In the Evil Day

33

…LONDON…

The man opened the door within seconds. She knew he had heard the gate’s small noise, not so much a screech as a scratch. It was not a timid opening. He opened the door wide.

‘Yes?’

‘Good evening. Sorry to bother you,’ said Caroline.

‘Well then don’t.’

Nothing of the courtly doorman about him, not a smiling doorman this. Just a big bald man in shirtsleeves, a wide man, downturned mouth, pig-bristle grey eyebrows.

Caroline had her card ready. She offered it to him. He looked at it, held it up to his face, looked at her, no change in expression.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Mr Hird?’

‘It is.’

‘Could we talk? It won’t take long.’

‘About what?’

‘Something that happened at the store yesterday.’

‘Don’t talk about what happens at work. That’s company policy. Goodbye.’ Hird didn’t move.

Caroline took the chance. ‘Can I bribe you?’

He touched his nose with a finger, pushed it sideways, sniffed. ‘No.’

‘Is that a no or a maybe?’

‘It’s a no. Come inside.’

They went down a cold short passage into a cold room that looked unchanged for fifty, sixty years, a sitting room from around World War Two. The armchairs and the sofa had antimacassars and broad wooden arms. Two polished artillery shells flanked the fireplace. Above the mantelpiece was a colour photograph of the Royal Family-King, Queen and the two little Princesses. A collection of plates and small glass objects stood on mirror-backed glass shelves in a display cabinet with ball-and-claw feet.

‘Havin a glass of beer,’ he said. ‘Want one?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Sit down.’ He left and came back with two big glasses of beer, tumblers that bulged at the top.

‘Well, what?’ he said, sitting down.

Caroline sat and drank a decent mouthful. She moved to put he glass down, didn’t for fear of marking the chair arm.

‘Put it down,’ Hird said. ‘Not a museum. Looks bloody like it but it’s not.’

She put the glass down, opened her bag. ‘A man was shot in the store yesterday. On the third floor.’

Hird looked at her, drank beer. It left a white line on his upper lip and he didn’t remove it. ‘Entirely possible,’ he said, ‘I’m down on the ground, noddin and smilin.’

A black cat came in, fat, gleaming, silent as a snake, glided around the room, around chair legs, around Hird’s legs, brushed Caroline’s ankles. She failed some feline test and it left.

Caroline took out the security camera photographs of Mackie, held them out. ‘He might have left through your door,’ she said, she didn’t know that. ‘Can you remember seeing him?’

Hird put down his glass, took the pictures, held them on his stomach. He looked at them, gave them back to her, said nothing, drank some beer.

‘Recognise him?’

‘Busy store. How many people d’ya reckon go through my door every day?’

‘He’s on camera going through your door. The question is whether you remember him.’

‘They send you around here?’

‘No. Only my mole knows I know.’

She was lying. She had no mole. Store security denied all knowledge of the incident.

Hird kept his eyes on her. He had a big drink of beer. Caroline matched him. Their glasses were down to the same level.

‘A mole in security?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’d tell you what’s on the street cameras.’

‘There’s some problem there.’

‘So how’d you know where to come?’

‘It’s my business to find out.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Right. Saw your name in the paper. That Brechan. Shafted the bastard, din you. Shafter shafted.’ He laughed, he enjoyed his joke. ‘Bloody rag, your paper.’

Caroline shrugged, said, ‘I gather the Prime Minister reads it.’

He laughed again. ‘Bloody would, wouldn’t he? See which Tory prick’s been up a kid’s bum last night. Course the lovin wife’ll give the bastard an alibi, won’t she?’ His voice turned to purest Home Counties. ‘We were at home all evening, officer, just the two of us, a quiet dinner, watched some television, had an early night.’

‘So you saw this man,’ said Caroline as a matter of fact.

Hird nodded. ‘This an interview? Read me name in the paper?’

‘No. Just background. No name. Nothing that can identify you. I promise.’

He studied her, drank some beer. ‘Just looked odd,’ he said. ‘Then I saw his hand up to the chest, blood comin out between the fingers.’

In her heart, she felt the spring of pleasure uncoil at her cleverness. ‘Did security see him?’

‘Nah, been called away.’

‘You didn’t tell them?’

Hird studied her. ‘What’s your mole say?’

‘He says he’s not aware of any report.’

‘Well, there you have it.’

‘So the man went out the door and…’

‘I went out, just to the corner to have a look-see. Deserted me post. Sackable offence. Still, had a customer’s welfare at heart, din I?’

‘And?’

‘Well, he was pretty normal, not wobbly, but he wasn’t walkin too straight. Bit of bumpin. Went into Brompton, though he might be heading for the tube. Then these two fellas come along, they were lookin for him, that’s for sure.’

‘And?’

‘Well, he keeps goin up the street, then he crosses and he gets on the back of this motorbike.’

‘Waiting for him? The motorbike?’

Hird shook his head. ‘In the bloody traffic, couldna been. He just stood there, then he got on the back of the bike. Another fella come from somewhere, he was runnin at them, then off the thing went like a rocket. Yellow helmet, one of them big helmets, spaceship helmet. Know what I mean?’

‘And the men?’

‘Buggered off.’

‘Didn’t get the number of the bike, did you?’

‘Too far.’

Caroline nodded, finished her beer, got up. ‘Thanks, that’s a big help.’

Hird stood up, not easily. ‘Can’t see how.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Caroline.

They left the room. He went first. On the way down the passage she found a fifty, rolled it up. He opened the front door. She went out, turned.

‘Well,’ she said. She tapped the side of her nose with the rolled note, offered the roll. ‘We were at home all evening, officer, we watched television…’

Hird laughed, gave her the nod, nod, wink, wink, took the note and put it in his shirt pocket.

‘Keep insertin it up the bastards,’ he said.