by Alex Walters
‘I think everyone’s aware of that. More sinned against than sinning was my impression.’
Salter shrugged. ‘Depends who you talk to. That’s the way that Brennan tells it. Just doing his honest job. No choice but to blow the whistle. All that crap. Not, of course, the way that former Chief Superintendent Craddock tells the tale. You pays your money and you takes your choice.’
‘But Craddock was bent.’
‘Not as clean as the proverbial whistle,’ Salter agreed. ‘But you could say that of a lot of people.’ Salter paused, as if mentally compiling a list of individuals who might fall into this category. ‘Maybe even Brennan himself.’
‘A bent whistleblower?’
‘People do things for all kinds of reasons, sis. You must have realised that by now.’ His tone had changed. He was coaxing, gently inveigling her into some kind of complicity with him. ‘There’s more to Brennan than meets the eye. I brought him over in good faith. Always happy to give someone a second chance. Brennan had a good reputation as a detective. He knows the lay of the land up in that neck of the woods.’ Salter spoke as though the north west were some kind of uncharted territory. ‘I thought he might be just what we needed to pin down Pete Boyle and his cronies.’
Like hell you did, she thought. You thought that a copper with Brennan’s reputation would be just what was needed to destroy any lingering credibility the case retained in the eyes of the CPS. ‘And you’re saying that he wasn’t?’
‘I made him Evidence Officer for the case,’ Salter went on. ‘I wanted someone who would properly coordinate all the material we had. Assess its strengths and weaknesses. Work out where the gaps were, and advise on what was needed to fill the gaps.’
‘And he’s not done that?’
‘Up to a point. He’s spent a lot of time researching the background.’ Salter gave the last word a heavy overtone of irony, as if the notion of background research was absurd in the context of detective work. ‘One reason why he was so keen to meet you. But not much seems to have emerged from all this. In fact, quite the opposite.’ He stopped and again flicked slowly through the pile of papers. She couldn’t work out whether the papers were genuinely pertinent to their discussion, or whether this was simply another of Salter’s theatrics. ‘He seems to have rejected most of the evidence as irrelevant or unhelpful, leaving us with more gaps than substance.’ He pulled two sheets of paper out from the larger pile and spent a few seconds carefully arranging them side by side on the desk in front of him. ‘More worryingly, there seem to be signs that evidence has actually been destroyed or amended. And that the records have been changed in an attempt to conceal the fact.’ He best forward to study the two sheets for a moment, and then picked them up and slid them back into the remaining papers. Theatrics, she decided. Nothing but bloody theatrics.
‘You’re saying that Brennan has destroyed evidence?’
‘That’s what we want to know, sis. You know how these things are. It’s so easy for things to be misunderstood or misinterpreted. Maybe Brennan’s been trying to do an honest job to the best of his abilities. Maybe he wasn’t up to it. I think we sometimes underestimate how difficult our job can be compared with traditional policing.’
She could feel her rage bubbling up again. It was easy to imagine Salter deploying this ‘more in sorrow than in anger’ voice at some future disciplinary hearing while he gently skewered Brennan’s career. It was clear now where this was heading. And it was equally clear how Salter had typically muddied the waters.
She could believe that Brennan had been assiduous at rejecting any supposed evidence against Boyle that he’d felt to be unconvincing or unhelpful. He thought that Salter was setting him up to fail, and he wouldn’t have wanted to present anything to the CPS that was less than watertight. She could imagine that Salter himself would have been happy to include material that would fall at the first hurdle.
The second part of the accusation was much more serious. If Brennan had been destroying or amending evidence, that would imply he was corrupt. That would imply that he was on Boyle’s payroll. She didn’t believe it for a moment. But others might be only too pleased to do so. Brennan had made enough enemies who’d use any weapon against him. This would play right into their hands.
‘You can’t believe that, Hugh,’ she said. ‘You can’t seriously think that Brennan’s been destroying evidence.’
