by Rob Sinclair
Quite quickly I became the focus of their ire, and they issued numerous threats about what would happen if I didn’t co-operate now that they knew I was involved in O’Brady’s criminal life. I was told, assuredly, that I would be given immunity only if they deemed it appropriate based on the information I had to offer and the extent of any criminal behaviour I had been involved in. Plus, in any case it wouldn’t be their decision but that of the Crown Prosecution Service. If I didn’t talk at all, though, there would be no chance of immunity, and they promised me they would get to the bottom of O’Brady’s dealings with or without me.
Really I wasn’t left with much of an option other than to talk. And so it began: two days of gruelling interviews.
I’d never been in a police station before in my life, yet the interview rooms I’d been in over the two days felt strangely familiar from the myriad TV shows and movies I’d seen over the years.
The room I was in now was nondescript, with a large mirror covering one wall that I could only assume was one-way glass, allowing others to observe the conversation. Within the room there was nothing save for a simple wooden table, three metal chairs and a flickering overhead strip-light that emitted a persistent and annoying low-key hum.
The officers had left the room some thirty minutes previously to consider what we had talked over in the last two hours. I wondered with whom they were now discussing their findings on the other side of the mirror.
I didn’t know too much about police ranks, but I assumed from the imposing manner and wrinkled face of Superintendent Jackson that he was a fairly senior officer. At least I expected there weren’t too many above him within his division of CID.
Chief Inspector Marsh carried an air of authority about her too. I guessed she was in her late thirties; she had a tough face with piercing green irises and hair tied back so tightly it stretched the skin around her eyes and made her look stern.
I sat in quiet contemplation for a further fifteen minutes before I heard the deadbolt of the interview room being unlocked. Strange, I thought. I hadn’t remembered them locking me in before. It made me feel uncomfortable. Jackson and Marsh walked back into the room and sat down on the chairs on the other side of the table from me.
Marsh put two bundles of papers onto the table and pushed them across to me.
‘What are these?’ I asked.
‘What you asked for,’ Jackson said. ‘Immunity.’
I quickly scanned the documents in the first bundle, confirming that, at least in principle, they were what they were purported to be.
‘We’ve had to jump through some pretty big hoops with the CPS to get them to agree to this,’ Jackson continued, ‘and the judge who signed it wasn’t exactly keen on the idea, believe me. It’s taken a lot of persuasion to get to this.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘It also ties you in to helping us,’ he continued. ‘You’re our witness now and we need your help until O’Brady is convicted. That means you need to see this through, and if you decide to walk away before this is over then the deal is off.’
‘Understood.’
‘Take it away, make sure you’re comfortable. Consult your lawyer, whatever. It does what it says: protects you from prosecution over anything you’ve disclosed to us thus far, and anything you might become involved in as a direct consequence of this operation. What it doesn’t do is protect you for anything you haven’t told us about that we deem worthy of further action.’
‘Well, I’ve told you everything you need to know,’ I said, not even batting an eyelid at my false assurance.
‘Yeah, I’m sure you have,’ said Marsh sarcastically.
‘And this one?’ I asked, holding up the other, smaller bundle of paper.
‘A disclaimer,’ Jackson said with a wry smile. ‘Should anything go wrong.’
‘What could go wrong?’ I joked with obvious nerves in my voice.
‘Clearly we’re not covered for anything that happens as a result of police negligence,’ Jackson said, ‘but we can’t protect you from every outcome. You get that, right?’
‘Yeah, I get that. What you’re trying to say is that if O’Brady finds out what I’m doing and decides to skin me alive, the police will wash their hands of it.’
‘Well, I’m pretty sure we’d want to speak to him about that,’ Marsh said. ‘Skinning people alive is against the law.’
‘But my family wouldn’t be able to sue you for it,’ I said.
‘Not unless it was our negligence that caused it or failed to prevent it.’
‘And exactly how often do these types of operation go wrong?’ I asked, turning my attention back to Jackson.
‘Every now and then,’ he said. ‘But the success of it is down to you as much as it is us.’
‘That makes me feel much better.’
‘What we’re offering you is as good as anyone in your position could hope for. We don’t want you to get hurt, of course we don’t, but we can’t prepare for every eventuality.’
‘Have you got a pen?’ I asked.
Jackson hesitated, then fished in his jacket pocket and handed over a black ballpoint. As I took it Marsh threw her hand out onto the table, over the documents.
‘Aren’t you going to take those away to consider them first?’
I pulled the documents out from under her hand. ‘You’re still recording, right?’
‘Actually no, we’re not recording this conversation. But you have two officers in the room to witness it and two more behind that screen.’
‘Well, that’s good enough for me,’ I said and promptly signed my name on the last sheet of paper in each bundle. ‘As long as these documents are what you’ve told me they are then what do I have to worry about?’
The officers both eyed me suspiciously but didn’t otherwise argue with my rashness. I pushed the signed papers back toward Marsh.
‘So what next?’ I asked.
‘Next you meet with O’Brady,’ Jackson said.
