They may have been there for a while, but I was only now hearing the distant cry of sirens.
‘What now, Michael?’ I said.
He remained on his back, tapping the tip of the knife on the step.
‘They’re three minutes out, armed response,’ Cunningham whispered into my ear. I nodded and he stepped back, allowing me to lead.
‘Time’s wearing thin, Michael. This place is going to be crawling with cops very soon; the serious kind. I’d like to be able to tell them to stand down, that you’re no threat, but we’d need to see you drop that blade first.’
I watched as he lifted the knife and began tapping his forehead with the tip, not gently.
‘There’s still time to undo some of this,’ I lied, ‘but we have to have that knife on the floor. How about it?’ I could hear the first of the vehicles arriving, the siren being cut, the tyres on the drive.
His head rolled to the right and he looked at me. There was a dash of blood in the centre of that forehead. His head rolled back and he arched his neck, pushing his chin to the ceiling and I suddenly saw what was to happen next.
‘NO!’ I yelled and started towards him. The blade went to his left ear. There was a moment’s pause and he dragged it across his throat to his right ear.
I ran up the first few steps and swatted at his right hand, knocking the knife from his grip, sending it sliding along the hall. I looked at his neck and for a full second there was nothing, like it was some empty threat. His eyes locked with mine and there was something like a smile on his face. Relief threatened to blossom and then, the line. A dark red line appeared.
‘Shit,’ I hissed. Cunningham gasped. I clasped my hands around Michael’s neck as if I was throttling the life out of him, rather than attempting to hold it in. Blood began to ooze between my fingers.
‘If there isn’t already an ambulance on the way, get one here. And bring me something for this,’ I said.
He lay there blinking, looking off into distance as I held the dishcloth to his neck. There was no attempt to fight me off, he just remained on the stairs, waiting to leave.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Hanging Up the Uniform
‘You’re going into work?’ Alyson said, seeing me in half uniform.
I shrugged and accepted the hot mug from her. ‘I’m still a police officer for the next … seven hours and eighteen minutes,’ I said, getting the time from the oven clock.
‘She can’t fire you after all of this.’ Alyson put her own mug down and put her arms around me, not giving me a chance to put my own down, so the tea sat between us in the hug.
‘We’ll find out at three, though technically she won’t be doing the firing, just handing me over to professional standards.’
‘What exactly did she say to you?’ Alyson released me and I sat at the table.
‘Nothing, really. Just that she wanted me in her office this afternoon.’
‘That could mean anything.’
‘I think we both know what it means, Aly, but don’t worry. I’ve come to terms with it. I just hope there’s no charges.’
‘If there are, you go straight to the newspapers. I’d like to see the look on her face when the article comes out explaining how we’d have a dead accused and one more victim, were it not for you.’
I laughed and sipped at my mug. ‘No thanks. I’d no sooner pick a fight with her than you. I’m surprised you’re packing up the Edinburgh incident room so quickly. There must still be work to do?’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Tons of work to do, but we don’t need to be here to do it. There’ll still be a team in Edinburgh, but we’ll prepare the case from back over the border.’
‘So, no longer roomies? How do you feel about getting back to your own place?’
Alyson’s bags were stacked in the hall.
‘Who’d have thought I’d want to get back out Glasgow way for a rest? This city’s supposed to be all civilised and dripping with culture,’ she laughed. ‘I am looking forward to getting back to what I know, and to my own bed. Listen, I’ve left a bottle and a card for your dad. Will you make sure he gets them?’
‘Of course. Though he’s all but moved in with Heather. There’s almost nothing left in his room.’
‘Good for him.’
‘Aye, good for him. I just hope he doesn’t suddenly realise how much money he could be making by renting this place out.’
‘He wouldn’t do that to you.’
‘Don’t bet on it,’ I laughed.
I helped Alyson pack her car up and she gave me another hug. I felt a stone settle in my throat and fought back a tear. I hadn’t come to terms with losing my job at all, and this felt more than just a goodbye to my friend.
I was late getting into the office after a longer than anticipated telephone call to Marcella. No amount of ‘Everything’s fine, really’ was going to convince her, so we’d arranged to meet tonight and I’d talk her through everything. I wouldn’t be in the mood, but it was probably best, if I was honest with myself. The team had already prepared themselves. Morgan, Mandy and Vikram were sharing a joke in the canteen as they made out their notebooks. I joined them briefly. I could see they were dying to ask me about yesterday’s events, but all that was said was a discreet enquiry from Mandy as to whether I was OK.
I wanted to take my office apart, pack everything away, but there was no way of doing that without the others noticing and prompting questions. I did remove everything personal to my car, in case I was stripped of my position later there and then and refused future entry.
With the others headed out to their various tasks and enquiries, I took out my uniform coat for the first time in months. I made a mental note of my belt, how much it weighed, how my cuffs were set for quick release into my dominant hand, how my baton sat on the opposite side to allow a slashing draw if I needed it.
