Beast of Burden (14 page)

“And you'll receive a letter about when you can return to work, if that happens to be the case.”

“Give us an idea,” I said.

“You'll receive a letter.”

I opened my mouth, couldn't find what I wanted to say, realised it wouldn't make a difference anyway, then went to the door. Didn't want to show this bastard any weakness, but there was a bubbling in my gut that meant I was close to either crying or tearing the place apart with my bare hands. This daft cunt might've given the Tiernan body to Kennedy — who probably didn't even know it
was
Tiernan — but I was the one with the only solid lead.

“One thing about the trainers,” I said. “On the record, off the record, whatever you want. I didn't chuck 'em that far. If Paddy Reece had been in possession of a pair of balls along with all the class Bs he had on his person, he would've bit the bullet and gone to fetch them. But lads like that, they're what us
coppers
term recidivists. His first instinct wasn't to look for his shoes, but to steal some more. And you can't be a recidivist like that
and
a victim. Hope you bear that in mind when it comes to your decision.”

There was a smile on Ali's face that belonged on a nursery teacher. “Go home, Iain.”

I would've, but when I opened the door, I saw Kennedy striding into the main office like his balls were too big for his britches. I half-turned to the DCI.

“Aye, I will,” I said. “Just need to clear out my desk.”

DONKIN

“You know what the uniforms are like,” said Kennedy, one buttock on the edge of the desk, talking at the top of his fucking voice for everyone to hear. “They don't make 'em like they used to, do they? New lads coming on the force, they're squeamish. Now if it'd been
Iain
over there, he would've been in that building like a shot, wouldn't you?”

“Too right,” I said. I knew he was taking the piss out of us, but it didn't bother us so much because he was right — when I was a constable, I would've been right in there. I picked up the bacon barm from yesterday, took a bite out of it. It was cold and congealed, but it'd do for the moment.

“
These
lads, mind, they're educated. They've been to university. They don't want to go into some 'orrible block of flats looking for a dead bloke. Besides, right, they know as well as anyone in here, we've had calls from that neck of the woods before. Only bodies we ever picked up were our own uniforms.”

Couple of grunts of agreement from somewhere at the back of the room. I watched Kennedy pick up his mug, slurp some tea. Smug as you like, the kid at school everyone made a mental note to smack fuck out of, but somehow never got round to it. Thing was, he might've looked like he was just talking to the walls, but I could see the rest of them in the office, and they were watching him, waiting for him to carry on.

When I saw that, I didn't know who I hated more. Kennedy for being an obnoxious twat, or them for not seeing it.

“Anyway,” said Kennedy. “They go in there, because they know if they don’t they're going to get Brearley on their back if there turns out to be an honest-to-God case in there, and thank Christ they do, because there's our boy. And what a bloody mess he was in.”

Kennedy made it sound like he was on the scene quick-smart. I knew for a fact they had to bell him four times before he picked up. Took him two hours to get to scene because the bastard was fast akip.

“Like I always said, someone like Mo Tiernan, he's going to piss off the wrong people one of these days, and those people, they're liable to be the dramatic sort.”

That was the first time I ever heard Kennedy say that. But he was the kind of bloke who seemed to know what he was doing because he was loud when he was right, and he could stick to his lies because he had a good memory. Looked at him, and all I saw were the talents of a street dealer, except this one wore a suit and tie, got paid a fuck sight less.

“How'd you know it was Tiernan?” I said.

He shifted on his desk, and I could feel people staring at us. He turned his head, played it like he was surprised I was still in the room. “I recognised him.”

“Thought you said he was a mess.”

“Whoever robbed him dropped an ID card.”

“Handy, that.”

“Wouldn't have taken long, Iain. Made mince out of the lad's face, there are other ways. You know that.”

“That bad, was it?”

“Yeah. Nasty.”

“Well,” I said. “There's no tears in this place, right?”

More grunts around the office. I saw Adams in the corner of the room, his arms folded. He nodded to himself. I opened one of my desk drawers, realised that there was nothing that I particularly wanted to take with us. I finished off the barm, dumped the bag in the bin.

“You know the Tiernans, don't you?” said Kennedy.

