Requiem for a Whistleblower (Detective Inspector Benedict Paige Book 3) | Paperback

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Chapter 1: Roger

The last thing Roger McCarthy wanted to do was to go out. He’d ordered in a pizza, had lined up three cans of his favourite lager and the football was about to start on TV. But his brother, three years younger, was standing in the living room zipping up his coat, struggling to get it over his large belly while Buster, his cocker spaniel, yapped with excitement. ‘You’re on your own, mate,’ said Roger.
‘I don’t mind,’ said Colin.
‘I can’t miss the football.’
‘It’s fine.’
But it wouldn’t be fine, their mother would kick off. Sure enough, she came bustling in, drying her hands on a tea towel, and stopped short on seeing Colin ready to go out.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Colin, it’s too late to be going out now.’
‘Buster needs a walk.’
‘You took him earlier, didn’t you?’
‘He needs to go again.’
‘No, he doesn’t. Not now. Sit your arse down. Do your jigsaw.’
‘I want to go out for a walk.’
‘I know, you said but…’ She looked at the living room clock. ‘It’s eight o’clock, it’s darker than a cow’s gut out there. I don’t want you going out this late.’
‘Buster needs to go.’
Roger knew what was coming next.
‘You’ll have to go with him,’ his mother said.
‘No, I’m watching the football.’
‘You’re always watching the bloody football. Just take him out will you and stop his bleating.’ His mother returned to the kitchen.
And so they’d come to an impasse. Colin wanted to go out, his mother didn’t want him going out alone and Roger was refusing to accompany him. But he knew he’d give in sooner rather than later.
Colin was twenty-five years old but had a mental age of a seven-year-old. Buster was the centre of his world, he spent all day with his dog, even taking him to the day centre where he spent his days. His mother looked after him, made sure he was fed and washed. She’d given up work as soon as Colin was born, giving up a career to look after her son. But when it came to going out – that was Roger’s job. Normally, Roger wouldn’t mind but right now he was settled for the evening. He opened his first can of lager and took a hefty gulp, his eyes on his brother standing at the door expectantly, with the dog at his feet looking up at him with equal expectancy.
‘Sit down, mate, watch the football with me. It’s Arsenal against Liverpool.’
‘Come on Liverpool.’
‘No, Arsenal, you dipstick. We support Arsenal. We’re Londoners, remember? We’re not bloody Scousers, are we? Thank God.’
‘I’m taking Buster out.’
‘No, you’re bloody not. We are watching the footie. Now, sit down. Have some pizza.’ He didn’t want to share his pizza but it was a price worth paying not to have to go out.
‘I don’t want pizza.’
‘You don’t want pizza? You always want pizza. Come on, it’s nice. It’s got pepperoni on it, your favourite.’
‘I want to go out.’
‘Well, go out then,’ he shouted. ‘I’m not stopping you.’
Colin pulled that mopey face he always did when someone, usually Roger, shouted at him. Again, this followed a predetermined sequence of events – Roger would get frustrated with his brother and shout, Colin looked as if he might cry, and Roger, hit by remorse, would apologise. During the day, Colin could be trusted to take Buster out alone. He liked routine, indeed, he lived his life by routine, so Roger and his mother knew full well where Colin would go and how long he’d be. By sticking to a routine, they managed to get by. So, this sudden need to go for a walk this late was, in itself, a departure from the norm. But it was best not to question it. Colin didn’t like being questioned, it stressed him.
Not this time though. Roger was determined that Colin would not get his way – for once. But his raised voice brought his mother back through.
‘You’ve not left yet?’ she asked, stating the obvious.
The game had started and Arsenal were already on the attack. Roger bit into his pizza. Delicious.
‘Roger?’
‘Nah, we’re staying in.’
‘Stop pissing about. It’ll take twenty minutes of your time.’
No, it wouldn’t, he thought. There and back and twice around the park, he’d easily miss the whole of the first half.
She reached for her cigarettes from the sideboard. ‘You can pause the football.’
‘You can’t pause… Oh, sodding hell, OK, I give in.’ He shot up from the sofa. Colin grinned, pleased to have got his way. Buster, sensing something was happening at last, yelped. ‘I’ll get me coat.’
‘Thank you, Roger,’ said Mum with a curtsey.
