In the Woods полностью

We had been tapping Andrews's phones for a week now, with results pathetic enough that O'Kelly was beginning to emit ominous, volcanic grumbling noises. During the day Andrews made large numbers of snappy, testosterone-flavored calls on his mobile; in the evenings he ordered overpriced "gourmet" food-"takeaway with notions," Sam called it, disapprovingly. Once he rang one of those sex chat lines you see advertised on late-night TV; he liked to be spanked, apparently, and "Redden my arse, Celestine" had instantly become a squad catchphrase.

I took off my coat and sat down. "Play it, Sam," I said. My sense of humor, along with everything else, had deteriorated over the past weeks. Sam gave me a look and threw one of the tapes into our obsolete little tape recorder.

At 8:17 p.m., according to the computer printout, Andrews had ordered lasagna with smoked salmon, pesto and sun-dried tomato sauce. "Jesus Christ," I said, appalled.

Sam laughed. "Nothing but the best for our boy."

At 8:23 he had called his brother-in-law to arrange a round of golf for Sunday afternoon, with a few manly jokes thrown in. At 8:41 he had rung the restaurant again, to shout at the order-taker because his food hadn't arrived. He was starting to sound tipsy. There followed a period of silence; apparently the Lasagna From Hell had, eventually, made it to its destination.

At 12:08 a.m. he rang a London number: "His ex-wife," Sam said. He was at the maudlin stage and wanted to talk about what had gone wrong. "The biggest mistake I ever made was letting you go, Dolores," he told her, his voice thick with tears. "But, sure, maybe I did the right thing. You're a fine woman, do you know that? You're too good for me. A hundred times too good. Maybe even a thousand. Amn't I right, Dolores? Don't you think I did the right thing?"

"I wouldn't know, Terry," Dolores said wearily. "You tell me." She was doing something else at the same time, clearing plates or maybe emptying a dishwasher; I could hear the chink of china in the background. Finally, when Andrews started to cry in earnest, she hung up. Two minutes later he rang her back, snarled, "You don't hang up on me, you bitch, do you hear me? I hang up on you," and slammed down the phone.

"A real ladies' man," I said.

"Bugger," Sam said. He slumped in his chair, leaned his head back and put his hands over his face. "Ah, bugger. I've only a week left on this. What the hell do I do if it's all sushi pizza and lonely hearts?"

The tape clicked again. "Hello," said a deep male voice, furred with sleep.

"Who's this?" I asked.

"Unregistered mobile," Sam said, through his hands. "Quarter to two."

"You little fucking scut," Andrews said, on the tape. He was very drunk. Sam sat up.

There was a brief pause. Then the deep voice said, "Didn't I tell you not to ring me again?"

"Whoa," I said.

Sam made a small inarticulate noise. His hand shot out as if to grab the tape recorder, but he caught himself and merely pulled it closer to us on the table. We bent our heads over it, listening. Sam was holding his breath.

"I don't give a tinker's damn what you told me." Andrews's voice was rising. "You've told me more than enough already. You told me it would all be back on track by now, do you remember that? Instead there's fucking…injunctions everywhere-"

"I told you to calm the hell down and let me sort it, and I'm telling you the same again. I've everything under control."

"You do in your hole. Don't you dare talk to me like I'm your emp-your emp-your employee. You're my fucking employee. I paid you. Fucking…thousands and thousands and…'Oh, we'll need another five grand for this, Terry, a few grand for the new councilor, Terry…' I might as well have flushed it down the bog. If you were my employee you'd be fired. Out on your arse. Like that."

"I got you everything you paid for. This is just a minor delay. It'll be sorted. Nothing's going to change. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Sorted, my arse. You double-dealing little cunt, you. You took my money and ran. Now I've nothing but a pile of worthless land and the police crawling all over me. How do they…how the fuck do they even know that's my land? I trusted you."

There was a slight pause. Sam let his breath out in a small burst, held it again. Then the deep voice said sharply, "What phone are you calling from?"

"That's none of your bloody business," Andrews said sulkily.

"What were the police asking you about?"

"Some…just some kid." Andrews stifled a belch. "That kid who got killed out there. Her father's the fucker with the fucking injunction… The thick bastards think I had something to do with it."

"Get off the phone," the deep voice said coldly. "Don't talk to the cops without your lawyer. Don't worry about the injunction. And don't ever fucking ring me again." There was a click as he hung up.