Something clicked at the back of Crowe’s mind as she studied the geezer. She recalled details from his Garda Pulse file. Jason Stone, Downall Road. Convictions: possession, supply, theft, burglaries. He had stored stuff for the Canal Gang. And one of his former associates was Leo King.
God, the King investigation, she wondered. It seemed like ages ago.
She pulled her car into a space.
Stoner was hopping from one foot to another outside a row of disused shops fronting Canal Shopping Centre. His thin legs bent out, then in. It reminded Crowe of how a cowboy walked. The elasticated ends of his tracksuit bottoms were pulled in tight, revealing bright white socks and fluorescent green runners. The hood of a blue raincoat dug into his face. Not that it was raining. He seemed to be singing. He fancied himself as a rapper, Crowe recalled. In an elaborate movement of arms and hands, he brought out a rollie and swung around against the wind. He cupped his hands and, with the skinny rollie in his mouth, spent what seemed like ages trying to light it.
Crowe laughed. That was something she hadn’t done in a while. She felt drained from the last few weeks, with the murders, the round-the-clock CCTV investigation, the two funerals, the raids and the questioning. There were conferences every couple of days and Tyrell was on everyone’s back to have their jobs submitted. There was a growing unease that the Canal Gang was getting away with it. The interviews had thrown up little or nothing. That was the impression she got from Tyrell. He wasn’t happy with the mass arrests in the first place. It was too soon, he said. And he was right. But they had to plough on. She was heading back to the station to resume her search for CCTV of that articulated truck. But, first, she’d see if she could get any scraps from Stoner.
She beeped the horn and waved over at him. He jumped forward, raising his hand in salute. It was only as he approached the car that his face narrowed. But before he could turn around, Crowe slid down the passenger window.
‘How you doing there, Stoner? Putting on a one-man show for the local community?’
‘Ah, Garda, Garda . . .’
‘Crowe, Jason. Detective Garda Crowe.’
‘Garda Crowe. Yeah. Right. What’s smoking in the cop shop there, Crowe, I mean Garda Crowe?’
She could see he was monged.
‘Anything happening?’ she asked.
He leaned back out and started rapping.
‘Never know what ya don’t know. Only know what ya do know.’
‘Stoner?’
‘She wants what’s in me socket, but I’m keeping it in me pocket.’
‘What charges do I have on you?’
‘She’s wrecking me head, spitting out words like lead.’
‘Okay, if that’s your attitude,’ Crowe said, revving the car.
Stoner tilted his head as if he had something in his ear.
‘I’m just hanging out, minding me ownie,’ Stoner said, stretching his hands out in a gesture of an innocent abroad. ‘All I’m doing is having a little smokie, dropping a few raps. Pap, a pap, pap,’ he sounded, boxing the air.
‘You’re a model citizen, Jason. Don’t you have a long list of break-ins up in court soon?’
Stoner twisted his head again. Crowe knew she was wrecking his buzz.
‘And there’s loads of handling charges too …’
‘Yeah, yeah. Don’t know, garda. Don’t really give a –’
‘What, a shite, is it? You want me to tell the judge you haven’t come to my attention since those crimes? Play down your previous convictions?’
He dragged hard on his miserable rollie and leaned in.
‘How’s the drought hitting you?’ Crowe asked, changing tack.
One thing the clampdown had done was end the Canal Gang’s operation. They weren’t moving anything around.
‘It’s a fucking bitch, garda. But, I have my own ways and means.’
‘A resourceful fella like you, Stoner. Don’t doubt it.’
Stoner laughed at that.
‘I knows,’ he said, the words dragging out, ‘with what happened with the little girl and all, that youse have to come down heavy.’
‘And the two guards, Stoner.’
‘Yeah, the garda. Absolutely. It’s fucking headbanger stuff.’
‘You hearing anything on who was involved? Or where they might be?’
Stoner stood back and looked at her as if she had just flashed her boobs at him.
‘Youse want to find me plugged and floating on the canal? Youse haven’t a clue.’
Crowe nodded to herself. No one knew anything. And even the scraps they had, they were keeping to themselves. Even half-decent addicts like Stoner.
Her mind turned to Ms King. She might get something on that.
‘You ever hear anything from Leo King?’
His eyes looked like a slot machine whirring away.
‘Leo the Lion,’ Stoner said, ‘a good skin, like his ma. God bless her.’
‘Ever hear from him?’
‘Na, he’s long gone. They had a fucking army of little ants looking for him. But now,’ he said with a smirk, ‘they have other, what ya call them, concerns.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘Santa Claus and the elves, who ya think?’
He leaned back out, waving his hand in dismissal. He walked away towards the rear of the car. Crowe lifted the handbrake and reversed.
‘Got some important business to attend to?’
‘Pressing. Going home to have a wank and a nice toke. Can join me if ya want?’
‘Come here,’ she said.
Stoner spat on the ground and leaned back in.
‘You hear anything, a whisper, about the shooting, about the gang, or Leo for that matter, give me a shout.’
She rummaged in her bag.
‘Here, take this,’ she said, handing him her card.
Stoner looked at it as if it was a filthy bone.
‘What do I want this for?’
‘I want more from you, Stoner. I think your burglary charges are all being held together, in a couple of months from now. In the Circuit Court. Could be a substantial sentence.’
Crowe shoved the gear into first and moved off. Glancing at the rear view mirror, she smirked as Stoner gave her the finger.