Two days later, a woman by the name of Gail Mitchell met me in an interview room on the second floor of FHQ. Maybe five-five, blonde hair cut to just above her shoulders, a no-nonsense kind of attitude. Soft, educated Glasgow accent. Shook my hand when I entered the room, said I was looking well and that maybe I should sit down. She was a good liar, even managed not to look at the stitches on my face.
When I sat down, I did it slowly. My muscles ached every time I moved. I could feel old injuries I’d almost forgotten re-establishing their presence.
‘I want to talk to you about Sandy Griggs.’
Of course she did. Discipline and Complaints. Always Discipline and Complaints. Acting like your best friend when they wanted something from you.
‘What about Griggs?’
‘He reached out to you for assistance in an illegal investigation.’
‘I believe it was unauthorized rather than necessarily illegal,’ I said. ‘And he didn’t tell me that at the time. He’s been running this one over a year. And this is the first time anyone has noticed? What did they think he was doing with his days?’
Mitchell ignored me. Maybe figuring I had every right to be pissed off. Maybe just not giving a toss. ‘Not only did he fail to inform his superiors of the investigation, but the methods employed were questionable at best.’
‘Isn’t that always the way with undercover ops?’ I said.
‘Maybe. You have much experience?’
‘Not really.’
‘I do.’ She let that one hang for a moment. Then: ‘Tell me how Griggs reached out to you.’
‘With a closed fist.’ That earned me what might have been a smile. Or possibly indigestion. Either way, Mitchell lost the expression fast, and stayed quiet until I expanded on my answer. She wasn’t here to make friends. She just wanted the truth.
I told her about how Griggs had approached me at a low point. How he manipulated my past mistakes so that I had no choice but to say yes to his proposal. I explained that Griggs had become increasingly monomaniacal over the course of our working together. ‘He doesn’t just want to arrest David Burns. He wants to crucify the man.’
Mitchell listened to my story dispassionately. Occasionally asked for clarification. But mostly she just let me talk. And I wanted to talk. To tell someone what had happened. All these months of keeping silent, I couldn’t help but let it out.
By the time I was finished, I was exhausted. Short of breath. Taking in gulps of air between sentences.
Mitchell offered me a glass of water.
We sat there for a moment. No words. Nothing.
Finally ‘I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened. We will do our best to show that none of this was your idea. You were sucked into another man’s private vendetta. You had no choice in your actions.’
Oh, she didn’t know the half of it.
‘So what happens now?’
Just a moment’s hesitation. So I answered the question for her: ‘I act like nothing’s happened? And you do your thing?’
‘There are procedures.’
‘There are always procedures.’
‘We need to substantiate—’
I shook my head. ‘Save it. Really, I know the song. Every note.’
‘You’ve been patient this long. Just a while longer. Work with us. We can fix this.’
‘And if Griggs calls me?’
‘Which we both know he will. If that happens, call me. We go from there.’
‘Aye?’
‘Right now, Griggs is paranoid. He knows that he’s been running an illegal operation. And by now he has to have figured out he’s been dropped in it. He’s smart. Off the charts, really. One of the reasons the SCDEA snapped him up. His only hope right now is that you and Susan still believe every word he’s told you. Or that you’re both scared enough of what he knows to continue working with him.’
‘Just tell me one thing.’
‘Sure.’
‘What is Griggs’s issue with the old man? What started all of this?’
Mitchell shook her head. ‘Now that’s a story,’ she said.