by Mark Newman
She pulled away, reaching for her bag. Garrett’s eyes following the cut of her blouse as it tightened against her chest. ‘I might have something in here,’ she said.
‘Thanks, I mean for driving out here. It’s not exactly round the corner from your place is it?’
‘Glad to get out of there that’s the truth of it, I didn’t want to be hanging round if they came back.’
‘The hoodies?’
‘Not so much that pair of idiots, I was more concerned whether or not Cullen might show up in person this time.’
‘Cullen? Al, he mentioned him earlier, like I should know the name.
‘Forget it, he’s just the local wannabe, trying to muscle in on Al’s business.’
‘Shit, I never meant for this to cause you more problems.’
‘Doesn’t matter, it’ll blow over—usually does. Anyway that little shit had it coming, I’m glad you floored the skinny runt.’
She leaned in and kissed him.
It was unexpected, but Garrett reciprocated, then pulled away.
‘Sorry. It’s been quite a day.’
Karen gave him a coy smile, her face lingering inches from his before returning to her wine.
Garrett extricated himself from the sofa. His mind awash, he sat back down in the armchair opposite, but couldn’t help himself from drinking in her svelte, size eight body from head to toe. She’d dressed to impress, he tried to push the thoughts aside.
He got up and poured himself a glass of Shiraz then sat back down next to Karen.
‘So you’re joining me now?’
He raised his glass, clinking it on to the side of hers, ‘St Bart,’
‘Saint who?’
‘The Patron Saint for all things lost and recovered.’
‘To St Bart.’ Karen took a sip. ‘I better not drink all of this though; I’ve got a long drive back.’
Garrett looked straight at her, his mind made. ‘Stay, I want you to.’
She took a sip, never taking her eyes of his. ‘You’re sure this is what you want?’
Garrett moved in, kissing her hard. In tandem, they both put their drinks to the floor. No pretence, two bodies searching each other out. New territory to be claimed and conquered.
Garrett pulled her to her feet, breathing in each other’s smell, wrapped in the moment, they stumbled around like a pair of over eager teenagers. Garrett led her towards the bedroom. They only made it as far as the worktop. He hoisted her up onto the work surface. Karen leant back allowing him easier access.
She pushed him back and slid down off the worktop, her hands finding his zipper, his trousers falling to his knees. He tried to stifle a groan as she delved deep. Garrett clawed at her lacy top. He spun her around, her hands grabbing for purchase on the edge of the faux granite. Ravenous like animals, Garrett mauled at her breasts, the immediacy of the moment outlying the pain in his left hand. He hitched her skirt up high around her waist, tugging at her thong. They were lost in the moment, both consumed by the madness.
Garrett woke in the early hours. The nausea forcing him to run for the bathroom. He locked the door and vomited into the bowl. Three retches later, he was done. He made his way back in to the bedroom, glad to see she hadn’t woken. He went to the window, his stomach lurched, then flipped, he willed it to be calm as he stood looking out in to the darkness surveying the scene.
He turned back towards the bed and Karen’s naked body, straining his eyes against the blackness, searching out the green glow of the bedside clock obscured by the edge of the duvet. Not wanting to disturb her, he decided to leave it be. He guessed it was still early. The streetlights obsolete, the latest borough council incentive to claw back money from the over-spend. He liked it that way, the cul–de–sac wrapped in a veil of blackness. Where others might find it oppressive, even dangerous, he found it to be peaceful and comforting. It provided the opportunity for clarity. He glanced back over his shoulder to the bed, listening to her light intakes of breath. A soothing melody which in that moment, in the confines of the bedroom, made everything seem okay. There he sat until the first glimmers of daylight shattered the darkness.
Chapter 12
As dawn broke, Reid yawned then stretched. Sitting cooped up in the Golf all night had played havoc with his spine, causing his lower back muscles to spasm. He cracked his neck to the left then to the right. He needed to move, as the shooting pains in his knees were becoming ever more unbearable.
