was about as effective as changing the name of Windscale to Sellafield; a nuclear-power station by another name….
“Is that how he behaved in Eastvale?” Banks asked.
“I wouldn’t swear to it, but I’m pretty sure it was Gill who led the charge.
See, things were getting a bit hairy. We were all hemmed in so tight. Gill was at the top of the steps with a few others, just looking down at people pushing and shoving -not that you could see much, it was so bloody dark with those old-fashioned streetlamps. Anyway, one of the demonstrators chucked a bottle, and someone up there, behind me, yelled, ‘Let’s clobber the bastards.’ I think I recognized Gill’s voice. Then they charged down and … well, you know what happened. It needn’t have-that’s what I’m saying. Sure, there was a bit of aggro going on, but we could have sat on it if someone had given the order to loosen up a bit, give people room to breathe. Instead, Gill led a fucking truncheon charge. I know we coppers are all supposed to stick together, but…” Grant looked out to sea and shivered.
“There’s a time to stick together,” Banks said, “and this isn’t it. Gill got himself killed, remember that.”
“But I couldn’t swear to anything. I mean, officially….”
“Don’t worry. This is off the record.” At least it is for now, he told himself.
If anything came of their discussion, young Grant might find himself with a few serious decisions to make. “How did the others feel about Gill?” he asked.
“Oh, most of them thought it was all a bit of a joke, a lark. I mean, there’d be Gill going on about clobbering queers and commies. I don’t think they really took him seriously.”
“But it wasn’t just talk? You say he liked smashing skulls.”
“Yes. He was a right bastard.”
“Surely they knew it?”
“Yes, but…”
99
“Did they approve?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. Some, maybe … but I didn’t, for one.”
“But nobody warned him, told him to knock it off?”
Grant pulled up his collar. “No.”
“Were they scared of him?”
“Some of the lads were, yes. He was a bit of a hard case.”
“What about you?”
“Me? Well, I wouldn’t have taken him up on anything, that’s for sure. I’m scarcely above regulation height, myself, and Gill was a big bugger.”
A seagull screeched by them, a flash of white against the grey, and began circling over the water for fish. The tanker had moved far over to the right of the horizon. Banks felt the chill getting to him. He put his hands deep in his pockets and tensed up against the cold, wet wind.
“Did any of the others actually like him?” he asked. “Did he have any real mates at the station?”
“I wouldn’t say so, no. He wasn’t a very likeable bloke. Too big-headed, too full of himself. I mean, you couldn’t have a conversation with him; you just had to listen. He had views on everything, but he was thick. I mean, he never really thought anything out. It was all down to Pakis and Rastas and students and skinheads and unemployed yobbos with him.”
“So he wasn’t popular around the station?”
“Not really, no. But you know what it’s like. A few of the lads get together in the squad room-especially if they’ve had TAG training-and you get all that macho, tough-guy talk, just like American cop shows. He was good at that, Gill was, telling stories about fights and taking risks.”
“Are there any more like him in your station?”
“Not as bad, no. There’s a few that don’t mind a good punch-up now and then, and some blokes like to pull kids in on a sus just to liven up a boring night. But nobody went as far as Gill.”
“Did he have any friends outside the station?”
“I don’t know who he went about with off duty.”
100
“Did he have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. He never mentioned anyone.”
“So he didn’t brag about having women like he did about thumping people?”
“No. I never heard him. Whenever he did talk about women it was always like they were whores and bitches. He was a foul-mouthed bastard. He’d hit them, too, at demos. It was all the same to him.”
“Do you think he could have been the type to mess around with someone else’s girlfriend or wife?”
Grant shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
The seagull flew up towards the cliffs behind them, a fish flapping in its beak.
The sea had settled to a rhythmic slapping against the stone wall, hardly sending up any spray at all. Banks
