There isnt much in the way of traffic: just a few vans making deliveries before the shops open; empty buses grumbling along dark, empty streets; one or two poor sods tramping their way to work through the falling snow.
And then were out of the city centre, heading over the Calderwell Bridge. The Kings River sparkles like a vast slug beneath us, oozing its way out to the North Sea.
Kingsmeath isnt the nicest part of Oldcastle. Its a sprawl of council semis and tenement blocks thrown up in the sixties and thats what they look like: concrete vomit. No wonder theyre all crooks and junkies.
PC Richardson takes a left past Douglas on the Mound. The churchs spire is covered in scaffolding, its walls covered in graffiti, its graveyard covered in snow. All the way out here and hes barely said a word. Maybe the real Richardsons been kidnapped by aliens and this is their half-arsed attempt at a replacement.
It takes us five minutes to find Denmuir Gardens: a dirt-streaked row of semi-detached houses with sagging roofs and satellite dishes. Halfway down, the street opens up: a mouldy playground sitting beside the single-storey concrete and rust-coloured lump that is KINGSMEATH PRIMARY SCHOOL.
Richardson parks the car and kills the engine while I pull out my handset and call control. Oscar Charlie, this is Charlie Hotel Six, were in position.
The speaker crackles. Roger that. You have a go as soon as all other units are in position. Good luck.
I stick it back in my pocket, then settle back in my seat, watching the house. The other unmarked CID cars and the dog handlers van should be here in a minute.
Another big sigh from the passenger seat.
I smack Richardson on the arm. Youve got a face like my mother-in-laws arse. Who died?
He looks at me, then stares out at the snowflakes drifting down from the sky like flecks of gold in the streetlights sulphurous glow. His eyes glisten, then a tear rolls down his cheek, his shoulders quiver, and the floodgates open. He sniffs. Wipes his eyes on the back of his sleeve. Apologizes for being so soft.
Jesus. Thats not awkward, is it? For a moment, I just sit there. Then the man-management training kicks in and I reach over and squeeze his shoulder.
He looks at me, bottom lip quivering. I got a letter from my doctor. He sniffs and wipes at his eyes again. Shite, Im sorry. . . I . . . I gave blood last week.
He takes a deep shuddering breath. Im HIV positive.
And I know its stupid, and I know its wrong, but I dont want to touch him anymore. Because Im a shitty human being. Richardsons been on my team for years, he deserves better.
I squeeze his shoulder again. Are you OK? Its a stupid question, but what am I supposed to do?
Ive never cheated on Sandra, I swear. It mustve been . . . I dont know. . .
In our job we come into contact with all sorts of sketchy bastards and their bodily fluids. All it takes is one drop of blood and youre screwed. Poor bastard.
Whats the FMO say?
I. . . Richardson hangs his head. I only found out Wednesday . . . havent told anyone. Not even Sandra. Oh God. The tears were back. What am I going to tell her? What if Ive infected her? What if Ive given her AIDS?
What the hell do you say to someone in that situation? Cheer up, could be worse? I try for the shoulder squeeze again, but it doesnt help, he just cries all the harder. . .
Kilo Mike Two and Three finally arrive from the local Kingsmeath station.
Richardson takes one last shuddering breath and wipes his eyes. Trying to make out hes all right.
I fasten the Velcro on my bulletproof vest. I want you to stay here, OK? Keep an eye on the house while we go in.
No. Im OK. You need the manpower.
I shake my head. Not that much. Youve had a shock. You. . . Deep breath. What if something happens and you infect someone? Look, Im sorry: I know its shitty, but youve got to stay in the car.
No, I need to come with you, dont-
Believe me, Id much rather have you with me than some of these KM Muppets, but you have to wait in the car. You know you do.
But-
We can talk about it when I get back, OK? Thain can take the prisoners back to FHQ, and you and me will go grab a bacon buttie and talk, OK?
But-
No. Youre staying put whether you like it or not.
He goes back to staring at the falling snow. Sulking.
I cant really blame him.
A burgundy van pulls up in front of Kilo Mike Two the dogs are here. Thats my cue.
I climb out into the chilly morning air.
HIV. What a great end to the week. Still, after today Im off till Tuesday. Three days of trudging around the three million relatives we never see at any other time of the year. Because everyone wants to see the baby. Hell, Im its dad and half the time even I dont want to see the little bugger.
DS Thains waiting for me by the back of the dog van, dressed in firearms team black, machine pistol cradled against his chest. Morning, sir. He eyes my lumberjack costume. Ready when you are. Hes one of these career policemen hot-footing it up the promotion ladder. But hes a nice guy, good cop too: efficient, not an arse-kisser like a lot of these fast-track wankers. Which makes it all the more unfair to take the piss out of his red hair.
