I went along to Dyson. Room Number Two. He should have been stewing, but Dyson wasn’t the kind who stewed. The face like some soft stone.
His brief was there beside him. Who’d be Dyson’s brief?
I said, “We’ve got Kenny Mills in here as well.”
Not a flicker.
“That cunt.”
“We had to bring him in. He was there, you see. He’d walked into the shop. He must almost have been there when it happened.”
I watched Dyson’s face.
“So—have you arrested the cunt?”
“I’ve been chatting to him. The thing is, he says he saw you. Before he got there. He says he saw you coming away from Patel’s shop.”
Not a flicker again. Just something clicking into place at the back of his eyes, as if it was Kenny he was looking at, not me.
“How could he have done if I was round at Mick Warren’s watching the game?”
They were searching Warren’s place still. As if they’d find a blood-stained knife stuffed down the sofa.
His brief was quick. “Do I understand correctly? Your other witness has made a statement to this effect? A statement on the record?”
“Yes.”
A small word, but the tape picked it up.
“My client and I would like to consult.”
I went back to Number One. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, the chase can all be over inside four walls. Sometimes it’s you who gets caught.
The duty solicitor was there. I didn’t like the look on his face.
I switched on the tape.
“Okay, Kenny, you’ve done a good night’s work …”
His brief said, “Mr. Mills wishes to withdraw the statement he’s made.”
I looked at Kenny. Kenny looked at the table. So: more scared of Dyson than of me. With justice maybe.
“Mr. Mills informs me that none of the words in the statement he’s made are his.”
I looked at the lawyer. You cunt.
“They were not volunteered by him. Mr. Mills alleges that he was coerced into making his statement by intimidation and deceit.”
It’s true. That’s how the tape might show it.
He gave me a quick look. A brave look, in a way, a brave coward’s look.
I’ll swear it still, to this day. Everything was true. Ninety-five per cent. Even the bloody knife waved in his face.
But looks don’t get picked up by the tape.
I couldn’t say it in front of the brief, with the tape listening. I made my eyes say it: He’ll get you anyway, Kenny.
But he wouldn’t get him. Since Kenny would get Dyson off. The two of them would crow about how they’d got me. Kenny would move in with the big boys now.
The brief saw it, I think. And Ross, the DC, must have done. That I was on the edge, I was teetering. But the tape doesn’t pick up teeterings either.
And still the hope—the hopeless hope—that Dyson might cave in anyhow.
The smell of interview rooms, like contaminated zones.
I went back to Number Two, with Ross. The gist of Dyson’s chat with his brief? I knew it. Try it out first: call the fucking copper’s bluff.
And now he could even say—and did—he was the victim of police malpractice.
But Dyson wasn’t a victim of anything—take it from an old DI. A victim-maker, a victimizer, full-stop. None of that sob-stuff victim-makers are supposed to be victims of: deprived upbringing, etcetera etcetera. He stabbed Patel because he wanted to, wanted to and did.
He didn’t speak. His brief spoke. “My client has nothing further to add …”
Dyson just looked at me. Now, when I remember it, it seems he was already up there, looking down, watching me fall.
And Gibbs, the new Super, would say he couldn’t help me. No cover-up. In the circumstances, and with the Force getting public flak. The word was “corrupt.” He was going to drop me too. He wanted Dyson banged up as much as I did, but he was going to drop me down a big hole instead.
The smell of police stations—even in a Super’s office. Who’d want to work in one?
And I’d been hoping—it’s true, it’s true—Patel might not pull through.
His brief spoke. Dyson just looked at me. He looked at me as if he might have been waving that knife in my face too. Come on, grab it if you can.
I went back to Number One.
Kenny’s brief said, “Mr. Mills wishes to reinstate his previous statement.”
Beer and fags.
I said, “Think again, Kenny.”
He looked at the table.
“Mr. Mills—”
They say you see red. I can’t remember seeing red. Something came over me. I can’t remember seeing anything but my hands round Kenny’s throat.
I grabbed Kenny, with his brief and Ross as a witness—so his brief had to intervene. I grabbed Kenny, the innocent one. I didn’t even grab Dyson.