Ammunition

16

Falls and Andrews were in the home of Tim Peters, the man who said his vigilante group were led by a cop. Falls had once heard, Never trust a man with two first names.

The guy looked like a docker, a very elderly one, he was seventy if a day. Falls said:

‘Mr Peters, if you wouldn’t mind going through your story one more time, so we’re sure of all the details.’

‘Tim.’

Falls stopped, asked:

‘What?’

He had once been a powerfully built man, but age had diminished if not deleted his physical prowess. His voice was ragged, like someone who’d smoked a thousand cigarettes and wasn’t finished yet. He smiled, exposing National Health false teeth, gleaming in their whiteness. He said:

‘Please call me Tim.’

They could do that, but Falls mainly wanted to call his bluff. A group of old-age vigilantes, for fuck’s sake. Andrews, anxious to impress Falls, took over, said:

‘Tim it is, now if we could have the story from the beginning?’

He took out a plastic bag and some cigarette papers, offered them, they declined, and he began to expertly roll one. He said, as he wet the rollie:

‘Bill…

His voice faltered, a sorrow leaking over it, then continued:

‘Lord rest him, he saw a copper on the beat, outside that new shopping centre in Balham?’

Falls knew how easy it would be to see who was on duty there, and already she had a sinking feeling as to who it might be. Only one copper was pulling those shite details.

He continued:

‘Bill saw him ram one of those hoodies against a wall, it sure impressed Bill. Those kids, they wear the hoods pulled up, adds to their intimidation, and they got to talking. Bill told him of the problems we were having in the street here.’

Andrews interrupted:

‘Which problems were they?’

Falls shot her a look, Jesus, never interrupt a witness in full flow. He was taken aback then focused, said:

‘Every weekend, they gather outside, shouting and drinking, taking God knows what drugs, that crack cocaine no doubt, playing loud, awful music, that rap stuff, and sometimes, they’ll throw a brick through the window. And if you go out? Well, you didn’t ever go out, too many of them, the ringleader was an Asian fellah, nicknamed Trick. He was a nasty piece of work.’

Andrews did it again, asked:

‘Why didn’t you call the police?’

His laugh was slightly louder than Falls’s was, he said:

‘Yeah, they’d rush over our area, it’s a real high priority on their list.’

His bitterness was deep and set, he went on:

‘So, this copper, he suggested we form a group, take them on, deal with it our own selves.’

Andrews again:

‘Tim, I’m a little surprised you were so easily convinced to form what is, in reality, a criminal group?’

His shout startled her as he echoed:

‘Criminal? I’ll tell you what’s criminal, lass, and that’s to live in fear.’

Falls nearly smiled, it shut Andrews up. He said:

‘It seemed like the answer to our prayers and it was going good… ’

His face lit up as he briefly relived the rush of laying out on for the thugs. He had real energy in his voice as he said:

‘The little bastards never knew what hit them, and we were winning, till Bill… till Bill got, well… you know.’

Andrews, trying to regain some ground, asked:

‘Please describe the alleged policeman?’

He shook his head, said:

‘No need.’

Falls was definitely warming to the guy. Andrews, a note of petulance in her voice, sat up straight, asked:

‘Are you refusing to give us… ’

He cut her off with:

‘Calm down, lass. I don’t need to describe him.’

Andrews, standing now, leaned over him, said:

‘Sir, let me remind you that failure to cooperate with the police…’

He put up his hand to stop her, said:

‘I have a photograph.’

Neither of the policewomen spoke. He stood up, went to a chest of drawers, said: ‘My niece gave me one of them phone camera jobs, and I got a snap of him the night we went to war.’

He produced the photo. Falls was up, grabbed it out of his hand, flipped the cover, and hit the button, the photo came up and her heart sank

McDonald, in all his reckless glory, the stupid fuck. Andrews was reaching for the phone, but Falls snapped it shut, said to Tim:

‘We’ll need to take this into evidence.’

He was upset, asked:

‘How will I call my niece?’

Falls was heading for the door, said:

‘We’ll see you have it back by the end of the day. Thank you for your cooperation.’

Andrews looked like she had no idea what Falls was doing but followed, Tim stood on the footpath, asked:

‘Will I be on the telly?’

Falls gave him a brief look, the poor bastard, and felt a moment of pity, which she quickly suppressed. She said:

‘Oh, you’re going to be real famous.’

His face lit up, those white teeth gleaming in the ancient face, and she could see in that smile the man he used to be.

Andrews put the car in gear, asked:

‘Back to the station?’

Falls had the phone in her hand, said:

‘Drive over Lambeth Bridge.’

Andrews, proud of how well she was learning the geography of the area, said:

‘There’s a shorter way.’

Falls gripped her by the right arm, hissed:

‘For fucking once today, do what you’re told and enough with the bloody questions, you screwed up a perfectly good witness with your by-the-book routine. What the hell is the matter with you?’

Andrews wanted to go:

‘Show me the photo.’

They reached the bridge and, surprisingly, traffic was light. Falls said:

‘Pull up here.’

She rolled down her window, hefted the phone in her hand, then chucked it high and wide, tilted her head as if she was waiting to hear the splash.

She didn’t.

Andrew’s gasped. She couldn’t believe what had just happened and when she found her voice, said:

‘That was evidence.’

Falls didn’t look at her, simply said:

‘No, that was ammunition.’