Andrews interrupted:
‘Which problems were they?’
Falls shot her a look, Jesus, never interrupt a witness in full flow. He was taken aback then focused, said:
‘Every weekend, they gather outside, shouting and drinking, taking God knows what drugs, that crack cocaine no doubt, playing loud, awful music, that rap stuff, and sometimes, they’ll throw a brick through the window. And if you go out? Well, you didn’t ever go out, too many of them, the ringleader was an Asian fellah, nicknamed Trick. He was a nasty piece of work.’
Andrews did it again, asked:
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’
His laugh was slightly louder than Falls’s was, he said:
‘Yeah, they’d rush over our area, it’s a real high priority on their list.’
His bitterness was deep and set, he went on:
‘So, this copper, he suggested we form a group, take them on, deal with it our own selves.’
Andrews again:
‘Tim, I’m a little surprised you were so easily convinced to form what is, in reality, a criminal group?’
His shout startled her as he echoed:
‘Criminal? I’ll tell you what’s criminal, lass, and that’s to live in fear.’
Falls nearly smiled, it shut Andrews up. He said:
‘It seemed like the answer to our prayers and it was going good… ’
His face lit up as he briefly relived the rush of laying out on for the thugs. He had real energy in his voice as he said:
‘The little bastards never knew what hit them, and we were winning, till Bill… till Bill got, well… you know.’
Andrews, trying to regain some ground, asked:
‘Please describe the alleged policeman?’
He shook his head, said:
‘No need.’
Falls was definitely warming to the guy. Andrews, a note of petulance in her voice, sat up straight, asked:
‘Are you refusing to give us… ’
He cut her off with:
‘Calm down, lass. I don’t need to describe him.’
Andrews, standing now, leaned over him, said:
‘Sir, let me remind you that failure to cooperate with the police…’
He put up his hand to stop her, said:
‘I have a photograph.’
Neither of the policewomen spoke. He stood up, went to a chest of drawers, said: ‘My niece gave me one of them phone camera jobs, and I got a snap of him the night we went to war.’
He produced the photo. Falls was up, grabbed it out of his hand, flipped the cover, and hit the button, the photo came up and her heart sank
McDonald, in all his reckless glory, the stupid fuck. Andrews was reaching for the phone, but Falls snapped it shut, said to Tim:
‘We’ll need to take this into evidence.’
He was upset, asked:
‘How will I call my niece?’
Falls was heading for the door, said:
‘We’ll see you have it back by the end of the day. Thank you for your cooperation.’
Andrews looked like she had no idea what Falls was doing but followed, Tim stood on the footpath, asked:
‘Will I be on the telly?’
Falls gave him a brief look, the poor bastard, and felt a moment of pity, which she quickly suppressed. She said:
‘Oh, you’re going to be real famous.’
His face lit up, those white teeth gleaming in the ancient face, and she could see in that smile the man he used to be.
Andrews put the car in gear, asked:
‘Back to the station?’
Falls had the phone in her hand, said:
‘Drive over Lambeth Bridge.’
Andrews, proud of how well she was learning the geography of the area, said:
‘There’s a shorter way.’
Falls gripped her by the right arm, hissed:
‘For fucking once today, do what you’re told and enough with the bloody questions, you screwed up a perfectly good witness with your by-the-book routine. What the hell is the matter with you?’
Andrews wanted to go:
‘Show me the photo.’
They reached the bridge and, surprisingly, traffic was light. Falls said:
‘Pull up here.’
She rolled down her window, hefted the phone in her hand, then chucked it high and wide, tilted her head as if she was waiting to hear the splash.
She didn’t.
Andrew’s gasped. She couldn’t believe what had just happened and when she found her voice, said:
‘That was evidence.’
Falls didn’t look at her, simply said:
‘No, that was ammunition.’
I wish I could write a book and not have to make a living.
17
Andrews thought long and hard as to whether she should report Falls. She knew the code… never rat out another cop. You might not like your fellow officers and, right off the bat, she could bring to mind at least six she downright loathed but… you stuck by them. The enemy were civilians. On the other hand, Falls had treated her like shit, yeah, as if she couldn’t be trusted with seeing the photo of the rogue vigilante guy.
Fuck that!
And, if Falls were reported, she’d lose her stripes, that was for damn sure, be lucky to even stay on the force and that meant a vacancy. Andrews was still relatively new, but she knew one bloody thing, the powers that be would have a white face any day of the week.
Then she told herself, all of these considerations aside, morally she was obliged to do the right thing and that was shaft Falls.
Sorry, report the suppression of evidence.
Thus, ethically uplifted, she headed for the Super’s office and was dismayed to find he was golfing. She was moving away when she almost walked into Roberts. He asked:
‘What’s up?’
It was now or never, so she asked if she might have a word, a private one. He said sure and led her into his office, closed the door, indicated she should sit.
She did.
He sat on the edge of the desk, told her to fire away. She gave him the whole story. His expression remained neutral, and she was pretty sure he was. impressed. Such zeal as she was showing was out of the ordinary. She sat back, waiting for the heap of praise, perhaps even his backing for her nomination as acting sergeant.
He said,
‘You treacherous bitch.’
Forthe next ten minutes he lectured her about loyalty, snitch cops and what happened to them, and wound up with:
‘You want to stay being a policewoman?’
She assured him she did, and he snapped:
‘Then shut your fucking mouth. Now get out of my office.’
Crushed, she was in the corridor, Porter came by, asked:
‘You alright, love?’
She strode off without answering him. He knocked on Roberts door, heard:
‘Come in.’
Roberts was pouring a shot of whisky into a mug, asked:
‘Care to join me?’
Porter wanted to say it was a little early for him and certainly too early for a chief inspector, but the look on Robert’s face stopped that. He merely shook his head and Roberts asked:
‘You ever see Serpico? ’
Porter had, anything with Pacino, he’d seen a couple of times. He said he had and Roberts asked:
‘Did you agree with him, ratting out cops?’
Porter realized this was a loaded question, tried for:
‘We have to stick together.’
And got the look from Roberts, the one that said:
‘Are you shitting me?’
So he did the obvious, asked:
‘Were you thinking of giving someone up?’
Roberts gave him a glance of such withering contempt that he felt it all the way to his backbone. Roberts said:
‘I’d put a bullet in my head before I’d screw another cop.’
Porter hadn’t anything to reply to this. He felt as if Roberts was testing him, see if he was the type who, given the right circumstances, would fuck over another policeman. He settled his face in what he hoped was a look of… Me?… shit, I’d never give up one of our own.