Nightingale sat down and waited while Smith took another long drag on his joint. The room was already full of sweet-smelling smoke and Nightingale figured that if he stayed there for more than a few minutes he’d be as high as Smith.
‘Speak,’ said Smith.
‘I want you to know that I didn’t shoot Dwayne,’ he said.
‘Okay, that’s all right, then,’ said Smith. ‘Off you go. No hard feelings.’
Nightingale narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m serious.’
Smith pointed the gun at Nightingale’s groin and sighted along the barrel. ‘So am I, Jack-Shit.’
‘Well, I hope your aim’s better than it was in Queensway.’
The heavy with the iPod reached for the cigarette papers and began to assemble a joint.
Smith lowered the gun. ‘You know that was me, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So why aren’t I banged up? Why are you sitting there sweating like a turkey at Christmas?’
‘Because you were wearing a ski mask, remember?’ He nodded at the joint that Smith was holding. ‘That stuff plays havoc with your short-term memory, you know.’
Smith looked at the joint as if seeing it for the first time, then he grinned and took another long drag on it. He blew the smoke straight at Nightingale’s face and Nightingale tried not to inhale.
Deep frown lines furrowed Smith’s brow. ‘How do you know it was me, then?’
‘Because I saw you in the car.’
‘So again, same question. If you know it was me, why aren’t I banged up?’
Nightingale sighed. ‘To be honest, nothing would make me happier, but when you shot at me your face was hidden. So a good brief, even an average brief, is just going to ask me whether or not I saw your face and I’ve got to tell the truth. I didn’t. I know it was you, you know it was you, but on oath and standing in the witness box I’d have to say that I couldn’t see your face.’
‘You could lie.’
‘Yeah, I could lie. But one, I don’t tell lies, at least not when I’m on oath, and two, plenty of other people saw you and your mate wearing masks.’
Smith grinned. ‘So you can’t tell a fib, can you?’
‘Like I said, I don’t lie under oath. It’s one of the few things that the criminal justice system really frowns on. They send peers of the realm to prison for perjury; with me they’d throw away the key.’
Smith jutted his chin out and nodded. ‘Bit of a dilemma, innit?’
‘One I’ve been wrestling with,’ said Nightingale dryly.
‘So why are you here?’
‘I’m hoping to persuade you that I had nothing to do with Dwayne’s shooting.’
Smith shrugged. ‘The cops seem to think you did it.’
‘I was nowhere near Brixton when it happened. And I don’t shoot people. Not any more.’
Smith’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Can I smoke?’
‘You can burst into flames for all I care,’ said Smith, and he threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.
Nightingale took out his pack of Marlboro.
Smith stiffened. ‘Check them fags,’ he yelled at the heavy nearest Nightingale. ‘Why did no one check his pockets?’ He waved the gun around. ‘If there’s a bug in there someone’s gonna get their nuts shot off.’
The girl from the stairs appeared in the doorway holding her bong. Her eyes were glassy and she was unsteady on her feet. Smith waved her away. ‘Upstairs, bitch,’ he said.
‘I’m hungry,’ she said.
‘There’s food in the fridge.’
‘I want pizza.’
‘Later,’ said Smith. The girl pouted and walked carefully down the hallway.
The heavy ripped the pack from Nightingale’s hands, tipped the cigarettes out onto the coffee table and crushed it. He tossed the pack into Nightingale’s lap.
‘Happy now?’ Nightingale asked Smith as he leaned forward and slotted the cigarettes back into the pack one by one.
‘Can never be too careful where Five-O are concerned,’ said Smith.
‘I told you, I’m not with the cops any more. Haven’t been for two years now.’
‘And that’s why I’m supposed to believe you? You were a cop and cops don’t lie?’
‘You’re supposed to believe me because I didn’t do it. I can prove that I was north of the river when Dwayne was shot.’
‘Prove how?’
‘I can get the phone company to show you my GPS position.’
‘That just shows where the phone was. Doesn’t mean you were with it.’
‘True, but I called my assistant so she can verify that I was with the phone.’ Nightingale lit a cigarette.
‘She can, can she?’ Smith sneered at him. ‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘Then let’s leave your assistant out of the equation, shall we?’
Nightingale drew on his cigarette and blew smoke. ‘I was watching the footie,’ he said. ‘With a mate. A cop.’
‘Oh yeah, I’ll believe a cop, of course. How old do you think I am? Five?’ He shook his head in disgust.
‘The friend can’t back me up anyway. He’s dead.’
‘So no alibi there, then.’
‘The landlord of the pub remembers me being there.’
Smith shook his head. ‘You think I care what he says? I’m guessing he’s white, right?’
‘It’s not about race, Perry.’
‘Everything’s about race. The long and the short of it is that he’ll say whatever it takes to get me off your back.’ He waved the gun at Nightingale. ‘Look, Jack-Shit, the way I hear it, Dwayne said you were the shooter.’
‘That’s not what happened.’
‘Deathbed confession, and that’s gold.’
‘He wasn’t naming me as his killer. And it wasn’t a confession.’
‘He’s lying in intensive care and starts calling out your name. That’s what I was told.’
Smith smoked his joint while Nightingale took a long drag on his cigarette. They both blew smoke, watching each other carefully.
‘You and Dwayne were tight, right?’ asked Nightingale eventually.
‘Tight as tight can be.’
‘As tight as he was with Reggie Gayle?’
‘Horses for courses.’
‘What, Reggie’s the brains and you’re the muscle?’ He held up his hands. ‘No offence. I just meant that on the day in Queensway he stayed in the car and you were at the sharp end with the MAC-10.’
‘I hear you. Let’s just say that when Dwayne needed a problem fixing, he came to me.’
‘And up to the shooting, he never mentioned a problem?’
Smith shook his head and then took a long drag on his joint.
‘So did he ever mention me to you? Ever talk about me? Did he tell you one single thing about me?’
Smith stared at Nightingale and blew a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke but didn’t say anything.
‘I’m guessing that means no. So why would someone he didn’t know put a bullet in his head?’
‘Maybe somebody paid you,’ said Smith.
‘So I’m a hired killer now?’
‘Poacher turned gamekeeper, maybe.’
‘Strictly speaking I’d be a gamekeeper turned poacher, but believe me, that’s not a line of work I’d be interested in.’