‘And do what?’
‘And play it cool. We don’t need to get results each and every time. We need you to move closer to him. Find out more about what he’s been up to and what he’s planning. You can’t expect to get the silver bullet straight off.’
‘So I’m going to have to do this more than once?’
‘Wasn’t that obvious?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never been a police informant before.’
‘It could take a lot more than one time.’
‘And Egan?’
‘What about Mickey Egan?’
‘Is this going to help get what you need to convict him too?’
‘If we can then yes.’
‘And are you going to tell me exactly what you know about Egan and what you need on him to be able to do that?’
‘A confession always works nicely,’ Marsh said.
‘But this investigation is specifically into Callum O’Brady,’ Jackson said. ‘I understand your sister may have disclosed more to you than she should have done about Mickey Egan, but that’s a completely different matter. This isn’t a simple murder investigation. This is an investigation into an entire criminal network of which O’Brady is the head.’
I felt embarrassed all of a sudden at the thought that I’d put Dani in the shit. She’d told me details about Hayley Lewis’s murder in confidence. But then it was a big deal to me. It related to the murder of my wife after all. I thought about pushing the subject further. Just like with Dani, these two were so tight-lipped about what they did and didn’t know. I guessed that was their prerogative, though. I wasn’t one of them. I was just an asset they would use to get what they wanted. I’d only ever be told what they wanted me to know.
‘How do I do it then?’ I said. ‘Do I wear a wire?’
‘A wire? You’ve been watching too much telly.’
‘What then?’
This time it was Marsh who reached inside her jacket. Her hand came out clutching a Blackberry mobile phone, the t
ype that first popularised the email-led device in the noughties. Way out of date compared to modern handsets. No touchscreen or apps or mobile internet anywhere in sight. She placed it on the table.
‘Cutting-edge technology?’ I said. ‘You want me to email him?’
Nobody laughed.
‘We’re not GCHQ,’ Jackson said, picking the phone up and turning it over in his hands. ‘It does what it needs to do. It’s a listening device, a regular handset that’s been upgraded somewhat. The bugging is within the phone’s software.’
‘But I need to use the phone?’ I said. ‘In O’Brady’s presence?’
‘No, not at all. We can monitor the phone’s usage, see incoming and outgoing calls, texts, et cetera, but we can also remotely activate the phone’s microphone, which has been enhanced so that we can listen in to whatever’s happening around the phone. You wouldn’t be able to make or receive any other calls while we’re doing that, but anyone who opened up the phone while it was recording would be none the wiser.’
‘Sounds straightforward,’ I said.
‘Obviously it’ll work better when the phone’s out in the open. But I’ll let you figure that one out.’
‘Yeah, thanks for that.’ I took the phone off the table. ‘So that’s it? We’re done now?’
‘We’re done. Contact us when you know your plans. We need to make sure we have feet on the ground nearby wherever you’re going. Just in case.’
‘Just in case?’
‘Well, we wouldn’t want you getting yourself hurt, would we?’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘We certainly would not.’
But I knew that when dealing with a man like O’Brady, my chances of that were slim to none.
CHAPTER 40
By the time Jackson and Marsh were satisfied enough to let me go, it was nearly six p.m. My head was swimming with thoughts. Could I really help to bring down O’Brady? Or was I just setting myself up for a fall? A large part of me was still trying to figure out a much more rudimental form of retribution against O’Brady, much like I’d dished out to Dove. But the prospect was hardly filling me with confidence, especially now that Dani and her colleagues seemed to be scrutinising my every move.
And then there was Egan. What was it that the police had that linked him to the murders of Alice and to Hayley Lewis? I had to find out more about that.
What I knew with absolute certainty was that I needed something to take my mind off Callum O’Brady and Mickey Egan. I hadn’t seen the children since coming home from the park on Saturday. It was now Wednesday and I was missing them like crazy. But with the police and the interviewing I’d simply had no chance. I called Gemma on leaving the police headquarters, and she actually answered the phone, but only to tell me they were at Whitely’s house. I knew I was anything but welcome there, so it looked like I’d have to wait to see Harry and Chloe.
I’d been texting Cara through the day and had managed to repair most of the damage I’d done the last time we met. Initially her messages back to me had been cold and blunt, but I’d apologised profusely, blaming my changed behaviour in the Karma Bar on alcohol and lack of sleep and the fact I rarely got a chance to go out anymore. I was a social retard – for want of a better word – or something like that.
The back and forth texting had done the trick. I’d managed to persuade Cara to meet me again, though she had already arranged a quiet drink with a friend straight from work so she couldn’t see me until eight p.m. That was fine. It gave me enough time to head to the hotel to rest and collect my thoughts before meeting her.
The whole world seemed to return to some semblance of normality when we were out together. With everything else that was going on in my life, her presence was exactly what I needed to keep grounded. I needed someone like Cara to help me keep sight of who I really was. She brought out the best in me.
