Blood Tears (15 page)

‘Everything happens for a reason, you know.’

‘Eh?’

‘Now I know why the universe brought us together, Ray. I can help you.’ She looks the same, her eyes are pools of empathy, but the words coming out of her mouth are just not making any sense, and scaring the shit out of me.

‘Eh?’ I really do need to expand my vocabulary.

‘You were only a boy.’

‘What? Only a… What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘I can’t see it all, yet.’ She looks out of the window, but not at the traffic. ‘But I know that you were as much of a victim as he was.’

‘Get the fuck out of my car, you fucking witch.’

The driver behind me jumps on his horn. Looking  in the mirror I can see his hand wave wildly and his mouth is spewing what I’ve no doubt are obscenities. That is something I can handle. The car is in neutral and my hand is on the release button of my seat belt before I know it. She puts her hand on mine.

‘Don’t. It’s me you’re angry with.’

‘Get out the fucking car then.’

‘I’m going.’ She barely flinches at my rage. As she leaves the car she throws a small piece of card into the dashboard. ‘If you…’

‘Bye.’ The car is in gear and I’m moving before the door is shut.  Maggie’s face flashes into my vision. Her face is scrubbed of make-up, her eyes are large with pity and with need. The need to help.

In the car park at the station, I congratulate myself for making it into work without assaulting anyone. The way I’m feeling, that’s a result. And I doubt if it’s going to get any better. Theresa’s husband will have no doubt lodged his complaint, so depending on how she plays it, I could be in bother. Will she put her cosy lifestyle in jeopardy by telling the truth? Or will she let me be fed to the lions?

I arrive at my office without being accosted. Hellos are exchanged with the usual people on the way. Is it my overworked imagination or are they more muted than normal? Jungle drums work just as well in police stations as they do in other offices, or perhaps even better, for we trade in information on a daily basis.

The boss is sitting behind my desk, his expression as unreadable to me as a page of Hebrew.

‘We need to talk.’

‘So talk.’ I sit in the seat facing my desk and ignore the urge to cover up my ears.

‘Peters, come in.’ He shouts over my head. The door opens smartly and Peters walks in. He stands in front of me to the right of the desk.

‘Ray, this gives me no pleasure…’

‘What the fuck is going on?’ This is much more serious than a reaction to an abusive phone call. Peters’ eyes go anywhere but my face. He is instrumental in this. He looks… embarrassed. Like he’s just shit on a fellow officer’s career.

‘We would like you to accompany us to an interview room.’

‘Eh?’

‘We would like to question you on your whereabouts…’

‘Boss, don’t do this. You’re making a huge mistake.’

‘…on the night of the Connelly murder.’

Allessandra is shivering. The midday sun doesn’t quite heat this small room in Bethlehem House. The chill is thickened somewhat by Mother Superior sitting in front of her and looking, well, superior.

‘How would you describe the relationship between Ray McBain and Carole Devlin?’ Allessandra asks.

The nun is nonplussed by the question. ‘Before I separated them, they were… very close. Too close.’

‘How so, Mother?’ Allessandra asks, dreading the answer.

‘Ray would have been about… ten or eleven? He still had rather a sweet soprano. Devlin I would guess was around fourteen. We tend to move the boys on before they reach puberty. Because then it gets really messy.’ As she speaks her eyes never left Allessandra’s. Her gaze is strong and says this is my domain. I am the mother lion and I will brook no dissent.

Despite herself, Allessandra can feel herself being cowed by the force of the woman’s personality. ‘You have to remember that children are nothing but little animals. With all the… urges that animals have. Until we adults teach them better.’ She smiles and Allessandra feels she has to smile in return.

‘I caught them one day. Down behind the tennis courts. Fiddling with each other. Hormones are a terrible thing, DC Rossi. Especially in the very young.’ She wrings her hands in dread at the human race’s drive to carry on its genes. ‘The work of the devil, if you ask me.’

‘Surely such… experimentation, while not to be condoned, is to be expected?’ Allessandra is thinking that perhaps one isolated incident is not so bad. Perhaps they were equally forgettable to the other. Besides, if Ray was only eleven there wouldn’t have been much in the way of “fiddling” going on surely.

