by Vince Vogel
“It was just something about my past.”
“But what? ’Cos you just said he was your stepdad. You haven’t told me anything about why he’s involved and why the police suspect that you could be involved with him.”
“Look, man.” David was getting irritated now; nothing he was saying was going through. “I’ve already spent most of last night explaining it to the cops. It was a simple coincidence and that was it. They let me go.”
“But they suspected you,” Simon almost cried, leaning forward across the breakfast bar. “The news said you’d been arrested. Why else would they take you out of the hospital in cuffs?”
“It was nothing but precaution. Look, if they really thought I had anything to do with it, don’t you think I’d still be there?”
“I never said you had anything to do with it, Dave.”
“But you were insinuating it, Sy.”
They gazed at each other, Simon’s broken face twisting with inner rage. It was clear that he too suspected David and that far from sating his paranoia, David’s explanations had merely added fire to his suspicions.
“Why was Micky the only one left alive?” Simon asked, wobbling slightly on his stool.
David had had enough.
“If that’s what you’ve come ’round for, Sy, then I suggest you leave, mate.”
An ominous look bent and twisted the remains of Simon’s face. David stood up from his stool to illustrate the point he was trying to make. Simon stood up too and David observed his hand disappearing around his back. When it was out front again, the fingers were holding a knife that glinted in a blade of sunlight.
“Sit down, Dave,” he said, his eyes bulging from his face.
“What is this?”
“Sit the fuck down!”
David sat back down on his stool, eyes held on the knife.
“You know, Jess and the other girls used to joke about you,” Simon snarled. “Used to say that you’d stare at them and look away when they’d catch you. Said they felt uncomfortable around you.”
“What is this?” David repeated.
“Did something happen with them? Did you touch one of the girls up and then decided to kill them to cover it up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to kill Micky?”
“You’re talking shit, Sy. I never once touched any of those girls. I’ve never touched anyone like that. You’re emotional and angry.”
“DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT I AM!” Simon roared across the kitchen at him. “Did you have to see your boy with no fucking face, huh? I swear to God, if you did it, I’ll fucking kill all of you.”
David’s heart stopped when he heard the door handle turning behind him. Simon’s eyes glanced over his shoulder and then back to him. Both men quickly leapt towards the door, but Simon, already standing up, beat him to it, grabbing the teenage boy the moment he came into the kitchen.
David came to a stop as Simon flipped Micheal around and held the knife to his throat.
“Sy,” the boy gasped, “what the hell’s goin’ on?”
“Just be calm, Mick,” David said, though his own heart raced ten beats a second. Turning his eyes to Simon, he added, “Simon, you’ve got everything wrong. You’re about to make a terrible mistake.”
But it didn’t appear to persuade the grieving father. He was currently mad and looked willing to cross the final line.
“Look your boy in the eyes and say goodbye,” he said in a cool tone. “See what it’s like to lose a kid.”
“You’re insane, Simon, if you think this is anything to do with me. He killed more last night. Burned that building down with all those bodies. Killed that cop. I was in a fucking cell when that happened. How could I be the guy? I swear to you on everything that means anything to me, I never hurt those kids. I never shot anyone.”
Simon glared at him over Micky’s shoulder, the teen looking horrified.
“You know what, Dave?” he said. “I just don’t believe you.”
David’s heart froze and everything seemed to stand still. Micky’s eyes almost burst out of their sockets, Simon gritted his teeth and went to maneuver the knife. Everything stopped and then changed in a split second. Crashing glass shattered the air. David leaped on Simon and he gave no resistance. In fact, he was already falling and David merely landed on top of him, Micky falling to the side. David saw red. He positioned himself on top of Simon, whose startled eyes stared up at him, and began raining punches down on him, screaming at him, tears pouring out of his eyes.
As he did, however, he made two observations. One, he saw blood begin to pour out of Simon’s neck. Two, he heard Micky’s voice calling him.
“Dad! Get off him. He’s been shot.”
David stopped and gazed down. There was a lot of blood coming out of Simon’s neck, a huge gash there. His face went completely white and the eyes went dead. David looked at his hands and saw that he was covered in blood. It was also spreading out and covering the tiles of the floor.
He turned to see Micky standing next to him. Then the hole in the window pane. Across his garden, he saw the figure from earlier come away from the open window of his neighbor’s house.
David turned back to Simon to make sure. The knife was on the floor and he felt the need to pick it up before standing and coming away from the body.
“What just happened?” Micky asked.
“I have no idea.”
75
It was absolute chaos when they arrived on David Burke’s street. He’d come running out of the house up to the cordon covered in blood and grabbed one of the attending officers. The cameras had gone into a fury, reporters pressing up against the line, stretching over each other to get footage of Burke running back with the police officers.
When Jack and Alice arrived, they found David Burke in the lounge. The door was ajar slightly and they peeked inside. He was sitting with his son, both of them shaking, hunched forward on the couch while they spoke to a liaison officer.
