by Ryan Casey
But Brian didn’t hear Michael.
He didn’t see Michael.
Because all of Brian’s focus was on the water of the docks.
He looked out through that window. He walked towards it, mesmerised, completely numb to the situation. Completely numb to Michael Reed, to the Elaine Schumer case, to every damned thing.
Because over by the water, he could see police.
There was movement in the murky water of the docklands. Brian saw divers surfacing. His chest tightened, and the pain in his head from earlier throbbed harder than ever.
He watched as one of those divers lifted a thumb.
He kept on standing there, watching until he saw everything he feared coming to the surface.
The emergency services pulled something out of the water. All around, the public stood, none of them interested in what was happening inside the abandoned BetterLives building anymore. All of them more captivated by what was happening in the water.
Brian didn’t have to see what had been pulled out of the water to know what had resurfaced.
It was a body.
The chief constable’s body.
They’d found Jerry Matthews.
Thirty-Nine
When Brian heard his phone vibrating, he felt sick to the stomach.
He kept his eyes closed. They’d been closed all night, but he hadn’t slept a wink. The bedroom was warm, and he could feel the sunlight from the opened curtains on his bare skin. His throat was dry, and he desperately needed a glass of water. In the air, he could smell his own sweat. His teeth felt furry and unbrushed. Downstairs, he heard Hannah pottering around as she went about her day at work.
Brian was off work. Sick, but also because of his stunt at the old BetterLives building.
He was glad for some time off, in truth. He knew, deep down, he was never going to go back into work.
His time was up.
Because chief constable Jerry Matthews’ body had been found.
Brian didn’t want to open his eyes because it seemed like everywhere he looked, there was news of the chief constable. Hannah wouldn’t stop going on about it to him. Natural, in truth. He was a police officer, and it was to be expected that a police officer would be interested in the fate of his boss. Annie had rung him a few times too. It was all over the local news, the national news. Everywhere Brian went, he felt the eyes of the discovery staring back at him, and he felt like some of those eyes knew he was responsible.
Because he was responsible. He was the murderer.
And eventually, like all secrets, the truth would emerge.
He’d been in this job long enough to know that there were other officers out there like him, desperately seeking justice. They’d find their justice. And his whole life would fall apart.
He opened his eyes and squinted around the bedroom. He felt exhausted and sick. He’d told Hannah not to disturb him because he felt ill, so she’d let him rest. He looked to the side of his bed and saw a couple of slices of toast. They looked cold, like cardboard. He had no idea how long they’d been there.
He hadn’t eaten in the four days since he’d watched the chief constable’s body get pulled from the docklands water from the BetterLives building. There were other concerns, too. Michael Reed had decided not to jump after all, the sneaky little shit. He’d done a runner, and he’d been missing ever since that day. Brian had left that case. After all, who was he to seek justice when justice was catching up with him? He’d killed the chief constable. Sure, the chief constable might’ve got what he deserved, but that wasn’t Brian’s decision to make. It was personal justice over professional justice. And personal justice had the terrifying capacity to bring personal life crashing down.
That meant Hannah. Sam. Davey.
Everyone around him was at risk.
He battled out of bed and hobbled across the bedroom floor. He threw on some clothes. He knew he should shower as he felt grubby as hell. As much as he didn’t want to, he knew he should show his face. He didn’t want it to look like guilt was tearing him apart.
He walked towards the stairs and he heard Sam laughing and chatting to himself.
He turned around. Sam was in his cot. The door to his room was open. He was peeking through it, grinning at Brian with his cute little face, kicking and wriggling around.
Brian felt a lump in his throat. He walked towards Sam, towards his son. He put a hand on the railing of his cot and looked down at him as he lay there all perfect, all innocent.
“Hey, little man,” Brian said. “What’s up with you?”
Sam kept on chatting, giggling and kicking in his little Manchester United pyjamas—something that Brian found distasteful. His bright blue eyes glared up at Brian, and it melted his heart. “Wuv wew Dad-dy.”
Brian reached in for his son. But before he could reach him, he stopped. He felt like there was an invisible wall between them. He felt like if he picked up his boy, he’d pass on some of all of his fuck-up-erry to him.
He didn’t want Sam to be as fucked up as he was. He wanted Sam to go on to have a successful, happy life.
He didn’t want Sam to be defined by the actions of his father, as difficult as Brian knew he’d made that for him.
He turned around from Sam and walked away, leaving him wriggling around in his cot, and he climbed down the stairs.
