by Ryan Casey
“I…I guess so. I guess so, yeah.”
“Right,” Brian said. “DS Emerson, get on the phone. Ring the jewellers. Ask him about the sales. And if his son bought the ring.” He peered into Luther’s eyes.
Cassy left the room and keyed in the number. She paced from back to front, waiting.
Kayleigh took some notes in her bumper-sized Pukka Pad. Her lips trembled.
“Did anybody else know about your relationship with Nicola Watson?” Brian asked.
“It wasn’t a relationship, okay? And no. No, I don’t think so. There was no reason to tell. It’s just…It’s private. It was irrelevant, in the wider scheme of things.”
“Right. Was Nicola Watson irrelevant when you killed her? Is that why you did it?”
Kayleigh coughed to get the attention of the room. “My client does not have to answer to any of these barbaric claims. He knows his rights.”
“Mrs. Wallbridge,” Price said, breaking his silence. “You’re sounding very much like a solicitor with no real defence. If your client knows his rights, he’d better bloody start taking advantage of them, because the way this is going, he’s going to have all of those rights stripped away very soon.”
Kayleigh backed down and returned to her notepad, muttering under her breath.
“Your assistant, Michael Walters. You wouldn’t happen to know why he was removing a CCTV DVD from CityWatch, would you?”
Luther squinted. “I…I don’t know. Why?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know about his…Let’s call them ‘relationships’, would you?”
“I know he’s a single man who just went through a rough end to a relationship. And I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone.”
“Oh no, we weren’t accusing him. He has an alibi. Just trying to work out how far he’d go to protect his precious boss, that’s all.”
Luther rubbed the backs of his shaking hands and reached for his cup of water. The plastic cup was clearly empty, but he pulled it to his mouth, sending the final drip of water towards his chapped lips. He squeezed the plastic cup in his palm, his gaze shifting over to Cassy, who continued to move outside. “Okay. I had a relationship with her.”
Kayleigh’s glare shot up at Luther, who stared at the table. Brian swung ‘round in his chair and held his arm up towards Cassy. Cassy entered the room, looking like she’d nodded off for five minutes of a movie and wanted updating.
“Was that a formal confession?” Brian asked, his pulse racing.
Luther’s crusty, tired eyes peered at him. “I’m confessing that I was in love with Nicola Watson. And that’s all I have to confess. That’s all I’m guilty of.”
“Detectives, if you’d allow me a moment to talk to my client, please?” Kayleigh’s voice was shaky. Her pen rested against her notepad, completely static.
“Brian,” Cassy whispered in his ear, “I just spoke to the jewellers. His dad says there was a ring stolen.”
Luther had started sobbing.
“Did you steal the ring?”
Luther clenched his eyes shut, tears dripping down his cheeks. “What do you think?”
Brian turned to Cassy, who turned to Price in return. Nobody could speak.
“I’m…I’m just trying to do the right thing. Just the wrong place and the wrong person. Always the wrong person…” Luther mumbled hysterically. “Just trying to do what’s right…”
“Mr. Luther, if you could–”
The sound of the door swinging open tore through the limbo-esque room. Two officers stood at the door. Luther’s face reddened in confusion.
“Take him, boys,” Price said. “Mr. Luther, we’re taking you into custody on suspicion of murdering Nicola Watson. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used against you in court. Sleep well, Robert.”
Price thumped a hard, heavy hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Well done, Brian. Redeemed yourself, good lad. Your work’s done here.”
The guards slipped handcuffs around Luther’s wrists. At first, it appeared he was going to protest and kick up a fuss, but he sank his head into his chest and slouched behind them like a prisoner being led to death row. Even Kayleigh Wallbridge was lost for words as she shuffled out behind her client, buzzing around him like a fly.
The guards edged Luther, who struggled, out the door. He twisted back towards Brian and Cassy. “I’m only guilty of loving her,” he said before being pulled away down the corridor.
Brian and Cassy sat in complete silence.
