The White Trilogy: A White Arrest, Taming the Alien, The McDead (36 page)

•        •        •

The Coroner’s verdict on the Clapham Rapist was ‘Accidental Death’. Falls and McDonald sat on opposite sides of the hearing. Twice he’d tried to approach her, trying, ‘Can we move on?’

‘No.’

Then: ‘If we’re going to have to work together at least...

‘Fuck off.’

He’d let it be.

In an unusual development, the Coroner praised the police for the conclusion of a fraught and dangerous episode. Falls squirmed.

Outside, she managed to dodge most of the reporters. A woman came up to her and asked, ‘May I shake your hand?’

‘Ahm?’

She took Falls by the hand and said, ‘I want to thank you for ending the nightmare. I was number six. That piece of scum, I hope he rots in hell.’

The violence of the words and the ferocity of her manner pushed Falls backwards. She tried, ‘There is counselling available.’

A bitter laugh, ‘Oh you were all the counselling I needed.’ And then she was gone.

•        •        •

McDonald called, ‘Yo Sarah!’

‘Yeah.’

He caught up with her, said, ‘I don’t think I congratulated you on yer success.’

‘Thank you.’

She found it the easiest answer. She gave him a fast appraisal and thought, ‘Doesn’t half fancy himself.’

He held out his hand, ‘I’m McDonald.’

‘Weren’t you the...

‘Involved in the Clapham Rapist? I played a very minor role.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re being modest.’

He gave her the full heat of his smile, turned it up to full dazzler. ‘Listen, whatcha say about a drink later?’

‘Ahm, I don’t know...

‘Hey, no strings ... we work together so it’s no big deal.’

‘OK ... why not?’

After he walked off she felt it was a bad idea. But hey, maybe they could be mates and keep it at that. She wasn’t convinced, not at all.

R
OBERTS WENT INTO A
record shop. The last record he’d bought had been by the Dave Clark Five. He was stunned by the shop. The sheer volume of the noise deafened him. Everybody looked like a drug dealer. Worse, he felt like a pensioner. Mainly he wanted to flee. But gathering his resources he marched up to a counter. An assistant, a girl who looked about twelve, said, ‘Yeah.’

‘Ahm ... I’m looking for ... a ... Smokie...

‘CD or cassette?’

‘I think you can take it that if the customer is over forty, it’s a cassette.’

‘Is it hip-hop, dance, techno...?’

‘Whoa, wait a moment ... they’re a pop group from the ’70s.’

‘Then you’ll want retro.’

Eventually, he was led to the cassette section and, no luck.

No Smokie.

They offered to order it, saying, ‘Seventies ... cool.’

He declined.

Roberts’ sole passion was film
noir
of the forties and fifties. Now he resolved to re-bury himself in the genre. It was what he knew.

B
RANT FOUND SARAH IN
the canteen. She was about to have a tea and a danish.

He said, ‘Wanna see another side of policing?’

She gave the danish a look of longing.

He added, ‘I mean now.’

Grabbing her bag, she got up and Brant leant across, grabbed the danish, said, ‘Don’t want to waste that.’

The Volvo was outside and between bites, Brant said, ‘You drive.’

She got the car in gear and he said, ‘St. Thomas’s ... mmm ... this is delicious, must have been fresh in.’

Sarah was cautious in her driving, conscious of him watching.

He was.

He asked, ‘What’s this?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yer driving like a civilian, put the bloody pedal to the metal.’

•        •        •

They found a space to park and walked back to the hospital. Brant said, ‘I frigging hate hospitals.’

‘Who are we seeing?’

‘A snitch, well probably an ex-snitch.’

Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer so she said, ‘Oh.’

Spiro was in an open ward on the third floor. He seemed to be covered in casts and bandages. His leg was suspended.

When he saw Brant, his eyes went huge with fear.

Brant smiled, said, ‘Spiro!’

Spiro’s eyes darted to Sarah and Brant said, ‘It’s OK, she’s a good ’un.’

He took a long look at the injuries, then asked, ‘Who did it?’

‘I dunno Mr Brant, I was attacked from behind.’

‘Sure you were.’

Spiro’s eyes pleaded to Sarah and he said, ‘I am very tired, I must sleep.’

Brant moved closer, said, ‘I don’t need you to say a dicky-bird. I’m going to mention a name and if it’s correct, just nod. That’s all and we’re gone.’

