the big guy got in my face. The other guy in the suit wasn’t even watching. He was just standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, and he was leaning there, facing the wrong way.’
It sounded like a Don McCarthy-sanctioned tactic. Or maybe he’d sent Frank Briar down. Maybe even Bowen.
‘What did the men in suits look like?’
‘I don’t know. Normal guys, I s’pose.’
‘How old were they?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Were they older or younger than me?’
‘Older. A little bit. Maybe.’
Devereaux fell quiet. A shout/clang overlap from the corridor. Disinfectant odour hung ripe, the cool scorch of it deep in his airways. The head of the mattress was tear-stained: random dark lesions on the sheet. Ford was still facing the wall.
‘Roll over, Howard. Let me see your nose.’
Ford rolled over. Devereaux leaned in for a close-up consult.
Ford said, ‘Is it broken?’
‘No, it’s not broken.’
He placed his arm across his face again. ‘Why are they asking me these things, Sean?’
‘Because they knew I wanted to find you. And they thought because I wanted to find you, that you might know something that could help them.’
‘So this is your fault. They wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you.’ Tears speckled the mattress in neat succession. ‘Why did you want to find me?’
‘To ask you about October eight.’
He raised his arm and slapped the wall to punctuate each word: ‘I. Don’t. Know. About. October. Eight.’
‘Calm down. That’s not going to get you anywhere. You need to chill out.’
Ford gave a long sigh and rolled away from him again. ‘You fucking chill out. Jeez!’
Devereaux said, ‘October eight was the bank robbery last year. Do you remember?’
‘No.’
‘You must remember. It was in the news.’
Ford hugged his knees. ‘The one where someone was killed?’
‘Yes. The one where someone was killed.’
‘I wasn’t the person who robbed it.’
‘I know you weren’t. But you’ve been in trouble before for robbery, haven’t you?’
He squirmed on the bed. ‘Little bit.’
‘Yes. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because even though you mightn’t have done this one—’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Even though you didn’t do this one, I thought you could know someone who has information about it.’
‘I don’t know anyone who has information. About anything.’
‘You’ve got lots of friends, though, haven’t you, Howard?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And lots of them have also been in trouble with the police,haven’t they? Some of them have been in similar sorts of trouble to you.’
He was still facing the wall. ‘Yeah. I s’pose.’
‘So do you think maybe you might have heard them talking about the bank robbery in October? Maybe just a small mention. Maybe after it happened. Do you think you might have overheard anything like that, from any of your friends?’
‘I don’t know. They talk about lots of stuff.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they do. But remember, there’s nothing wrong about overhearing something. You’re not going to get in trouble by listening to something and then telling me about it.’
‘I’m already in trouble, though. It’s what I don’t say that gets me in trouble.’
‘Answer the question, Howard.’
‘Which question?’
Devereaux rested his nose between steepled fingers. ‘Have you heard anyone talking about the bank job on the eighth of October last year?’
‘No. I don’t know anything about it. Nobody I know does.’
‘Okay. If you did want to know something about it—’
‘But I don’t.’
‘I know, but for the sake of argument, pretend you did, pretend you did want to know something about it, which one of your friends would you ask for information?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes, you do. Think carefully, pretend you really, really want to know what happened with this thing, who would you go to and ask about it?’
He rolled onto his back and released his legs full stretch.
It sounded like a Don McCarthy-sanctioned tactic. Or maybe he’d sent Frank Briar down. Maybe even Bowen.
‘What did the men in suits look like?’
‘I don’t know. Normal guys, I s’pose.’
‘How old were they?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Were they older or younger than me?’
‘Older. A little bit. Maybe.’
Devereaux fell quiet. A shout/clang overlap from the corridor. Disinfectant odour hung ripe, the cool scorch of it deep in his airways. The head of the mattress was tear-stained: random dark lesions on the sheet. Ford was still facing the wall.
‘Roll over, Howard. Let me see your nose.’
Ford rolled over. Devereaux leaned in for a close-up consult.
Ford said, ‘Is it broken?’
‘No, it’s not broken.’
He placed his arm across his face again. ‘Why are they asking me these things, Sean?’
‘Because they knew I wanted to find you. And they thought because I wanted to find you, that you might know something that could help them.’
‘So this is your fault. They wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you.’ Tears speckled the mattress in neat succession. ‘Why did you want to find me?’
‘To ask you about October eight.’
He raised his arm and slapped the wall to punctuate each word: ‘I. Don’t. Know. About. October. Eight.’
‘Calm down. That’s not going to get you anywhere. You need to chill out.’
Ford gave a long sigh and rolled away from him again. ‘You fucking chill out. Jeez!’
Devereaux said, ‘October eight was the bank robbery last year. Do you remember?’
‘No.’
‘You must remember. It was in the news.’
Ford hugged his knees. ‘The one where someone was killed?’
‘Yes. The one where someone was killed.’
‘I wasn’t the person who robbed it.’
‘I know you weren’t. But you’ve been in trouble before for robbery, haven’t you?’
He squirmed on the bed. ‘Little bit.’
‘Yes. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because even though you mightn’t have done this one—’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Even though you didn’t do this one, I thought you could know someone who has information about it.’
‘I don’t know anyone who has information. About anything.’
‘You’ve got lots of friends, though, haven’t you, Howard?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And lots of them have also been in trouble with the police,haven’t they? Some of them have been in similar sorts of trouble to you.’
He was still facing the wall. ‘Yeah. I s’pose.’
‘So do you think maybe you might have heard them talking about the bank robbery in October? Maybe just a small mention. Maybe after it happened. Do you think you might have overheard anything like that, from any of your friends?’
‘I don’t know. They talk about lots of stuff.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they do. But remember, there’s nothing wrong about overhearing something. You’re not going to get in trouble by listening to something and then telling me about it.’
‘I’m already in trouble, though. It’s what I don’t say that gets me in trouble.’
‘Answer the question, Howard.’
‘Which question?’
Devereaux rested his nose between steepled fingers. ‘Have you heard anyone talking about the bank job on the eighth of October last year?’
‘No. I don’t know anything about it. Nobody I know does.’
‘Okay. If you did want to know something about it—’
‘But I don’t.’
‘I know, but for the sake of argument, pretend you did, pretend you did want to know something about it, which one of your friends would you ask for information?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes, you do. Think carefully, pretend you really, really want to know what happened with this thing, who would you go to and ask about it?’
He rolled onto his back and released his legs full stretch.
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