by Matt Brolly
He landed hard, his right knee jarring on the concrete. He edged along the fence, and stopped as he caught a reflection off the windows of a small yard office. The reflection was of a nervous looking man standing leg locked, a gun held in shaking arms pointing to the space Lynch was about to enter.
‘Rob. It’s Samuel. Put the gun down now,’ said Lynch. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Rob let off a shot through sheer panic.
‘It’s my house,’ said Rob, his voice as shaky as the hands holding the gun.
‘No one is disputing that, Rob. Put the gun down and we can talk. Where is Sally?’
‘How do I know if I can trust you?’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid, Rob. I appreciate you’re protecting Sally but why the hell would I come here to hurt you? I was the one who warned you. I told you to leave in the first place.’ With a sigh, Lynch took out his own gun. ‘Put the gun down, Rob, this is how accidents happen.’
Lynch watched the indecision on the face of his ex-wife’s lover. The stubborn bastard was yet to drop his weapon and Lynch feared he would shoot if he walked into the yard, either by reflex or some warped sense of protection.
A third voice came from the shadows. ‘Drop the weapon, Rob,’ it said.
Sally.
Rob turned and looked towards the back of the house. He lowered the gun to his side.
‘We can trust him, Rob. He was Daniel’s father,’ said Sally, speaking to Rob as if he was in shock.
‘Rob, I’m going to walk over but I need you to drop the gun completely. Do you understand?’
‘Do as he says, darling,’ said Sally.
Rob dropped the gun like a child being forced to drop their favorite toy. Sally rushed forwards and wrapped her arms around him. Lynch, fighting a stab of jealousy, moved into the yard. Before he had a chance to speak Sally was onto him.
‘This is the end, Sam. What the hell have you done?’ Tears streamed down her face as she stared at him, her eyes wild and accusatory, enlarged veins pushing at the skin of her neck.
‘Has something happened?’ said Lynch, surprised by the onslaught.
Sally and Rob clung to each other as if fighting gravity. ‘There,’ she said, nodding towards the patio table. ‘Someone dropped them off, said they were for you but that we should take a look.’
Lynch edged towards the table and the A4 manila envelope. He stared at the innocuous looking object, his pulse racing as he contemplated what evils lurked within. For the second time in recent memory, he gazed at his shaking hands as if they were betraying him as he lifted the envelope and reached within for its contents.
He shielded his body from the lovers as he began to cry. His chest convulsed as he flicked through image after image of Daniel. In each picture he was wearing the same clothes, the same confused look on his face as if he was pleading to the camera. Lynch pictured his son calling for his parents as some stranger took the photographs and he fell to his knees, an inconsolable despair overcoming him.
He didn’t know how long he stayed that way for. The vagaries of time disappeared as a rekindled grief took over his senses. He could have been there for hours before Sally placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered soft words to him. With Rob’s help, Lynch found himself lifted to his feet and then onto a chair. He sipped at some iced water and gazed at Sally and Rob, the looks of incrimination all but eradicated.
‘That was what he was wearing the day he went missing,’ said Sally, her eyes red-raw.
Lynch drank some more water, trying to process what had happened. He rubbed his eyes, trying his best to switch off his emotions. ‘Who gave you these?’ he asked.
‘They were delivered through the letterbox,’ said Sally.
‘You didn’t see the person who delivered them?’
‘No. Jesus, what’s going on, Sam? I feel like we’re back to where we were. I’ll never forget Daniel, you know that, but this? I’m just not sure that I can, Sam.’
She clung to Rob, who failed to make eye contact with him but said, ‘tell us what is happening, Samuel. You owe Sally that much at least.’
He told them as much as he felt able from Lennox appearing at his house, to the call from the Controller, omitting anything he considered would frighten either of them more.
‘Why now?’ said Sally.
It was a good question. Had the catalyst been Razinski or had the Controller been planning this from the beginning? ‘I’m not sure.’
Sally’s eyes welled up as she leant towards him. ‘I need to know, Sam, and don’t bullshit me. Do you think Daniel is alive?’
Lynch choked down his tears as he remembered what Razinski had told him.
You wouldn’t recognize your son now. The boy you know is gone.
He didn’t want to give her false hope but it was too late for that. The pictures of Daniel had brought everything back for her, the grief she’d battled through, the guilt and anguish. She’d never fully recovered from Daniel’s disappearance but she’d at least come to terms with it. He went to speak but stopped until he regained his composure.
He exchanged a look with his ex-wife, the first real glance they’d shared since his arrival at their house. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘yes, I believe he is.’
26
The bullpen was an unwelcoming place the following day, a cold silence accompanying Rose’s walk to the incident room.
McBride didn’t look up as she entered the room. ‘Boss,’ he said.
Rose sighed. Her night had been restless. She’d tried Lynch four more times but his phone had gone straight to voicemail without ringing. It was likely he felt the phone was compromised and had jettisoned it. She now had no way of locating him unless he switched on the tracker device.
He was missing and it was her fault. Pouring coffee, she marveled at the detail of the two maps covering nearly every inch of wall space in the room. Each pin represented a missing person and Lynch had prepared a file for them all.