I stepped out onto the street and started my foot patrol. A group of kids on bikes, too far away to identify, had one look at me and took flight, which drew a smile from two old couples standing outside a bakery. I heard one remark how young the police looked these days. Seeing them put a thought in my mind and had me changing direction towards Muirhouse.
It took twenty minutes to reach Pennywell Care Home.
Michelle met me at the door, her usual beaming smile was infectious. ‘Wasn’t sure we’d be seeing you again,’ she said. ‘How’s that young colleague of yours?’
‘He’s doing just fine. Thanks for asking.’
‘I saw all that stuff on the news. I don’t suppose you were involved in any of that?’
‘Me? No. I’m just a uniform cop, Michelle. We’ve got far more important things to be dealing with.’
She laughed and I followed her down the hall to the office.
‘I’ll fetch you a tea,’ she said.
Vicky was on the phone as I entered. Her face also lit up as she saw me. She held a finger in the air and I nodded, settling myself into a chair. I tried not to stare, but the difference in her was remarkable. It was difficult to articulate exactly, but there was a glow and an energy about her that I’d never remembered seeing. She’d put on a little weight and looked all the healthier for it. There was a haircut too, but it was more about the way she held herself. She hung up and faced me, hands on hips.
‘I thought we’d seen the last of you. I’m glad you’re back.’
‘That’s what Michelle said. This may well be the last time though.’
‘Oh? Off to pastures new?’
‘Yes. A transfer,’ I said, and hoped there was enough truth in it to disqualify it from being a complete lie. ‘You’re looking really well. How’s the situation with, uh …’
‘He’s gone. And gone for good. I’m back in with my mum for a wee while, but I’m looking for a place. Bit pathetic, eh? Grown woman living with her mum?’
I didn’t mean to laugh, but one escaped me. ‘Sorry, no, not at all. I’ve been living with my dad until recently. It’s a tricky thing.’
I chuckled. ‘How’s our fella? Keeping OK?’
The sun set on Vicky’s face. Her right hand moved from her hip to her mouth. ‘I’m really sorry, Don, but he passed. Just a few days ago. I thought about getting in touch, but didn’t know if that was appropriate.’
The hollow feeling in my chest seemed to plumb new depths. ‘I’m sorry too, Vicky. That was awfully sudden?’
‘It happens. Sometimes without too much notice. His son should arrive today. But he left you something, that’s why I was thinking about calling. Hold on a minute.’
She began rummaging through a drawer and then a shelf.
‘Michelle, where’s that letter Martin left for Sergeant Colyear?’
‘Oh, aye. Has she just told you the news?’ she asked and handed me my tea. I nodded. ‘So sad. Check beside the computer, Vic.’
Vicky found the envelope and handed it to me. ‘I thought maybe I’d just post it through the door at the station. We’ll give you a minute.’
The ladies left and I turned the cream envelope over. On the front it read ‘Sgt Donald Colyear’. I sighed and opened it.
Dear Donald,
I wanted to write to you for a few reasons. First, I wanted to thank you for coming to see me more times in the past few months than I care to remember (yes, that is dementia humour).
It was a pleasure to talk to you and be in your company for a time. I don’t get many visitors and I’d forgotten how important it is to properly converse with other humans. We are all of us social beings, after all. I’m writing this down now, because if you are kind enough to pop by again, I may not be in a position to thank you in person. Please forgive me if that is the case.
The second reason I wanted to write this letter was to tell you about a dream I had. Only a silly nightmare, but you’d become so concerned about these dreams of mine and since this one was about you, I thought you might like to know. Again, I may not be capable of the telling when we next see one another.
In this dream, and much of it was unclear, you were looking for someone, only you didn’t know it, but he was looking for you too. He was like you, though I’m not very sure what that means, but there was a strong sense of him being very like you in all sorts of ways and in the dream that was important. Except, while you were a whitish colour in this dream, he was dark. And not just dark, but devoid of colour. He was getting closer and closer to you and you couldn’t see it. I called out to you many times, but you could not hear my voice.
A silly dream, but I woke this morning with a palpable sense of dread. I knew that you were in very serious danger.
Now that I see it written down, I feel a little silly. Therefore, feel free to ignore the dream section, but do please accept the part of my thanks, and look after yourself.
Your friend,
Martin Simmons
I read it over once more while I finished my tea and returned the sheet to the envelope, placing it in my coat pocket. I sat for a minute and thought about Martin, about his dreams – or were they visions? I thought about how absurd it sounded when you put it all together. I knew it was something I would be thinking about for a long time to come, if there was anything in it, or if it was just a set of coincidences that set me along a path I simply forged for myself.
I found the ladies to thank them and asked Vicky if she’d let me know the arrangements for the funeral.
I walked instead of taking the car to Leith station for my meeting with Templeton. Why not? It was a hell of trek, but what was I going to do in the office? At least there was Edinburgh to distract myself with. I walked to the very end of Ferry Road and continued on to the shore. There was a market on and the smell of various cuisines from stalls mingled.
Despite the colder weather starting to arrive, there were still plenty of customers at the seafood restaurants further along the shore, willing to dine al fresco. You had to love the Scottish belligerence, clawing on to summer to the bitter end.