When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard the echo of the radio. It was the local news.
“…So the question is, is it suicide, or is it something else?”
“I know what I saw. There was a bullet hole in his skull. There’s something dodgy gone on…”
Brian turned the radio down.
Hannah spun around as she stood there preparing a salad. “Hey,” she said. “Feeling any better?”
Brian inhaled a shaky breath. He didn’t say a word.
Hannah stopped what she was doing and frowned. “Brian? What is it? I can call the doctor’s if you need to go in.”
“It’s not the doctor’s I need.”
“After what happened with you collapsing, I’m starting to worry about—”
“It’s not to do with my health.”
Hannah’s frown intensified. She looked at Brian in the same way Brian imagined she would a million times when he’d pictured telling her the truth.
And reality was much more terrifying than imagination.
“Then what’s it to do with?” Hannah asked.
Brian looked at the kitchen floor. His heart started to pick up.
“Brian, look at me. What’s wrong?”
He saw himself lifting his gun.
He saw himself shooting Jerry Matthews in the head.
He saw himself ditching his body and being responsible for the “disappearance” of all those other cult members that had chased after him.
“Brian—”
“A while back. You… you asked me to tell you if there’s ever a time when we’re in danger.”
Hannah’s frown dropped, but her face went totally pale. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Brian opened his mouth. He wanted to spit the words out so bad. He wanted to tell the truth. He wanted to lift the burden from his shoulders, right here.
Then he heard Sam start crying upstairs.
He closed his mouth. “I love you, Hannah. I love you so much.”
He turned around and walked away from Hannah, back towards the stairs.
“Brian? You can’t just walk away after saying something like that. You can’t just walk away.”
But Brian did walk away.
He walked up the stairs.
He walked to the side of Sam’s cot.
He lifted him, held him to his chest, and he felt tears building up in his eyes.
He wasn’t going to tell Hannah the truth.
He was going to spend a final day with each member of his family—special time. Special time with Hannah, with Sam, with Davey.
And then he was going to turn himself in for the murder
of the chief constable.
He’d been seeking justice for crimes his entire life.
He was about to capture another killer.
Forty
Brian sat opposite Davey, his oldest son, for what he knew would be the last time before the truth emerged.
It was a pleasant June day. The on and off storminess had given way to some consistently sunny weather. It wasn’t scorching hot, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it was progress, and progress was all Brian needed right now. The boiling hot heat was overrated, anyway. Made him feel clammy and irritable.
And if there’s any way he didn’t want to feel on one of the final times he sat with his son as a free man, it was clammy and irritable.
“So how’s school going?”
Davey glanced up from his milkshake. They were in a new place that’d opened in the middle of town. It was a Saturday afternoon, so town—even though Preston was a city, people still insisted on calling it a town—was packed to the brim, something which Brian detested. The chatter of students who should know better than to be wasting time sat around drinking milkshakes was loud and irritating. Besides, Brian had ordered a Mars milkshake, which wasn’t nearly as nice as he’d been expecting, probably because of his own state of mind more than anything.
But he was opposite Davey. He was opposite his son. That was the main thing.
Davey shrugged. He had long curly hair now, and instead of the football kits he used to wear, he wore darker clothing and tight jeans. On his black T-shirt, Architects was scrawled across it, whatever the hell that meant. “It’s alright. Bit boring.”
“A bit boring?” Brian asked. “Well that’s no good, is it? Should move back to Preston. I’ve heard the teaching here’s quality.”
Davey glared above his milkshake at Brian, as if he was embarrassed by his dad’s attempt not only to draw him back to the idea of living in Preston, but also his dad’s attempt to speak what he thought was the lingo of the kids. “Yeah. Well I don’t think Mum’d like that much.”
Brian slurped up his milkshake even if he wasn’t particularly enjoying it. “Yeah, well your mum’s probably right.”
Brian didn’t mean what he said about Davey moving back to Preston. Well, him moving back to Preston would be great. He’d get to see him more than every fortnight, except for holidays, which would be precious. But Vanessa was doing a good job raising their son, and her new fella seemed to be a genuinely decent guy too. Brian wouldn’t be telling him that anytime soon, of course, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
There was another reason Davey couldn’t come and live with him. A reason that went beyond family, that went beyond any argument Vanessa and he had ever had.
Brian wasn’t going to be a free man much longer.