‘Maybe where you came from, my dear, but not in a house of the Lord.’ Before Allessandra can object, Mother continues. ‘That little event forced me to keep them apart, but there were other… things. You have to remember I have only one pair of eyes and I was looking after more than twenty children. Ray became fixated on Devlin. Followed her everywhere.’ Mother widens her mouth in a smile. ‘The modern idiom would be “stalker”.’

A mug of black tea cools on the table before her. Allessandra has a teaspoon in her hand and is slowly stirring white sugar in a stainless steel bowl. Her seat is in the corner of the staff canteen and she is facing a window, in whose reflection she can see who is coming and going. She can also judge if anyone notices her and whether or not they were tempted to speak to her. So far no-one has as much as registered her presence.

The long chrome-lined serving passage in front of the buffet is empty. A caterer bustles behind it, her face long with purpose and habit as she fills the various food containers.

She’d had to do it. Boss or not, he has raised enough suspicion in her mind that she can’t ignore it. The records prove that Ray and Devlin had been in the convent at the same time. They must have known each other. So why did they both act as if they had never clapped eyes on each other? And Devlin
did
call him “Ray”.

The records also show that Devlin was in her teens and that there were only seven boys in residence; she must have known him.

Peters was in the room when she went to speak to Campbell. When she told them about the connection with Bethlehem House and DI McBain’s demand that she keep his name from the list there was a pause as the importance of what she said sank in.

The look on Peters’ face stayed with her for hours.

Allessandra stops stirring the sugar when she realises someone is standing over her.

‘Is this a private party or can anyone join in?’ It’s Daryl Drain.

Allessandra shrugs and reaches for the handle of her mug. The tea is cold.

‘Can I freshen your tea up?’ asks Daryl.

‘Go on then,’ Allessandra says. Then adds a quiet thanks to his back as Daryl walks over to the counter. Soon he’s back holding two mugs, both very hot judging by the pained expression on his face. He places them on the table with relief. He blows on his hands before he turns a chair round and straddles it cowboy style.

‘So how many hours do you think you’d need to stir that sugar to get into the record books?’ he asks.

Allessandra’s smile is weak but appreciative. He is giving her the opportunity to talk without forcing the issue.

‘I feel like shit, DD,’ she says.

Daryl raises an eyebrow.

‘You heard then?’ she asks him.

Daryl nods and keeps his eyebrow raised.

‘Can’t have been easy for you,’ he says and takes a sip at his mug.

‘Oh God. Have I done the right…’

‘Yes. I would have done exactly the same thing.’

‘But a fellow officer is stuck in a cell at the moment and it’s all my fault.’

‘Don’t you believe that for a minute, Allessandra. The reason that DI McBain is in that cell is DI McBain. He’s got no-one to blame but himself.’

‘But…’

‘But nothing. We’re talking  murder here, Allessandra. Not some petty extortion. He covered up his tracks and he used you to help him.’

Allessandra picks up her teaspoon and spears the sugar. ‘I thought there was an unwritten rule…’

‘Only in Hollywood and never when people are being killed.’

‘You’ve known Ray for a few years.’ She begins to stir.

‘Aye.’

‘Do you think he’s capable of murder?’

‘He lied, Allessandra. And he put you in an untenable position…’

‘Ooh. Untenable.’ She grins.

‘Aye.’ Daryl answers her grin with one of his own. Allessandra admires the even line of his teeth and the bright blue of his eyes. ‘Four syllables that mean he could have fucked your career right up.’

‘He’s certainly got something to hide. But murder?’

‘He was an excellent cop. Is an excellent cop. Murder? I hope not. But I would love to know just what he was up to.’

‘Can you answer this?’ asks Allessandra with the suggestion of a grin.

‘What?’

‘Where do you go for the coloured contact lenses? Your eyes are dazzling, man.’ 

This is seriously fucking weird. I’m being interviewed by my colleagues. I’m actually under suspicion of murder. My mind is racing, searching for connections and it doesn’t take too long to come up with one. Allessandra must have told Peters about the list of people at Bethlehem House.  By deliberately excluding myself from the list, I would appear deeply suspicious to them. McBain, you idiot. And what about Allessandra? I should never have put her in that situation. Not only have I killed my career, I’ve damaged hers as well.

