I Hear the Sirens in the Street

I tried one and they were way too sweet for my blood. They made your head hurt. Emma came back a minute later with tea.

“Delicious,” I said.

She smiled. Sipped her tea. Didn’t eat.

She looked at the bag full of Martin’s gear.

After a pause, she said: “You couldn’t put it in the cupboard under the stairs, could you? I don’t want to deal with it just at the moment.”

“I forgot that you told me that you threw all Martin’s stuff out. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this.”

“It’s okay.”

I put the bag in the cupboard and stood there awkwardly. “Well, I suppose I’ll head on then.”

“Yes.”

I cleared my throat.

“Are you doing all right?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Moneywise, you know?”

“Yes. I sold a dozen spring lambs and that cleared some of the debts and I’m supposed to get the compensation money by the end of the month. Of course, that’s what they’ve been saying since January …”

“Will you stay here when the money comes?”

“I can’t afford to go anywhere else, can I?”

“Your parents in Spain?”

“That place? It’s the living death down there. No thanks. What would I do with my time?”

“What do you do with your time here?”

“That is the question.”

Silence.

I watched a drip burrow its way through the thatching onto the living-room floor.

“All right, well, I suppose this is the …uh …”

“Yes, Inspector Duffy, I suppose it is,” she said.

I went outside.

The Land Rover back to Carrick.

Sea spray along the lough shore.

Driving rain.

Her manner hadn’t been that encouraging. In fact there was a distinct coldness near the end, and yet I couldn’t help but feel that there was something bubbling beneath the surface there.

Chinese takeaway for dinner. Pot from the shed out back.

I smoked the joint in the shed with the door open and the rain coming in.

I went inside, put on Age of Plastic by The Buggles which I snapped up for 2p at a jumble sale. I made myself a pint of vodka and lime juice. I drank and listened. It was a very bad album.

I watched the TV news: incidents all over Ulster: bomb scares and disruption to rail and bus services, an incendiary fire at the Door Store, a policeman shot in Enniskillen, a prisoner officer severely injured in a mercury tilt bomb in Strabane. I watched the Final Thought on UTV: a cheerful long-haired evangelist insisted that God was merciful and just and cared about his flock.

Midnight. It was so cold I lit the paraffin heater.

The phone rang. I got out of bed, wrapped myself in the duvet, tripped on the blanket and nearly went down the stairs head first. My face banged into the side wall. Blood was pouring out of my nose. The phone kept ringing. Never get the phone after midnight, Duffy, you dumbass.

I picked it up. “Yeah, what is it now?”

“You are not the detective I thought you were,” a voice said.

The voice from the note. The English chick. “Why’s that?” I said.

There was silence.

“I was the one who left you the note.”

“Yeah, I know. You stand out. We don’t get many English birds round here, do we?”

“I suppose not.”

“Who sprung you from Whitehead Police Station? A couple of your mates?”

She didn’t reply.

“Listen, sweetie, you’re not cute and you’re not funny. I don’t know if you’re a spook, or a reporter, or a student, or a player looking to make trouble, or what you are exactly, but pick on someone else, okay? It’s enough to make me want to take my name out of the phone book.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Aye, but it’d be a shame to do that, I’m the only Duffy in Carrick in there,” I said.

More silence. I was weary of this. “What the fuck are you calling me up for? Why don’t you just tell me what you’ve bloody got, if you’ve really got anything.”

“I need someone who’s good. I thought you were good. I looked you up. I read those articles about you, but you’re not good.”

“Not good? I almost nailed you, you dozy cunt.”

“Almost doesn’t count for much.”

“You were shitting it, darling, admit it. You were lifted by a stop and search unit – and them boys couldn’t find a fat man at a Santa Claus convention. You must have been well surprised.”

“And you must have been surprised to find me gone.”

“Big deal. You pull the wool over the eyes of some twenty-year-old part-time country copper. Big deal. You don’t impress me.”

“And my note?”

“Your note? Fuck that! We’re too busy with a civil war in our laps for shite like that. We don’t have time for notes or fucking games. You want to try the San Francisco Police Department and spin them lines about the Zodiac killer, or get the Ripper unit at the South Yorkshire PD.”

“Maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t have tried to lead you. I set you a test and you failed it. I assumed that if I could find the evidence you’d be able to find it too.”

“What evidence?”

“It’s not my job. I was trying to help you, Duffy. I wanted to prod you, not give it all to you on a plate.”

“Give it to me on a plate.”

“No, you were right. I should have said nothing. If you’d found it, it would have made things worse for you, more than likely. I’m sorry to have troubled you, Duffy.”

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“I really don’t.”

“Then you certainly are not the detective I thought you were.”

“I’m not the detective anyone thinks I am. I’m a plodding copper – no better, no worse than anyone else.”

“I see that now.”

“Look, love, it’s late, I’m tired, do us both a favour and don’t bloody call again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

She hung up. The dial tone continued and then it began going beep beep beep. I put the phone back on its crook. And I was too fed up with it all to even call Special Branch and get them to put a tap on my line.

22: I’VE SEEN THINGS YOU PEOPLE WOULDN’T BELIEVE

Two a.m: A group of drunks coming down the street singing: “We are, we are, we are the Billy Boys! We are,