Дэвид Муди - Strangers

‘You’ve got him all wrong.’

‘No I haven’t. It’s you who’s wrong. You’re the one in denial. Scott ruins lives, it’s as simple as that. Yours, ours, that bloke from yesterday, that little girl…’

‘It was an accident. Stop bringing her up. There’s not a day goes by when he doesn’t—’

‘No one else matters to Scott but Scott, don’t you see that?’

‘That’s not true. What happened with that little girl could have happened to anyone.’

‘He didn’t stop. Bloody hell, Mum, he didn’t stop. He hit her and he didn’t stop.’

‘He went back…’

‘It was too late. She was already dead.’

‘We’ve been over this a million times. He made a mistake. He accepts that now. He paid the price.’

‘No, we’re paying the price.’

‘Look, I know you resent him and—’

‘I don’t resent him, Mum, I hate him. I hate him for what he’s doing to you.’

‘And I love him. I know what he is and what he does, but I love him.’

‘Jesus, that’s pathetic.’

‘Well it happens to be true. Please don’t fight against me, Tammy. I need you and your sister. I don’t know if I can go through all this again.’

‘Do you think he did it?’

Tammy’s question floored Michelle for a moment. She answered instinctively, though with enough hesitation to reveal a trace of doubt. ‘No.’

‘You know what he’s capable of. You more than anyone. He’s hit you enough times…’

‘He’s not a murderer. He might be many things, but he’s not a murderer.’

‘Who are you trying to kid, Mum?’

‘Tammy, just leave it,’ Michelle yelled. ‘I can’t handle this, not now. We’re right on the edge here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘He’s already been responsible for one death…’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘But he never takes responsibility. He always finds someone else to blame or finds a way to squirm out of it.’

‘Please, Tam… please just stop.’

‘No, Mum. You need to face facts and—’

‘There’s nothing I can do, can’t you see that? Christ knows I’ve already tried. I don’t have a way out, love. There’s nowhere left for me to go. I’ve got nowhere left to run to.’

The processing brought back all kinds of foul memories Scott thought he’d buried forever. It was a different police station with different officers who wore different badges and spoke with different accents, but their routine and intent was immediately familiar and the helplessness he felt took him straight back to that day. The noises. The smells. The way they looked at him and spoke to him, at him. And in his gut it felt just the same too. He knew what he’d done to that poor little girl as soon as he felt the van hit her and bump over her tiny, fragile body, and he knew what he’d done to that pervert last night too. But should he have just let that freak wave his dick at Tammy until he’d got bored? Christ, imagine what they’d have said if he’d just sat back and not done what he’d did. No, he’d had to do it. He’d been right to do it.

After the frantic activity of the last hour, time had now slowed to an unbearable crawl. All kinds of thoughts ran through Scott’s mind as he waited in the cell, all kinds of buzzwords and phrases he’d heard used before: reasonable force, self-defence… but nothing fitted his circumstances. He was fucked. He kept thinking he should try and put up a fight to clear his name, but what good would that do him? It was fighting that had got him here. Part of him thought he should just accept what was coming, to confess to whatever they charged him with in an attempt to cooperate and hopefully reduce the hell he knew he was inevitably facing. Just get it over with…

And then things changed again.

Everything suddenly stopped being quite so uncomfortably familiar and became even more uncomfortably unpredictable. He knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to be, that the police were turning a blind eye and playing fast and loose with procedures, but why? Was it, as he suspected, a clichéd case of locals closing ranks to deal with an outsider who, they’d decided, had harmed one of their own? Or was this just the way things were done up here? Whatever the reason, it was playing out like a scene from a bad TV drama: just him and a plain-clothes officer facing each other in a grey and featureless room. The door was slightly ajar. There was someone waiting outside.

‘I need a lawyer,’ Scott said, remembering the TV routine. ‘I’m not saying anything until I’ve got a lawyer.’

‘On his way,’ the officer said. He looked to be in his mid- to late-fifties, grey-haired, with a bulbous, purple-tinged, drinker’s nose. Scott could see straight through him, trying to act all casual and matey, like he’d just decided to stick his head around the door on the off chance Scott felt like a chat or maybe confessing… save them all a load of hassle. This guy really seemed keen to live up to all the clichés: world weary, jaded, been around the block a few too many times… Scott might have risked taking the piss if he hadn’t been so bloody frightened. This your last week in the job, officer? One final case to crack before you hand in your badge for good? Do you keep a bottle of whiskey in your desk drawer? Do you live alone? Wife got bored and found someone else because in all your twenty-plus years together, you’ve always really been married to the force…

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Detective Inspector Litherland. I thought we might try and help each other out, Scott. Your brief’s going to be a while getting here. That’s the problem with living somewhere like Thussock, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered. It takes forever to get anywhere.’

‘I’d rather wait.’

‘Your prerogative, of course. Don’t be too hasty, though. You scratch my back, and all that shite…’

‘Nice. What is this, Taggart ?’

‘You’re in no position to take the piss, sunshine. I’d be very careful if I were you. Believe me, you’re in a shitload of trouble right now.’

Scott bit his tongue. He knew the detective was right. He swallowed hard and looked away, not wanting him to see how nervous he was. But then again, it wouldn’t have taken a body language expert to work that out. The back of his shirt was drenched with sweat; dark, wet rings under both armpits. He constantly chewed the ends of his fingers.

‘Okay, Scott,’ the detective said, ‘I’ll lay things on the line for you here, just so you know what we’re dealing with. Graham McBride is dead, and we’ve several witnesses who saw you beating seven shades of shit out of him shortly before he died.’

‘No comment.’

‘I’m not really asking for your thoughts just now, sunshine, I just need you to listen. Absorb and understand, okay? Now, as I was saying, you were seen kicking seven shades of shit out of Mr McBride—’

‘He was harassing my step-daughter. He had his dick in his hands for Christ’s sake. He was wanking himself off. She’s not even seventeen… what would you have done?’

‘Calm down, Scott, I’m not here to—’

‘Sure I punched him a couple of times, but I didn’t do enough to kill him.’

‘Medical expert, are you?’

‘No, I—’

‘Or is it that you checked Mr McBride was okay after you finished beating him up? Oh no, that’s right, you didn’t. You left him at the side of the road, barely even breathing.’

‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t—’

‘Slow down, and calm down. Take your time. As I said, listen to me first, then we’ll talk. You see, my biggest problem right now is that it’s not just Mr McBride we’re talking about here. Poor old Graham’s not the only death we’ve had to deal with recently.’