Wood’s eyes widened. “You know about Devon? Jesus Christ, does he know about this? Does he know I’m here? Have Wes and Frankie been talking to him? Shit, if Devon thinks I’m talking to the coppers, he’ll fucking kill me.”
Banks ignored him. “When Scattered Dreams played at the Jubilee, it gave you the perfect opportunity. Jason was going to be in Eastvale anyway – he had a football match in the afternoon – so you told him you were coming up and that the two of you could go see the band. Maybe it would be a chance to settle your differences and talk a bit of business, try to save the partnership somehow. I’d imagine you were compliant, more than willing to make compromises. You knew Scattered Dreams weren’t Jason’s cup of tea, but suggested he might like to broaden his horizons a bit. Who knows, maybe you promised to go to the next Celtic Warrior concert if he gave your lot a try. Jason had been to the Jubilee before, and he had mentioned that a couple of Pakistani youths went there on a fairly regular basis. I’m only guessing at this part, but I think he’d already chucked a brick through one of their windows, and he’d said he was looking for trouble with them. Perfect for you, if something like that happened in public, wasn’t it? A bonus. As long as it was just a minor incident, enough to draw just a bit of attention.
“Anyway, according to Mr. Campbell, you accompanied Jason toward the ginnel, where he and Mr. Robertson were waiting at the other end to render any necessary assistance. According to them, you whacked Jason on the back of the head with the bottle a couple of times, and he went down. After that, you managed to kick him to death all by yourself. They didn’t have to do a thing. And that, Mark, with two eyewitnesses to testify against you, makes it murder.”
Wood turned pale. “That’s not true,” he said. “It didn’t happen like that at all. They’re lying.”
Banks leaned forward. “What didn’t happen like what, Mark?”
“It was like I said. There was just me and Jason. We got into a fight. He slagged off Sheri and Connor. I didn’t mean for him to die.”
Banks shook his head. “I’m afraid that story’s gone right down the toilet now, Mark, along with all your other stories. Let me see if I can get them right.” He began counting them off on his fingers, looking toward Ken Blackstone, who nodded at each one. “First, you weren’t anywhere near Eastvale the night Jason got killed. Second, you were at the Jubilee but you never went anywhere near the ginnel. Third, you were there and you saw George Mahmood and his mates kill Jason. And, fourth, you killed him yourself in a fair fight. How am I doing so far?”
Wood licked his lips and shifted in his chair.
“Problem is, Mark,” Banks went on, “you’re a liar. The only version we have any independent corroboration of is the one I just put to you, the one Mr. Campbell told us about. So it looks as if that’s the way it’s going to go down now.” He paused, then went on. “After this interview, DI Blackstone and I will be having a word with Crown Prosecution Service about changing the charges from manslaughter to murder. That carries a much longer jail sentence, as I’m sure you know.”
“You can’t be serious? You can’t believe those bastards.”
“Why not? I certainly can’t believe you. Look at your track record, Mark. No, I’m afraid this is the end of the line for you. You get charged with murder now, and you don’t get out of jail for a long, long time. In fact, by the time you get out, your wife will have run off with another bloke long since, and your kid will have grown up and forgotten you. In the meantime, you’ll be fending off the arse-bandits in Wormwood Scrubs or Strangeways. And that’s if you last that long. I suspect both Devon and Neville Motcombe have long reaches.”
Wood seemed to shrivel, to draw in on himself like a bank of ashes collapsing. Banks could tell he was trapped. He knew lies wouldn’t save him now, but he didn’t know the best course of action. Time to tell him, time to give him a ray of hope. After pulling the carpet from under him, give him a foam mattress to land on.
“There’s only one way out for you, Mark,” he said.
“What’s that?” Mark’s voice was no louder than a whisper.
“The truth. Right from the top.”
“How will that help?”
“I’m not saying it’ll get you off scot-free. Nothing will do that. We don’t have the power to make deals with criminals, reduce their sentences in exchange for information. That only happens on American TV shows. But I can guarantee it’ll make things easier for you.”
Wood chewed on his knuckles for a few seconds, then said, “I need protection. They’ll kill me. My family, too.”
“We can help you with that, Mark. If you help us.”
Mark rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I never meant to kill him,” he said. “Honest, I didn’t. It was those two.” He was close to tears.
“Who?”
“Frankie and Wes.”
“What happened, Mark? Right from the beginning.”
Banks took out his cigarettes and offered Mark one. He took it with a shaking hand. “All right,” he said. “But what guarantee have I got that things will go easier for me if I tell you the truth? What are you offering me?”
“You’ve got my word,” said Banks.
“For what?”
“That you and your family will be protected and that your cooperation will be considered.”
“I want relocation for me and Sheri,” he said. “And new identities. The Witness Protection Program. That’s what I want.”
“I’ve already told you, this isn’t America, Mark. We don’t do things that way in England. Look, like I said, I’m not telling you you’re going to walk out of here a free man. You’re not. One way or another, you’ll serve some time. What I’m saying is that if you give us what we want, the charge can remain manslaughter, not murder.”
“It doesn’t sound like that good a deal to me.”
“Well, it is,” Ken Blackstone chipped in. “The difference is between, say, twenty-five years in a very nasty place – where you’ll be vulnerable to anyone Devon or Motcombe cares to send along – and maybe five in minimum-security prison. Protected environment. Telly and conjugal visits thrown in.” He glanced at Banks, who nodded. “Your choice, Mark. It’s as simple as that.”
Wood looked between the two of them and his gaze finally settled on Banks again. “What about Sheri and Connor?”
“We’ll take care of them, make sure they’re safe,” said Banks. “You have my word. What about it?”
Wood looked at Blackstone again, who assured him that Banks was right, then he rested back in his chair and said, “All right. Okay. Neville Motcombe approached me several weeks ago and said he knew about my record for drugs offenses. At first I didn’t know what he was getting at, then it became clear that he’d made a contact for getting his hands on some pretty large amounts of heroin through Turkey at a rock-bottom price, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it. Drugs just weren’t part of his gig, but he saw a way to make a lot of money and fuck up the ‘niggers’ in the bargain, as he put it. He really does talk like that. Makes you sick. Anyway, he found out about my drug bust and decided I was to be the go-between.”
“What was in it for you?”