Chapter Twenty Three
The buzz of people in the background hissed in Brian’s ears as he watched the bubbles reach the top of his drink. A group of lads laughed at the corner table, playfully punching one another. Behind the bar, an old greying man wiped the surfaces and looked at his watch. He flipped over some glasses in preparation for the nighttime crowd’s arrival. It was always like this in every pub, didn’t matter which. The bridge between the afternoon drinkers and the nighttime louts. Brian liked this limbo. Gave him time to think. He was too young to arrive for an early morning pint and too old to mingle with the kids at night. He was just a novelty to them, a “fair play for coming out, old man!” symbol of eternal youth.
Cassy sipped on her Coke, to which she’d added a spot of vodka. “How’s things at home?” she asked, half-heartedly. She didn’t look at Brian. Her tired gaze wandered ‘round the table. It was always hard when something major came to a close. That niggling sense of the unsolved. The unresolved.
“Not quite like the crime shows, is it?” Brian asked.
“No, well…I guess. It’s just strange. I mean, why? Why would he?”
Brian took a sip of his pint. “Some things you just can’t explain. You want there to be more to all these cases and more going on. But these people, I dunno. Sometimes they just snap. Maybe he got jealous. But evidence is evidence. We’ve just got to get on with that. You’ll get used to it.”
Cassy watched Brian with her big brown eyes. She rubbed her hands up and down her black tights.
“What?” Brian asked.
She flinched. “Nothing. It’s just–”
“No, go on. Say it.”
Cassy exhaled theatrically. “I just get the feeling that you aren’t done with this case yet, for whatever reason. You should be happy. You can go back to your family now. Instead, you’re sat in here supping on a beer. What you doing, mate?”
For a moment, as he slumped in his chair, Brian saw himself from the perspective of a fly on a nearby wall. Fat as fuck, with a waistline growing at the same rate as his discontent. Greying hair greasy from the lack of exposure to shampoo. He’d meant to buy some, but he had to keep up the alcoholic facade. He had to keep on smelling of whiskey, or they might just suspect his reasons for absence after all.
“It’s nothing. Just the way it is when a case finishes. You’re right–I don’t get why he killed her either. But it’s done, and soon we’ll have more questioning, then the court shit. And the papers…They’ll be on to this tomorrow. And we’ll have a rough few days, but it’ll be on to the next case before we know it.” He swigged down a few gulps in quick succession. Cassy bit her lip. She hadn’t touched her drink in a while.
“You ignored my question,” she said.
“And what was that?” Brian asked, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
“Your wife. And your kid. Last I heard, you were off to see ‘em, before, y’know–”
“Why do you have to interfere?” Brian asked, sternly. The old man wiping glasses behind the bar shifted his gaze to their table. Brian mumbled and coughed, trying to disguise his anger.
Cassy stayed focused on him. “I care about you. Like, you’re my partner, you know? So I give a shit about whether you’re turning up on time or whether you’re getting drunk to the point you’re blacking out every night.”
Brian smiled as he took another gulp of his beer. At least she still believed him. “You don’
t seem too fussed about stopping me.” He swilled another large mouthful around his cheeks.
“Oh yeah, how is the beer?” Cassy asked, folding her arms.
“Beautiful.” He placed the empty pint glass down on the table. He feigned a groggy throat and made his eyes twirl, slightly vacant and glassy.
“Good.” Cassy knocked back her vodka Coke and stood up to walk to the bar. “Another Becks Blue for you, then?”
Brian’s skin crawled. “Becks what?”
“Alcohol-free.” Cassy smiled. “Hope you’re not too much of a lightweight. I hear it still has like, 0.04% alcohol in it or something, so you’d better watch yourself.” She winked, then walked towards the bar and ordered him another pint of fake beer.
Brian drove Cassy home that night. He’d not drunk an ounce of alcohol, technically, so it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. Why did she order him a non-alcoholic beer? Was she trying to catch him out? Get him pretend drunk? Or was she just looking out for her alchie friend?
