Buried

Chapter 31

Colchester Police Station was a square, tan-coloured new-build on the A134 with a green courtyard right in the centre. It blended well into the surrounding area, making it seem unobtrusive and non-threatening, regardless of what went on inside. This is where Anik was heading, although he was currently stuck behind a stalled learner-driver on the roundabout just twenty yards away. Ridley was in the passenger seat, reading the police files on Thomas Kurts, Rashid Wassan and Dennis Marchant; Laura, who also had a copy of the files, was frowning as she read, having been relegated to the back seat. Anik was revelling in his ‘promotion’ to driver, but this was because Ridley knew that he couldn’t read in cars without being sick.

‘The suspects have all had specialist training,’ Ridley continued. ‘Marchant’s a munitions expert who we now know was at the birth of his brother’s second child on the night of the train robbery. His brother had lost his licence one week earlier, so Marchant had stepped up as the designated baby taxi. He’s in all the photos. But we’re still going to interview him — not being there doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. Wassan, no such alibi, was a sapper alongside Barry Cooper. Dangerous men. These interviews will probably be “no comment”. They’ll be good under pressure, so won’t bat an eye. This will more than likely come down to evidence, not confessions. It’s a longer road, but that’s fine. We’re smart, methodical and we’re patient... and Anik, if you don’t overtake that stalled learner right now, I’m getting out and walking.’

Jack stared at Foxy, waiting to hear words that he understood.

‘Using the Y-chromosome DNA haplogroups as a sort of road map, my biologist friend told me — and I’m sorry to break it to you like this — but shoddy dress sense does indeed run in your family. You share patrilineal lineage with the owner of this very distasteful Isle of Man baseball cap.’

Foxy could see that Jack hadn’t really understood a word. He went on.

‘In layman’s terms, you and the owner of this cap have the same dad. Is that what you expected to hear? Is it what you wanted to hear?’

Jack said nothing as he absorbed the information.

‘How’s Charlie?’ Foxy asked suddenly.

Jack snapped out of his trance. ‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ Foxy threw Jack a look. Eddie’s words came to mind: We are who we are. Can’t be anyone else.

‘Charlie’s fine,’ Jack said. ‘Holding on, you know.’

‘So — you going to tell me who you’ll be sending a Father’s Day card to next year?’

Jack managed a smile; he loved Foxy dearly, but he could be a tactless bastard at times. Charlie wasn’t even dead yet and he was making jokes.

Maggie sat at Jack’s desk in the squad room, watching Morgan injecting insulin into his belly. Once that was done, he stood up, tucked his shirt back in and left the room without a word. He wasn’t the most sociable of men. Maggie looked around the mostly empty squad room. The evidence boards were a complex array of photos, single words that meant little to her, dates and times, plans of action. Some of the photos here were the same as the photos on the wall in her spare bedroom; she didn’t recognise the soldiers.

As soon as Jack came back into the squad room, Maggie stood to meet him. But Jack sat her back down, pulled up a chair next to her, opened his desk drawer and took out the battered old file given to him by Charlie. Inside the file were all the photos and paperwork that Maggie had already seen, plus the photo Jack had stolen from Eddie’s album.

‘This is Harry Rawlins. He was one of the biggest criminal names in the eighties.’

Jack was whispering. This conversation, in the middle of the squad room, was for her ears only. Even though Maggie knew who Harry Rawlins was, she could see that he needed to say the most important bits again.

‘He was respected — reluctantly by some — but people who knew him couldn’t help but respect him. Even the copper who spent his entire career trying to catch Harry respected him. Dolly loved him — even though he had so many affairs. His cousin, Eddie, loved him — even though his youngest son belongs to Harry. Harry could do that... He could shit on people and they’d still love him.’

Jack covered his desk with newspaper cuttings from one day back in August 1984, the funeral of ‘Harry Rawlins’.

‘Hundreds of people, from both sides of the law, turned up to see Harry off — or to make sure the bastard was dead, I don’t know, but look at them, Mags. Look how many people are there. He was infamous. He was Harry Rawlins... He was my dad.’

Maggie tipped her head to one side, her eyebrows raised and her eyes filled with sympathy.

‘Don’t do that,’ Jack said gently. ‘Don’t look at me like I’m making a mistake ’cos I’m grieving. I had a DNA test done.’

For the first time since Jack had started on his strange journey of self-discovery, Maggie started taking him seriously. She pulled her chair tight under Jack’s desk and read through the newspaper cuttings in front of her. Jack looked around the squad room — every person here was a stranger. His immediate team was currently in Essex without him, being led by a man who had lost faith in him, if he’d ever really had any faith in him in the first place. Jack picked up one of the old, blurred, black and white newspaper images of Harry’s funeral.

‘Charlie won’t leave this kind of mark. There’ll be a handful of old builders and some of Mum’s friends to have a sherry with her at the wake afterwards. Then, nothing. He won’t be remembered nearly forty years from now.’

Maggie took Jack’s hand, and pressed it to make him stop. She almost felt sick.

‘Listen to yourself! This man — this terrible, horrible man — is no one to be proud of. Charlie, or “Dad” as you used to call him, will be dearly missed by good, hard-working people — whether there’s ten or ten thousand of them. Jack, please, this isn’t you!’

‘This is me!’ he snapped, making Maggie jump.

He was desperate to explain how he felt, but he didn’t understand it himself. He repeated something Eddie had said to him.

‘ “People can see strength and that gets you respect.” It was never the job, or moving to London that was wrong, Mags — it was me. I’m not planning on changing sides, but I am going to start being the man I’m meant to be. I will be heard. And Ridley will start treating me with the respect I deserve.’