It was mightily cold out. Roger wished he’d brought his bulkier coat. It was early March but there was scant sign of spring on its way. The park was an eight-minute walk from their flat. The streets to the park were quiet. A bicycle whizzed by, a delivery boy, a large Deliveroo sack swung around his back. Buster pulled on his lead, his nose to the ground. Colin, as always, walked slowly; he was incapable of walking any quicker. ‘Hurry up, will you?’ said Roger. ‘My pizza’s getting cold and my beer’s getting warm.’
‘It’s nice out,’ said Colin. He always said this. It could be blowing a blizzard and Colin would still say it was ‘nice out’.
‘Yeah, whatever.’
‘We go round twice.’
Colin always wanted to walk around the park twice, each lap took six minutes. Colin could probably tell you to the second.
‘No, just once.’ Anyone else, thought Roger, would recognise the sacrifice he’d made here and would compromise on how long they stayed out. But not Colin. Oh no, Colin liked his routine. ‘It’s too late to go round twice.’
‘No, we go round twice.’
‘For f–’ He stopped himself. There was no point getting upset with Colin, it never did anyone any good and just caused more hassle than it was worth. ‘Alright, alright, we go round twice. Sod it, what’s another six minutes. Have you got your poo bags?’
Colin patted his coat pocket and gave Roger a thumbs up. He was very community-minded, was Colin; he’d never fail to scoop up Buster’s mess. ‘Children might step in it,’ he’d say.
They were approaching the park when Roger’s mobile rang. It was Debbie, his ex-girlfriend, still a friend. It was one of those relationships where they got on better as friends than partners. ‘You alright, Debs? What’s up?’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the park with Col. Why?’
She was at the Red Lion pub, she said, speaking to some bloke who wanted a new Bluetooth speaker, could Roger help? ‘Is he kosher?’ he asked. He lived in fear of some potential customer turning out to be an undercover copper. He preferred returning customers, people he could trust. Yes, he needed new customers but there was always that risk. Debbie vouched for this bloke although how she could be sure, he didn’t know. ‘I can’t do anything now. I’ve got me brother.’ Debbie would understand that.
‘Just pop over for a minute and meet the fella. It’s only the Red Lion, it ain’t far.’
‘Suppose I could.’
‘Listen, he’ll be back from the bog in a minute. I told him me name’s Tracey, right? So don’t call me Debs. And your name is Barry or Baz.’
‘Right. Got it. Give me five.’ He rang off.
It was a good idea, thought Roger. Get the measure of the man. He could usually rely on his instincts. If he liked this new guy, he’d sort him out tomorrow because, for sure, he had a couple of Bluetooth speakers in the lock-up, his Aladdin's Cave, as he called it.
They were at the park gates now. The Red Lion pub was but a three-minute walk away, less if he jogged there and back.
‘Listen, Colin, you take Buster round – twice. I’m just popping over to see Debs. You remember Debbie? You like her, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, she’s nice. She gave Buster a biscuit once.’ Roger knew this – Colin mentioned it whenever Debbie’s name came up. And by this one token of kindness, it meant Debbie would forever be in Colin’s good books.
‘So, you walk around slowly and do not speak to anyone, unless it’s a woman. Women are OK but smile and be nice to them. I don’t want you scaring anyone. But you’re not to speak to no men, alright?’
Colin nodded earnestly.
‘Good man.’ He checked the time on his mobile. ‘I’ll be about twelve minutes. Keep an eye on your phone. If I’m not back in time, I’ll message you and you wait here.’ He pointed at the ground beneath their feet, emphasising the point. ‘Right here, OK?’
‘OK.’
He patted Colin on the shoulder and experienced a sudden rush of affection for his brother. Colin could be a right pain most of the time but, whatever, they were brothers and Roger loved him. Addressing the dog, he added, ‘You look after Colin, won’t you, Buster?’
Colin laughed.
‘Twelve minutes,’ said Roger over his shoulder as he rushed off towards the Red Lion.
In the months and years to come, Roger McCarthy would often think back to this moment. If only Debbie hadn't called; if only he hadn't rushed off. Indeed, he was only gone for twelve minutes, fourteen at the most, but in that time, his comfortable existence as he knew it came crashing to an end.