Eeny Meeny

65

His first feeling was one of relief. Mark had been trying to get hold of Helen all day to tell her about the developments re Martina, without success. Now here she was, leaning against his front door. Satisfaction surged to something more – hope? excitement? – as she had come back to him here, rather than collaring him in the office. Perhaps she liked to be mysterious, hot and cold, hard to handle. But something in her expression told him this was not the case.

She said nothing as he opened the door and let her in. There was nothing for it but to play ball. See how bad things really were. So he pulled up a chair and sat down to face her. Who was going to make the first move?

‘This may be the last time we meet like this. We have been friends and more, so let’s not scream or shout or accuse or lie or make this any more painful than it has to be.’

As she spoke, Helen watched Mark closely, beadily alive to his reaction.

‘You’ve betrayed us, Mark. There’s no other way of saying it. You’ve betrayed me, the team, and the police force that made you what you are. Worse than that, you’ve betrayed the innocent men and women who’ve been murdered by this evil little -’

‘I don’t understand -’

‘I’ve spoken to Whittaker,’ Helen interrupted, ‘so there’s no point trying to lie your way out of it. We are about to begin an official procedure that will in all probability end in your expulsion from the police force. Your desk has been cleared, you won’t be allowed access to any restricted areas and I am required to retain your warrant card once this discussion is over.’

Mark stared at her.

‘You’ve seen others go through it, you know how nasty it can be. But you can make it easy on yourself, Mark. I don’t think you’re evil, I don’t think you’re rotten inside and I’m sure there must be reasons – good reasons – why you would do something so awful. If you are prepared to tell me those reasons fully and cooperate in every way I ask, then there is a deal to be done here. You don’t need to come out of this with nothing.’

A long silence, then:

‘Why here?’

Mark’s response took Helen by surprise. No passionate denial, just a move in the game. It was said with real bitterness, but there was something else going on here. What was his angle?

‘Why come here to tell me… this?’ The last word was spat out. A challenge. Helen eyed him up and then responded:

‘Because I want to hear it for myself before anyone else does. I want you to tell me why you did it, before you have to say it on tape. I want you to tell me.’

Her voice suddenly caught with emotion – her real sense of personal betrayal finally punching through. Mark just stared at her. He looked confounded, as if she were speaking Greek.

‘What do you think I’ve done, Helen?’ His tone was neutral, but it sounded mocking.

‘Don’t do this, Mark. Even now, you’re better than this.’

‘Tell me. Tell me what I’ve done.’

Helen’s face hardened as her anger returned. Why had she ever allowed this arrogant bastard to get close to her?

‘You gave Mickery our investigation. You sold us out.’

There – finally it was on the table.

‘And I want to know why.’

‘Fuck you.’

Helen smirked, though she didn’t really know why. A flash of anger from Mark and he was on his feet, as if he was going to come towards her. Helen flinched, but Mark had already turned away and now paced the room in silence. Helen had never considered that he might react violently, might be dangerous. How messed up was this guy? Perhaps she didn’t know him at all.

When Mark spoke he was plainly fighting hard to restrain his anger.

‘What makes you think that I would do that?’

‘Because there’s no one else, Mark.’

‘You had access, Whittaker, Charlie, the techies…’

‘Only Charlie and you were in the station when it was taken. The techies were on strike, Whittaker was on leave and I was out in the field.’

‘So it has to be me? What about Charlie? Have you ever thought that it might be -’

‘It’s not her.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because she has an alibi. And because she looked me in the eye and told me it wasn’t her. Why haven’t you done that, Mark? Instead of wriggling on the line, why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t do it?’

A brief pause, then:

‘Because you wouldn’t believe me.’

The sadness in his voice was crushing. Inexplicably, Helen wanted to get up and comfort him – she fought the urge, digging her nails into her wounded hand. The pain flowed through her, calming her.

When she looked up, Mark was pouring himself a large glass of wine.

‘Why the fuck not, eh?’ and he drained his glass, slamming it back down on the table in front of her. Staring at her, he slammed the glass down again. And again, and again, until finally the stem snapped and the glass shattered. He tossed the remainder away across the room, then ran his bleeding hands through his hair. His anger had flared, and now seemed to dissipate.

‘Why couldn’t you have asked me first, before setting this in motion?’

‘You know why. If there was any hint that I’d given you preferential treatment because I… because we’d…’

‘Looking after number one, eh?’

‘It’s not like that. And you know it.’

‘You know, for a long time, I genuinely thought I’d done something wrong. Offended you. Committed some terrible romantic faux pas. Then I wondered if it was the difference in rank. That you’d had second thoughts. But I didn’t really believe that, so I thought maybe you were just a headcase. A beautiful, unpredictable headcase. And you know what? I would have been happy with that. I could have worked with that.’

To Helen’s surprise, he laughed. But it was brief and tinged with bitterness. She was about to respond, but he talked over her:

‘But I never, ever thought that it would be this. That this was why you’d frozen me out. What makes you so convinced, so very sure that I would throw away my job, my future, my chances of being a good dad, of – fuck it – falling in love again for a backhander?’

‘Who said anything about a backhander?’

‘Don’t be obtuse.’

‘I never mentioned payment.’

Mark exhaled loudly. Then lowered his eyes to look at his bleeding hand.

‘Did she pay you, Mark?’

There was a long silence. Then:

‘You’re making a big mistake.’

‘Did she pay you?’

‘And I could sit here all day and all night and tell you exactly why I never spoke to her, why I never colluded with her, was never bribed by her, why I never did a damn thing wrong, but there’s no point, is there? The train has left the station and there’s no going back. And I will probably never know exactly why you’ve done this to me when you have no concrete proof whatsoever, whether it’s a cop thing, or a head thing or an… I don’t know what thing. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to sit here and be grilled by you in my home without a lawyer present. You’ve done this by the book. Of course you’ve done it by the book. So you will have been to Whittaker and talked to Charlie and sent the dreaded yellow form to Anti-Corruption. So I’m going to do it by the book. I’m not going to be squeezed like some fucking… criminal. I’m going to sit down in interview rooms with my lawyer and my union rep and slowly, carefully unpick whatever case you think you have against me, so that I’m exonerated and you are made to look a bloody fool.’

He pushed his chair back sharply and marched over to the front door, flinging it open. Helen had no choice but to obey – she was on dodgy ground being here at all.

‘Should I tell them we screwed?’ Mark fired at her. ‘Would that be good “colour”? Might explain why you’re ruining my career. Perhaps I wasn’t good in the sack. Perhaps you felt you’d let yourself down. Thought it might come back to you. Well, you can bet it will now.’

Helen had now reached the door. She just wanted to be out of there, but Mark wasn’t finished yet.

‘I should hate you, you know. But I don’t. I pity you.’

Helen pushed roughly past and hurried away down the stairs. Why did his pity hurt her? He’s a bent copper, a rotten apple – who gives a shit what he says? So she reasoned with herself but it didn’t cut any ice. Even amidst her anger and hurt, she knew that Mark had unnerved her. He seemed so indignant, so outraged, so sure of his innocence. The evidence all pointed to him. She couldn’t have got it so badly wrong.

Could she?