Beast of Burden (30 page)

He laughed, but there wasn't any fucking humour in it. “Yeah, one thing — whatever the fuck it is you think you're doing right now.”

“Right now? I'm driving.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It's a long story. Better you just tell us what you heard.”

“I heard you came into the nick and commandeered a fucking uniform. Basically kidnapped him.”

“See, that's how rumours start. He's here of his own volition.”

“And what about you going after Innes?”

I didn't answer that for a few seconds. Had to think about my reply. Because this twat had heard something, and it couldn't have been from Adams. Which meant the poof had grassed us up. Which was fair enough, considering.

“I'm not after Innes,” I said. “I'm after Mo's killer.”

PC John looked at us then. I shook my head at him.

“Well, you need
someone
to straighten this out for you, Donkey, because if this gets anywhere near the DCI's ears—

“Let him find out, Colin. Honestly, like I give a fuck. What, you were going to keep it a secret for me? Very kind of you, you slimy little wanker, but I think I can take this on my own. Ta, anyway.”

“I'm not offering help, I'm asking you what the fuck you think you're playing at. Obviously you've got a suspect, obviously you want to bring him in. So you're kidnapping constables for the arrest?”

I waved my hand, squinted. Wanted to hang up on the cunt, especially now we were getting close to the poof's club. “Maybe we can talk about this some other time, eh?”

“Or is it that you know as soon as this disciplinary's over with, you're dead in the fucking water? And you reckon, what the fuck, you might as well deal with some personal grudges on the way out?”

I
did
hang up then. Turned off the mobile and put it in my pocket. I could feel the constable looking at us, but I didn't turn. Concentrated on the road instead.

Kennedy would have had a point if I was the old Donkey. Like, if I was a bloke that harboured grudges. I mean, I could see how that might look from the outside — like I was hounding Innes, trying to get him banged up again because of, what, some long-standing fucking enmity?

It was fucking ridiculous, but then that was obviously the way everyone saw it.

Including Constable John over there.

Well, fuck him, and fuck Kennedy. This had to be official. I couldn't have my case blown out of the way because of a technicality, like I wasn't officially a copper, and couldn't
officially
make an arrest. What I said to PC John before about Innes kicking off, well, that could happen and I'd be ready for it if it did, but I also knew that the old days of me being able to clout a cunt and get away with it were over. And I knew the constable sitting next to us was a bastard jobsworth, just like the rest of them. Which was good because I was playing it straight, meant that I'd end up collaring the right lad — a lad who'd been walking away from shite for far too long, you asked me —
and
I'd be doing it right. I'd also be slipping a case out from under Kennedy, which explained why he was so quick to call.

Fuck it, if I was lucky, I'd be able to get Kennedy up on some kind of investigation himself. After all, it wasn't like he was breaking his back trying to find out who did it, was it now?

But I was getting ahead of myself. First I had to deal with the poof again. I couldn't go in there steaming again, not after the last time. To be honest, I'd forgotten that the bloke used to be a handy fighter in his day.

And as I pulled the Granada into Coronation Street, I took a deep breath. I'd have to be fucking clever about this, right enough.

Parked outside the poof's club. Turned in my seat.

“Wait here,” I said. “If I start screaming, you come running, alright?”

He didn't nod. Didn't shake his head, either.

Fair enough.

INNES

“Need to talk to you, love.”

Alison Tiernan looks over her dad's shoulder at me. I look at the ground. Next to me is the big lad Tiernan called Darren. He's holding his hands in front of him. I feel movement in front of me, hear a kissing sound, and look up to see Tiernan walking into Alison's house, his head bowed. Look across at Darren and he nods towards the open door.

I head into the hall. See Alison leading her dad into the living room. Feel Darren behind me, hear him close the door and feel the swift breeze turn to the cloying heat of the radiators. You can almost hear the fresh air get sucked out of the room. There's also the sound of something live and obnoxious on the television, quickly muted as I enter. Talent show of some sort, can't tell which one because my eyes are hurting too much. I rub at them as Sammy comes into the room, staring up at us all with large blue eyes.