We agreed to meet in central Birmingham again, it being convenient for her given she lived and worked there. As with our first date, we quickly settled into each other’s company. We went to a newly opened tapas bar and ate and drank our way through several rounds. As ten o’clock approached we were both giggly and tipsy, though we’d certainly had nowhere near as much alcohol as the first time we went out together. Cara was a little bit wary of me, it seemed, following my odd behaviour at the Karma Bar, not that it spoiled the night at all.
We were partway through our fifth drink when Cara’s phone began to vibrate and emit an ear-piercing racket. She glanced at the phone, then at me, an apologetic look on her face. I wasn’t sure whether she was apologising for the ghastly sound or the unexpected interruption.
Cara picked up the phone, got up from the table and went outside to take the call. Two minutes later, she stormed back into the bar, her face creased in an unforgiving glower.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked as she thumped herself down on the seat.
‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Tell me,’ I said, reaching out and putting my hand on hers.
She looked up at me but didn’t say anything.
‘I’m a good listener,’ I said. ‘I generally forget half of what I’m told anyway, so go for it. Rant away if you want.’
She smiled but it quickly faded again.
‘Seriously. Try me.’
‘It was my husband,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ was all I could manage.
‘He’s drunk. He wanted to chat. Wanted to tell me how much he loves and misses me.’
In a way I could sympathise with him, given that my wife had thrown me out.
‘You still love him?’ I said.
‘I really don’t know. But it’ll never work now. I’ve filed for divorce already. He’s making everything harder than it needs to be. He’s refusing to sign the papers, convinced that I’ll suddenly wake up one morning and want him back. What he’s actually doing is pushing me further away.’
‘Love makes us do all sorts of crazy shit,’ I said.
‘Well, he’s certainly crazy. He also has zero ability to do anything for anyone other than himself. It never ceases to amaze me how selfish and insensitive some people can be.’
‘Oh, believe me,’ I said, trying to sound jolly, ‘I know all about that. Kids are just about the most insensitive beings on this planet. You should hear some of the things my three year old comes out with. She really knows how to cut my heart in two.’
Cara laughed. ‘Yeah, I can imagine. I love them at that age. I have nieces. I’ve wanted kids my whole life.’
‘What’s stopping you?’ I said.
Cara gave me a blank look and I wondered whether I’d overstepped the mark.
‘Just one of those things,’ she said eventually. ‘It wasn’t through lack of trying. I’ve been pregnant but … it’s just never worked out.’
I didn’t seek clarification, but I could only presume she’d had a miscarriage, maybe more than one. The hurt in her eyes, I knew the look well. I wondered how much bearing those troubles had had on Cara’s break-up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It must be hard for you.’
‘It is,’ she said. ‘But I’m convinced it’ll happen for me one day.’
‘Of course it will.’
Cara rolled her eyes and I wasn’t sure whether it was at my comment or her thinking of her husband.
‘Well, that’s really blown the mood,’ Cara remarked, trying to sound brighter.
‘Hasn’t it just,’ I said. I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet and opened it to show Cara the passport-sized pictures I kept of Harry and Chloe.
Cara beamed a smile as wide as her face. ‘They’re beautiful. She looks just like you.’
‘You think? I always thought she was prettier than me.’
Cara laughed. ‘Don’t do yourself down.’
‘You think I’m pretty?’ I joked.
‘Oh, very. A bit of make-up would spruce you right up.’
‘I’m flattered. You’re not so bad yourself.’
> ‘Not so bad? Wow, it’s no wonder you’re single.’
We both laughed and I put the pictures away. With the ambience restored, we settled back into the night. It was gone eleven when we finally talked ourselves into leaving. Before we got to our feet, we found ourselves caught in a moment, neither of us saying a word, both of us staring intently into each other’s eyes. I wondered whether I should make a move, but just as I was building up the courage, Cara looked down at her watch.
‘Have you seen the time? I was only coming out for a quick drink!’
‘Well, it was quite a quick drink, followed by another ten quick drinks afterwards.’
‘Is that how many we’ve had?’
‘No, not quite. I can still think straight. Just about.’
‘Come on, why don’t we get out of here?’
I stood up and held my arm out to her, and she grabbed it and hauled herself upright, bundling into me and giggling.
‘Yep, you’ve definitely had enough,’ I said.
She hit my arm playfully and we moved off toward the exit. Outside, we both stopped and waited to see what would happen next. After how the last date had ended I wasn’t sure she’d be offering one for the road, yet I really didn’t want the night to end there and then. I was infatuated with Cara and it wasn’t just the drink making me feel that way.
‘You live just around the corner?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, five minutes’ walk.’
‘I’ll walk you back. Not sure you’d make it on your own.’
‘Oh, you’re hilarious,’ Cara said. ‘Go on then. But no funny business.’
I held my hands up in defence. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
We walked through the city and along the dark and virtually deserted canal towpath toward the block of flats where she lived. When we reached the door to the building, Cara began to fumble in her bag, looking for the key. She took out a plastic card and held it up against a panel on the wall and the door clicked open.
‘I guess this is it,’ I said.