Salter leaned back in his chair and looked at her appraisingly. ‘Look. sis, I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye. I know you don’t think much of me. Which is a pity, as it happens, because I’ve rather a high regard for you. And you don’t trust me all that much. Which is fair enough, I guess. I’ve never denied being ambitious. And I’ve never hidden the fact that I prefer to look out for number one–’
‘Is this going somewhere, Hugh?’ This was Salter shifting gear yet again, into the ‘cards on the table’ mode he used mostly when just about to pull the wool over your eyes. He was bloody good at it, she knew. What better way to get someone to trust you than by acknowledging that they didn’t?
He sighed. ‘All I’m trying to say, sis, is that, though you probably don’t think so, I’ve got your best interests at heart. I don’t know or care what kind of relationship you might have had with Brennan–’
‘I’ve told you, Hugh–’
He held up his hand. ‘None of my business, sis. But you need to know that Jack Brennan’s bad news. I can understand why you feel a need to protect him, but I’m telling you it’s not a good idea. Not for you. Not for me. The powers-that-be are taking a long hard look at him. He’s already been suspended, and the expectation is that he’ll be disciplined. Or worse.’
It took a moment for this to sink in. ‘Suspended? When?’
‘Yesterday. Not so long after he said his fond farewells to you, I should imagine. When he got into the office, he was called in by the Chief up there and given the news. Sent home on full pay while the investigation’s carried out.’
She sat for a moment in silence, trying to come to grips with this news. She felt, unreasonably, that someone should have told her before now. But why would they? Brennan was nothing to her, other than the focus of whatever salacious rumours their surveillance efforts had prompted. Perhaps she was disappointed that Brennan himself hadn’t called her. But he wouldn’t have wanted to risk implicating her in whatever he was being accused of.
‘The long and short of it, sis, is that you’d do well to steer clear of him. The investigation will take a few weeks, I imagine. Professional Standards are starting to look at the material.’ He shrugged. ‘A lot of it may be circumstantial. He can probably come up with a good story as to why he disregarded evidence, but the tampering will be harder to explain. My bet is that, at the very least, Brennan’s on his way out. But of course, if he was destroying evidence, the real question is why.’
She felt treacherous for not protesting Brennan’s innocence. But there was no point. She wasn’t going to persuade Salter, for Christ’s sake, and all she’d do was reinforce the impression that she was close to Brennan. ‘So what’s this got to do with me, Hugh?’ she asked, determined that he should spell it out.
‘You’re on thin ice, sis. Like I say, you’ve disobeyed orders. You’ve broken cover without authorisation. You got rather closer than was wise to Brennan. However innocently. The people upstairs have their eyes on you.’
That was one of the many things she despised about Salter. The way he always shifted responsibility onto some unnamed authority. If senior management really did have their eyes on her, it would be because he’d made damn sure she was in their sights. ‘I’ve done nothing, Hugh. You know that.’
‘And for the moment,’ he said, his voice oozing magnanimity, ‘I’m accepting that and taking no action. I’m just warning you that Professional Standards are watching. They know you were in contact with Brennan. They know you spent the night at his flat. They probably know every step you’ve taken since then.’ He sat back, the cold smile once again
spread across his face. An insincere TV quiz host who’d just given away the star prize.
She felt the cold finger on her spine again. Every step she’d taken since then. Which would include her meeting with Lizzie and McGrath. If they’d had Brennan’s flat under surveillance, it was possible they’d followed her when she left. But if that were the case, why was no one asking her about her movements? She supposed that there was nothing intrinsically suspicious about her visiting Lizzie – the two women had been through a traumatic night together, after all. There was no reason for anyone to know that McGrath was there. Unless they’d subsequently seen him leave . . .
Stop it, she thought. This is exactly what Salter wants. He’s a master at putting you on the back foot. Saying enough to sow a seed of doubt and then letting you squirm until you inadvertently tell him what he wants to know.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ she said, as calmly as she could manage.