They moved along the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. The body was in the middle of the floor, a pool of dark ruby flowing out of him.
“Sniper shot. Side of the neck,” a police photographer said.
“It come from there?” Jack asked, pointing at the hole in the window.
“Yeah. House at the end of the garden. Upstairs window.”
Jack walked across the tiles, around the body, and gazed out through the hole. The window opposite was open and he could see the forensics boys messing about inside.
“It proves that David Burke is one of the keys in all this,” Jack said as he stared out.
“At least that’s what he wants us to think,” Alice replied while she stood in the doorway, gazing at the body.
She recognized him from the identification. It had been him who swore his son could have any tattoo he ever wanted from now on.
Her phone went off. It was Lange.
Reentering the hallway, she answered it.
“What’s up?”
“We’ve found Matt.”
“Matt who?”
“The bloke that led Toisy Crowe to the flats. We showed her some arrest photographs of men that matched her description. Turns out he wasn’t lying about his name. It’s Mathew Brown. She’s identified him from an old arrest photo. I had someone send it to Tina Shaw and she’s confirmed it, too.”
“Have you sent anyone to him yet?”
“I’m there now, ma’am. But he’s not home and the neighbors say he’s not been back for a while. Not since the other night.”
“He knows we’re coming. Put an arrest warrant out for him. I want him found.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
She put the phone down.
“Who was that?” Jack stood behind her at the kitchen door.
“George Lange,” she replied. “Says he’s identified one of the men from the burned down brothel. But the guy’s gone underground.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mathew Brown.”
“I’ll give Harry a call.”
They entered the lounge together. David Burke gazed up at them the moment they stepped inside. His face was a mixture of anger and bewilderment.
“Why is this man doing this to my family?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack replied, taking a seat opposite. “Take us through what happened.”
Both Micky and David explained about Simon turning up out of the blue. About him blaming David. Pulling the knife. Grabbing Micky. Then the shot.
“Okay,” Alice said, after they’d spoken. Then turning to Micky, she added, “Do you mind leaving us alone for a moment, Micheal?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” she replied sharply.
The liaison officer led Micky away. Jack heard them going upstairs.
The second he was sure the teen was far out of earshot, Jack asked, “What does the name Robert Kline mean to you?”
Frowning, David Burke shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve never heard it before.”
Jack gazed across the room at him, eyes narrowed at his target. David Burke appeared resolute. Jack was sure he was telling the truth.
“Look,” David added, “what’s happening with Gale and Roger?”
“Who’s that?”
“The neighbors. The house the shot came from.”
“They’re okay,” Alice said.
“Did Tommy Lewis ever mention Robert Kline?” Jack asked next.
“I was a boy back then. I spent most of my time hanging out in my room or on my bike. Not listening to what Tommy ever said.”
“What about people he had around?”
“I don’t know. I was eleven when I saw him for the last time. I’m sure he had people around, but I can hardly be expected to remember them by name.”
“Well, you need to think,” Alice put to him. “Because this guy clearly has some type of interest in you and your family. He has some connection with you and we need to find out what.”
“I have no clue who or what this can be,” David Burke answered with a despairing frown. “Don’t you think I’ve been wracking my brains this whole time? Last night in the cell, after you told me about Tommy Lewis, I spent the whole time awake trying to think what it could be. Who it is. If it’s to do with me. But I’ve got nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
His eyes implored them.
“Sure,” Jack agreed, nodding. He turned to Alice and added, “We better get to the neighbors.”
“Can you tell them I’m sorry?” David asked them.
76
Alice had lied to David when she said the neighbors were okay. It hadn’t been to protect him or to conceal some piece of information they wanted withheld. No. It was because she couldn’t be bothered to go into details she didn’t have.
They entered the front door of the property past the police constable who stood guard, nodding to him. They went straight upstairs. In a back bedroom, the forensics operatives were already busy. They’d dusted the whole of the window and its frame. It stood across from the door and the view of the house opposite was the first thing the detectives saw when they entered the room.
They next turned left.
He’d placed the couple on the bed. It’s where he’d done it. They were tied up, tape across their mouths. Like Jonny’s family, he’d stabbed the husband and wife in the chest, two neat horizontal slices with blood dripping out of them over both hearts. They reminded Jack of thin-lipped mouths.
“He even killed the dog,” one of the operatives said as he dusted the bodies. “We found it in the kitchen.”
Ignoring the operative, Jack turned to Alice. “He came back to watch him. Then he saved Micky. Why? What has he got to do with David Burke?”
“The link is there somewhere,” Alice said. “We just need to find it.”
Her phone went off. It was DS Ryan Stanford. She’d put him in charge of a team gathering intel on David Burke, Tommy Lewis and Robert Kline, looking for patterns between them.
“Ryan,” she answered, “what have you got?”
“We’ve just had a look at David Burke’s birth certificate, ma’am. He was home birthed. Which was rare back in 1989.”
“Who birthed him?”