‘Rose,’ said McBride, holding his phone in the air. ‘We’ve had some Intel recovered from the attack at the compound. Some closed circuit video we thought destroyed. It’s being sent over now.’
Five minutes later, the files arrived on McBride’s computer. The attack at the compound felt like a lifetime ago. So much had happened since. Rose was surprised by the clarity of the images. Three assailants, each wearing gas masks, appeared at the third checkpoint deep within the compound, executing the waiting guards with military precision. Rose recalled the sight of the guards as she’d exited the compound with Lynch. She continued watching, transfixed as two of the masked assailants removed canisters and launched them into the main area of the compound. The three men waited for two minutes before making their way into the mist, automatic guns held out in front of them as the picture hazed over.
McBride played the video at double speed. The image appeared frozen apart from the swirling smoke clouding the room, until fifteen minutes later when the three men returned. Rose lowered her eyes remembering the damage the men had caused.
‘You were still inside at this point?’ asked McBride.
‘Yes,’ said Rose.
Six minutes later, Rose appeared on the screen followed by Lynch.
‘You gave him a weapon?’
‘Working with him was my only chance at that point.’
The recording finished and McBride started it from the beginning. ‘No sign of Balfour.’
Rose wanted to keep an open mind but with Collins’ testimony, she had to believe Balfour was the insider.
‘Do you think they let you escape?’ said McBride, uncomfortable with the silence.
It had crossed Rose’s mind. ‘To what end?’
‘And why did they let Razinski live? It’s one hell of an oversight considering how precise they were everywhere else.’
‘Razinski was as good as dead. He was in and out of consciousness, covered in wounds. He wasn’t going to survive more than minutes.’
McBride nodded but looked
unconvinced. She didn’t begrudge him his suspicions. She couldn’t believe they’d staged it so Lynch could speak to Razinski before leaving, but it was conceivable they’d allowed her and Lynch to survive.
‘Maybe they wanted survivors to report what had happened?’ said McBride.
Rose had once tracked a serial killer who’d always left a witness. It was a form of power. It recorded the destruction, and left the observer always looking over their shoulder waiting for the killer to return. She agreed with McBride’s assertion. An oversight from such seasoned operatives seemed unlikely.
Rose’s phone rang, the noise startling her out of remembrance. It was Abigail. ‘I need to get this. Speak to the tech team and go through every second of this footage. There must be something missing,’ she said, leaving the incident room.
‘Abi,’ she said, finding a vacant interview room where she could speak to her sister alone.
There was no response and Rose’s initial reaction was one of panic, the events of the last few days putting her on edge. She took a deep breath. ‘Abi,’ she repeated, ‘you there?’
The sound of gentle sobbing filtered through the phone. Her sister went to speak, her voice high and breaking.
‘Take a breath, honey,’ said Rose.
‘It’s Mum,’ came the faraway voice.
Time stopped as Rose waited for Abigail to elaborate.
‘She’s had a stroke. A big one by all accounts.’
‘Where are you?’ said Rose, fighting her emotions.
‘We’re at the hospital. Can you come?’ said Abigail.
The question was hurtful though she didn’t blame her sister for her asking it. She hadn’t been the best daughter or sister of late, so why would Abigail presume anything had changed?
‘I’m leaving now,’ she said.
Rose drove to Austin in a vacuum. She’d told McBride she would return as soon as she was able but didn’t offer an explanation. Every guilty feeling she’d ever had concerning her mother replayed in her mind as she drove. The time when she was eight and she’d scribbled her name onto her bedroom wall in pencil, the times she’d said “I hate you” during teenage arguments, when she’d stayed out all night following a high school party, the look of relief, anger, and betrayal on her mother’s face forever etched into her mind. However, most of the guilt was reserved for the last few years where Rose had separated from her family, her mother in particular. It didn’t matter that it was fear keeping her away. She’d acted selfishly, and that could never be undone. Her mother had suffered a stroke, could be dying, and the last time she’d had a chance to see her she’d made her excuses and avoided the journey.
Abigail was in the main reception area of the hospital. They embraced without words. Rose clung hard onto her sister, Abigail’s wiry frame holding her with the same intensity. Eventually they let go of each other, both smiling as they wiped away tears.
‘Let’s go see Mum,’ said Abigail. There were no words of recrimination and for that Rose was thankful.
They caught the elevator to the fourth floor and Rose followed behind her younger sister, like a child following her parent, to the ward where her mother was resting. Abigail stopped by the entrance. ‘She’s not in a good way, Sandra,’ she said. ‘Much worse than normal.’
Abigail was trying to protect her but nothing she could say would stop her going through those doors. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Show me.’
Rose caught the tremor in her sister’s hand as she led her through to her mother’s room. ‘Mum, Sandra is here,’ said Abigail.
Rose stood at the edge of the bed staring at the skeletal frame beneath the bedclothes. The figure bore no resemblance to her mother. She’d last seen her two months ago, and although she hadn’t recognized Rose she’d at least been in relative good health.
