Aftershock

Sixty-three

Theo Weekes was in the doorway of his terraced house when Stallings drew up outside. He was wearing a vest and boxer shorts, and his brown skin was blotched with sweat; a line of blood ran down his left cheek, from the corner of his eye. A uniformed woman constable stood in his way, blocking the path, although he towered over her. A police traffic car was parked on the other side of the street; there was a figure in the back, his face buried in his hands, and a second officer, a portly, middle-aged sergeant, stood by the driver’s door. Apart from the small gathering, South Bughtlin Road was quiet, with only two neighbours curious enough to stand and watch the scene.

‘Wait in the car if you want,’ the inspector told Detective Sergeant Ray Wilding.

‘Not on your life,’ said her partner. ‘The guy looks as if he could be ready for trouble. If he kicks off, two women and the fat boy might not be enough.’

‘Okay, but just back me up. Don’t get involved unless I ask you to.’

She led the way to Weekes’s door. ‘Inside,’ she snapped at him. ‘No’ while he’s still here.’ The reply was a snarl.

‘You do what I tell you, Theo,’ said Stallings, evenly, ‘or you’re on your way to the cells and I’m on my way to the sheriff to have your bail revoked.’

He glared down at her. ‘It might be worth it,’ he muttered.

Wilding took half a pace forward. ‘I hear you’re tough with women,’ he said. ‘You threaten my girlfriend, and I’ll fucking bury you, right in your own front garden. Now get inside, like she says.’

The man looked at him, weighing him up. For a moment, it seemed that he might take the reckless course, until inherent cowardice asserted itself. He shrank into himself, turned and stepped back into his hallway. The two detectives followed him. ‘Sorry, love,’ the sergeant whispered to Stallings. ‘I couldn’t take the chance of him taking a swing at you.’

‘I wish he had,’ she whispered, turning her right arm to show him the extendable baton she had hidden there. ‘I’d have had his nuts for paperweights. I’m good with this thing,’ she smiled, ‘and don’t you forget it.’

She turned to Weekes. ‘The call I had said that the traffic car drove by as you were thumping a bloke in the street. Let’s have your story, but it had better be good, otherwise I’ll let them outside charge you with assault and hold you for court on Monday morning.’

‘What was I supposed to do?’ he protested. ‘The bell rang, Ah opened the door and he hit me.’ He pointed to his eye. ‘Look! I’m fuckin’ bleeding.’

‘How many times?’

‘What?’

‘How many times did he hit you?’

‘Just the once.’

Stallings pointed to a dark, circular bruise in the middle of his forehead. ‘Then where did you get that?’ she asked.

‘That was. .’ For a second Weekes’s eyes flashed, but he stopped himself short. ‘That was something else.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Ask McGurk,’ he growled.

‘I will, Theo, don’t you worry. But let’s get back to this situation. You opened the door and this man stuck one on you. Did he say anything first, or did he get straight down to business?’

‘Don’t remember.’

‘Please. You might be a shit but you’re not an idiot. Did he say anything?’

Weekes sighed impatiently. ‘He said something about needing to talk to me. I told him I wasn’t interested. Told him to go away. That was when he hit me.’

‘As a result of which, you, a police officer trained to restrain and control, laid into him with both fists, until you were restrained yourself by the two officers in the traffic car. Suppose they hadn’t turned up when they did?’

‘I’d have let him go.’

‘Maybe,’ said the inspector, ‘but in what condition? Look at me, Theo, not at the carpet.’ She waited until his eyes met hers. ‘That’s better. I have one more question, and you’d better give me the right answer. Do you want to make a complaint of assault against the man in the car?’

Weekes held his breath for a second or two. ‘No,’ he replied.

‘That’s what I wanted to hear; best if this doesn’t go any further, most of all for you. Do you want medical attention for that cut?’

‘No. It’s nothing, just a nick.’

‘If you’re sure. Tell me, are your parents still around, or do you have any other family where you could go for a while?’

‘Nah. Ma mother moved back to Barbados after my dad died. I’ve got a sister, but she’s in Canada. Anyway, I’m no’ leaving here, and you cannae force me either.’

‘I’m not trying to. I thought it might be better for you, that’s all.’

‘Kind of you,’ he sneered. ‘You really are looking after me, you and McGurk.’

‘You’d better believe it. Word to the wise, though. I noticed a spyglass in your front door. Maybe you should use it next time the bell rings. We’re off now. Keep your head down.’

‘House arrest, is it? Can I no’ even go for a pint?’

‘Don’t be silly. If you know somewhere that’ll serve you, carry on. All I’m saying is that you can’t afford any more disturbances.’ She glanced at Wilding. ‘Come on, Ray. We’re done here.’

Outside in the street, she stopped on the pavement. ‘What did you think of him?’ she asked.

‘I’ve met him before,’ Wilding told her. ‘I was a DC at Torphichen and he was a rookie. Cocky bastard; he thought he was a hard man, but the rest of us had him down as a poser. I doubt if he killed your girl. I don’t see him having the bottle.’

‘That’s my reading too.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait here for a minute, love. I need to speak to the man in the car before we go.’ She trotted across the street and slipped into the back seat of the patrol vehicle.

‘John,’ she began, ‘how are you?’

Sugar Dean’s father turned towards her. His left cheek was swollen and there was a red smear under his nose. ‘I’m fine, Inspector,’ he replied. ‘Humiliated, but unhurt. I just wish I’d. .’

‘What? Left him a bloody heap on his doorstep?’

‘Something like that.’

‘He’s thirty years younger than you.’

‘I keep myself fit. Fifty-eight’s not old, you know. I’ve never been a fighting man, you understand, but I’d hoped that when it really mattered I’d have been up to the task. We’re all Lennox Lewis in our imagination.’

‘Was that why you came here, to give him a thumping?’

‘No, it really wasn’t. I wanted to talk to him, to ask him what had happened with my daughter.’

‘John, the fiscal may still charge this man with her murder.’

Dean stared at her. ‘Do you know, that thought never occurred to me? I saw what was in the press, and I wanted to ask him about it, about what had happened to Sugar. That was what I said to him when he opened the door. I asked if I could come in for a chat. I told him I needed to talk about my daughter, about her death. Did he tell you what he said?’

‘He told us his story.’

‘Did he tell you that he said to me that Sugar had got him into enough fucking trouble and that he wasn’t fucking interested in talking about, and here I quote directly, “the cock-sucking little bitch”? That’s when the red mist came down. That’s when I hit him.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Stallings murmured sincerely. ‘Trouble is, it was still the wrong thing to do. Mind you, John,’ she continued, ‘Weekes doesn’t want to make a complaint against you, but on the basis of what the uniformed officers actually saw, that is, several unanswered blows, they could charge him with assault and breach of the peace.’

‘Would it help Sugar?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘Ask them not to.’

‘I will, but in return, I’ll ask you to do something for me. Stay away from this man. I’ve seen too many fathers like you in my career, and I’ll tell you something, with authority. He has no sort of comfort to offer you.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Dean, ‘but the thing that scares me most is this: I never thought I’d find myself wanting to see someone dead.’