Ripped (84 page)

It
was
then,
remembering,
or
reminded
by
chance
as
he glanced
up,
that
the
Chief
Superintendent
told
Murray,
'Get
out.'
And
added
on
the
next
breath,
'And
watch
it.
You're
on
a
short
rope.'

Despite
which,
Murray
went
to
the
canteen.
There
were
no
prime
rib
steaks,
so
he
took
a
hot
meat
pie
which
was
neither
and
a
plastic
beaker
of
tea.
The
big
men
overflowed
the
furniture,
shadowing
tables
with
their
shoulders
and
hanging
their
bums
over
chairs
like
pastry
waiting
to
be
trimmed.
Pale
lines
on
the
walls
marked
where
there
had
been
transfers
of
birds
and
animals
when
this
had
been
the
school
dining
hall.
It
was
visiting
day
in
wonderland.

'What
the
hell
are
you
doing
here?'

Murray
had
chosen
a
corner
table
with
his
back
to
the
room.
Looking
up,
he
saw
the
plate
and
cup
slide
perilously
on
the
tray
between
Eddy
Stewart's
startled
hands.

'Sit
down
before
I
get
that
stuff
in
my
ear.'

'No
way.
I
don't
want
to
be
even
seen
anywhere
near
you,
pal.'

'You'll
get
your
pension,
Eddy
–
and
you're
too
old
for
a promotion!'

'They
shouldn't
have
fed
you.
That
shit's
subsidised
by
the
taxpayer
.
'

'I
put
on
a
disguise.'

'You
even
smell
like
a
cop
–
McKellar
make
you
sweat?'

'You
knew
I
was
with
him?'

'There
aren't
any
secrets
in
this
place.'

'McKellar
got
distracted.'

'Eh?'
Murray
gestured
with
a
thumb
at
his
crotch.
'Somebody
sent
him
a
present.
All
wrapped
up
in
cottonwool.'

'Bloody
hell!'
Stewart
said
appreciatively.
He
glanced
round
and
sat
down.
'I
heard
the
buzz
there'd
been
a
letter,
but –
So
the
Gaffer
got
a
wee
present
from
Jill?
A
prick
for
a
prick.'
He
laughed
and
hefted
the
tray
as
if
ready
to
get
up
again.
'He'll
be
as
wild
as
hell.'

'Hold
it,
Eddy.'

'Make
it
quick.
I'm
nervous
sitting
here.'

Murray
hesitated
.
'John
Merchant
told
me
he'd
recognised
a
guy
as
someone
he'd
seen
before.
A
guard
in
a
concentration
camp.
You
know,
like
an
SS
man?
I
think
the
guy
he
was
talking
about
was
Joe
Kujavia.'

'Do
you
tell
me
that?'
Stewart
said
in
a
tone
of
respectful astonishment.

Murray
studied
him
suspiciously
.
'I
decided
to
tell
McKellar.
But
when
I
told
him,
he
laughed.'

'Aye,
well,
he
would,
wouldn't
he?'
Stewart's
deadpan
cracked
into
a
grin.
With
amusement,
his
face,
beefy
and
pale
from
too
many
hours
on
his
feet,
reddened
so
that
he
looked
healthy
and
cheerful.
'Let
me
tell
you,
Ian
Peerse's
father
and
Jackie
McKellar
hated
one
another's
guts.
This
is
a
while
ago
–
they
were
both
inspectors
–
and
Andrew
Peerse
got
the
same
idea
you've
got
there.'

'Where
did
he
get
it
from?'

'No
problem.'
Stewart's
grin
widened.
'From
the
man
himself
.
Kujavia
used
to
boast
about
it.
So
Andrew
Peerse
took
him
seriously.
He
did
a
lot
of work
on
it
apparently.
In
his
own
time
as
well
–
bloody
idiot
–
like
father
like
son,
eh?'

'So
what
happened?
I
haven't
heard
the
joke
yet.'

'Jackie
McKellar
did
a
bit
of
enquiring
of
his
own.
He
traced
Kujavia's
first
conviction.
For
pimping.
In
London.
In
1939.
I
mean,
before
the
bloody
war
at
all,
right?
He
got
a
lot
of satisfaction
out
of
making
a
cunt
of
Peerse.
No
wonder
you
had
him
laughing.'

‘
You'd
better
eat
that
pie,'
Murray
said.
'It'll
be
getting
cold
.
It's
all
right,
I'm
just
going.'

Stewart
cut
a
wedge
of
the
pie
and
shovelled
it
into
his
mouth.
A
wedge
of
white
grease
had
begun
to
congeal
round
the
edge
of
the
crust.
He
made
a
face
and
swilled
the
mouthful
down
with
tea.
'One
other
thing,
Eddy.
It'll
only
take
a
minute.
Is
it
true
they've
identified
the
guy
who
was
found
dead
off
Deacon
Street? The
one
that
had
the
wheel
over
his
face.'

Eddy
burped,
and
put
another
wedge
of
pie
into
his
mouth.
Indistinctly,
through
it
as
he
chewed,
he
said
in
disgust,
'For
all
the
good
it
did.
An
old
guy
called
Lester
Rose
.
Worked
as
a
book-keeper
or
something
with
MacKinlays
–
the
engineering
firm,
know
it?
Once
they
could
check
with
his
dentist,
there
wasn't
any
doubt.
He'd
had
a
lot
of
fancy
work
done
on
his
teeth.'