“Of them, yeah.”

“So, you got any ideas?”

I shrugged, sucked the sauce off my fingers. I had plenty of ideas about plenty of things, but there wasn't a single one of them I wanted to share with this twat. “Could've been anyone.”

“Well, I'm sure I'll get a lead from somewhere.”

“Nothing yet, then?”

“Early days,” he said. “And if we don't …”

He trailed off, smiling.

“And if you don't?” I closed my desk drawer, had a smile of my own going. Just like his, a real piss-taker.

“And if we don't, Detective Sergeant Donkin, it's not like we lost a cure for cancer, is it?”

“Right. No point in looking too hard, is there?”

“I didn't say that.”

“What did you say, then?”

Kennedy's eyes closed for a second, like he couldn't believe I still had the balls to get this close and talk this bolshy after what happened yesterday. He moved onto his other arse cheek, away from us. “I said, if we don't find out who killed him, it's hardly a tragedy, is it? Said yourself that there were no tears shed in this office.”

“So that gives you a licence to half-arse it,” I said, making sure I was nice and loud.

“For Christ's sake,” said Kennedy.

“You're saying you don't care.”

“You don't
have
to care. It's a job.”

“You're saying you're quite happy to half-arse the case because you don't give a fuck about the victim.”

“Fuck off, Iain.”

“Who you really working for, Colin?” I said.

He blinked, smiling. “You what?”

“You're so up on your underworld connections, mate, I'm wondering if you didn't slip a little. You wanted to know if I had any ideas, I've got plenty. You know what they're saying about Morris Tiernan, don't you?”

“What's that?” he said, like he was humouring us.

I leaned forward. “They're saying he's been a smug cunt for too long. That he's spent too much time playing the king and not watching his own arse. I mean, you can appreciate that. You know how easy it is to fall into that mentality, right?”

Kennedy didn't say anything, moved his head to one side.

“So what else d'you think they're saying? Maybe that Uncle Morris isn't keeping a watch on his own kids. And maybe the one person with the motive and opportunity to hone in on the Uncle's empire was his fuckin' son.”

Kennedy nodded, smiled like I was simple, then said, “Who's
they
, Iain?”

“
They
is people in the fuckin' know, Colin.”

“Right,” he said. “
Your
people. Like Conroy. Smackhead with a bag of stolen phones. These people are your eyes and ears.”

“You know me,” I said. “Rather hear it from the street than the man himself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Means you're a bit quick to call this a closed case, aren't you? Means you want to watch how that looks. Because it
could
look that you're willing to drop an investigation for two bob and a toffee apple.”

He laughed, once and harsh, spit flying from his mouth. He moved off his desk. “Right, whatever you want to think, Iain. Hey, you want to make a formal accusation, I'm not going to hold it against you.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Oh wait, no,” he said. “You have to be active to make a complaint like that, don't you?”

I glared at him then, sucked my teeth. “You took Paddy Reece's statement, didn't you?”

“Wasn't me, Iain.”

I saw movement out the corner of my eye. Saw Adams sneaking for the door again. Saw other people going back to the pretence of working.

“Sergeant.”

Ali. I half-turned to his voice. Then back to Kennedy, who nodded at the DCI over my shoulder, a sick little smile on his face. Because even before I went into the office, this bastard knew I was on a suspension.

“Finished cleaning out your desk?” said the DCI.

I sniffed, didn't move my gaze from Kennedy. “Aye.”

“Okay, then.”

I stepped back, away from Kennedy, started towards the door.

“Send my best to Mrs Donkin,” he said. And then, with laughter in his voice, “Oh, wait, sorry about that—”

I turned, stormed the cunt, grabbed Kennedy by his jacket and the whole place tightened up. He was all like, “fuckin' gerroff us” all of a sudden, had a mouthful of shit that couldn't have made him look good in front of his gaffer. His face scrunched right up like he was going to do something. I heard Ali shouting my name at us, which stopped whatever Kennedy was thinking. But I'd already realised that this situation wasn't going to end well for us anyway, so I reckoned, fuck it, might as well follow through. I shoved Kennedy back against his desk, heard a thump that sounded painful, then saw his legs fly up the air. Next thing I knew, half the world's paperwork went up with his shoes, and it started snowing A4 sheets. Then he disappeared from sight, hit the floor, bringing his chair down with him.

