James Benn - Evil for evil

"Yeah, I hadn't thought of myself as a real cop, like you, but I guess it was good to have somebody there in uniform. I'm glad Adrian told me it was a dress uniform occasion. I hadn't worn my Class As over here before now."

"Any other Americans attend the-"

"Billy," Sam interrupted, "this is Constable Adrian Simms from Clough." He reached out to a young constable as he passed by. "Adrian, Lieutenant Billy Boyle. He's the detective from Boston I told you about."

"Pleased to meet you, so I am," said Adrian. He looked to be the youngest of the constables here, maybe twenty-five or so, and on the short side. He had light sandy hair and a fair complexion, with freckles on his cheeks. His smile was quick and genuine. "Sam tells me you were sent here by General Eisenhower himself."

"He's definitely interested in what happened here," I said, trying not to sound too full of myself.

"As am I. That's my turf, you know, even though it happened on the base. An arms theft and a murder on my patch-don't like it a bit, I don't."

"Some folks might not worry too much about an IRA man being executed by his own," I said.

"Aye, true enough. But I say if we let the IRA or the Red Hand go about dispensin' their own justice, then we've given up any chance of havin' any justice of our own, Catholic or Protestant alike. Know what I mean?"

"I do, Adrian. Justice should be blind."

"Well, I don't know about that. I'd like the lady to keep at least one eye open to mind the store, don't you think?" He winked and raised his glass.

"See why we get along so well, Billy?" Sam said. "Adrian and I have done our fair share of keeping the peace around here, especially between civilians and GIs."

"Aye, when they see the two of us standin' side by side, neither of us favorin' one or the other, they tend to patch things up quick like."

"Have you come up with anything on Mahoney's murder? Any leads at all?"

"No, but I've got my eye out for Red Jack. You've heard about him?"

"Yes, Carrick told me. I also just found out about this new regulation that will give Heck jurisdiction over all criminal investigations. Did you know about that, Sam?"

"They've been talking about that for months. Sounds like it's finally going to happen."

"You think that's why Heck wanted me in jail? So he could bide his time and then solve the crimes after the new regs come out?"

"I hadn't thought about it that way. That would mean he's got something up his sleeve, otherwise he'd only get handed a pig in a poke."

"That's what I think. This also explains why Thornton is so fired up to get the BARs back. The sooner it happens, the sooner he gets the credit instead of Heck. That's his ticket to a combat command."

"Combat? Thornton?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, he told me he wanted one of the heavy weapons companies, that he had this plan to add more firepower, which is why he had all those BARs."

"Then he must've had a change of heart. Last I heard, he'd put in for a transfer to Corps HQ, to the Ordnance Battalion. That's a good safe distance from the front."

"Then that's two lies he's told me," I said, taking in what Sam was saying now.

"The other one?" Adrian asked.

"I asked if he'd told me everything he knew, and he said he had. But he left out that Carrick had just requested Sergeant Brennan's file. That would make Brennan a suspect, so why would Thornton not tell me about it?"

"Maybe he's just trying to sound gung ho to impress General Eisenhower's investigator. And maybe the Brennan thing slipped his mind," Sam said. "Did you ask Carrick what he was going to do about Brennan?"

"No, I didn't get a chance. He was pretty prickly at first."

"That's the DI, it is," said Adrian. "He's not broad-minded on certain matters touching religion and the Crown. He's a fair man, though, at the end of the day. I doubt a Catholic has ever stepped foot in his home or ever will, but he works the law as fair as can be."

"How fair is that?" I asked.

"Well, the poor lady is blindfolded and holding those heavy scales. We can't expect miracles from her, can we? You need your drink freshened?"

"Good idea," I said, and followed Adrian and Sam to a table where bottles were lined up. I knew that I couldn't press Adrian any further.

" Guid forder," Adrian said, raising his glass. "That's good luck the way Ulster Scots say it. I think we'll be needin' a wee bit of luck before this is done."

We clinked glasses and drank, the warmth of the whiskey filling me as I tried to sort out what this new information meant. I was sure Adrian was right about the luck.

"Adrian," I said. "Your accent is a bit different from the others. Are you from around here?"

"Not originally. I was brought up by my aunt in Dublin. I think bein' in the minority down there made me a bit more tolerant of the minority up here. Live and let live, I say, and each man to his own church, neighborhood, and pub."

"Not a bad philosophy. You must have friends on both sides."

"Aye, and enemies too, even within my own family. There's no easy way these days. Now excuse me while I visit with some of the lads. We don't all get together but for funerals or retirements."

"He seems like a good guy," I said to Sam as Adrian left us.

"He is. Treats everyone fair and square. Say, Billy, will you give me a lift back to camp? I drove up with Adrian but it will save him a detour if you're going that way," Sam said. "He'll probably want to stay a while too."

"Sure thing."

Sam moved to a window that faced the backyard. The living quarters were all at the back of the house, separated from the station house by a long hallway.

"It'll be dark soon," he said, pulling the curtains to look at the sky. Clouds showed their pink undersides, and the blue sky was starting to turn a deeper, darker shade. I moved to set my unfinished drink down, figuring that if I finished it I'd be in no shape to drive in the dark on the wrong side of the road.

Sharp, loud cracks of rapid-fire gunshots exploded in the air, overriding the sound of shattered windowpanes. Sam clutched a white curtain as he fell. It settled on top of him, soaked in crimson red as it lay across the two holes in his chest. I dove for the floor as more bullets sprayed the house. In the parlor, bottles burst and stuffing from chairs floated in the air.

I crawled to Sam. His eyes were open, but there had been only bad luck for him.

It had been a BAR, there was no mistaking the sound. And it had been a full twenty-round clip. The first two rounds had hit Sam dead center but the rest were sprayed wildly at the house, a warning to stay put. He was gone; there was nothing to do for him. The only sound registering after the deafening rounds was the tinkling of glass as loose shards fell to the floor. There was one chance, and I took it. I covered my face with one arm and dove through the window, the last bits of glass and wood giving way easily. I hit the soft grass and rolled, pulling my. 45 from its holster and flipping off the safety.

If the shooter was still behind the hedge and reloading, I was dead. A BAR clip can be changed in seconds. But I doubted that he'd hang around a station full of armed constables.

Shouts and cries came from the house, but no gunfire from behind the hedge. I sprinted across the yard and vaulted the gate, crouching as I turned with a view down the back of the shrubbery. A path led along the rear of the houses beside a small stream. Birch trees grew on the opposite bank. I ran to the end of the hedge. Shell casings lay scattered on the ground from where the gunman had fired.

It was slow going. Each backyard had a toolshed or section of fencing that could be a hiding place. I had a clear view of the stream for a good distance. Had he crossed the water into the birch grove? Would he have had enough time? I cursed as I dashed by the next backyard, trusting to speed and surprise.