Sarah felt useless, gave Spiro a small smile.

Brant said, ‘Tommy Logan.’

For a few moments nothing; Spiro had closed his eyes. Then, a small nod.

Brant said, ‘OK, you need anything?’

Head shake.

Brant turned to Sarah, said, ‘Let’s go.’

They were on the ground floor before Sarah got to ask, ‘Who’s Tommy Logan?’

‘A murderin’ bastard is who.’

F
ALLS WAS SHOPPING. WITH
an air of total abstraction, her eyes kept wandering to the booze counter. The bottles called out, ‘Come and get us, ple-eze.’

She sure wanted to. Just crawl into a bottle and shout ‘Sayonara, suckers’.

Block out everything.

The Rapist,

Brant,

McDonald,

...And especially Rosie.

But she wasn’t certain she’d return. Her father had climbed in and never emerged. Without awareness, she was shredding a head of cabbage. A voice said, ‘I don’t think it will improve.’

She looked up. A man in his late-forties was smiling at her. He indicated the cabbage, said, ‘Like life, it doesn’t get better with the peeling away.’

Jeez, she thought, He is one attractive guy.

His hair was snow white and he had a three day beard, which was dark brown. Then the eyes, deeper, holding brown. They held her.

He said, ‘According to the experts, shopping is the best way to meet members of the opposite sex.’

She didn’t think such gibberish deserved an answer so she said nothing. If it bothered him, he hid it well, said, ‘My Mother believed you should go out the door you came in.’

‘Which means what, exactly?’

‘That I’m backing off; sorry to have interrupted your shredding.’ Then he turned and walked off.

Falls said quietly, ‘Oh that’s great, frighten him right off.’

Her eyes turned again to the booze and she made her decision, shouted, ‘Hey!’

He stopped, and when she caught up, she said, ‘Tell me more about yer old Mum.’

•        •        •

Brant was going against his instincts but, hell, he felt reckless. As he and Sarah returned to the station, he asked casually, ‘What’s yer plan for this evening?’

She took it easy, answered, ‘I’m going out with friends.’

‘Have a good time, eh?’

‘I’ll try.’

After she’d gone, he sat in the car and tried to figure out what he was feeling. Took out a cigarette and lit it. As the nicotine hit, he tried not to admit that he was disappointed. Then he looked up to see Sarah and McDonald leaving the station.

Her head was thrown back, laughing.

Brant said, ‘Fuck.’

•        •        •

Tommy Logan was hyper, roared, ‘See what happens to those who fuck with me.’

His men grunted in agreement. What they mainly hoped was he’d be brief.

More: ‘Not even the cops can come at us. I had a chief inspector try, eh ... Where is he now?

‘His DS, the hard case Brant, what had he to offer? Bloody zero, that’s what. I’m throwing a party on Friday, the biggest fuckin’ bash in south-east London. This is just the beginning.’

Flushed, he wiped his brow and waited for applause. Applause wasn’t really in their vocabulary but they knew a response was required. A few hip-hips were produced and it had to suffice. Tommy turned to his right-hand man, said, ‘Get the invitations out. Let it be known it’s
the
event.’

‘Sure, guv.’

He was the only one Tommy trusted. The rest he knew would sell him for a pony.

Ideally, Tommy would have loved to get Johnny Logan singing for the party, but he’d found out he was lost in cabaret in Western Australia. Still, he might do a song himself, it depended on the crowd.

The party invitations went out. Harry, the solicitor’s name went on the invites. Thus, a broad cross-section of people could be invited. Including the Super.

The Super rang Harry, ‘Harry, it’s Superintendent Brown.’

‘Superintendent, how are you?’

‘Fine, fine. Thank you for the invite.’

‘A pleasure. Will you and your lady wife be able to attend?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

‘Splendid, the theme is law and order.’

‘Highly commendable.’

‘The Lodge will be there.’

‘Better and better, Harry. Any help I can give?’

Harry paused, gave it the momentary respect, then, ‘Any chance some of your lads might assist with security?’

‘They’d be delighted to.’

‘Well, that’s a load off my mind. See you at the party, then.’

‘Absolutely, thanks again.’ The call concluded.

Both men felt they’d done pretty damn fine.

