Another exchanged look.
‘Then we came out and a priest shot her.’
‘What makes you think he was a priest?’
‘Was he was a good shot? What d’ya think, he looked like Bing Crosby?’
Now Oxford allowed his skepticism to show, said, ‘He was hardly a priest.’
‘Are you catholic?’
‘No, but I hardly see …
‘If you were a catholic, you’d not be surprised what priests are capable of.’
Black decided to take control — cut the shit, cut to the chase. ‘
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Well, I mean … like someone did you a favour, eh? She tried to murder you once, killed one of your colleagues … how much can you be hurting?’
Brant was up. ‘Enough of this charade, I’m off.’
Oxford moved to block the door and Brant smiled. ‘’Scuse me.’
Oxford stepped aside. Brant opened the door, paused, said: ‘I may need to talk to you two again. Don’t leave town.’
J is for Judgement (Sue Grafton)
Roberts met with Brant in The Cricketers. He’d parked his car near The Oval, said to
The vendor said, ‘Play fair, Guv, they’d steal yer eye.’
Brant was at the back of the pub, a tepid coffee before him. Roberts put out his hand. ‘Good to see you, Tom,’ and meant it. Then, ‘Don’t you want a real drink?’
‘With all me soul but I was afraid to start.’
‘Start now.’
‘I will.’
They did. Whiskey chasers.
No conversation, let the scotch fill the spaces. Then Brant rummaged in his jacket and produced a squashed hat, said, ‘Got yah a present.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s a bit battered. I fell on it.’
Roberts tentatively touched it, then took it in both hands. ‘I dunno what to say.’
‘Give it some time, it will bounce back.’
‘Like us, eh?’
Brant gave him a look as if he were only now really seeing him, asked, ‘You were sick?’
At last thought Roberts, I can finally share. ‘Naw, nothing worth mentioning.’ Then he added, ‘Falls is out.’
‘Out where?’
‘The force, she resigned.’
Brant was animated, life returning. ‘She can’t do that!’
‘Word is you lent her the dosh to bury her father.’
‘
‘Did yah?’
‘C’mon Guv, am I a soft touch?’
‘What d’ya say we finish up, go round to see her?’
‘Like now?’
‘You have other plans?’
‘Naw.’
They finished their drinks, got ready to go. Brant asked, ‘Out of vague interest, how much am I supposed to have given her?’
‘Two large.’
Brant didn’t answer, just gave a low whistle. The figure was twice that, but then …
Who was counting?
In Balham, as they approached Falls’ home, Roberts asked, ‘How d’ya want to play this?’
‘Let’s make it up as we go along.’
‘Good plan.’
They banged on the door and no reply. Roberts said, ‘Could be she’s out.’
‘Naw, she’s home, there’s a light.’ Brant took out his keys, said, ‘Pretend you don’t see this,’ and he fidgeted with the lock, pushed the door in.
They were cops accustomed to nigh on any reception. Neither of them could have forecast a skinhead. All of fourteen years old and wielding an iron bar. He shouted, ‘Fuck off outta it.’
‘
The skin made a swipe with the bar, said: ‘I’ll do ye.’
Brant turned his back shrugged, then spun back, clouting the skin on the side of the skull. Flipped him, knelt on his back, said, ‘What’s yer game, laddie? Where’s the woman?’
‘Play fair, mate … jeez!’
Roberts had gone searching, shouted, ‘She’s here … in the bathroom.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Debatable.’
Brant stood up, put a lock on the skin’s neck, gave him two open-handed slaps. ‘Whatcha do to her?’
‘Didn’t do nuffink! I’m protecting her!’
‘
Now the skin went bright red with a glow of injured dignity. ‘She gave me a quid one time, so when I seen her ’elpless like, staggerin’ home, leavin’ the door open, I said I’d mind her till she got her act back. Know what I mean?’
They did, sorta.
Roberts took out his wallet, said, ‘Yah did good, now here’s somefin’ for yer trouble.’
‘I don’t need paying … she’s like … a mate.’
Brant looked at Roberts, then. ‘All right, then, you ever get in a spot o’ bother ask for DI Roberts or DS Brant, we’ll see you right … OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Take off then, that’s a good lad.’
He did.
Roberts said, ‘I’ve seen it all, a skin protecting a copper.’
‘A black copper.’
‘Yeah … go figure.’
They couldn’t.
Together they hoisted Falls into the shower, kept her there till she came round. She came to, to retch, to curse and struggle. Then they dried her and got her into a dressing gown.
Brant rooted in his wallet, took out two pills and forced them into Falls’ mouth. Roberts raised an eyebrow and Brant said, ‘Tranqs … heavy duty sedation.’
Falls said, ‘Don’t want help.’
‘Too bad — it’s underway.’
Brant and Roberts took it in shifts over the next 48 hours, washing her, feeding her, holding her. Times they got some chicken soup down her, times she threw up all over them.