“No midwife. The birth was assisted by David’s grandmother, Pauline Chalmers. She’s the biological mother of Carolyn Burke—Carolyn took the name ‘Burke’ from her father, who left them when she was only three. Another thing we found. There’s no record of hospital or doctors visits by Carolyn during the pregnancy.”
“It’s probably because she was fifteen and trying to hide it.”
“Yeah. Do you want one of us to go see Pauline Chalmers?”
“No. Leave it with DS Sheridan and myself.”“Okay, ma’am.”
She put the phone down and turned to Jack, who was watching her.
“Carolyn Burke gave birth at home,” she said. “Helped by her mother Pauline Chalmers.”
Jack went white at the mention of the name.
“Sorry?” he muttered. “Who’s the mother?”
“Pauline Chalmers.”
Jack’s bones turned to ice. The room spun a little and then settled.
“That’s the connection,” he said.
“What connection?”
“To Robert Kline.”
Alice widened her eyes at him. “Explain,” she said.
“Pauline Chalmers—if it’s the same woman—was Kline’s girlfriend back during the Prowler killings. She gave him several alibis and we had to threaten her with prison to get her to retract them.”
Alice was staring at him.
“You’re saying that David Burke’s grandmother was going out with Robert Kline?”
“I’m saying exactly that.”
77
“What do you know about your grandmother, Pauline Chalmers?” Alice asked David Burke as the detectives came back into the lounge.
“Not much,” Burke replied. “Fragments, mostly. I know Mum hated her.”
His face had taken on a distinctly haunted look with the mention of the past. Alice had witnessed it the day before during the interview and the name of his grandmother appeared to raise the same desolate look as the mention of his mother and Tommy Lewis.
“What else?” she said.
“I’ve only met the woman a handful of times and have to agree with Mum; she was horrible. She raised my mother with a fist and blamed her for her father disappearing when Mum was only three. I mean, if you ever met Pauline, you’d probably understand why he ran. It’s why I can’t blame Mum for being no good herself. She had no one to show her how to be decent. Only show her how to make mistakes. How to be horrible. She tried her best. Tried not to be a monster. Showed me love. Never hit me or abused me in that way. I loved my mum for that and still do.”
“Is that why your mum married Tommy Lewis?” Jack asked. “To get away from her mum?”
“Yeah. When she used to get really pissed, she’d cry about her mother hittin’ her and not washin’ her. Letting her boyfriends wander into her own daughter’s room. Things like that. In the end, Mum’s only choice was to run away.”
“Did she ever tell you who your father was?”
David Burke frowned.
“No. I begged her as a boy. Begged her as a man, too. But she would never tell me his name. She said I was born out of love and that’s all I should know. That it was a boy she knew for only a month. A boy who got sick and died. That’s it. Always sounded like bullshit to me. I’ve screamed in her face before—screamed at her to tell me. But that’s the best she’ll ever give me.”
78
The taxi driver was parked on the side of the road, reading a book when a shadow cast itself across him. Looking sideways out of the window, he saw a tall man dressed oddly for that time of year and carrying a large holdall. The driver gazed at him incredulously for a moment. His entire getup was strange: black fatigues, black boots done up to the shins, a big coat that loo
ked like it contained several more layers of clothing underneath, the thing bulging out at the chest and fastened all the way to the neck.
“Oxford Circus,” the man grunted.
“Sure thing,” the driver replied, reaching over and unlocking the back doors. “You wanna put the bag in the boot?”
The man ignored him and climbed in the back, laying the bag on his lap like a sleeping child. The driver shrugged, slid his book into the side of the door and started the engine.
London rapidly grew around them and they found themselves on the thick slipstream of traffic that wanders like cattle across the very center of the city, stuck behind the dust-ridden back of a not-so-white van. Someone had drawn a pair of eyes in the muck and the passenger couldn’t help staring at them from the back. They moved along Hyde Park, alongside a long iron fence with clutters of stalls selling paintings and other works of art, some trinket stalls for the tourists mingled within them. Beyond the fence lay an expanse of green and trees.
“You hear about that fire last night?” the driver asked into the back.
“No, I didn’t. What happened?”
“Bloody young girls. Found loads of them in the ash of the place and some what ran away. It was a brothel for underage girls, they’re sayin’. Some nutter—same as what killed them kids in the woods—went there and murdered them. What’s the world comin’ to, eh?”
“It’s natural point,” the man in the back coolly answered; “savagery. No more beating around the bush. Man should embrace who he is. Stop pretending he’s any better than the snake who snatches the rat.”
“You don’t think that’s natural, do ya? Child prostitutes bein’ burned an’ killed.”
“Cruelty has always existed in society. Sometimes hidden. Sometimes out in the open.”
“But that don’t make it right.”
“I think cruelty builds character.”
The driver glanced up in his rearview mirror.
“Yeah,” he replied in a mutter. “Well, somethin’ like that. Teaches them respect, I guess.”