All He Ever Had 3

Meadows realised that the interview had pulled up, and he switched the tape recorder off, heedless of the proper rules for taking statements. He wouldn't, couldn't subject Mickey to the experience of seeing his halting words being written down.

Mickey gave him a look that would have been curious if all his curiosity hadn't been taken away. 'Guv?'

'I just wanted you to have a break. We've been here' – a quick look at his watch – 'nearly an hour and you're knackered. Anything you say while I've got that off is completely off record. I mean, I'm not putting everything on that tape down, but there's a few more things I wanted to ask you.'

'Yes?' How much more? Please, no more…I asked him that. Please…

'How are you feeling now? Mentally?'

'Mentally?' He pursed his lips. 'Tired, I guess. So tired. An' ashamed – ever so ashamed. Hating myself. I'm not scared though.' No, I'm terrified. 'I'm glad…' I can tell 'bout it all. And that was more than he'd ever be able to say to Meadows.

'Physically?' What's he got to be glad for? Me listening to him? I'd do that for anyone, not just him.

'It hurts where, where…Still hurts.' Mickey clamped his jaws shut for a moment, then shook his head mutely. I can't say it, guv. Can't.

'I'm sorry, Mickey. I said you should have got some-one who knew what to say to take your statement – I can't say anything to help you. I'm sorry, sorry.' More than I can say.

Mickey swallowed hard, let the moment of silence lengthen, half-listening to the chatter and bustle of CID in the general office. One of the men – Phil Hunter? – was sitting on Mickey's desk, telling some story with the accompaniment of hand gestures and laughter. Yesterday morning, I could have laughed with them. 'Guv?'

The Yorkshire man looked up from his morose perusal of a blank page that was easier to look at then Mickey's face. 'Yes?'

'Can I get something to eat now? I mean, before you take the rest of the statement?' Delaying was the only thing Mickey could think of doing then; he knew that he wouldn't be able to eat, but he didn't feel he could talk, either.

'Course. What do you want?'

Mickey vaguely waved his left hand. 'Anything…I ain't eaten since then…'

Meadows rose and left the office, causing the ribald laughter in CID to fall silent and touching his hand to Mickey's shoulder as he walked past. Mickey heard the door close with some relief but the glee he normally would have felt at being left alone in some-one's office with no interruption for at least ten minutes, didn't surface. In the past, I would've loved to be alone here, just to look at everything on his desk. Now…am I ever going to wonder about anything other than where he is again?

He forced himself into an approximation of what he normally would have done, rising to glance at the photographs arranged to face Meadows. Several of the DCI receiving awards, two of his family, a team line up with a cup, and one picture that froze his heart. Scrawled in Meadows' handwriting was 'If leaders believe, then followers trust.' The photograph was one he'd never seen, but he recognised it easily – himself and Meadows with a cuffed suspect from the Bratianniamania case. The case where he had almost died to save Meadows.

What the bloody hell does he mean by that? I mean…Mickey only just managed to replace the picture and sit down before Meadows entered with a tray. I do trust him, yeah. Does he mean that all that strength and confidence is only an act? Is he as weak as me, really?

'Here, Mickey. Got you some sandwiches and crisps. And these.' He tossed a cigarette packet to Mickey. 'Saw you smoking one of Smiffy's yesterday. I don't like 'em, but if they help, then smoke them. Okay?'

'Yeah, thanks.' Mickey fumbled one out and lit up, inhaling the warm smoke that might kill him and stop all the pain. 'Do you want to start again, now?'

'No. Let me eat this.' Meadows indicated his dinner, the smell of which was making Mickey feel ill. 'You need a rest, anyway. No hurry, is there?'

'You've got work to do.'

'You're part of that. You're the victim of a crime; an awful crime. I can take any amount of time over this – and so can you, Mickey. Bravery can only take you so far. You need to slow down.'

'Yes, guv.' Mickey relit his cigarette and watched dispassionately as uniform brought a drunk in. 'Guv, can I ask you something?'

'What?' Meadows spoke through a mouthful of pie casing.

'Do you – do you believe that there's any sort of justice or order to any of this? I mean in this world, as well as the next.'

Meadows stalled for time. 'You're the Christian. You tell me.'

Again, the colour drained from Mickey's face. 'I dunno. I used to think so. I mean, I tried so hard to live good. I did try. I did. And Kate, and me Mum, they didn't ought to have died like they did. An' then…me, what happened to me…Did I deserve that? I tried…'

'You were unlucky, Mickey, that's all. You can't say that anyone deserves what happened to you, can you?'

'I must have done, else it wouldn't have happened to me.' Mickey inhaled deeply, then coughed on the smoke. 'Don't you think so?'

'No, I don't.' Meadows realised that Mickey was questioning his religious beliefs for the first time, and was afraid for him. Faith had been the one thing that Mickey had clung to, when all else had been taken away. What is he left with, without that? Nothing…

'Why me, then, guv? Why me?'

Meadows could almost see the last vestiges of Mickey's faith evaporating. 'You just happened to be there. No more reason than that – it would have happened to any one of us who tried to catch him.' I know why I never believed in a God – in anything that could let this happen to Mickey.

'I killed Chandler. Maybe it's like, evening it all out, or something.'

'Chandler shot himself. You never pulled that trigger, or aimed that barrel at his head, did you?' We did…We both killed him, me and Mickey…

'But I drove him to it. I didn't leave him any other option – I killed a man!' Mickey's voice rose to an anguished wail. 'If this makes it fair…'

'Mickey, I worked with you for Chandler. And nothings happened to me.'

'No, nothing happened to you. Your wife kicked you out and Debbie dumped you and now you're reduced to having it off with a prostitute who won't give up the game for you. Nothing at all!' He regretted the words even as he spoke them, his voice loud enough now to carry to the general office.

'Mickey…' Meadows choked down a rising tide of fury caused by the younger man's words. 'Mickey, this isn't about what happened to me. You're the victim, aren't you? Not me, for God's sake.'

He knew he'd hit a nerve when he attempted to met Mickey's eyes, and the DC looked away. 'I don't believe in God anymore, guv.' He chewed on his lower lip for a minute, and repeated the denial of one of the central tenants of his life so far. 'I don't believe in God.'