Collusion

67

‘Where’s the other fella?’ the Traveller asked, his eyes still raw.

‘I have asked my colleague to sit this one out,’ Gordon said.

‘Why’s that, then?’

Gordon arranged his pen and notepad on the table between them. ‘Because his presence was required elsewhere,’ he said. ‘Let’s proceed, shall we?’

The Traveller smiled. ‘Ready when you are.’

Gordon did not return the smile. ‘I’m curious as to what contacts you might have in Belfast.’

‘No comment.’

‘We’ve recovered only one weapon, and two clips of ammunition, during your arrest and subsequent searches. We suspect another party may be hiding items for you somewhere in the city.’

‘No comment.’

‘We’ll shortly have permission to search your hotel room. Are we likely to find anything incriminating there?’

No comment.’

‘If you cooperate with us now, tell us what we might find there, and where we might find it, that will be taken into consideration in our recommendations to the Public Prosecution Service.’

‘No comment.’

Gordon hit the stop button on the twin-deck tape recorder. He stood and came around the table. He perched on the edge, folded his arms across his chest, and looked down at the Traveller. ‘I miss the old days,’ he said.

‘That right?’ the Traveller said.

‘That’s right,’ Gordon said. ‘The days before the Police Ombudsman and the Human Rights Commission. Back then we could be a little more … well … vigorous in our interrogations. We used to do all sorts, and nobody minded. I put away a lot of scumbags in my time, most of them based on confessions. You should’ve been around then, seen where that “no comment” nonsense got you. I’m a Christian, you know.’

‘Good for you,’ the Traveller said.

‘Yes, it is good for me. The missus converted me. I used to be a drinker. She soon sorted that out, got me going to church, got me right with the man upstairs. That was back in, oh, ’79 or ’80. And I’ll tell you the funny thing: beating the likes of you senseless, knocking your teeth down your throat, that never bothered me. It never conflicted with my Christian beliefs.’

‘That was handy,’ the Traveller said.

‘It was indeed, son. You see, I hold my beliefs very dear. I live and breathe by them. But when it comes to someone like you, or any of those toe-rags I put away back then, my beliefs cease to apply. Because you’re an animal. The good Lord above has no more regard for you than for a pig in a slaughterhouse, and neither do I.’

The Traveller feigned offence. ‘Here, now, there’s no—’

‘Shut your mouth.’ Gordon leaned close. ‘We don’t do things the way we used to. I never saw it as torture, just rigorous interrogation. But the bleeding hearts and the politicians took a different view, so that’s that. But it’s not too late to turn the clock back. You’re already looking pretty rough, so I wouldn’t have to worry about leaving too many marks. Now you start talking to me, son, or you’ll be getting a lesson in the police procedures of yesteryear. Understood?’

The Traveller said nothing.

Gordon gripped the Traveller’s face in one meaty hand. ‘Understood?’

The Traveller shrugged.

Gordon took his hand away, wiped it on his trouser leg. ‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s get back to it.’

He returned to his seat and started the tape recorder.

‘Now,’ he said, taking his pen in hand. ‘Who is your contact in Belfast?’

The Traveller grinned. ‘No comment,’ he said.

Before Gordon could react, the door opened and the pale cop stepped in. The Traveller kept his stinging eyes fixed straight ahead. The pale cop approached Gordon, bent down, whispered in his ear.

Gordon stopped the tape recorder, coughed, and followed the pale cop out of the room.

The Traveller ran his tongue across his upper lip and smiled.