‘She’s been losing a lot of weight recently,’ said Abigail, noting Rose’s confusion.
Rose approached the bed and placed her hands on the twig-like structure of her mother’s arm. Her skin was yellow, laced with patches of white as if her skin had been peeled away. A thick plastic tube protruded from her mouth and Rose fought the urge to pull it free, the foreign object having an unnatural hold on her mother. ‘Mum,’ she said, as if asking a question.
The body didn’t move, and Rose glanced towards Abigail as if her sister held all the answers. ‘She hasn’t been responsive since they brought her in.’
‘Who found her?’ asked Rose, taking her hands from the paper-thin skin of her mother’s arm.
‘One of the nurses. We’re not sure how long she was out before they found her.’
The nursing home hadn’t called her and although she understood why – Abigail dealt with everything concerning her mother’s care –it still bothered her she hadn’t been notified. ‘When will she come out of this?’ she demanded.
‘They’re not sure. We need to discuss some things, Sandra.’
‘Such as?’ said Rose, hearing the defensiveness in the tone.
Abigail lowered her eyes. ‘Such as whether or not we let them resuscitate if this happens again.’
‘You want to get away,’ said Abigail.
They’d moved to one of the hospital’s coffee shops. The haunted faces of patients and their loved ones surrounded Rose as she sipped a tasteless black coffee, her sister staring at a full cup of mint tea. Abigail’s initial magnanimous mood had all but vanished, her tone now accusatory.
‘What does that mean?’ said Rose.
‘Ever since you’ve arrived, you’ve wanted to leave. Typical Sandra behavior, can never stay for the difficult stuff.’
‘Now’s not the time, Abi. We’re both upset.’
Her sister sat stone-faced, glaring at her. ‘Go then.’
‘I don’t want to go.’
‘It’s fine. I can deal with it. There’s nothing you can do and I’m sure there is an important case you must be working on.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Rose.
‘You always have an important case to work on. That’s why you never visit Mum in the first place.’
Rose winced as she took another sip of coffee. She hadn’t thought about the case once since she’d arrived at the hospital but much of what Abigail said was correct. She was failing as a daughter and now it was too late.
‘That’s not why I don’t visit, Abi.’
‘No?’
Her sister’s tone hadn’t softened. It was the wrong time to have the conversation but Abigail clearly wouldn’t be moved. ‘I realize it’s wrong, Abi, but I can’t stand to see Mum that way. It’s as if it isn’t her.’ Rose was her own fiercest critic and she acknowledged the selfishness in her words.
‘So, you just want to abandon her. Give up on her?’
‘Of course not, Abi, but it used to destroy me seeing her like that. She didn’t even know my name.’
Rose saw the redness in her sister’s eyes but didn’t go to comfort her. It would be the wrong move at the moment.
‘Don’t you think I feel that way sometimes, Sandra? Jesus, you’re unbelievable. What gives you the right to even say that? She’s your Mother. You wouldn’t be who you are if it wasn’t for her and that’s how you repay her? She brought us up practically on her own after my dad passed. How can you even say that?’
Rose rubbed her face, wished herself anywhere but there. There was a silence to the coffee shop as everyone listened to their argument. The customers of the coffee shop stared at them, glad to escape their own issues for a time.
‘I can only say how I feel. It’s unfair, but I knew you were looking after her and I thought my monetary contribution was enough.’
Rose regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth.
‘You can shove your money, Sandra. If you can’t bring yourself to see her then you can forget about helping her in any way. Graham and I will see to her medical costs. You get back to the real love of your life.’
Rose lowered her head. Abi was right so she accepted the abuse
. ‘I’m going to say goodbye to her,’ she said.
There was such rage in Abigail’s eyes. It was heart-breaking to see her sister look at her that way and Rose wondered if they would ever get past this.
‘I’ll see you later,’ said Rose, to silence.
Time stood still as Rose left the coffee shop. The eyes of her fellow customers followed her as she made self-conscious steps away from her sister. Back in the corridor of the main building she let out a deep breath, a coldness sweeping over her.
Her Mother hadn’t moved. She lay at the same awkward angle, the alien tube still protruding from her. Rose stared hard at the bag of bones and tried to reconcile the vision with the memories she had of the vibrant woman who’d raised her; the woman who’d been a confidante and teacher, a friend, and at times a necessary disciplinarian. She searched for a glance of the Mother who’d taught her more about life than anyone she’d ever met, or ever would, but her eyes failed her.
‘Are you in there, Mum?’ she said, again touching her fleshless arm.
The woman in the bedclothes didn’t move.
Rose kissed her on the forehead and left.
27
Rose blinked at the midday sunshine. She hadn’t checked on Abigail before leaving, deciding it was best to give her sister space. Opening her car, Rose checked her voicemail doing her best to push the guilt she felt about her mother deep inside her.
Surprised that there were no new messages, she called McBride.
‘Boss?’ said McBride, with what Rose presumed was irony.
‘Any development on the CCTV images?’
‘Nothing yet. Tech team are hopeful we may have one more surviving recording but they haven’t contacted me yet.’
‘I should be back in two hours. You’ll be at the office?’