The Last 10 Seconds

The problem with working undercover is you don’t get much of an opportunity to build relationships, either with colleagues or socially. You spend so much time living a lie that you begin to forget who you really are and what makes you tick. It was close to a year since I’d had a girlfriend, nearer five since there’d been anyone serious. Sometimes I thought about quitting undercover work and going back into CID, or maybe putting in to join Dougie MacLeod’s murder investigation team. But I knew I’d get bored if I did, because I’d miss the buzz that undercover work provided.

I reminded myself of that as I bought a drink at the bar and sauntered over towards the mêlée of coppers.

Simon spotted me straight away, coming over pint in hand and putting a friendly arm on my shoulder. ‘Hello, mate, haven’t seen you in a while. What brings you here?’

I told him I was just passing through, and he pulled me over to the main group. I caught Dougie’s eye and he smiled, with just a hint of awkwardness, and put out a hand. ‘Sean. How’s life at CO10?’

I told him things were OK and that we’d had a few decent results recently, pleased he hadn’t heard I was on long-term sick leave.

He nodded, looking distracted. ‘Well, it’s good to see you,’ he said, and I knew then, with real disappointment, that he was bullshitting, that he didn’t think it was good to see me. I wanted to tell him that I’d done all right in the end, even though the events of that day were still at the forefront of my mind, but there didn’t seem to be much point if he wasn’t listening, and anyway, Simon was already introducing me to several of his more recent colleagues.

I did the usual glad-handing thing as Simon explained to them I was now a big-time CO10 operative bringing down organized crime’s Mr Bigs. He then told me that they’d had a bit of a result themselves, catching the killer known as the Night Creeper. I was familiar enough with the case. It had had plenty of coverage in the media, and I knew that Dougie’s team had been heavily involved in the hunt for him because Simon had told me about it the last time we’d seen each other for a drink.

I talked about it with Simon and his colleagues for a few minutes, and it was clear they were all pretty elated that they’d nicked such a high-profile suspect, and that there seemed to be enough evidence to secure a conviction, which is always the hard part. I was pleased for them, but I also couldn’t avoid the feeling that I was an impostor. This was their result, not mine. Their celebration. Simon might have been making an effort to make me feel welcome, but it wasn’t really working, and I found myself quickly growing bored. And with the boredom came the reminder that I was a man potentially in a lot of trouble.

It was then that I saw her, standing on the edge of another group of people I didn’t know, looking a little like me – someone who didn’t belong. I recognized her instantly, of course. Tina Boyd was one of the most high-profile police officers around, having had the kind of career that made mine look uneventful. Kidnapped. Shot on two separate occasions. And last year, she’d run down and killed a fleeing suspect who later turned out to be responsible for a string of killings and a major terrorist plot. I’d heard that she’d joined Dougie MacLeod’s team, and I remember Simon admitting grudgingly that she was a good detective, although she was also a bit up herself.

I watched her as she walked towards the pub’s exit, reaching into the pocket of her suit for a pack of cigarettes. She was an attractive woman with classic Celtic features of dark hair and pale skin, but there was also something serious about her, as if she neither smiled that much nor suffered fools gladly. She was frowning as she left the pub, walking purposefully, and people instinctively moved out of her way.

I’ve never been the kind of guy to go for the right woman, so I moved effortlessly away from the conversation, pulling out my own cigarettes. I could no longer see Dougie, and Simon didn’t notice me go. He was too busy talking to a young Spanish-looking woman at the bar, and getting in way too close to her.

When I got outside, Tina Boyd was leaning against a wall, smoking and looking deep in thought.

‘Hi,’ I said, lighting a cigarette and walking over. ‘I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Sean Egan,’ I told her, using my real name for the first time in what felt like weeks. ‘I used to work with Dougie MacLeod in CID.’

She turned to me and I noticed she had eyes the colour of mahogany. ‘I know,’ she said with the hint of a smile, putting out a hand. ‘I’m Tina.’

‘How do you know I used to work with Dougie?’ I asked as we shook.

‘He told me.’

I was pleased. It meant she’d been asking about me. ‘Is that right?’

‘He said I should keep away from you. He said you were trouble.’ Her expression had turned serious, but I got the feeling that she didn’t care whether I was or not.