52 #BeerOClock

Haye and Sorrell walked the two blocks from police HQ on East Fayette Street to their local watering hole, an Irish pub on East Fairmount. They didn’t talk much on the sidewalk, through a mixture of tiredness and suspicion they’d be overheard, but once inside the noisy bar, the first Guinness soon made them relax.

Haye ordered the crab dip with a side of sweet potato fries. ‘I was so fucking busy I forgot to eat today, cap’n. Want something?’

‘Nah. Food gets in the way of my drinking. Truth is, Denise has cooked me something. She’d kill me if I came home smelling of drink then refused to eat. Rather just get done on one count,’ Sorrell explained, ordering another round of Guinness.

‘I’m glad I don’t have all that shit anymore. Don’t get me wrong, cap’n, it suits straight shooters like yourself, but I’m not cut out for family life,’ Haye replied, in between mouthfuls of food.

Sorrell smiled for the first time in days. ‘And what makes you think I’m a straight shooter?’

Haye nearly choked on his crab dip. ‘C’mon, cap’n, you’re the straightest guy I know. I mean that in a good way. You wouldn’t go beating the shit out of suspects like that scumbag, Coops.’

‘The difference is, I did it where no one saw me,’ Sorrell confessed.

‘Fuck off. No way you be beating up on someone?’ Haye said in amazement.

‘Did too. I was new. Chased this yo for ten blocks. He ran out of steam before I did. I was a lot thinner and fitter back then too. I ran round this corner and BAM, he hit me with a right hook which dislocated my jaw. Sorest thing I ever felt. My legs turned to jelly and I was about to pass out. Know why I didn’t?’ Sorrell asked.

‘Nope.’

‘My shirt. I had just started dating Denise and she bought me this beautiful pink shirt. It was the first gift from a girlfriend,’ Sorrell recalled.

‘Pink? I’d have punched your lights out too,’ Haye joked.

Sorrell ignored him. ‘Anyway, I look down and it’s ruined. Covered in my own blood. I thought, What will I tell Denise? So instead of passing out I flew into a rage and kicked the bastard unconscious. That was the first and last time I hit a suspect.’

‘Jeez, cap’n, I never knew you had it in you. I’m not saying you’re a soft touch. No way. But I just can’t see you fucking up someone, like Coops. I guess every dog has its day,’ Haye said, shaking his head.

‘Know what?’ Sorrell said. ‘Coops was a good detective. I don’t believe he framed anybody. But his methods were Stone Age. He didn’t have the patience for interrogations. That’s why he always beat on people. He was always in a hurry with somewhere to go.’

‘Yeah, to check on his hookers down at his whorehouse,’ Haye scoffed.

‘You’re probably right. I always reckoned if they could have removed Coops’ evil gene, he could have risen to the top,’ Sorrell concluded.

‘That’s what I like about you, cap’n, even after all these years doing this fucking job, you still try to see the good in people. Me? I think Coops is a lousy fucking dirtbag, who’s going out of his way to dick us around and fuck up our investigation,’ Haye replied, thumping his empty tumbler down on the bar, which brought an unwelcome glance from the bartender.

‘I take it you two gentlemen would like another?’ he asked.

Haye apologised. ‘Sorry, long day, Andy. Yeah, two Guinness and two Scotch. Jura. Eighteen-year-old. Neat. One for yourself, too.’

The cops said nothing as Andy took his time to pour. Haye held his small glass of golden whisky admiringly up to Sorrell, and declared, ‘Slanj-uh va.’

‘What?’ Sorrell asked quizzically.

‘It’s Scotch for “Your good health”. I’m quarter Scotch myself,’ Haye said proudly.

‘Yeah, but only since you saw Braveheart. Before then everyone was Irish. They just swapped the Os for the Mcs.’

‘I fucking loved that film, cap’n. “They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our FREEDOM,”’ Haye said in a terrible Scottish accent. ‘Mel Gibson was fucking awesome. Before all the other stuff that came later,’ he added almost sadly.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Sorrell replied.

Silence fell between the two men again as they drained their whisky glasses, before Haye spoke. ‘Cap’n, don’t you think we’re taking our eye off the ball with chasing down Coops and shit? I could join the team looking through Horrigan’s tweets full-time. Push them hard. Run down the death threats myself. I just think we’re getting side-lined, while the bastard is still out there taunting us on Bryce Horrigan’s own Twitter feed, for fuck’s sake. Then there’s your Baby Angel. We still haven’t found out who they are. Gotta be linked, surely?’

Sorrell responded in a measured manner. ‘Your freedom fighter, William Wallace – he wasn’t just some barbarian, right? If I remember the film, he was educated. Spoke Latin?’

‘Yeah. Sure. Where you goin’ with this, cap’n?’ Haye asked through bleary eyes.

‘Coops is the same,’ Sorrell declared.

‘Fuck off. He speaks Latin? Fuck off,’ Haye repeated, finishing the last of his Guinness.

‘Believe it or not, he does. Catholic upbringing or something. He’s real smart, too. Coops wouldn’t want to have been arrested. To do the walk of shame in front of the TV cameras? Have his bosses ask all sorts of awkward questions? No way. He always wanted the easy life.’

‘So?’ Haye asked.

‘So he’s protecting someone,’ Sorrell said, ordering another round of Jura and Guinness.

‘The hooker?’ Haye asked incredulously.

‘That wouldn’t make any sense if she was just a hooker. So she has to be something more than that.’

‘His lover?’ Haye said, the penny finally dropping.

‘Slow. But you got there in the end, Haye, and that’s all that counts. Listen, what’s the first rule of homicide? Follow the facts. Every case throws up leads and we chase them down, right? That’s what we’re doing here. This Twitter stuff feels like a carrot on a stick. Someone is trying to tempt us away from where we’re going. Well, last time I checked, I was in charge of this case. Not some crazy person on Twitter. Tomorrow, lean on Coops’ ex-wife, Stephanie. A hard-faced bitch if ever there was one. Rumour has it she used to beat Coops up,’ Sorrell smiled.

‘No shit?’ Haye said in amazement. ‘No wonder he used to take it out on the suspects.’

Both men burst out laughing.

‘Five minutes speaking to Stephanie and you’ll wish you were in Coops’ company again.’ Sorrell smiled once more, feeling he’d been able to think straight for the first time since the death of Bryce Horrigan.