James Craig - Then We Die

Carlyle gave both of his superiors some good eye-contact as he took his mobile from his jacket pocket. ‘I received a text from Ronan’s phone,’ he said, pulling up the message and handing the phone to Simpson, ‘asking me to come to the pub down the road.’

Simpson read the message and showed it to Dugdale. ‘What does have found our man mean?’ she asked.

‘I presume that he was referring to Lieberman,’ Carlyle lied. ‘However, I can only speculate. When I got to the pub, Swain led me here. She told me that if I didn’t go with her, Ronan would be killed. When we arrived, Ronan was still alive but in a bad way. He did not seem conscious. Lieberman seemed to believe that Ronan or I could help him find a missing member of the Mossad hit squad that killed Joe. Neither of us were able to give him what he wanted, so he shot Ronan. He was going to shoot me, but then his gun jammed — so they just left.’

‘Why didn’t they stab you,’ Simpson mused, ‘or strangle you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Carlyle replied, ignoring the wistfulness in her tone. ‘Maybe you can ask him yourself, if we catch him.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Dugdale, ‘we’ll get them both.’

I ’ ve heard that before , Carlyle thought. ‘They seemed extremely stressed and in a considerable hurry. They left me with my phone and the keys to my handcuffs. Once I was sure that they were gone, I was able to call you straight away.’

Dugdale glanced doubtfully at Simpson, but her expression was giving nothing away. ‘Very well, Inspector,’ he said, ‘go and get yourself cleaned up. We’ll deal with this from now on.’

Returning to the bar in the Stern Arms, the inspector downed a triple measure of Jameson’s and a couple of Budweisers in less than five minutes. The barman gave him a funny look, but said nothing as Carlyle ordered another round.

‘I haven’t finished the first one yet,’ Roche protested.

‘Don’t worry,’ Carlyle told her, ‘I can always drink it for you.’

‘I think you should slow down a bit.’

‘You didn’t have someone just point a gun on you and pull the fucking trigger.’ Across the room, a lithe black girl with an outsized Afro swayed unconvincingly to ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis. She was a lot prettier than the earlier stripper, so Carlyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of pound coins.

Roche followed his gaze and smiled.

‘Just don’t bloody tell my wife I was in here,’ he joked.

Roche sipped at her beer in a rather amateurish fashion. ‘Why did you tell them that I was David’s girlfriend?’

Mm, that was a good question . The alcohol was quickly pickling his brain and Carlyle had to stop and think about it for a moment. ‘Two reasons,’ he said finally.

‘Yes?’

‘First, and most important, they are going to find out anyway. Everything he’s ever done will now come out in the wash, so you might as well be upfront with them.’ Taking a large mouthful of the whiskey, he gently clinked his glass against her beer bottle. ‘And, second, there might be some compo in it for you.’

‘What?’

‘Compensation. We live in a compensation culture these days, especially in the Met. You can get awarded thousands for mental distress if someone says they don’t like your bloody haircut. Having your boyfriend brutally slain in the line of duty must be worth a few bob, even if he was playing away.’

Laughing, Roche almost choked on her beer. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘You never know.’

‘Anyway, I wouldn’t want their bloody money.’

Carlyle looked aghast. ‘You can always give it to me.’ Oasis had finally stopped their racket and he watched as the black girl did the rounds with her pint pot, trying to catch any punters she hadn’t tapped up before starting her act. Disappointed that she had put her clothes back on, he waited patiently to hand over his contribution.

Helen smacked him hard on the arm. ‘Put the paper down!’

Reluctantly, Carlyle did what he was told. They were waiting outside the Headmaster’s office, sitting side by side like two sixth-formers who had been caught smoking in the bogs. Ahead of his telling-off, he wasn’t feeling in the mood for conversation.

‘I thought you said that it was all over,’ Helen whispered as one of the office secretaries walked past, giving them a stern look.

‘It was,’ Carlyle said, trying not to let his exasperation show. ‘And then it wasn’t.’ He shrugged. ‘These things happen. You know what it’s like.’

‘No.’ Helen shook her head. ‘I don’t know what it’s like. You are running around like a big kid, trying to get yourself killed. It’s almost as if you feel guilty because Joe got shot and you didn’t.’

‘You sound like the shrink,’ Carlyle snorted.

Helen folded her arms and stared into the middle distance. ‘Well, maybe you should go back and see him again.’

‘I will,’ Carlyle said, happy to concede something. ‘Simpson has already set it up.’ He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘But there is nothing to worry about. A, I’m not going loopy and B, this issue really is under control now. There will be no more bloodshed.’

She reciprocated the squeeze. ‘I’m not convinced about either of those things,’ she said. ‘We both know that the Met isn’t likely to do much to protect you, mentally or physically.’

He leaned over and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek. ‘And so far, I’ve never relied on them to do either, have I?’

She turned to look at him. ‘What does that mean?’

It means that we ’ re going to deploy the skills and resources of Dominic Silver and his boys , Carlyle thought. He shot Helen the best smile he could manage. ‘It means that we’ll be fine.’

The door to the Headmaster’s office opened and out popped the bald head of Dr Terence Myers. ‘Mr and Mrs Carlyle? Please come in.’ He held the door open while the condemned parents shuffled inside. ‘Please take a seat.’

Once he had resumed residence behind the massive desk, Myers gave them the smallest of smiles. ‘Thank you for coming in at such short notice. I realize that this is a difficult issue, but let me tell you that I have to deal with situations like this on a fairly regular basis, and I am sure that we can get it sorted out.’

‘Thank you,’ said Carlyle.

‘It’s good that you have spoken to Alice about it,’ Myers continued, ‘and we will, of course, look into what she has said. But, remember, this is not a blame game that we are playing here. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is that there is no repeat of this incident on Alice’s part.’

‘Yes,’ both parents chirruped in unison.

Myers tapped a thin file resting on his desk. ‘Your daughter is doing very well here, both academically and socially. She is very much a valued member of our community.’

Carlyle glanced over at Helen. Despite the circumstances, his wife was bursting with pride at the praise being handed out to their daughter. He had to resist the urge to smile.

‘However,’ said Myers, ‘we cannot tolerate a repeat performance. The school, as you know, has had its share of problems with drugs over recent years, and we have to show that we deal with such things firmly. So Alice will have to complete her suspension, I’m afraid.’

Pride well and truly burst, Helen hung her head in shame. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ Placing his hands on his ample belly, Myers sat back in his chair and told them, ‘That’s all. Do you have any questions?’

Bloody hell , Carlyle thought, we ’ ve got a result. Let ’ s get out of here . Looking at Helen, he jumped to his feet.