Why didn’t you just put your name in and accept being withdrawn from the case until you were cleared? ’Cos that would have meant someone else getting the glory.  No, dammit. This is my case. It had Ray McBain written all over it. It still is my case and no arsehole career policeman is going to stop me from finding that murderer.

There is something else, a compulsion. I have to find this particular killer. I have to. I just don’t know why.

My head is in my hands, my elbows on the table… and I’m on the wrong side of it. Facing me are Campbell and Peters. Both of them look like they’ve spent the night sipping from a vinegar bottle. But I can’t judge whether it is from the awkwardness of interviewing a fellow officer or from the distaste of actually suspecting one. There’s nothing worse than someone you trust pissing in your coffee. Do they seriously think I did it?

They go through the rigmarole of explaining that the interview will be taped and asking me if I want a lawyer present.

‘Get on with it guys,’ I say, ‘then we can get on with catching the real killer.’

‘I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of this situation, DI McBain,’ says Campbell. ‘Not only are you a suspect, but you doctored evidence. So minimum we’re looking at Perverting the Course of Justice. Bye bye career,’ he pauses dramatically, ‘or we’re looking at fifteen years plus, for a particularly brutal murder. Bye bye life.’

‘Oh come on. You don’t actually think I did it?’ I look at them both. I get nothing back.

‘Where were you on the night of the murder, Ray?’

‘I was with the team on a night out. To celebrate the apprehension and conviction of a real criminal. Along with fuck-face here.’ I nod in the direction of Peters.

He doesn’t give me the satisfaction of a reaction. ‘You left the pub early, Ray. In plenty of time to do the deed.’ His turn to wait for my response.

‘Fuck you.’ Basic, I know, but hey, we are all only a step forward from the cave.

‘Where did you go?’

‘Home to bed. On my own.’ I can’t tell them I went to Theresa’s, her marriage would be down the sinkhole then. I realise I have some sort of strange loyalty to informants and lovers: never give out the detail on either. And so far, she’s given me no reason to doubt her. So I’ll keep schtum.

‘Can you prove it?’ asks Campbell.

‘I believe the burden of proof is yours.’ I was impressed when that weirdo Ally Irving came up with that when we interviewed him. I’ve been saving it up for a special occasion just like this.

‘Ray, give us some help here. The last thing we want is to convict a fellow cop.’ Campbell’s hands are open, palms facing me.

‘Convict?’ I shove my face into his. ‘You’ve already decided I’m guilty, you prick.’

‘Why don’t we calm down, DI McBain,’ says Peters, reminding me of my rank and, thereby, how I should comport myself. ‘The sooner we get this cleared up the better for everyone.’ I look around the room from the vantage point of my bucket chair. The room seems different from this point of view, the walls look thicker, the soundproofing looks sinister, whereas I always used to think it looked comical, like cast-offs from an egg boxing factory.

Everything I’ve worked for all these years is fast dissolving before my eyes. I need some quick thinking to save my career.

‘Look, this is all a mix-up. I have a list from Bethlehem House back at the flat. My name is on it. I must have given Allessandra Rossi the wrong one.’ It sounds feeble even to me.

‘Bullshit, McBain.’ The feet of his chair do the chalk-on-blackboard sound and Peters’ face is in mine. ‘Not only have you damaged your own career, but also you may have done harm to a young cop with real promise. And that is unforgivable.’

‘Scared you won’t get your leg over if Allessandra loses her job? She’ll have no reason to look up to you then, you sanctimonious prick.’ His eyes widen and I brace myself for a fist. His breath lessens on my face and I realise Campbell has pulled him off.

‘For the record,’ I aim my voice at the tape recorder, ‘DS Peters has adopted an aggressive stance.’ Peters sits down, his face going through a rainbow of red.

‘Also for the record,’ I continue, ‘DS Peters has a grudge against me and should not be involved in this interview.’ I know I’m acting like a child but I can’t help it.

‘A grudge, what grudge?’

‘I believe that DS Peters has had feelings of antipathy towards me since I was promoted over his head and what’s more…’

‘Stop it, Ray,’ says Campbell.

‘And what’s more,’ I continue, ‘he is having a relationship with the chief witness against me in this case and…’

‘Rubbish. Absolute crap. Allessandra Rossi and I have nothing more than a professional relationship.’