It had never been his intention to wait it out through the night, but the girl with auburn hair driving the Rav4, arriving close to midnight—that was unexpected.
Working an eight-hour shift then pulling a surveillance job back to back wasn’t a good idea. Reid was knackered, to the point that he’d dozed off at least once in the small hours. Rubbing at his eyes, he willed himself awake. He reached for the chrome thermos and poured himself the remnants of his black coffee. It was lukewarm but it would do, anything to stave off the tiredness. He needed to be on top of his game, it would soon be over. He just had to bide his time and wait for Garrett to make his move.
Chapter 13
Karen made the drive home following the same route she’d taken the night before. She’d woken to find Garrett sitting in the bedroom armchair asleep. She didn’t know how long he’d been there. He looked peaceful and content. Best not to wake him, she thought, then smiled, recalling the frantic passion of their first encounter and the way in which Garrett had taken control. He was wild, feral like. The urgent ferocity of their tryst had left them both spent, collapsed amongst discarded clothing scattered across the kitchen floor.
There they sat, finishing the bottle of red, giggling like covert lovers before going upstairs where they’d found each other’s passion reignited.
The unfamiliar sound of the Toyota engine choking and spluttering into life woke Garrett from his slumber, taking him a second to realise he was in his own home. He looked to the bed, already vacant, the duvet thrown back as though its inhabitant had left in a hurry. Probably for the best. He looked out the window as Karen’s beat-up Rav4 kangarooed out of the close.
He showered before taking a light breakfast of tea and toast. Then he dressed in casuals, picking out his bootcut denims and his check, lumberjack style shirt, the one Maria hated. To complete the look, he reached in to the closet opting for his favourite brown suede, Loake brogues. Garrett appraised himself in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door. He looked the part, appropriate for what he had in mind. Then he made his way out to the car—his destination the office. Time to set things straight.
Chapter 14
Reid watched from the shadows as Garrett’s car exited the drive and sped off from Chantry Close in the direction of the carriageway. He guessed he was heading in to work. At least that’s what he hoped for. It was now or never, and he had to know—one way or the other.
He still couldn’t put his finger on it. He was acting on nothing more than gut instinct. It was all on the line, the job, the pension, and his liberty, but this time it was personal, he just couldn’t let it go, not like this.
Reid moved forward, a silent prayer on his lips that he wasn’t wrong. He reached the back door and tried the handle—as he’d expected, it was locked. He moved to the French windows and peered in, the key was in the lock. The teak wooden frames housed single glass units measuring approximately six by eight inches, enough to force an elbow through.
On entering the house, Reid stopped and listened to the silence, what had he expected? He didn’t know, but his copper instinct told him he was on the right track. Reid made his way through the open plan living area into a smaller room, a TV - man cave. Judging by the folders and paperwork strewn about the place it doubled as a makeshift office. Reid sifted through the papers, unsure of what it was he expecting to find.
Finding nothing of note, he exited the TV room and alighted the doglegged staircase. Searching each room in turn, still he found nothing. Reid then made his way into the bathro
om and opened the mirrored cabinet—it housed some female toiletries that were scattered amongst the male grooming products—nothing more.
Reid went back to the master bedroom and opened the sliding glass doors to the first closet, it was sparse, save for a few items of female clothing, mostly size ten summer dresses. He thought he recognised one or two garments. He pulled them off the mahogany, wooden hangers and held them to his face, taking in their sweet aroma. He recognised the faint scent of her perfume, Chanel Number 5, the one she wore when they’d met. The question remained, where was she now? She couldn’t have just vanished into thin air that wasn’t part of the plan. It had to be down to Garrett. Maria just wouldn’t have run out on him like that.