‘I
DON’T THINK I’VE
had piña coladas before.’ Sarah I had two empty glasses in front of her, working on a third. It was unlikely she’d had a drink of such calibre before.

McDonald knew the barman and had signalled, ‘doubles’, on each round. What used to be called a Mickey Finn but now was simply referred to as ‘loaded’. McDonald was drinking scotch—singles—and watching Sarah go down.

Feeling the alcohol, she said, ‘My Mum would forgive a man anything if he was handsome.’

McDonald posed the obvious, ‘Would she have forgiven me?’

Sarah gave him a shy look, said, ‘You know the answer to that.’

He gave a modest nod which came across as smarmy. She said, ‘My father could dance on the side of a saucer.’

She pronounced it ‘soo-sir’ as the coladas kicked in.

McDonald gave the obligatory chuckle, asked, ‘Fancy one for the road?’

Emboldened, she asked, ‘One what?’

Music to his ears.

Another drink and it would be Ride City.

‘O
WN US’ WERE AN
up and coming band. A cross twixt Oasis and Verve, they were still hungry. Word of mouth was beginning to repeat their name and a record deal was in the air. When approached to do Tommy Logan’s party, they didn’t hesitate a moment, said, ‘No.’ Relayed back to Tommy, he said, ‘Fuck ’em.’

Then, ‘Burn ’em.’

Tommy’s right-hand man proposed he have a chat with them. Tommy asked, ‘Why, Mick?’

‘Cos they’ll get us lots of press.’

‘OK, have a shot but if nothing’s doing, screw ’em.’

‘They’ll agree, I guarantee it.’

The lead singer was named Matt Wilde (sic). He had acquired the mandatory mid-Atlantic drawl for rock stars. Plus, he scratched a lot. Mick found them rehearsing in a warehouse at the Elephant. He listened to their set and thought, Christ, they’re bad.

Matt called a break and signalled to Mick. Being summoned by a nineteen-year-old pup was energising. The star was scratching his neck, asked, ‘What’s yer bag man?’

‘I’d like you to reconsider doing the Law ’n’ Order party gig.’

‘No can do man, never gonna happen. It hasn’t got, like, cred. You hear what I’m saying?’

Mick shrugged, asked, ‘Do any Vince Gill?’

‘What?’

‘You have a mobile?’

‘Course.’

‘Tell you what, give Kate a buzz.’

‘Kate?’

‘Is there an echo in here? ...Yeah, Kate, yer model girlfriend.’

Matt was less sure of himself, took up his mobile and, as required, dialled. ‘Kate?’

‘Matthew, hi.’

Mick said, ‘Ask her if there’s a blue Datsun parked outside.’

He asked ... waited, then, ‘There is ... OK.’

Mick nodded, said, ‘There’s a bloke sitting here, he’s got an acid container ... need I paint a picture.’

Matt jumped at him and got an almighty blow to the solar plexus. The band members murmured but didn’t move.

Mick said, ‘Copyright infringement but we’ve got it sorted ... haven’t we, Matt?’

Matt, still on his knees said, ‘I’ll go to the cops.’

Mick hunkered down beside him, said, ‘That would be very silly. Where would Kate get a new face, eh? You have a little think about it.’

Mick stood up, patted Mart’s head, said, ‘I think coffee break’s over.’

F
ALLS WASN’T SURE WHAT
to wear. She had been through her wardrobe, rejected it all. He’d said, ‘Let’s have a drink, see how we go?’

Out loud she said, ‘Meaning, if I don’t bore the arse offa him, we’ll move to level two.’ And instantly chided herself.

If she was to get out of the mire, she’d need to change her attitude. Decided to go down-home-folks, pulled on tight worn 501’s and a UCLA sweatshirt. Pair of red baseball shoes and she was Miss Selfridge.

‘What do I call you?’ she’d asked.

He thought about it, then, ‘Ryan.’

‘Like Ryan O’Neal?’

He smiled, ‘Not really.’

They’d arranged to meet at The Cricketers. When she arrived he got out of a car, said, ‘You’re on time.’

‘Oh, was it a test?’

He stopped, said, ‘You’ve some mouth on you.’ But he was smiling so she let it slide.

Inside, the pub was hopping and he explained, ‘Darts night.’

‘Oh.’

She’d made a commitment that come what may, she’d tell the truth. Even if he asked what she did. Most times, say you’re a cop, they’d say, ‘You’re never!’