Alison goes to her kid, hoists him up to her hip. Looks at us, standing there in the middle of her living room like a bunch of fucking bailiffs. And for a second, I'm scared and guilty about what's going to happen.

Then I get control of myself, hoping it didn't show.

All this is necessary. I need to remember that.

“What's up?” says Alison.

Tiernan holds his hand out to Alison, jerks his head towards the kitchen. “Need a word with you in private, love.”

“What's he doing here?”

“You want to give the kid to Darren, he'll—”

“Nah, what's
he
doing here?” she says, nodding at me.

“I'll tell you in a second.”

Darren moves to take the kid from Alison and her eyes flicker wide.

“No,” she says. “What's up, Dad? Tell us now.”

Tiernan looks at me, breathing through his nose, his eyes slits. Like he's already blaming me for coming here, for the questions he has to ask. I look back at him, hopefully with the right face for the situation.

“Darren,” he says, “look after Sam for us, will you?”

Alison gets it then. Something bad's happened. What she doesn't know is that something worse is
about
to happen. She looks at her son, then puts him on the floor. “Show Darren your Legos, Sam.”

Sam looks at Darren, then back at his mum.

“It's okay. Show him your Legos.”

“You want to show us your Legos, eh?” says Darren, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

Sam heads for the door to the hall. Darren pauses before he follows him.

Alison waits until he hears them climbing the stairs before she says, “It's about Mo, isn't it?”

Tiernan looks like he wants to burst into tears right then. But he doesn't. “Makes you say that?”

She points at me. “Because
he's
here. And the last time he was round here, he was asking about Mo an' all.”

“He's dead,” says Tiernan.

Alison shakes her head and moves towards the kitchen. “You'll want a brew, then.”

She sticks the kettle on, pulls out some mugs.

“Just the two. Callum's not staying.”

Alison does as she's told. Then she leans against the counter and says, “Where'd they find him?”

Tiernan sits at the small kitchen table. Pulls the chair out further. The legs scrape loudly against the tile in the kitchen. “Miles Platting, wasn't it, Callum?”

I nod. “Squat.”

Alison nods to herself. “Right.”

“You know he was squatting?” says Tiernan.

“No.”

“See him much?”

Alison looks at her father. “No, Dad. Why would I?”

“Just wondering,” he says, lacing his fingers together on the table. “Just trying to … I heard something about him recently, I'm trying to get my head round it.”

“What's that?”

Tiernan frowns. “That he was killed.”

She doesn't stop with the coffee, moves to the fridge and grabs some milk. You can tell she's a mother — she doesn't have to sniff the milk to see if it's good.

“Alison,” says Tiernan.

“Was he?”

“Police seem to think so.”

“Okay.” She turns back to her father, glances at me. “And what's he got to do with it?”

I don't answer. Tiernan says, “I asked him to look into it for me.”

“Why?”

“Because he's trustworthy.”

“Seriously, Dad, why?”

“I told you—”

“Right,” she says, and her tone hardens. “You got him to investigate. And the first place he comes is round here.”

Tiernan doesn't say anything for a while. He rubs his nose with one hand, then shifts around in his seat and stares at me. Looks me up and down as if it's the first time he's ever seen me. After a moment, the kettle boils. Alison moves to it and pours the coffees.

“I think you better wait outside,” says Tiernan. “You look like you need a cigarette or something.”

I nod. Make a move for the door. As I do, Tiernan turns back to his daughter and sighs.

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. Standing outside a semi-detached Barratt Home on the edge of town, watching the sky light up with the first fireworks of the night.

I breathe smoke and drop the cigarette under my heel.

Inside the house, I can hear people moving around. I take a step back, look up at the first floor — see the lights on in what looks like the kid's room. Hoping to fuck he's not going to be around to see what's going to happen to his mother. From inside, more movement. And a loud voice, distressed, sounds like Alison. I can't make out what she's saying, but I catch the intent. She's defending herself, shouting back at her dad. In the middle of it, her voice cuts out.