Except it wasn't his chair. Now it was upside down, I could see the part where I'd scratched my initials into the plastic moulding. I made a move towards him, found hands on us.

“C'mon, Iain. Don't be fuckin' daft, eh?”

I shook 'em off. And stood still. The office dropped into a thick silence.

Kennedy broke it. Lot of breathing at first, a bit of a huff and a puff and I'll blow your fucking house down, working up to the hardcase he thought he was. Then I saw his face come up from behind the desk and he was bright red. Swollen, too, like all the blood in his body whooshed up to his skull when he went over his desk. Showing his bottom teeth, he looked like a proper steroid case.

I nodded at him. “You alright there, Colin?”

“You're a fucking joke,” he said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Detective Inspector Kennedy.”

Kennedy looked across at the DCI and some of the blood went from his face. He tugged at his tie, tried to make himself look more presentable. Adjusted his expression, but the eyes were still the same when he turned back to us.

“Think you'd better go home, Iain,” said Ali.

I smiled. Everyone being all nice and polite, because they weren't allowed to do anything else. Conflict resolution training kept them all in check, and they certainly didn't want to rock the boat when the gaffer was standing there. Cowardly bastards to a man. And that was my point. This was what kept my arrest rate up. I wasn't scared to bend a few rules, and the likes of Ali had to appreciate that.

“Iain.”

“I know,” I said. “I'm going now.”

I headed across the office, already heard the whispers starting up. I pushed through the door out into the corridor where a fresh breeze took the fighting sweat off my face. Pulled out my mobile, made sure I still had Adams' number on it. I might've been suspended, but that didn't mean I couldn't call in a couple of favours.

And the way I saw it, Derek Adams owed us big time.

INNES

The call comes in early — Uncle Morris wants to see me.

Of course he does.

Not at the Wheatsheaf this time, though. And fair enough, I don't see Brian being too happy about an eight o'clock early doors for anyone. Besides, the faintest glimmer of an open pub round that way brings the drinkers out in force. Instead, Tiernan's told me to come round his house as soon as possible.

Which is a first, definitely. Even when my brother rang with Mo, it was invitation only to Tiernan's house, and anyone without that invitation was quick to find themselves blinded by their own blood.

When I arrive, a huge bloke with a shaved head makes a beeline for my car. I kill the engine as he approaches the side window. He takes one look at me and nods. Obviously I fit whatever description he's been given. He waves me out of the car and I comply, grabbing my walking stick and following him as he starts towards the house.

Tiernan's place is actually
two
houses — a couple of semi-detached ex-councils knocked through to make one large Ordsall mansion. He's lived here as long as anyone can remember, was dragged up on these streets. And the price he pays is this small army of bodyguards that hang around outside the house. Of course, Tiernan wouldn't call them bodyguards, and they wouldn't acknowledge the job title, either. They'd be “mates of Mr Tiernan”, or
acquaintances
. Because the idea that Uncle Morris needed protecting was ludicrous, right? He was a bloke who could look after himself, thanks very much. That's if he needed protection. Because it wasn't like he was doing anything that could piss people off, so why would he need protection?

Morris Tiernan owns bars, pubs, clubs, snooker halls, a massage parlour on Lime Street, another one in the village. He calls himself a legitimate businessman because that's precisely what he is. And the reason he lives on the same sinkhole estate he'd grown up on was because he wants to stay true to his roots, put a little back into the community. And of course there are rumours flying about that he's somehow got his thumb wedged firmly into the urban regeneration project that's sweeping Salford, that he put up a thick pile of cash to build Quay 5, but what's the matter with that?

No, for all intents and purposes, the idea is that Morris Tiernan might be slightly rough around the edges, but he's truly a pillar of the community. Doesn't matter that I know for a fact he's killed people, robbed and extorted others. Doesn't matter that he had a drug-dealer for a son, and that Tiernan taught him what little he knew and a lot more he couldn't remember. If you have enough money in this city and invest it wisely enough, then you're forgiven a myriad crimes.