How to Be Bad by David Bowker

Author:David Bowker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

PART 2

BADDER

CHAPTER 10

HAPPINESS IN SEVEN DAYS

OUR GOOD friends Detective Sergeant Bromley and Detective Constable Flett held Caro and me for forty-eight hours, interviewing us in strict rotation to see if they could catch us out. As she and I had already decided to tell the truth, or at least part of it, this wasn’t likely to happen.

“So, Mark,” said Flett, the tape running as he grilled me for the fourth time. “When did you decide to murder Mr. Callaghan?”

“I didn’t. He was Bad Jesus’ brother. No one in their right mind would have murdered him.”

“So why did you offer him your car? You knew there was a bomb underneath it. You knew because it was you who planted the car bomb. We’re here to help you, Mark. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

“Firstly,” I said, “I haven’t a clue how to make a bomb. Secondly, why would I blow up sixty-five thousand pounds of my own money?”

“Because you’re stupid?”

“That’s very funny.”

“Mark, if you didn’t plant the bomb that killed Mr. Callaghan, who did?”

“I have no idea.”

Then Bromley took over, still smiling and avuncular. “Mark, what would you say if we told you we know everything? That your lady friend has already spilled the beans?”

“I’d say you talk in clichés, officer. And that you’ve run out of ideas, in fact never had any ideas in the first place. And that you’re now resorting to a desperate bluff in the hope of securing a confession.”

The expressions on their faces were eloquent. Fortunately for me, the interview was being videotaped. Otherwise, I’m fairly certain that Bromley would have held me down while Flett kicked my teeth down my throat.

* * *

OUR CAPTORS let us go, their disappointment palpable, their small eyes dark with resentment. We were released without charge, which meant that our house and clothes had been scoured for forensic evidence and found wanting. It was official: We weren’t bombers, just arseholes. The police search could not have been particularly thorough. I found the Kimber handgun where Jesus had left it, in the rat run under the garden shed. I was happy to be reunited with Warren’s old handgun. Something told me we were going to need it.

Bromley confiscated our passports while the investigation continued, but Caro and I knew it would be suicidal to remain in London. Bad Jesus was sure to hold us responsible for his brother’s death. We had given Rock the keys to the car that killed him. I only truly love two people. My kid brother and myself. If Jesus could blind a motorist for shouting abuse, what would he be prepared to do to Pete’s killers? We had no intention of hanging around to find out.

Caro had the bright idea of driving to the east coast. Both our cars had been written off by the explosion, so we hired an inoffensive gray Audi and set off for a small resort in Norfolk. I told no one but my brother where we were going, swearing him

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