Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries 6

“Is he under arrest?” Mrs Watch flushed with anger.

“No, he’s coming of his own volition, aren’t you, Kevin?”

Kevin O’Reilly pulled nervously on the cigarette.

“Didn’t think we’d get much out of you with madam the queen there.” Hennessey smiled as he handed O’Reilly a white plastic beaker full of piping-hot coffee. “Believe me, you’ve got more to fear from her than you do from us. We, Sergeant Yellich here and me, we’ve been doing this for a long time. You’ve got guilt written all over your face, you’re shaking like a leaf. You’re in over your head, aren’t you?”

Kevin O’Reilly nodded.

“Known her long?”

“About six months. We met at the gym.”

“The gym?”

“She works out, desperate to keep her figure. She invited me home. It went from there. She made all the running… I was… I mean, I’d never…”

“All right, Kevin.”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“If you want one. But this is still off the record.”

“Did you mean what you said about a life sentence?” O’Reilly looked at Yellich.

“Oh, yes. Technically it’s possible. Unlikely, but possible. But you’ll collect a good seven or eight years, minimum.”

“I couldn’t handle prison.”

“I know you can’t, Kevin. Big strong lad, but you’re a little boy inside. I can see that.”

“There’s only one way you can avoid the gaol, Kevin.”

“There is, isn’t there?” He looked round the interview room, dark, spartan. “I moved the body, I left it where it was found.”

“Alone?”

“She drove the car. I told her I’d put it in the canal and it had sunk. She told me to do that, but I panicked. Just dropped it on the canal side.”

“Where was the body kept?”

“In the cellar. There’s a little alcove. She put the body in there, and then bricked it up. She has to sell the house, you see. She sold his business, lived off the proceeds for six years -holidays, clothes, jewellery. Mainly jewellery. You’ll need a van to shift all her jewellery, she’s got a room put aside just for the jewels. But the money’s dried up so she’s got to sell to raise money to live, move to a smaller house. ‘Trading down,’ she said. Anyway, couldn’t sell the house with a body in the cellar. Now I think she picked me up in the gym for that job and that job alone. But she could have done it herself, there was no weight in him at all.”

“Did she tell you she had killed him?”

“Not in so many words, but it all points that way.”

“Does, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve helped myself?”

“Hugely. You may even escape prosecution for this information.” Hennessey smiled reassuringly. “All right, let’s get this down in the form of a statement, then we’ll get back and have a chat with Mrs Watch.”

She had a mouth on her.

Jesus, like a fishwife.

And mean with it?

You fooking kiddin?

She’d slice your skin off with three words.

I was a cop, out of the Three Seven in those days.

Man, we’d do the night shift

Give me

Your scumbags

Your dopers

Your skels

Your preds

The zombies

Had ‘em all and twice over.

They came out of the fucking sewers, menacing, feral and lethal

And lemme tell you, we were ready for em…no fucking innocents there.

We had a stone simple rule.

Fuck ‘em first.

We did.

Always.

Our Sarge, half wop, half Mick and deadly, he’d go,

“Bring em down, fast, don’t let em ever…and I mean fucking ever, get up, got that?”

We did.

Did we fucking ever.

My wife had run off with some carpet salesman and if I’d had the energy, I might have cared.

Got a free carpet though.

Nice Persian job, I piss on it every chance I get, which is most mornings after the usual boilermakers with the guys.

First though, we clocked off, we went over to May’s, diner Eighth and 28th.

There is no May, it was owned by a Polack hardass who wouldn’t give you the time of day if you paid him.

Our kind of guy, he never charged us neither and we kept an eye on the joint. He was the cook too, did hash browns, eggs over easy and bacon like your mother might have, if she’d ever been sober.

How I met Nora, the guys had been yapping about this Irish broad who’d been working there a time, I missed her first two weeks as I caught a knife in the gut from a domestic. The guy, he caught the fucking hiding of his life, you gut a cop, better have more than a small blade.

But it put me in the hospital for four days and then I had some time coming so I went fishing.

Like fuck.

I went to the OTB and the track.

Lost me whatever savings I might have had.

You might say, I came back on the job, a wiser, more cautious guy.

You might say shite.

I was meaner, more violent, more intent than before and lemme tell you, I was no Mr Nice to start.

So, me and Richy, we’re heading for the diner and Richy says, “Wait till you get a load of Nora.”

“The fuck is Nora?”

Like I gave a flying fuck.

Richy, he was a small guy, but he had my back and he was real good in the close-up stuff, a guy got in his face, he lost his face. Think I’m kidding?

But here he was, sounding kinda…goddamit…shy?

He said, “Jeez, Joe, she’s like…I dunno, special, I’m thinking of you…know, mebbe asking her out, a drink or something?

I gave him the look, but the poor bastard, he was…what’s the word…smitten…or better, fucked.

I cuffed his ear and he didn’t even notice.

We went into the place, got our usual booth at the back, watch the exits, yeah, cop stuff.

And there she was.

I felt something move in my heart, like a melting. Ah Jesus, I’m not that kind of guy, but a jolt and I hadn’t even had me my caffeine yet.

She was small, red hair, green eyes, nice, nice figure, real built but not showy with it, she knew what she had, didn’t need to push, pretty face, not spectacular but there was an energy there, you found it hard to look away. She had her pad out, and of course, the coffee pot and without asking, filled our coffee mugs, cops, you gotta ask? She smiled at Richy, said,

“Tis himself.”

He smiled like a love-struck teenager, I wanted to throw up, then she leveled those eyes on me and here was the goddamn jolt again, asked.

“And who is Mr Silent here?”

Richy blurted out about me being his partner, how I’d been in the hospital and she cut him off, asked me,

“Cat got your tongue, fellah?”

Something had, I had a million put-downs, couldn’t bring one to mind, I put out my hand.

Jesus.

She looked at my hand, laughed, said,

“Tis shaking hands now is it, my my, aren’t you the polite devil.”

Fucking with me.

She said to Richy,

“Usual?”

He nodded like an idiot and to me,

“What about you, gorgeous, you able to eat?”

I mumbled something about having the same as Richy.

She gave that smile again, said, “Christ, what a surprise.”

And took off.

Richy was almost panting and I swear, he had a line of sweat above his eyes. He asked, “Isn’t she something?”

I wanted to bitch slap him, but I went with, “Got a mouth on her, I’ll give her that.”

He had his Luckies out, lit one with a shaking hand, hard to believe that back then you could smoke anywhere, he persisted, “But you like her, don’t you, I mean, she’s hot, isn’t she?”

Fuck yes, I felt the heat offa her the moment she rolled up to us and I knew I was in some sort of serious bind, had to bite down, keep my cool, said, “Whatever…so you going to the ball game Sunday?”