Probably.'

‘I see.' It was easy to imagine him leaning against the wall of his hallway with red cheeks and dark circles underneath his eyes. ‘Where did you go?'

‘I took Gary and Barry out on the town.'

‘Gary and Barry?'

‘I swear. Gary and Barry. The Harald and Ginsel guys. You should have seen them. They wore matching suits and had identical mobile phones. And a fine line in bullshit. Kept telling me how much they enjoyed interfacing in an informal environment.'

‘Where did you take them?'

‘Everywhere. We started out in the Bermuda Triangle.'

The Bermuda Triangle consisted of three pubs: The Scotia Bar, The Clutha Vaults, and the Victoria, all within a hundred yards of each other on Stockwell Street. So called because of the number of good men that had been lost there. ‘Where else?'