Gutted

Chapter 36

A white police car, sirens blaring, pulled up behind me and mounted the kerb. The four doors of the Mondeo swung open. A cocky-looking wido fronted me. ‘Get in the car, Dury.’

As he spoke, I recognised him at once. ‘Fuck me, it’s the cludgie cop… Never made the dumpster, then?’

I was grabbed from all angles, arms up my back, cuffed. As they threw me in the back of the van I managed a glance at my mother’s window. Thanked God there was no sign of her.

My mind raced. Only the effects of the Black Bush kept me together.

We drove in silence.

At the nick they checked me in.

In a police cell, facing a murder charge — was this really what my life had come to?

I paced.

My heart rate increased.

Nerves shrieked.

If they were hoying me in again, it could mean only one thing: bad news. I tried to play over what Fitz had said. Nothing sparked. Then I remembered something: I’d removed Moosey’s wallet. I’d tried to wipe it clean but if they had my prints that wouldn’t look good. I was ninety-nine per cent sure they didn’t. It was the one per cent that put the shits up me.

Adrenaline rushed in.

I felt primed. Fight-or-flight instinct kicking in again. Were flight still an option, I’d be happy to take it. Mac’s advice battered me over the head again.

Scolded myself: Dury, what the fuck were you thinking?

I’d achieved little more than zip with my efforts to find Moosey’s killer. All right, I’d had some issues to wade through, but when did I never? The verdict on my being in a police cell, once again, about to have my arse well and truly caned, was ‘Gus, you fucked up.’

The door swung open.

Uniform, young lad. Chest like a bull on him. He tipped the visor down on his hat and turned up the lights. Thought: Here we go.

Behind him walked in a character straight out of LA Law. Did they still make that show? If they didn’t, nobody had told him. Light-grey suit, pale purple shirt and a navy silk tie with white diagonal stripes. If he was conscious of my being in the room, he didn’t let on. I watched him position himself at the table, straighten out his cuffs and run a tanned hand over his head. From where I stood I could see there was some male pattern baldness creeping in, but there’d been some considerable skill applied to compensating for that with the old blow-dryer.

He took a silver pen from his pocket, made a show of pressing the button to release the tip. Said, ‘Sit.’

I stayed put.

He let a good minute drag out before turning to the door pug. Only took a nod. The big lad hollered at me like a staff sergeant going for a squaddie, lunged over and put an arm round my neck. ‘You want me to throw you against the fucking wall?’ he said.

I played it cool. ‘Why? Think I’ll bounce?’

He threw me. My shoulder caught the cell wall. Pain shot down my backbone, then seemed to retrace its steps and settle at the original point of impact.

I felt my whole arm turn to cork. Tried to move it, couldn’t, cradled it with my other arm.

‘Bring him over here.’

A fist in my back. Felt the imprint of every knuckle.

At the table I saw three folders had been laid before me. Two were closed. On top of one sat sheaves of paper.

‘Right, Mr Dury… settled down now, have we?’

I rubbed my elbow.

He spoke again, ‘Glad to hear it. Now, I’m quite certain you know why we’ve invited you here today.’

‘Help with your inquiries,’ I tutted.

‘Indeed.’

I leaned forward. ‘Which I am more than happy to do.’

From behind him, the door opened.

I said, ‘DI Johnstone enters the room… That’s what they say on The Bill isn’t it?’ A wide smile. ‘“For the benefit of the tape”, that’s the other bit.’

Jonny Boy hid hands in his pockets, strolled over to the desk and stared at me.

I said, ‘Hello there, Jonny. Looking well… My ex must be taking good care of you.’

LA Law spoke: ‘DI Johnstone is assisting me; a mere observer.’

I flicked my index finger, said, ‘Gotcha!’

Jonny lunged, grabbed the digit, said, ‘Don’t get fucking smart, cunt… We’re putting you away.’

He had a firm hold on me. I reached out with my other hand to work on his grasp, but the pain in my shoulder was too great. Couldn’t have been a good look — verged on capitulation.