‘Never thought for a minute you had, sis. But you know those bastards in Professional Standards. If they decide you’re worth looking at, they’ll trawl through every last detail of your private life. Anything that’s going on at home. Anyone you might once have had a relationship with . . .’ Again, he stopped and left the words hanging in the air.
She felt another momentary chill, but knew he was just throwing out bait in the hope of getting her to bite. He might have suspicions about her past relationship with the informant, Jake Morton. But there was no way that he could know for sure that she’d allowed herself to be compromised. That bit of dirty linen had been safely packed away with Morton’s murder. All Salter was doing was stirring the shit, and hoping that something juicy would float to the surface.
‘Are we done, Hugh?’ she said. ‘Like I say, I’ve nothing to hide. If Standards want to talk to me, officially or otherwise, that’s fine by me.’ She made a move to rise from her chair, conscious now that she was keen to escape Salter’s presence.
‘Okay, sis,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m not a monster. I’m taking a hard line on this for your own good. There are people upstairs who wanted me to do more than rap your knuckles, and I can’t promise they won’t still want to pursue this. At the very least, you can expect that Professional Standards will want to interview you about Brennan. I’m sure you’ve got nothing to hide, but you’d do us both a favour if you kept a low profile. I’ll make sure Standards don’t do anything stupid.’
You’re all heart, Hugh, she thought to herself. ‘Thanks, Hugh. I know you’re just doing your job.’ Jesus, no wonder she was good at this work, if she could lie through her teeth like that.
‘Good girl. Look, you’ve had a tough time over the last few days. And I know things are tough at home, too. Why not take the rest of the day off? Tomorrow we can get out heads together and decide what we do with you next. I’m afraid it’ll be more backroom stuff for a while, but we can sort something out.’
In other circumstances, the ‘good girl’ might have been the last straw. Today, she knew it was wiser to cut her losses. ‘That’s kind of you, Hugh. I’ll be in bright and early tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Can’t wait to get back to those old files.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Salter said, beaming across the desk.
She took a deep breath and swallowed any response she might have been tempted to offer. She turned to leave the room, being careful not to look back.
Not in a million years, Hugh Salter, she thought. Not your girl in a million fucking years.
22
‘Christ. How long’s he been like this?’
‘It’s been up and down. Some days better than others. But he’s not been the same since he came out of hospital.’
Marie realised she’d been staring at Liam. He didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even seem to notice, just at the moment. But that just made it worse. She tore her gaze away and looked over at Sue. ‘He seems a hell of a lot worse even than when I left.’
She was half-expecting Sue to respond with some acid jibe, but the carer seemed to have moved beyond that. Beneath her professional exterior, she seemed as distressed as Marie herself. ‘It’s hard to tell,’ Sue said. ‘Like I say, there’ve been good days and bad days. Today’s probably the worst he’s been.’
She’s fooling herself, Marie thought. Or maybe it’s because when the decline happens in front of you, even in a matter of days, it’s less obvious than if you haven’t witnessed the progression. ‘He wasn’t like this when I left. Not as bad as this.’
Sue said nothing. Marie looked back to where Liam was sitting, slumped awkwardly in one of the armchairs. He’d looked up once when she’d first entered the room, and she’d been buoyed by the warmth of his smile. He’d looked as if he was genuinely pleased – relieved, even – to see her. He’d croaked out her name; ‘Marie. Hi, love.’
But almost immediately she knew that something was wrong. More wrong than when she’d left. He’d stared at her for a long moment, the broad smile fixed on his face. But the light had faded from his eyes. He’d been staring blankly at her, almost through her, as if he’d already forgotten she was there.
‘How are you feeling, Liam?’ She’d lowered herself on to the chair next to him, taking his hand gently in hers. His posture seemed worse than before, too. Previously he’d sat upright in the chair, whereas now he was leaning to one side. He didn’t look as if he’d be capable of dragging him-self upright as he had before.
