‘Sounds lovely in there. Are you trying to turn me off Murder?’
He spread his hands. ‘I’m not saying I approve; I’m just telling you the facts of life. Not that you need telling. That little speech about blaming the harasser and not the victim, that was pretty, but tell me the truth: say you walk into Murder tomorrow, someone calls you a ginger skanger, tells you to fuck off back onto the dole where you belong. You gonna break his fingers? Or are you gonna play along: have a laugh, call him a sheep-shagging bog-monster, do what it takes to get what you want out of the situation? The truth, now.’
Mackey’s eyes on mine, opaque and knowing in the last of the light, till I looked away. ‘I’m gonna play along.’
‘Yeah, you are. But don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, sunshine. I’d do exactly the same. That kind of accommodation, that’s what keeps the world turning. A little bit of give. When someone like Conway decides she doesn’t have to play along, that’s when things go to shite.’
I heard Joanne.
‘Their gaffer isn’t an idiot; when the atmosphere in his squad room turned to poison, he noticed. He pulls people in, asks them what’s the story; they all clam up, tell him everything’s just dandy and everyone’s the best of friends. Murder’s like that: bunch of schoolkids, no one wants to be the telltale. The gaffer doesn’t believe them, but he knows he’s never getting the real story. And he knows the day things went south is the day Conway walked in. So as far as he’s concerned, she’s the problem.’
‘So he’s going to drop her,’ I said. ‘First excuse he gets.’
‘Nah. They won’t boot her out of Murder, because she’s the type to sue for discrimination and they don’t want the publicity. But they can make damn sure she quits. She’ll never get a partner. She’ll never get a promotion. She’ll never get invited to join the lads for a pint after work. She’ll never get another good case; once she gives up on this, there’ll be nothing on her desk but D-list drug dealers till the day she hands in her papers.’ Smoke curling up between us from his hand, a warning taint on the sweet air. ‘That’ll wear you down, after a while. Conway’s got spine, she’ll last longer than most would, but she’ll crack in the end.’
I said, ‘Conway’s career is her problem. I’m here for mine. This is my shot at showing Murder what I can do.’
Mackey was shaking his head. ‘No it isn’t. It’s a six-bullet round of Russian roulette. If you don’t get on with Conway, you’re back to Cold Cases: bye-bye, see you ’round, everyone remembers that Moran couldn’t hack it in the big leagues even for one day. If you do get on with her, then you’re her bitch-boy. No one else on Murder, and that includes the gaffer, is ever going to touch you with a ten-foot pole. Shit rubs off, kid. If you honestly haven’t got a strategy, I suggest you get one. Fast.’
I said, ‘You’re trying to stir shite. You get me and Conway looking over our shoulders at each other, means we take our eyes off the ball. Next thing we know, our case’s got away from us.’
‘I might well be. It sounds like something I’d do. Ask yourself this, though: does that mean I’m wrong?’
The nettle edges to the air in the Murder squad room, fine and poisonous, when Conway walked in. Tiny barbs, sticky, working deep.
I said, ‘What’ve you been saying to Conway about me?’
Mackey grinned. ‘Same as I’ve been saying to you, sunshine: just the truth. And nothing but the truth. So help you God.’
And there it was. I could’ve kicked myself for asking. I knew what Mackey had told Conway. Didn’t need to hear it, from either of them.
‘Ahhh,’ said Mackey, stretching. Glanced at his smoke, burned down to long ash. Tossed it on the ground. ‘I needed that. Shall we?’
Conway was leaning against the outside of the door, hands in her trouser pockets, not moving. Waiting for us. I knew then.
She straightened up as we got close. Opened the door, held it for Mackey. Caught my eye. As she closed the door behind Mackey, he flicked a winner’s grin over his shoulder at me.
Conway said, ‘I’ll take it from here.’