He made his way along the landing and back down the stairs to the hallway. Faded blood spatter caught his attention. He took a closer look. The remnants had been scrubbed, a bodged attempt at a quick concealment. Reid considered whether or not to radio the station. But how would he explain his reason for being at the scene? He needed to validate his story. He was torn, self-preservation or Maria’s safety. He’d have to come clean; Maria’s life could be at stake. He wrestled with the idea that the blood could be innocent, the result of a cut to the hand or even a nosebleed, but his instinct screamed different.
His mind was made up; the house was a crime scene and needed a full team of SOCOs’ to decipher the clues. Reid turned to go, as the muzzle of the weapon pressed hard into his left cheek. That was the last he remembered.
Chapter 15
Cullen had watched as the figure crept from the tree line towards the back door, intrigued as to how events might play out. His role on the cusp, evolving from that of observer to interrogator.
Reid woke to find himself gaffer taped to the kitchen dining room chair, his assailant had done a thorough job applying it to his ankles, wrists, and binding his torso to the back of the chair’s uprights.
He blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the light, and felt the trickle of warm blood run down the side of his eye. Pistol-whipped, a rookie mistake.
A rough, callused hand grabbed at his chin. He tried to focus, his eyes failing, replaced by the dull throbbing sensation. He blinked again. The figure slowly emerged from the blur.
‘He’s coming round, you want him to talk?’
A figure stepped into view from the periphery of Reid’s vision. He came closer, it wasn’t Garrett.
‘So, who might you be—snooping about the place?’
A second voice interrupted before Reid had a chance to answer. ‘Found this on him.’
Reid squinted his eyes. Two figures were pawing over something, a wallet? Then it hit him, they’d found his warrant card.
‘What do we have here? PC Reid 2418.’
Reid didn’t answer, his mind blank. He needed a story, but what?
‘Well now, 2418, looks like we’ve got ourselves a dilemma doesn’t it?’
Reid swallowed hard, the words hoarse and gruff. ‘Untie me.’
‘And why would I want to do that?’
‘You’re preventing a police officer from carrying out his duty, now untie me.’
‘Breaking and entering, I wasn’t aware that was in the police officer’s handbook.’
‘That’s how I found it.’
‘Really—I beg to differ.’ He pulled out his iPhone and held it to Reid’s face. ‘I love modern technology, don’t you, 2418? It’s so convenient, here watch this. See—now look there, that figure. There we go, straight to the patio door.’ The camera zoomed in on Reid’s face. ‘And this, wait, this is the best bit—yes and he’s in, the old elbow through the pane of glass trick, works every time.’
Reid said nothing, what could he say—he was caught on camera.
‘Now, if this went to court, I’m pretty sure any jury would call that breaking and entering.’
‘You don’t know what you’re doing, kidnapping, beating a police officer, that’s a hefty sentence you’re looking at.’
‘Beating, hear that, he says beating; we haven’t even started on you yet, my friend. So if we’re looking at years rather than months, maybe we’ll just make it worth our while.’
‘Untie me now, and you get to walk away.’
‘No one knows you’re here, 2418, do they? This is unofficial, you playing rogue cop. See, the way I see it, you don’t get to call the shots.’
‘You’re interfering with an ongoing investigation—in way over your head.’
Cullen leant forward and grabbed at his chin. ‘And you’re off the reservation, sunshine. Now why don’t you play nice and tell me what your interest is in Martin Garrett?’
Chapter 16
Driving in, Garrett couldn’t get Karen out of his head. The thought bringing a smile to his face. None of it was planned; he just went with the moment. He made a mental note to give her a call. First things first, he needed to prioritise. Doctor’s orders, Aziz had told him to get his house in order—and that’s what he was doing.
His reserved parking space was taken by a car he didn’t recognise, so he reversed into the visitors bay and entered the building of the Western Alliance Corporate Insurance Group. Garrett flashed his identity badge to the ageing security guard, who offered nothing more than a cursory glance from his well-thumbed paperback. Garrett didn’t catch the title, taking comfort in the notion that at least he wouldn’t end up working for some rent-a-cop security outfit, sitting in a foyer wishing away his last remaining days.
