The Coroner’s verdict on the Clapham Rapist was ‘Accidental Death’. Falls and McDonald sat on opposite sides of the hearing. Twice he’d tried to approach her, trying, ‘Can we move on?’
‘No.’
Then: ‘If we’re going to have to work together at least…
‘Fuck off.’
He’d let it be.
In an unusual development, the Coroner praised the police for the conclusion of a fraught and dangerous episode. Falls squirmed.
Outside, she managed to dodge most of the reporters. A woman came up to her and asked, ‘May I shake your hand?’
‘Ahm?’
She took Falls by the hand and said, ‘I want to thank you for ending the nightmare. I was number six. That piece of scum, I hope he rots in hell.’
The violence of the words and the ferocity of her manner pushed Falls backwards. She tried, ‘There is counselling available.’
A bitter laugh, ‘Oh you were all the counselling I needed.’ And then she was gone.
McDonald called, ‘Yo Sarah!’
‘Yeah.’
He caught up with her, said, ‘I don’t think I congratulated you on yer success.’
‘Thank you.’
She found it the easiest answer. She gave him a fast appraisal and thought, ‘Doesn’t half fancy himself.’
He held out his hand, ‘I’m McDonald.’
‘Weren’t you the…
‘Involved in the Clapham Rapist? I played a very minor role.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’re being modest.’
He gave her the full heat of his smile, turned it up to full dazzler. ‘Listen, whatcha say about a drink later?’
‘Ahm, I don’t know…
‘Hey, no strings … we work together so it’s no big deal.’
‘OK … why not?’
After he walked off she felt it was a bad idea. But hey, maybe they could be mates and keep it at that. She wasn’t convinced, not at all.
‘What do you know about scenery? Or beauty? Or any of the things that really make life worth living? You’re just an Animal, Coarse, Muscled, Barbaric.’ ‘You keep right on talking honey. I like the way you run me down like that.’ Barrie Chase and Robert Mitchum in ‘Cape Fear’. In the modern world
Roberts went into a record shop. The last record he’d bought had been by the Dave Clark Five. He was stunned by the shop. The sheer volume of the noise deafened him. Everybody looked like a drug dealer. Worse, he felt like a pensioner. Mainly he wanted to flee. But gathering his resources he marched up to a counter. An assistant, a girl who looked about twelve, said, ‘Yeah.’
‘Ahm … I’m looking for … a … Smokie…
‘CD or cassette?’
‘I think you can take it that if the customer is over forty, it’s a cassette.’
‘Is it hip-hop, dance, techno…?’
‘Whoa, wait a moment … they’re a pop group from the ’70s.’
‘Then you’ll want retro.’
Eventually, he was led to the cassette section and, no luck.
No Smokie.
They offered to order it, saying, ‘Seventies … cool.’
He declined.
Roberts’ sole passion was film
Lesson
Brant found Sarah in the canteen. She was about to have a tea and a danish.
He said, ‘Wanna see another side of policing?’
She gave the danish a look of longing.
He added, ‘I mean now.’
Grabbing her bag, she got up and Brant leant across, grabbed the danish, said, ‘Don’t want to waste that.’
The Volvo was outside and between bites, Brant said, ‘You drive.’
She got the car in gear and he said, ‘St. Thomas’s … mmm … this is delicious, must have been fresh in.’
Sarah was cautious in her driving, conscious of him watching.
He was.
He asked, ‘What’s this?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Yer driving like a civilian, put the bloody pedal to the metal.’
They found a space to park and walked back to the hospital. Brant said, ‘I frigging hate hospitals.’
‘Who are we seeing?’
‘A snitch, well probably an ex-snitch.’
Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer so she said, ‘Oh.’
Spiro was in an open ward on the third floor. He seemed to be covered in casts and bandages. His leg was suspended.
When he saw Brant, his eyes went huge with fear.
Brant smiled, said, ‘Spiro!’
Spiro’s eyes darted to Sarah and Brant said, ‘It’s OK, she’s a good ’un.’
He took a long look at the injuries, then asked, ‘Who did it?’
‘I dunno Mr Brant, I was attacked from behind.’
‘Sure you were.’
Spiro’s eyes pleaded to Sarah and he said, ‘I am very tired, I must sleep.’
Brant moved closer, said, ‘I don’t need you to say a dicky-bird. I’m going to mention a name and if it’s correct, just nod. That’s all and we’re gone.’
Sarah felt useless, gave Spiro a small smile.
Brant said, ‘Tommy Logan.’
For a few moments nothing; Spiro had closed his eyes. Then, a small nod.
Brant said, ‘OK, you need anything?’
Head shake.
Brant turned to Sarah, said, ‘Let’s go.’
They were on the ground floor before Sarah got to ask, ‘Who’s Tommy Logan?’
‘A murderin’ bastard is who.’