Brian pulled up outside Cassy’s flat. The flats looked more like semi-detached houses, four residents in each little block. Nice area of Fulwood. Plenty of trees. Not a lot of scrotes, apart from the pub at the corner of the street. But that was closed now. A lot of places were closed. Businesses seemed to fall by the minute these days.
“Well, thanks for the lift,” Cassy said as they sat in the dim glow of the Victorian style street lamps. “Do you want to come in for a coffee?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m just messing with you, you big romantic. Come in and have a look around.”
Brian’s cheeks were on fire. Who could turn down a look around a pretty younger woman’s home? As long as his wife hadn’t moved in next door, he didn’t see a problem with that. “Sure. Be nice to see a house that isn’t a shithole for a change.”
Cassy frowned as she reached for the car door handle. “I didn’t say it’s not a shithole.” She climbed out of the car and slammed the door.
“Don’t slam,” Brian muttered under his breath. Vanessa always slammed the door. It didn’t matter how many times he asked her, she just kept on slamming.
Vanessa. He’d have to see her again sometime. Apologise for the other day. It was over now. He could sort things. They could be happy again.
“The only thing I’m guilty of is being in love with her,” Luther had said, his eyes drooping and world-weary as he was dragged away.
Brian stepped out of the car and then walked up the little concrete steps and towards Cassy’s front door.
The place was warm inside. A few boxes were piled at the top of a flight of stairs at the entrance. The lounge was spacious, with dark leather sofas covered in old newspapers. Cassy reached for the lamp in the corner and flicked it on. She brushed some papers off the sofa.
“Well, here you are,” she said. She didn’t quite meet his eye as he looked around the room. Photographs of her and friends on holiday. Her and a girl at the top of Machu Picchu. Independent foreign cinema and classic literature.
In the corner of the room, on an old vinyl player, the new Biffy Clyro album sat on the deck.
“I’ve worked with you for all this time, and I didn’t realise you were a Biffy fan.” Brian spun the vinyl around. “What d’you think of the new stuff?”
Cassy cleared her throat. “Well, I know I’m not in the majority, but I like it. They’ve matured. All bands mature. Side one is good. Not so keen on side two. But Eve and I used to go see bands a lot back in the day. Kind of reminds me of her. Not sure what she’d think of the new stuff.” She laughed. “What do you make of it?”
Brian smiled as he turned around to thumb through the rest of Cassy’s vinyl collection. “I think it’s fucking abysmal.”
An awkward silence followed. The humour didn’t quite slip off his tongue in the witty manner he had intended.
“So…Eve. She sounds like a clever girl. She your mate on the pictures?” Brian gestured towards the shot of the pair of trekkers up Machu Picchu, the dark haired and olive-skinned girl unmistakably Cassy, and a blonde girl with a toothy grin next to her.
Cassy walked up to a photograph and held it in her hands. “Yeah, me and her back in the day. Had a blast. Tried our first joint together. Travelled the world together. Probably popped our cherries in the same bloody room.”
Brian sniggered. “It’d be good to have someone to share all that stuff with. You’re lucky.”
Cassy sighed as she dusted the table with her sleeve and placed the photograph back into position. “I was lucky. She…she passed away last year. Cancer. Brain.”
Brian’s knees turned to jelly. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Don’t mean to bring…Yeah, I’m…Are you okay?”
“It’s okay,” Cassy cut in. “Really. It’s fine. I’m sure you’d have got on with her though, in a weird way.”
Brian scrunched his nose. “What’s so weird about two people getting on?”
Cassy giggled and looked down at the floor. “You’re practically old enough to be my…our dad. Bit of a creeper.”
Brian brushed it off with a wave of the hand and a smile. “Only as old as you act.”
“In which case, you’re older,” she said, winking.
Brian slipped his hands into his pocket. The pair were silent for a few moments. “Well, I should, erm…” He pointed towards the door.
“You can always stay.” Cassy lurched forward a bit as she asked, her voice rising in tone and excitement. She wiped her hair out of her face, trying to look less eager. “I mean…I can clear up the sofa. You wouldn’t have to be late for work that way.”