He looked across at her, and she detected a faint note of surprise in his eyes. It took him a second to focus. ‘I’m– you know, not too bad. Mustn’t grumble.’ For a second, there were traces of the old humour in his voice. But it felt like someone responding by rote. Saying the things you were supposed to say in a conversation. Not Liam at all.
‘I’m back now, Liam,’ she said. ‘I won’t be going away again for a while.’ She could feel Sue watching them from across the room.
Liam was looking ahead again now, his gaze unfocused. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’
The conversation had continued on the same lines. Marie offering breezy platitudes, Liam giving little, if any, response. Finally, she rose and stepped across the room to where Sue was standing.
‘What did the doctor say?’
‘What do they ever say? Not much. Seemed to think it was what we should expect.’
‘But this isn’t Liam. Maybe it’s a psychological thing. It’s as if he’s retreated into himself. Switched off from the world. I mean, it would be understandable enough –’
Sue was shaking her head. ‘They did tests while he was in hospital. Had one of the clinical psychologists visit him. They seemed pretty sure that this is – well, just the result of the illness. Just the next step.’
Marie opened her mouth to protest, but she knew she was clutching at straws. She couldn’t deny what Sue was saying. Whatever was wrong with Liam, it wasn’t simply a psychological problem. She’d been warned that this was the direction in which he was heading. She just hadn’t expected to be heading there so quickly.
‘But everything I’ve read about MS,’ she continued, knowing that now she was really speaking only to help order her own thoughts. ‘It never mentions this kind of development. They talk about minor mental impairment – forgetting words, that sort of stuff – but they don’t talk about this.’ She knew she was merely rehearsing the same discussion she’d had with Liam himself, weeks before. He must have known then that something was wrong. Seriously wrong. He must have realised that his mental capacities were slipping away, already begun to feel the fog closing in. Shit. What must it have been like for him?
And he’d not told her. He’d dropped hints but she’d been too slow or stupid to pick them up. But he hadn’t come out and told her exactly what he feared, what he thought was happening. She’d left him here to face it on his own. The only consolation was that at least now he seemed calm enough. There was no sense of distress or fear.
‘They reckon it’s the short-term memory that’s affected most,’ Su
e said. ‘You can ask him something and he’ll respond. But five minutes later he’s forgotten about it. You don’t realise at first. He’s become quite skilled at covering it up. Always gives you the right kind of polite response.’
Marie wondered how long that had been going on, too. With hindsight, she could recall incidents where he seemed to have forgotten something obvious. But he’d made light of it. Said he’d always been scatterbrained. It was strange how she’d failed to spot what was happening. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see it.
‘Christ,’ Marie said, finally. ‘This is really it, isn’t it? This is where it gets serious.’
She realised now that Sue had known all along how much Liam’s condition had deteriorated. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted Marie to come rushing back. Or, more charitably, perhaps Sue had been shielding her from the real gravity of the developments.
‘I’ve spoken to the social worker,’ Sue said. ‘She’s going to do an assessment. See whether she can get some more support. It won’t be easy. They’re cutting back everywhere. But Liam must be a deserving case.’ She paused, as if unsure how to articulate her next thought. ‘I shouldn’t say this, but in a way he’s getting easier to care for. I worried that he was pushing himself too hard, trying to prove he could still do the things he used to. I used to get worried that if I left him by himself, he’d have an accident…’ She stopped again, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry. You know all this. It must be awful. I mean, I’ve grown fond of Liam. He’s a lovely man. But for me it’s just a job. At the end of the day, I can walk away, pour myself a glass of wine, forget about it till morning. You can’t do that. He’s your partner. You have to watch this happening. Shit–’
Sue had turned away, and Marie realised that the other woman was crying. It occurred to Marie for the first time that she’d misjudged Sue. She was only doing her job – rather more than her job, in fact. Marie had been projecting on to her all her own guilt and self-criticism. ‘I’ve been hiding from it,’ Marie said, articulating her thoughts out loud. ‘I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. That I could just continue like before. That everything would still be all right. But it’s not going to be, is it?’