I checked my watch and blew out a resigned sigh. I now took a more direct route to the station, knowing that making Kate Templeton wait around would do me no favours.
The station was still busy, though nothing like it had been the day before. I told myself it was pointless to be nervous, but was nervous nonetheless. On the first floor I passed various suits heaving boxes. The doors to the incident room were wedged open.
I entered and saw Kate at the far end, unpinning items from a board. I felt an instant flush of fear. A few officers were still chapping away at keyboards, otherwise it looked like they were taking the place apart.
‘Ma’am,’ I said. She gave a startled jump and turned from the board. Great start, I thought.
She checked her watch. ‘Is it that time already? All right. Sit down, Colyear. Can we have the room please,’ she called out to two at keyboards and one filling a box. I sat before her desk. She took her own seat and looked out over the room. One of the suits was still typing away. ‘Adrian,’ she called out.
The typing detective looked up, so engrossed in his screen that he hadn’t heard her. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Ma’am.’ He stood, pulled his coat from the back of the chair and scuttled through the doors, pulling them closed behind him.
Kate Templeton typed something into her own computer, the keystrokes now echoing in the silent room. I waited. She was chewing on gum and humming some tune under her breath.
‘That was a decent outcome yesterday. You’ve done your operational statement?’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am. I completed it before I went off duty. I thought it was best since …’
‘Yes. Probably best.’
‘Can I ask, how is Halfpenny?’
She raised her eyebrows and there was a loud snap from the gum in her mouth. ‘He’s stable. Thanks to a combination of first aid and being a bit shit with the knife. Didn’t really cut deep enough. Not like it is in the movies, Colyear. If you’re going to do it, you need to really commit,’ she said, making a fist and giving it a short swing.
‘I’ll, uh, bear that in mind.’
‘Between you and me, I’d be surprised if we get him inside a courtroom.’
‘Oh?’
‘He really has nothing left and while he made a bit of a tit of cutting his throat, it’s not easy to keep someone from topping themselves if they’re fully determined. He might make it to prison, but there there’ll ample opportunity there to end it, if he still feels the same.’
‘I was also wondering about—’
‘The priest and the janitor,’ she said correctly pre-empting me and snapping her gum again. ‘That’ll come. Don’t worry about that. But that’s not who we’re here to discuss.’
‘No, ma’am.’
She typed again for a moment, then pushed her screen to the side.
‘Do you have anything outstanding? Any enquiries that might need to be handed on?’
‘No, ma’am, but someone will need to be assigned to my officers’ workbaskets. Also, I have a probationer who’s doing well, I’m hoping someone will ensure he successfully pushes through his confirmation.’
‘I’ll see it done,’ she said as she removed the gum from her mouth with a tissue, then laid her elbows on the desk. She was looking at me very strangely across interlaced fingers. ‘How does it feel to be hanging up the uniform?’
I was stupefied by the cruelty of the question. A small laugh came unbidden. ‘I, uh. I suppose I’ve come to terms.’ The same lie twice in one day. I could feel anger rising and I no longer cared if it came spilling out.
‘Good. Not everyone is quite ready for the transition to CID,’ she said and swung her screen back to resume typing.
Ten seconds might have passed, fifteen perhaps. I felt like I would have to reach down my own throat for something to say. The anger in my chest was replaced by a cocktail of confusion and hope
.
‘Ma’am? I – uh. Sorry, I’m not quite sure I understand.’
‘Of course you do, you’re not a fuckwit.’
‘You’re saying I’m not fired?’
‘I could still be talked into it, but I thought we could make better use of you.’
‘And CID? Ma’am, I’m flattered and, fuck, I can’t begin to tell you how relived I am, but I’ve never harboured any ambition for CID. Ma’am, if it’s all the same, I’d like to return to my own post. Stay with uniform.’
The typing stopped and she slowly pushed the screen away.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make the mistake of suggesting there was some kind of decision to be made here? That you had some say in this?’ She laughed and shook her head for a moment. ‘I suppose there is a choice, in a way.’ She looked around and then pulled the telephone from the edge of the desk to sit in front of her. ‘Here’s that choice, Sergeant Colyear. In one minute, I’m going to make one of two telephone calls. Either I’m calling the ACC to instigate full disciplinary proceedings with professional standards, or I’m calling the police training college to organise your detective course. Which is it to be?’
It took only five seconds to find a response this time.
‘I guess I should go shopping for more suits.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My mother passed away a few years ago and this book is dedicated to her. In her final year, I spent many hours in the care home where she was looked after. The idea for this story was formed during my visits. During this time, I got to know the staff there and witnessed the seemingly endless patience of the care team. I marvelled at the respect, dignity, compassion and endless good humour with which they went about their duties. This book, then, is also dedicated to them, and all care workers our country and our society fails to suitably appreciate.
Thanks go to Sanny Blair and Scott Pollock for their procedural advice. I am very lucky to have ex-colleagues I can call in favours from and I am very grateful for their input.
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