McDonald was attempting to overtake an articulated lorry but glanced at her, said:
‘Doing? I thought I was saving your ass, that’s what I thought I was doing.’
As he got by the lorry, he leant forward to give the finger to the driver, seemed delighted at the rage in the man’s face. Falls said:
‘You could cost us our jobs if that kid makes a complaint.’
McDonald gave a snort, which is a very difficult thing to achieve, you have to be very pissed off or nuts, then he said:
‘Jobs! You call what we’re doing work. It’s the fucking scrapings of the barrel, no one gives a toss what we do. A snotty-nosed wanker in a school in Brixton, you think anyone cares what he says? Get with the game, Falls. When the brass realize we’re doing well, they’ll take us off the detail, shaft some other bugger.’
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Worse, she recognized the kernel of truth there, said:
‘Yeah, and when did you get to know so much?’
What she was most bothered by was she’d admired his handling of the kid. She’d been panicked and now, now, for heaven’s sake, she was beginning to feel hot for McDonald. Jesus, where did that come from? She hadn’t felt attracted to anyone since Nelson, and he’d turned out to be a wash-out. McDonald was considering her question, answered:
‘Where did I learn this? I’ll tell you, getting shot helps.’
He paused as if he was reliving the moment when the gun had been in his face and the guy had pulled the trigger, added:
‘I used to think, God help me, I used to think policing was about protecting them.’
He was gliding the car smoothly into a space, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and she prompted:
‘Yes?’
‘I now know it’s about protecting us, usually from them.’
They were out of the car and she felt an actual weakness at the knees as she took full stock of him, ventured:
You want to maybe get a drink or something later?’
A plane droned overhead and he looked up, then:
‘You mean like a date?’
So okay, she wanted him and hadn’t they just pulled it off as a team, so she smiled, softened her features, said:
‘Yeah, why not. I could cook something. It’s been awhile since I got domestic’
He gave her his full blue eyes attention, said:
‘Thing is, I don’t fuck lesbians.’
“Play dead? Play dead? What the fuck’s that all about? You want a dead broad, you just kill the bitch that way, you don’t gotta pay her either.”
6
Porter had gone into the pub and spotted Trevor straight away. He’d ordered a vodka and tonic, slimline, and got a full smile. Checked out the guy’s butt and thought:
‘Mmm.’
Trevor was changing a barrel and pushed that butt out to max effect, then looked up, asked:
‘See anything you like?’
Took it from there. Porter hadn’t been with anyone for ages and the sex was thus fast and fevered. Trevor, lying back in Porter’s bed, asked:
‘What, you just got out of prison?’
Porter gave a laugh, went:
‘Hardly, I’m a cop.’
Trevor, familiar with the workings of the Met, said:
‘They don’t go to prison?’
‘Not this one.’
So the relationship began. Trevor on leaving, with cab fare from Porter, said:
‘I’m not a quick shag, I want something meaningful.’
So did Porter.
He didn’t get back to Trevor for a time as he’d launched a full investigation into accidents during the previous weeks and, sure enough, two fit the so-called ‘hits’ that Ford claimed. The media had run with the story, proclaiming:
MANNERS PSYCHO ON LOOSE.
They were treating it more as filler, didn’t really believe it was true. For this Porter was grateful; he’d a bad feeling that this was going to get very serious. Witnesses were none. Family and work colleagues of the two did concede that both victims were:
‘… difficult, inclined to rudeness.’
The Super had Porter in again, asked:
‘Is it true, did he kill two people?’
Porter moved cautiously, stammered:
‘It’s pos-sible, but we’re still checking.’
Brown wasn’t impressed, shouted:
‘What’s with the stuttering, is that a gay thing, a type of lisp coyness?’
Porter had to bite down, went:
‘Sorry, sir, when I’m nervous, it happens.’
The Super looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, shook his head, said:
‘Get it sorted. I don’t want this to escalate.’
Porter took a deep breath, ventured:
‘Should we consider a task force?’
The Super rose out of his chair, a very bad sign, pointed his finger, and said:
‘Task force? Are you bonkers? It’s some piddling lunatic trying to get his moment of fame. Shut him down now.’
Porter wanted to ask: ‘How?’
Settled for:
‘Yes, sir.’
Outside he realized he was sweating, used a hankie to wipe his brow, and heard:
‘Hot enough for you?’
Brant.
Porter tried to shrug it off, said:
‘It’s this Manners case. Probably nothing.’
Brant smiled, then:
‘You ask me, it’s going to run and run.’
Porter, horrified, said:
You can’t be serious.’
‘Serious as AIDS.’
And was gone.