He took the escalator to the third floor and used his ID to buzz through to the internal glass door. Tina was on reception, hidden behind a mass of files, she dashed round to intercept him. ‘Where the hell have you been, it’s all going off in there. I’ve been trying to contact you on your mobile, which I might add you decline to answer, and your landline—well, that’s a joke.’
‘Tina, relax – I’m here now.’
‘Relax he says.’ Tina scanned his fashion ensemble. ‘And what’s this?’ she said pointing at him. ‘You off on a jolly or something?’
He smiled, bemused at her concern. ‘What, you don’t like it?’
‘The board have called an emergency meeting, and you’re planning to waltz in there looking like you’ve just come from watching the Match down at your local?’
‘Something like that,’ he said, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead like a father might embrace a daughter. ‘I’d better get it over with.’ Garrett turned to face the frosted, glass doors.
Tina looked confused. ‘I don’t think you understand. They’re out for blood. Barging in uninvited, that’s about as good as waving your P45 in the air and saying sign here.’
Garrett turned back to her, his voice distant, his mind preoccupied, ‘maybe—we’ll see.’
Tina reached out, touching his forearm. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, okay.’
‘Moi? Come on. You know me,’ he said, taking her hand in his. ‘Listen, I’ve never really thanked you properly—for everything... And, well, I’m not about to start now, but for what it’s worth, thanks anyway.’
Tina noticed his eye for the first time, then his hand. ‘Christ, what happened?’
Garrett could see her concern was genuine, he’d always liked Tina, just not in the same way that she’d have liked it to have been. He smiled back at her, saying, ‘life, death, the universe... Take your pick.’
He let go of her hand, and spun around on his heels. Pushing down on the brushed steel handle, he turned back to her, ‘watch and learn.’
Garrett flung the doors open and stood before the board members. He was done with all the bullshit, the formalities, and the polite etiquette. It was nothing more than window dressing and none of it mattered. Not anymore.
He’d only ever met the board once, when he was first appointed to the role of business analyst. In the early days of his career, there had been opportunities, golf tournaments and the like, a chance to caddy for the bigwigs, and black tie charity events, both providing those who were career savvy the c
hance to get their names out there. Garrett always declined, making up some piss poor excuse, confident enough to let his month on month revenue figures speak for themselves.
He was happy to leave that to the likes of Matt Williams, U.K. Sales Director. Garrett had never been a smoozer, or an arse kisser; call it what you like, by his reckoning, it boiled down to the same thing. Some people are born to it, others learn it as they go along, and they get accustomed to wearing it like a fake smile when it matters most. He’d never been interested in climbing the ladder, so there was no need to play along.
There were five of them in total, all sitting around the walnut oval table. Garrett cast his eyes around the room, their ages ranging from late forties to the upper sixties. They were studying some kind of report, opened in front of them—colourful red, green and blue line graphs depicting a downward trajectory—company sales figures he guessed.
Williams was standing at the foot of the table, on seeing Garrett he stopped mid-sentence, his French Connection glasses perched half way down the bridge of his nose. The look on his face—priceless. The suits looked up from their reports, first to Williams for an explanation, then to Garrett.
‘Morning, gents, looks like you’ve started without me!’
Williams approached, his eyes ablaze. He strode the twenty paces, covering the distance in record time, like that of a man thirty years his junior, his complexion flushing beetroot. Garrett couldn’t tell if the cause was due to the speed at which he moved or the rage he felt within.
‘A word, outside,’ he said.
Garrett smiled back. ‘I thought we’d do this here, get it all out in the open.’ He raised his voice, looking beyond Williams, ‘I’m sure the board would be interested to hear what I’ve got to say.’ Garrett leaned closer to his adversary, ‘after all, I’ve got nothing to hide.’