Craig Robertson - Snapshot

Dirty. Cops.

They were sitting on the bedroom floor in Highburgh Road, holding each other tight, head on the other’s shoulder. Him looking north and her south, neither seeing anything. They’d been like that for an age without saying a word. His guess was that they were silent because there was just too much to say.

It was only nine at night but it felt like past midnight. From the early morning dash to the industrial estate to the final visit to intensive care at the Royal, it had been a long, long day. Addison was alive but only just. They said the next twenty-four hours would be critical.

They’d both wanted to wait but Shirley was having none of it. He understood why they wanted to be there but his job was to catch the shooter and to do that he needed his team rested. There was also the small matter of whether Addison was shot because he was involved with the dealers. Shirley was insistent: they were to go home and get some sleep whether they liked it or not.

Sleep. That was a joke.

They’d climbed the stairs to the flat and Rachel had the fridge door open before the front door had shut. She cracked open a bottle of wine, picked up two glasses and poured. Winter didn’t even have the energy to make his usual moan about white wine.

She’d kicked off her shoes then fell out of her trousers and her blouse, causing him a pang of guilt at watching her body when he should have been thinking about Addison. Then he remembered that Addison would have been exactly the same, if not worse, and he’d laughed out loud before he knew it, strangling it once he caught the thought. Rachel threw him a look of surprise but didn’t bother asking. Instead she pulled on pyjama trousers and a T-shirt and padded into the bedroom.

Winter followed her through, losing his own shoes and got down on the floor where Rachel knocked her glass of wine back in one gulp. She immediately poured a second but left it untouched. She put her arms out without looking at him and he fell into them. That’s the way they were nearly an hour later. It was Rachel who finally broke the spell.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course you can,’ he replied.

‘You probably won’t like it.’

He tensed.

‘Go on.’

How much worse can things get, he thought?

‘When Addy was shot, why did you get up and take his photograph? Why did you do that when the Temple told everyone to stay down? You knew that maniac was probably still out there.’

‘It was my job.’

‘Bollocks, Tony. I need you to do better than that. Why did you get up?’

‘It was my job. It was the only small thing I could do to help catch whoever did that. Make sure the evidence was there when it goes to court.’

He could feel her head shaking against his.

‘Okay, I buy part of that. But that doesn’t explain it all. You could have been killed. What was so important that you risked that?’

He hesitated, partly because he wasn’t sure what the answer was. Or maybe because he did.

‘Is that all I’m getting? Silence? An answer would be nice.’

‘I don’t know.’

Her voice softened.

‘I think you do know, Tony. Trust me.’

‘I… I just got up and did it. I didn’t feel like I had much choice. My legs were there before I knew it.’

‘Okay. But that’s still only half an answer. Why did you want to do it?’

He shrugged. She swore.

‘Fuck, Tony, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been more alive than when you’re photographing death. We both know that’s the truth. I used to accept that it was your thing but now, today, it’s freaking me out. When you risk your life to photograph someone else’s death then I can’t accept that. I’m just not sure I can deal with that at all. I’m not sure I can be part of that.’

He was glad he couldn’t see her face. He didn’t want to see the look on it. He knew ducking it again wasn’t going to work but he tried.

‘Look, Rach, I don’t know. Okay?’

‘Not okay. Let me keep it simple. You tell me why the fuck you did that or we’re done. I can’t handle it if I can’t understand it.’

‘You know I’m not good with ultimatums.’

‘Tony, I’m beginning to wonder what you are good with.’

‘Cheers.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. But I need to know. And I need to know now.’

He closed his eyes and screamed silently into her shoulder.

‘Tell me.’

He breathed hard.

‘Okay, I’ll tell you best as I understand it myself.’

‘Okay.’

‘When I see something like that, when I get to photograph something like… you’re right, it does make me feel alive. It’s like I’m seeing the other side… like I’m getting a glimpse into. .. into death. It’s as if there’s a chance to make sense of the whole thing, you know?’

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Go on.’

‘Life doesn’t make much sense on its own so maybe… I don’t know. Maybe if you can understand death then you can get a handle on the rest of it. Maybe if you can get your head round it then it won’t seem so bad and there’d be nothing to be scared of. Maybe death’s what it’s all about.’

‘Christ, Tony. Why would you think that?’

‘Because death…’

He hesitated.

‘Death what?’ she demanded.

‘You want to hear this or not?’ he shouted at her. ‘It’s because of my mum and dad, alright? It’s because my parents were murdered. You fucking happy now?’

She gasped, trying to snap her head away and round so she could see him but he held her tight. He wasn’t ready to be seen. She fought it but he was too strong and she finally let her head rest on his shoulder again.

‘You told me that your parents died in a car crash.’

‘I lied.’

More silence. More thinking.

‘So what happened? Who killed them?’

He screwed his eyes shut, wishing the moment away.

‘They were killed. That’s all that matters. It might be hard for a cop to understand but sometimes the dead are more important than the killer.’

She thought about that for a moment and he felt her nodding.

‘I do understand that. But tell me what happened, Tony. Please? Who killed your mum and dad?’

He took a deep breath. ‘I did.’

He could feel her tense, frightened. Not of him but of what he might say. It wasn’t going to stop her asking though.

‘Tell me.’

Winter bit on his bottom lip, pinching the skin hard with his teeth, trying to make it bleed, trying to bring pain. He deserved pain, he craved it.

‘I killed my mother. They say it wasn’t my fault but I know differently.’ He released a small, bitter laugh. ‘Cars don’t kill people, people kill people.’

‘She died in a road accident?’ Rachel asked.

‘No, you’ve not been listening? She was killed in a road accident. By me.’

Rachel was desperately trying to keep the shock from her face.

‘Okay, Tony. It’s okay. Go on.’

His eyes were closed.

‘She was just twenty-three. Really pretty. My dad was a school teacher, history. She was going to train to be a teacher too. Till I got in the way.’

Rachel tried to interrupt but he didn’t let her.

‘We lived in Arlington Street. You know, just off Woodlands Road?’

She nodded.

‘I was five and was always dashing off to play in the street as soon as she turned her back. She was always on at me not to do it. Always. If she’d warned me once about running across that road when cars were coming then she’d done it a thousand times. I never listened though.

‘This particular day, she was washing dishes and I sneaked out of the house with a football and was booting it from one pavement to the other. Cars were always coming round the corner fast at the Arlington Bar but I always thought I had time to get out the way. This time though…’ He choked back the memory. ‘This time I was too busy watching the ball and by the time I heard the engine, this car was nearly on top of me. The driver hadn’t seen me till he was just a few feet away. All I could see was the front of the car, it filled the world.