Chapter 18
Jack Wirrel was perched on the edge of MacAllister's sofa as if he was afraid it would bite him. He wondered if what he had heard was true and that this was where four weeks earlier Jean MacAllister had breathed her last, but he didn't dare ask. He had liked Jean and he felt an abiding sympathy with the bleak eyed man sat in the armchair opposite him. He watched MacAllister carefully reading through the papers he was holding and he sat back into the sofa without realising he had done so and then quickly straightened and moved his buttocks back to the edge of the seat, as if the sofa would take him also into the eternal sleep. He hoped MacAllister would hurry up. As if in answer to his thoughts MacAllister dropped the papers into his lap and sat back.
“I didn't realise that you could get such a good deal if you went at forty. I mean, I know blokes that have had to work their ticket on invalidity just to get out a few years early.” He removed the glasses. “What about that motorway sergeant, Farthing was it? Yes that's the name. Freddy Farthing. He reckoned he had a damaged spine and it still took him two years to get out early.”
Jack Wirrel shrugged.
“It’s all to do with how many years service you have and the discretion of the pension fund trustees, John. Farthing was a waste of space and a right wanker and they should have shot him out years before they did, but it came up before Walter Hart and he wanted people to know they couldn't work the system while he was watching. That, plus the fact that Freddy Farthing had once nicked his wife for speeding the very day after Hart had put a reprimand on his record, made that case a bit more complicated.”
MacAllister gave a grim smile.
“What you mean, Jack is that they didn't have any reason to let him go, whereas in my case they want me out before Rex Howlett's lawyer hits the fan with the shit of an assault case.”
Wirrel shrugged again.
“Its a good deal, John.”
MacAllister softened.
“I know it is, Jack and I will take it if they can get me out and clear by the end of the month. I am forty-three on October the thirty first and I just want out now after all this business. It’s burnt the heart out of me.”
Jack Wirrel took back the proffered papers just leaving the copies and stuffed them into his briefcase. He closed it and got up with some relief from the sofa, which he then eyed as if it was a large and dangerous animal. Once safely clear of it and by the door he turned back to MacAllister.
“What will you do with yourself when it comes through?”
“Well I thought I might set the boy up in his own company with some of it, but he has made it quite clear that he holds me responsible for his mother6s death. You know how it is. If I had been at home a bit more she wouldn't have felt so alone and vulnerable after Kirsty's death and she wouldn't have killed herself. He might be right, I just don't know any more, but he wouldn't speak to me at the funerals or since.”
Wirrel remembered the funerals with some clarity. As the Federation rep he attended most of them, but he had never before seen a man standing as alone as MacAllister had that morning. His boy must have been the red haired lad standing with a young woman. Girlfriend perhaps. Poor bloody John. Didn't the lad know what his father was going through without turning the screw even harder? No wonder he had got drunk and then bashed Rex Howlett's head against a pub wall. Bloody surprising he hadn't half killed the Howlett boy as well. He realised the other was still speaking to him.
“I have got a sister in New Zealand. I haven't seen her in ten years and she couldn't get here for the funerals, but she has told me I will be welcome to stay with them for a few months until I decide what I want to do. I think she was afraid I might do the same as Jean now I have lost both of them.” He picked up the papers. “This will help even if it won't bring them both back.”
Wirrel shrugged.
“The most you can convert of your pension to cash is thirty thousand pounds and that's only about one year’s wages after tax. Think carefully before you blow it.”
MacAllister gave a wry grin.
“Well the house is worth another two hundred and sixty odd, but I will have to wait until the smoke dies down before I can sell it for anything like that amount. People are reluctant to buy a property where there has been a suicide.”
Wirrel arose and held his hand out.
“Well it’s all in your hands now, John. You have the name of the Inspector in Personnel who you have to contact now you are going to accept it.”
MacAllister shook the proffered hand.
“Oh I will take it, Jack. I shall go and sign it all tomorrow. Its not how I intended it all to end, but perhaps Billy Reid is right. Perhaps I am too old fashioned for modern policing.”
Wirrel cancelled his rapid escape as his conscience bit him. He turned back.
“Between you and me, John, I would rather have one MacAllister than twenty Bill Reid's, but I am even older than you are. Perhaps I should be seeing what I could get for myself.”
MacAllister saw the other out and was sitting at his kitchen table once more going through the details of his early retirement package when the phone rang. He reached out behind him and lifted the kitchen extension they'd had fitted especially for Jean, from the wall.
“MacAllister.”
Jackie Wards voice answered him.
“Hello, Guvnor. I thought you might like to know what happened in the Trevor Morton case as the jury gave their verdict about twenty minutes ago. I know your leaving, but I thought you would like to know anyway.”
MacAllister gave a big sigh.
“Don't tell me, Jackie, let me guess. Manslaughter and a suspended sentence.”
The silence on the other end of the line led him to believe he had scored a bull’s eye and then Jackie's voice sounded once more in his ear.
“Sorry, Guvnor, but no dice. I am afraid they let him walk free. Self-defence and a justifiable homicide as the papers will no doubt describe it. Makes you spit doesn't it. John Morton has already been on the phone giving Reid an ear bashing, but I don't suppose that will worry you too much.”
MacAllister didn't answer for some seconds he was so shocked at what he had heard. He had known they wouldn't get murder and they hadn't even tried for it, but completely cleared. It couldn't be right, it just couldn't be. Jackie Ward's voice in his ear pulled him back.
“Are you still there, Guvnor?”
“What? Sorry Jackie. Too stunned to speak for a moment there. I should think CID are a pretty sick lot this morning.”
“Its worse than that, Guvnor. Clive Sayers has a face like an old dog and even Marcus has lost his customary arrogance. It’s almost worth it for that I suppose. By the way, they found a Mackintosh of yours in the locker room. It’s been there since the night you brought in Mitael Khorta. You left it in the car when you went off to the hospital with Kirsty. Do you want me to drop it in the next time I am passing?”
MacAllister concentrated with an effort, his thoughts with John Morton and his family.
“Yes all right, Jackie. Leave it in the garage if I am not here. I won't lock it. Someone might steal my old lawn mower and give me an excuse to claim on the insurance policy.”
“OK, Guvnor. Bye.”
The disconnection clicked in his ear and he hung the phone back on its hook. If the Shane Flinders trial were over, then the Jason Howlett trial would start on Monday. That was the last thing tying him to this bloody island and the police force, because he had to appear as an eyewitness. After that little sod had been dealt with he might just take up his sister’s offer. He could have gone back to Scotland and looked up some relatives he had up there, but his parents had brought him to Bristol when he was fourteen and to be honest he not been to Scotland for over twenty years. Besides, you should never try to go back. He picked up the phone to dial the number that Frank Wirrel had left with him. By the end of next week he would be a civilian again. The strange thing was that although he knew it was Bill Reid who was throwing him out he couldn't help blaming Jason Howlett
for it. It was a strange feeling he had in his chest and it took him some time before he could recognise it as hatred.
Vengeance Page 18