But I do it anyway. Jesus, Thain, something horribles happened to your head! Oh, wait, its your hair.
But I do it anyway. Jesus, Thain, something horribles happened to your head! Oh, wait, its your hair.
He smiles. Bugger off, sir. Sounds a bit bunged up, as if hes got a cold.
I grin back at him. After PC Richardson and his cloud of impending doom, its a bit of a relief.
DS Thain sniffs. Whats the plan?
Surround the place. Half the troops round the back, everyone else round the front. Two from each team go in, the rest wait outside in case Black makes a run for it. I look up at the house, then back at the Canine Unit where the black nose of a police Alsatian is making snotty whorls on the glass. And were taking one of the dogs in with us too. Just in case.
Sir. He marches off to get everyone in place, red hair glowing in the gloom.
I give Stephanie a ring and ask if she wants anything from the shops while Im out. Still making the effort.
Stephanie doesnt want anything. But she almost sounds happy I called. We chat for a bit about whos getting what for Christmas. No fights. No sniping. Just two grownups having a conversation. Who knows: maybe if we can make it through to the New Year theres hope for us after all. We could-
DS Thain is back, giving me the thumbs up.
I nod, then shift the phone to my other ear. Sorry, I gotta go. See you at four.
Love you.
Love you too. Because I still do.
And then its time to get going.
Life is beginning to stir in Denmuir Gardens: lights sparkling on in lounge windows, bedrooms and kitchens. But not number fourteen. Dillon Black is obviously having a bit of a lie-in.
Hes about to get rudely awakened.
Right: everyone make sure your partners got their vest on theres no record of Black owning a gun, but were not taking any chances. I expect Black to resist, but hes not an idiot. He pulls a gun and well blow his arse off. He puts up a fight and the dogs will tear him a new one. His only choice is to come quietly.
The firearms team check their Heckler and Koch MP5 machine pistols and Glock 9mms.
I want this nice and clean, people. No heroics, no shooting things for the fun of it. In and out: no one hurt. Understand?
They Yes sir! me, then everyone trots off into place, coughing and sneezing as they go. You can always tell when its Christmas in Oldcastle because every bugger on day shift is dying from colds and flu.
Thain nods towards the car Richardsons sitting in. Not letting him out to play?
I shrug. Hes not feeling well.
Oh aye? Thain blows his nose, just to make sure I know that hes not feeling too hot either. Tough. He racks a round into the chamber of his machine pistol.
I give the signal.
The battering ram rips the front door right off its hinges. BOOM. It falls back into the hallway in a flurry of splintered wood. The place is in darkness, and its cold too like the central heating hasnt come on yet. Which makes sense: the kind of business Dillon Black runs doesnt keep nine-to-five hours. It happens after dark in deserted car parks and warehouses.
I lead the way, stepping into the hall as another BOOM sounds from round the back: the second team coming in. Thain and I charge up the stairs in the darkness, following the glow from the torches strapped to our MP5s.
POLICE, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!
First doors a bathroom, seconds a box room full of DVD players and cases of whisky, thirds a bedroom empty and so is number four. No sign of anyone.
Thain sweeps his torch beam back and forth. Where the hell is he?
Check the attic, we might get lucky. But we wont: Dillon Blacks not here.
Theres nothing but junk in the attic, so we check all the bedroom cupboards then head back downstairs. Theres a small clump of constables at the foot of the stairs, hands in their pockets, helmets tucked under their arms, arguing about whether or not Oldcastle Warriors are the worst football team in Scotland. Passing round a packet of cigarettes. Theyve come up empty handed as well.
Thain peers into the lounge. Someone mustve tipped him off.
Wouldnt be the first time.
I shrug and wander through. Its a big enough room: widescreen TV, fancy stereo, one of the DVD recorders from the stash upstairs . . . but somethings wrong. The chairs are all turned to face a blank wall with a nail in it. Like theyve been looking at something that doesnt hang there anymore.
Thain turns in place, sniffing the air. Can you smell something funny?
Great. Bad enough the bastards do it behind my back, I never thought Thain would be the kind of arsehole to play it up in front of the troops.
I poke him in the chest. Its not my bloody fault, OK? The baby was sick on me this morning, he peed all down my suit. I didnt have time to shower! You bunch of-
My phone starts ringing. I drag it out. WHAT?
Theres a sccccchrickt from the hall: the sound of a sly fag being lit.
A pause from the other end of the line, then, Sir, its Richardson. You have to get out of there.
Thains frowning, No, its not you, its more . . . can you smell gas?
Sir, I mean it, you-
Oh, for Gods sake, Richardson: Im not telling you again. Stay in the bloody car!