‘Keep that look, Dury, that’s the one we want you to show when they throw away the key.’

As he let my finger go I gasped uncontrollably, said, ‘This would be playing hardball, I guess?’

LA Law answered, ‘No, Mr Dury, this is checkmate.’

‘Come again?’

He flicked on the tape recorder, made his spiel, announced himself as McAvoy. He raised a polythene bag from the sheaves of paper. Inside was the skunk I had taken from my nephews. ‘Yours, I believe, Mr Dury.’

I said nothing. Shrugged.

‘Oh, it is. Let me assure you.’

I looked at the bag, said, ‘You’re seriously doing me for a bag of puff?’

McAvoy looked to Jonny. The pair exchanged thin smiles.

‘Oh aye, Dury,’ said McAvoy, ‘there’s laws against this kind of thing.’

‘How about I take the caution and go back to my life?’

McAvoy’s smile faded. He tipped himself back in his chair; the legs creaked on the tiled floor. As he shuffled his feet I saw his socks. They matched the colour of his shirt. He read out the charge.

I looked to the ceiling, scratched my head, said, ‘Fucking hell.’

McAvoy switched off the tape, threw himself at me, brought his dart of a nose to within an inch of my face. ‘I’m just getting started on you…’ he bellowed. I felt my ears throb. ‘I’m watching you very closely, Dury, and if I hear you’ve been near the Crawfords again you’ll have plenty to worry about.’

I held up a hand. Had seen this done on Oprah — knew it would get a reaction.

‘Whoa! Who’s pulling your strings? You have precisely fuck all on me, McAvoy. Jonny couldn’t fit me up, so you’re having a go now, is that the game?’

‘This is no game, laddie… A man’s dead.’

‘I make it two… one a witness who confirmed to you I was nowhere near the scene when Moosey was killed.’

McAvoy gave a silent laugh, pointed to me as he winked at Jonny. ‘You hear this shite? That fucking jakey was away with it. He was off his nut on meths.’ He laughed louder this time, shook his head.

I wanted to put a boot in his teeth. ‘He might have been a jakey but he wasn’t a ponce, and he had more of a clue about this case than you.’

He waved to the pug, who raced to the desk and put me in a headlock as McAvoy yelled in my ear. ‘Listen to me, you scrawny little shitkicker. If I say you killed Tam Fulton then that’s the way it’s going to be and you’ll be begging me to take a confession so’s to keep Rab Hart from chopping you into fifty grand’s worth of tiny fucking pieces.’

My head felt about one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. There was no way I could form words.

‘Aye, that’s better, adjust your attitude… We know you’re short of cash, Dury. Now, the missing money might get you out of a big hole — that’s some incentive, is it no’?’

I still couldn’t speak.

McAvoy continued, ‘You see, these days evidence can be made to tell any fucking story you want. You’ve seen CSI… a fingerprint here, blood smear there, it’s magic! But things like motive, that’s what can’t be faked — and that’s what gets folk put away.’

I went for a gob in his face. Fair sprayed out, caught some of his shirt.

The pug squirmed. ‘You dirty prick.’ He lost his grip on me.

I roared, ‘Mark Crawford either killed Moosey or knows who did and you fucking know it too!.. He’s been running with the young crew and playing the dog-fighting scene to get his chance and he took it.’

‘You’re off your scone, Dury,’ said Jonny. ‘He’s the son of a fucking judge!’

‘So what? You’re both law and as crocked as all fuck.’ I was still roaring, banging my chest with one hand and fingering the air with the other. ‘Someone’s got you pair told to look the other way and you think I’m gonna let you put me in your sights. Fuck that! Fuck the lot of you… You want a fight? I’ll give you one.’

I saw Jonny Boy make a lunge for me, but I missed the pug trailing him. As I dodged Jonny’s blow the hefty biffer caught me above the eye. With the shortness of my breath it was more than enough to call lights out.

The floor swallowed me.