A bit of company. That would make a change.
“Thanks, Cassy. I just…I don’t think it’d be a good idea. And I…It’s my day off tomorrow. Annual leave. Gonna try and talk to ‘Ness. See if I can sort all that crap out. Besides, you wouldn’t want a smelly old man on your sofa, would you?”
Cassy’s eyes watered, but she smiled and shook her head. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. Have a good day off, you lucky bugger.”
“Have a lovely day yourself.”
He took one last glance at the picture of Cassy and Eve. He hadn’t noticed the bottle of pills by its side until now.
“It’s just passion flower,” Cassy said. She must have spotted him looking. “Just helps me sleep and chill. Won’t be enough to get high off.”
“Any more of that and I’ll have to report you to Price,” Brian said.
Cassy laughed. “That wanker’s probably getting stoned off his sour old face every night.” They held a stare for another few seconds before turning to the floor. “Anyway…”
“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll see myself out. Night.”
“‘Night, Brian.”
He stepped over the piled boxes and trotted down the stairs towards the outdoors, towards his car beneath the moth-crowded glow of the street lamp. When he got in, he heard a voice somewhere above him.
“Always welcome to stay.”
Cassy leaned out of the living room window. Her brown hair rustled in the breeze.
Brian waved at her. “Gonna get back and have an early night. But thanks. I’ll see you…”
She winked and shut the window.
Brian turned the key and started up the engine, nothing but that stupid David Beckham air freshener for company. He flicked on the radio as he turned onto the main road.
Biffy Clyro playing a live gig at Maida Vale. He thought of Eve. Of Cassy, and her loss. The bottle of pills.
The 24-Hour shop caught Brian’s eyes as the vocals bashed their way around his skull. He sharply swung the car into the parking space and turned the radio off.
Biffy Clyro’s new stuff was still shit.
And he needed a Becks. Not a Becks-fucking-Blue.
Chapter Twenty Four
The headaches and the aching forearm were just a part of Brian’s morning routine now.
He shuffled around. His bed felt hard. His neck was stiffer than usual. He open
ed his eyes and realised he wasn’t on the bed but the floor. A strand of saliva formed on the side of his mouth.
What time had he got in?
He’d been to Cassy’s. Yes, Cassy’s…Then he’d just had a few beers…
He looked around the room. An empty bottle of vodka lay on its side, the smell of stale alcohol torturing his nostrils as dust and damp spread across the floor.
Vodka. He didn’t remember buying any vodka.
Oh! He’d been out again. He must have got it later on. Before he rang…
Shit. He’d rung Vanessa.
Turning onto his back, he scrunched his eyes together. Vanessa. Why did he always have to turn to her when he was at his worst? He let his arms drop to the floor and spotted his phone, the screen face down. He reached over for it with his aching arm, a bandage drunkenly wrapped around it, and pulled it up above his face. The screen swam out of focus.
A couple of texts, one of them unreadable.
Another: “See you at 11 x”
Shit. He jumped to his feet. Why had he been drinking so heavily? It was just a facade. He didn’t need it. He’d never been a big drinker, so he couldn’t allow himself to drink. He slipped on a pair of creased trousers and sprayed some deodorant underneath his armpits. Nothing but air squeezed out from the pressurised container. It’d have to do.
As he pushed the door open and looked at his phone again–10:51 a.m.–he remembered their conversation. They’d meet for a walk at…the docklands. Talk things through. The case was over now. Luther was being charged. That was it.
BetterLives was down at the docks. Maybe he could pop in and see to some things…
No. Today was about Vanessa and him. Today was about getting things back on track. He threw himself into the driver’s seat of his car, probably still a little over the limit, and swerved out of the tiny car park. He left a plume of exhaust fumes in tow.
Vanessa stood by the railings, her blonde hair dancing in the wind as Brian’s car pulled up. As he jumped out, he smiled and half-waved at her. She nodded back in acknowledgement, barely smiling.