The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(142)

‘What strategy?’

Double-take, amused. ‘Hello? Remember me? We’ve met before. We’ve worked together. Your aw-shucks-little-old-me act won’t fly here.’

I said, ‘What strategy are we talking about?’

Mackey sighed. ‘OK. I’ll play. Hooking up with Antoinette Conway. I’d love to know: what’s your plan there?’

‘No plan. I got the chance to work a murder, I took it.’

Mackey’s eyebrow went up. ‘I hope for your sake you’re still playing innocent, kid. How much do you know about Conway?’

‘She’s a good D. Works hard. Going places, fast.’

He waited. When he realised I was done: ‘That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?’

I shrugged. Seven years on and Mackey’s eye could still make me squirm, still turn me into a kid gone insta-thick at an oral exam. ‘Up till today, I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about her.’

‘There’s a grapevine. There’s always gossip. You’re above that kind of thing?’

‘Not above it. Just never picked up anything about Conway.’

Mackey sighed, shoulders sagging. Ran a hand through his hair, shook his head. ‘Kid. Stephen.’ His voice had gone gentle. ‘In this gig, you need to make friends. Have to. Otherwise you won’t last.’

‘I’m lasting grand. And I’ve got friends.’

‘Not the kind I’m talking about. You need real friends, kid. Friends who have your back. Who tell you the things you need to know. Who don’t let you prance straight into a shit tornado without even giving you a heads-up.’

‘Like you?’

‘I’ve done OK for you so far. Haven’t I?’

‘I said thanks.’

‘And I’d like to think you meant it. But I don’t know, Stephen. I’m not feeling the love.’

‘If you’re my best buddy,’ I said, ‘go ahead and tell me what you think I need to know about Conway.’

Mackey leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t bothering to smoke his fag; it had done its job. He said, ‘Conway’s a leper, kid. She didn’t mention that?’

‘Hasn’t come up.’ I didn’t ask why she was a leper. He was going to tell me anyway.

‘Well, she’s not a whiner, anyway. I suppose that’s one plus.’ He flicked ash. ‘You’re no thicko. You had to have some clue that Conway’s never going to win Miss Congeniality. You didn’t mind teaming up with that?’

‘Like I said. I’m not looking for a new best friend.’

‘I’m not talking about your social life. Conway: her first week on Murder, she’s bending over writing something on the whiteboard, and this idiot called Roche smacks her arse. Conway whips round, grabs his hand, bends one finger back till his eyes pop out. Tells him next time he touches her, she’ll break it. Roche calls her a bitch. Conway gives his finger one more jerk, Roche yells, Conway lets go of him and goes back to the whiteboard.’

‘I can see how that would make Roche into a leper. Not Conway.’

Mackey laughed out loud. ‘I missed you, kid. I really did. I’d forgotten how cute you are. You’re right: in a perfect squad, that’s how it should work. And in some squads, in some years, it actually would. But Murder’s not a cuddly place right now. They’re not bad lads, most of them, in their own way; just a bit rugby-club, bit in-crowd, bit no-neck. If Conway had said something smart, or laughed along, or grabbed Roche’s arse the next time she caught him bending, she’d’ve been grand. If she’d just made this much effort to fit in. But she didn’t, and now the rest of the squad thinks she’s an uppity ball-breaking humourless bitch.’

‘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 f*ck 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. They act like they can do whatever they want. It doesn’t work like that. Wondered what Mackey thought about his Holly and her friends giving the world the finger.

‘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.’