Tiernan hit her. I move back to the hallway, can make out the sound of sobbing coming from the kitchen. It's quiet, as if she's used to keeping her voice down. A far cry from the last time I saw her with a black eye, a black eye she got in self-defence from the guy she was beating the shit out of on a regular basis.

She was tough back then. Not so much now.

I reach the kitchen door. Push it open.

Alison Tiernan is leaning in the corner of the counter, one hand up over her face. No blood, but both her cheeks are flushed. On the floor, one of the mugs that I presume was hers is smashed and a thick brown river spreads into a pool on the floor. Tiernan is still sitting down, his hands over his mug. He's staring into the liquid.

“Something …”

His voice catches. He pushes the mug away from him.

“Something I don't understand,” he says. Slowly, carefully, and with a voice that sounds as if it's come from a four-pack-a-day habit. He raises one finger to his temple, taps. “I've been thinking about it, but I still … can't get my head right on it.”

I don't say anything. He doesn't move.

“You want to know what it is?” he says.

I still don't say anything. Wait it out. Maybe he's talking to Alison.

Tiernan turns in his seat. And for the first time, I can see he's been crying. His eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks shining to dry. He rubs one hand against his face in a rough movement. “I'm talking to you.”

I clear my throat. “Okay.”

“And I was wondering something.”

“What?”

“When you started thinking I was fuckin' stupid.”

I blink. My gut sinks. “Sorry?”

“I was wondering when it was …
exactly
… when you started to play funny buggers with us. When you thought I was so fuckin' washed up you could have a bit of fun with us.”

“I don't know—”

“I don't give a
fuck
, Callum.”

“Wait a second. You talked to her,” I say.

“Alison's got nowt to do with Mo's death, Callum.”

“That's not true.”

“She says she didn't—”

“She's lying.”

“You have proof, you tell us.”

“The police know.”

Alison looks at me. “How?”

“Donkey told me. He told me what they found at the scene.”

Alison shakes her head and squints at me.

“They have ID … from his wallet,” I say, looking straight at her. “She dropped it … when she took his wallet. No doubt they … took
prints
from it. And they have a hair. A long hair, can't be his. Won't take them long … to find out it's
Alison's
. Even if she hasn't … seen him. Recently. The police reckon … I'm sorry. The body was there. For a while. Before it was found.”

Tiernan doesn't say anything now. He breathes out through his mouth.

“She has a motive,” I say, moving round in front of the table. “I know it's difficult. To accept. But it's true. That
kid.
”

Tiernan looks up at me, then beyond me at Alison.

“You know whose it is,” I say. “You know what Mo did. To her boyfriend. In Newcastle. She didn't forget that.”

“You're a fuckin'
liar
,” she says. Keeping her voice down.

But I move out of the way, turn so I can watch her. Just in case. She's standing next to the cutlery drawer and a knife block — I don't want my back to her.

I shift and point at her. “I'm not saying … she killed him. Could've been an OD. But she was there. When he died. The hair under his fingernail. Ask the police. The wallet. And whoever was there … they did damage to him. Lot of hatred there. I don't know … anyone else in this room … with that kind of hatred. For Mo.”

Tiernan looks at the top of the table.

“I know you … don't want to hear this. But it's true. Got to deal with it. I can help.”

“You lying cunt,” says Alison.

“Alison.” A quiet warning from Tiernan. She shuts up.

“It's okay,” I say. “I can talk … to the police.”

Tiernan raises his head and looks at me. His eyes are half-closed. He looks tired as fuck, like all this noise has taken it out of him.

“I can make it better,” I say. “Just leave it to me.”

A small smile appears in the corner of his mouth, spreading across until it becomes a teeth-shown grin. Then he closes his eyes for a few seconds, breathes out.

“I can't let you do that,” he says. “There's no point talking to the police for us, Callum. Appreciate the offer and everything.”

I hear thumping from upstairs and my heart joins in. Sounds like they're moving to the stairs.

“The police don't get involved with this. This is me taking care of my own. We're not fuckin' idiots here, Callum. You know as well as I do what's going to happen to the man who killed my boy.”