whatever it took to crack the bastard.
McGuire sidled up, looked about the place, spoke: ‘This is taking too long.’
‘Ease up, Stevie,’ said Brennan.
He looked at Lou and Brian; they were shuffling their feet nervously.
‘I can’t believe we picked him up,’ said the DC.
Brennan nodded. ‘It was touch and go there for a bit.’
‘Pure luck, I’d say.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘That or somebody was looking out for us.’
Brennan dismissed the suggestion, turned to face McGuire. ‘The daft bastard walked into a Little Chef and started acting the Big I Am whilst his picture was being flashed across the airwaves. Who or what do you think was looking out for us — the ghost of Tommy Cooper? It was bloody comical.’
McGuire sniggered. ‘If you put it like that.’
Brennan didn’t know who was right and who was wrong; he cared even less. He had McArdle in custody and any minute now he was going to have him in an interview room.
‘The Scousers say he isn’t talking,’ said McGuire.
‘We’ll see about that.’
‘He must know he’s going down for Melanie’s murder at least.’ McGuire scratched the back of his head, sighed. ‘We’ve a lot to thank her for.’
Brennan agreed. ‘If it wasn’t for her…’ He cut himself short. What was the point? Brennan wasn’t the kind of man to dabble in what-ifs. ‘Look, we’ve nailed this bastard and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll turn that child over to us quick smart.’
McGuire looked away, dropped his gaze to his shoes. ‘You think she’s still alive?’
‘Jesus Christ, Stevie… We’ve got to stay on top of this. There’s nothing to suggest she isn’t.’
McGuire raised his head. ‘There’s nothing to suggest she is, sir.’
Brennan didn’t have time to reply — the Scouse detectives appeared with the handcuffed McArdle. He watched the prisoner from across the airport barrier. His every step suggested to Brennan that he was scum. His appearance only confirmed it. The short stocky frame. The square shoulders and squat neck. The jailhouse tats on the arms. He was trash. He had killed his own wife in cold blood and then made off with an innocent child to sell into the most depraved trade on earth. Brennan clenched his jaw. He wanted to smash his fist into McArdle’s eye but he resisted. He had higher plans for him; he’d see him suffer for his actions soon enough.
The detectives brought over the prisoner, nodded to Brennan. ‘All yours, Inspector.’
Brennan reached out a hand to take the paperwork. ‘Thank you, lads.’
McGuire stepped forwards and directed Lou and Brian to take McArdle away. There was already a significant crowd gathered to look at what was going on.
Brennan turned back to the Scousers, spoke: ‘Safe journey home, lads. And thanks again.’
‘No worries, mate. Glad to see this charmer off our patch.’
Brennan and McGuire exchanged brief stares, then watched as Lou and Brian bundled the prisoner down the concourse towards the waiting wagon.
‘Now for the hard yards, Stevie.’
‘Haven’t they all been hard, sir?’
Brennan nodded; the DC had a point. It had already been the most difficult case of his career — and it wasn’t over yet. He tried not to think about how it might now play out — how hard it was going to be to get information out of McArdle and how hard it was going to be to find Beth.
When they arrived back at the station the waiting officers and uniforms cheered. Brennan raised a hand; McGuire patted him on the back. It all seemed a bit premature to Brennan — had everyone forgotten about Beth? There was certainly no cause for celebration after Carly’s murder. Then there were the others, and the missing child; at least one good family had been destroyed, whatever happened.
The interview-room door looked as it always did, but somehow as Brennan approached it he stalled before the handle. His mind whirred as he took in the prospect of what he was about to do. This was a killer; he had to put him away, but he also needed him to reveal where Beth was. There was no straightforward way to achieve this; there was no manual he could turn to. If he got McArdle on the wrong foot, he could blow it. He could cost the child her life — if she was still alive. He had played criminals like this before and found a way in, a weak spot or some common ground — he hoped he would again.
Brennan brushed his shoulders, straightened his tie. The handle of the door felt cold and firm as he turned it. McGuire was waiting with his back to him, his shoulder blocking the face of McArdle. As he closed the door, Brennan removed his coat and hung it on the back of the chair next to the DC. He poured himself a glass of water and placed a fresh packet of cigarettes, Marlboro, on the table in front of where he planned to sit. For a moment he contemplated rolling up his sleeves, but thought better of it. He pulled out the chair slowly, letting the sound of its legs dragging on the hard floor play out. When he sat, he stared for a moment into McArdle’s eyes; the prisoner looked away. Brennan raised his hands from beneath the table and opened the blue folder in front of him.
‘Speak,’ said Brennan.
‘ What?’ McArdle crumpled his features, grimaced.
Brennan put his hands down on the open folder, splaying his fingers. ‘I’m giving you a chance.’ He looked over to McArdle, made sure his eyes were on him. ‘A chance to save yourself.’
McArdle sniffed. ‘That’ll be fucking right.’
Brennan tapped the pages. ‘Do you know what this is?’
A shrug, no answer.
‘This is a story, a story about a little girl from the north who came down here with her baby hoping for a new life and ended up in a communal bin at the end of a dark lane with her legs and arms cut off.’
McArdle banged a fist on the table. ‘That’s fuck all to do with me.’
Brennan continued, ‘The little girl’s baby went missing, still is missing, and along the way four other people died. Do you recognise that story?’
McArdle’s mouth widened; he showed teeth as he spoke: ‘You can’t pin that fucking lot on me…’ He rose up, leaned over the table and pointed. ‘I’d like to see you fucking try.’
McGuire got out of his seat, went round behind the prisoner and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to sit down. McArdle brushed off the DC, tried to assert himself; McGuire shook his head.
Brennan looked at the pages, turned one over, then another. He let McArdle’s temper cool a little, then: ‘Tell me about Tierney and Durrant.’
‘Never heard of them.’
McGuire sniffed, looked away. Brennan read from the file. ‘Says here you’ve been dealing to them for years; even served time for it.’
‘Bullshit…’
‘I’ve got statements from quite a few people.’ Brennan allowed the edge of his mouth to curl into a sneer. ‘Funny — at the start of this investigation nobody wanted to speak but when you became public enemy number one we couldn’t shut them up.’
McGuire laughed out, ‘Yeah, funny that. Seems your popularity’s slipped a bit since you started hanging about with beasts.’
McArdle rose again, slapped the table. ‘Now you wait a minute-’
‘Sit down!’ roared Brennan. ‘You get out of that seat again and I will throw you to the wolves, McArdle. Are you so stupid? I’m doing you a favour here.’ Brennan stood up, went round the table to shout in McArdle’s ear. ‘You killed your own wife — you’re going down for that. Don’t you get it? There’s no door on that wall leading to a magic kingdom where you start living a fairy-tale existence. It’s over!.. You’re going down. Whether or not you go down for the lot,’ he picked up the folder, slapped it in front of McArdle, ‘that’s what we’re debating here. Nothing else! Don’t you get that? Are you that fucking thick, man?’
McArdle brought his hands up in front of him, started to play with his fingers. His complexion smoothed; there were no grimaces as he spoke. ‘I’m not a beast.’
‘That’s for the courts to decide,’ said McGuire.
Brennan nodded, straightened his back and loosened his tie some more. ‘You run with dogs, you catch fleas.
