Tommy Dolan stood in a corner of the upstairs bar in the Star and Garter on Poland Street, sipping a pint of Copper Dragon Best with a doleful expression on his face.
‘The Federation has dropped my case.’
‘That would be because the murder of a policewoman has given them something else to worry about,’ Joe Szyszkowski replied sharply.
‘They told me to walk away quietly,’ Dolan grumbled, ‘or I could be in some really deep shit.’
Carlyle glanced at Joe, eyebrows raised slightly. ‘I’m not surprised.’
‘It was a bloody liberty, in the first place,’ Joe chipped in, gripping his bottle of Peroni tightly and leaning in towards Dolan in a vaguely threatening manner.
‘My rep was a useless little shit,’ Dolan moaned into his beer glass, oblivious to the lack of sympathy he was receiving. He looked up. ‘But, hey, at least you guys are in the clear.’
It’s just one big game to you, Tommy, isn’t it, Carlyle thought. He took another nip of his Jameson and felt his stomach rumble. He wanted to be home, sitting on the sofa with Helen and Alice, not standing in a crowded pub having to listen to this whining wanker. ‘What about Alexa Matthews?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know about that,’ Dolan sniffed. ‘Maybe someone got carried away.’
‘That’s why we’re here, Dolan,’ snapped Joe, lifting the bottle to his mouth but not taking a swig. ‘You said that you had something for us.’
‘All I want,’ said Dolan, once again displaying the self-awareness of a flea, ‘is to retire with my pension.’
Taking a final gulp of whiskey, the inspector placed his empty glass on the bar. ‘Okay, Tommy,’ he said, ‘I’m off in one minute. Time to put up or shut up.’
Dolan cradled his pint thoughtfully, eyes lowered, looking like the crafty little shit he was. ‘I can give you Adam,’ he said finally.
‘Charlie Adam!’ Carlyle attempted a snort of derision. ‘Why should I give a fuck about Charlie Adam? He’s too stupid to be bent.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
Carlyle put a hand on Dolan’s shoulder. ‘For the avoidance of any doubt, Tommy, I do not give a flying fuck about Charlie fucking Adam. Not least because I hear that the little muppet is resigning next week.’
Dolan stared at Carlyle.
So did Joe.
Both of them thought he was making it up.
Both of them knew that he was making it up.
Neither of them challenged him on it, however.
‘Time’s up,’ Carlyle said. ‘Give me Falkirk or fuck off.’
Dolan made a face. ‘Do we have a deal?’
‘Cheeky cunt,’ said Joe, grinning.
‘You know how it works, Tommy,’ said Carlyle, glaring at his sergeant, and trying to get him to calm down. ‘There can be no promises.’
Dolan fixed him with a look that said I might get fucked here, but I’m not going to get fucked stupid. ‘I understand that,’ he said slowly, ‘but we’ve got a gentleman’s agreement, don’t we?’
‘None of us are gentlemen, Tommy,’ Carlyle replied haughtily. ‘But for my part, assuming that you personally didn’t have anything to do with torching Alexa and her girlfriend, I will limit my interest to Falkirk. And I will speak to Simpson to see if that will hold true for the rest of the investigation. Then it will be down to you and your union rep.’
‘Great,’ said Dolan, without any enthusiasm. ‘The little twat is about twelve years old. He doesn’t have a fucking clue.’
‘That’s the thing, Tommy,’ Carlyle grinned. ‘Even the Police Force reps are looking younger and younger these days.’
Dolan stared at him blankly.
‘You have to give a statement to IIC,’ Carlyle continued. ‘Go and speak to a guy called Ambrose Watson. He seems okay.’
‘If he’s IIC,’ Dolan hissed, ‘he’s bound to be a git.’
Whatever, Carlyle thought. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘you have to talk to him. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.’
‘What are your next steps?’ Dolan asked, failing to recognise that he was now a policeman in name only.
‘That’s my problem, Tommy,’ Carlyle replied, finally heading for the door. ‘You’ll have to leave it to me.’