Brian looked across the street and he saw a news sign. EXCLUSIVE: POLICE INVESTIGATING OFFICER MURDER. His stomach sank, but more out of the inevitability of it all than anything. They were finally pursuing the murder line. Soon, they’d follow the breadcrumbs, and the breadcrumbs would lead to him. He’d been in the job long enough to know there were plenty of capable officers working for the Preston Police.
Well. Maybe not as capable as him, but still pretty effective.
He’d instilled some never-say-die values in them.
Damnit.
“You know the guy who got killed?”
Brian swung back around to Davey. “What?”
Davey raised his eyebrows. “Jeez. I only asked a question.”
“Sorry.” Brian caught his breath. “I just… Did I know the chief constable? I met him a few times.”
“What was he like?”
Brian scratched the back of his neck. The voices in this small milkshake place that he’d dragged Davey along here to for whatever bloody reason intensified. His heart started to pound. “Well, he was a bit of an arsehole in all truth.”
Davey snorted. “Can you say that?”
Brian shrugged. “He’s not my boss anymore, is he?”
“So you think someone killed him?”
Brian shook his head. “Don’t know.” He didn’t like lying to Davey when he was so close to confessing. But it wasn’t time. Not yet.
“You think they’ll catch whoever did it?”
Brian took in a deep breath, inhaling the mixture of fumes all around this milkshake place. “They’ll push and push because they’ll want to bring someone to justice. That’s how it works in the police. Our lives revolve around bringing people to justice. It doesn’t matter if… if someone killed someone else because of their own justice. Because they felt it was right, personally. In the eyes of the law, that’s still murder. But when the police go about their business, that’s justice.”
Davey was silent for a few seconds. Brian cleared his throat, realising he might’ve freaked his son out by babbling on like that.
“Sorry. I can go on sometimes—”
“I guess that’s what’s different about you,” Davey said.
Brian frowned. “What?”
Davey tilted his head either side. “I just… Ever since I was a kid, you always worried about getting the right guy. You made it personal. I saw the times you caught people and how much of yourself you put into it. I guess that’s what makes you different to everyone else.”
Brian could barely speak. “I… I suppose—”
“You were a shitty dad when I was little,” Davey said.
“Language, son.”
“But you’re good at what you do. And you always tried to do the right thing, even if the police told you it was the wrong thing. I dunno how many times you saved people because of that. But you did.”
Brian and Davey finished off their milkshakes soon after that. They walked down through the town centre, towards the train station, where Davey would hop on a train to meet his mum.
He put his hands on his son’s shoulder and leaned in for a hug. “I love you, son. Don’t you forget—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Davey said, hitting them away and running towards his train. “Whatever.”
Brian watched Davey climb onto the train.
He watched the doors slide shut.
And he watched as Davey found a seat.
Davey turned around once. Just once. But that one glance was precious because Brian knew he’d treasure it for the rest of his life.
But not just because it was the last time he’d ever sit down and have a normal conversation with his son before their lives changed forever.
Because of what his son said to him, that wouldn’t stop niggling at him.
“You always tried to do the right thing, even if the police told you it was the wrong thing. I dunno how many times you saved people because of that. But you did.”
Brian walked away from the train station as his son’s train departed and he wondered…
Forty-One
Brian walked into the police station knowing full well he was batshit crazy for what he was about to do.
It was afternoon, and he was still off work. But he couldn’t mope around the house forever. Too long outside of work and he started to get agitated, angsty. Especially with all the mixture of emotions raging away under the surface.
He walked down the police station corridor towards the main office. He passed the main desk, where Jane smiled and nodded at him. He passed the canteen, caught a whiff of their delicious gravy, which Brian would miss very much. He passed Mike, the cleaner, who chuckled and grinned at Brian, as he always did while mopping the floor.
All these little parts of Brian’s life that he’d previously taken for granted were all coming together, all merging as something beautiful. He was seeing the world like he’d never seen it before.
And he was seeing the world around him like he’d never see it again.
He opened the door to the office. Nobody noticed him at first. Then DS Finch looked up, surprise on his face. Marlow was there too.
“McDone,” Marlow said. He was old and chubby. He seemed to be getting older an
d chubbier by the day. He looked down at his laptop screen, then back up at Brian. “You’re not supposed to be back here for a couple of weeks yet.”
Brian stood still. The eyes of the whole office were on him now. His heart raced, and he felt clammy, not just from the nice weather outside. Mostly because of what he was about to say. What he was about to do.
“Brian?” Marlow said. “If you’ve got summat on your chest you better get it spat out. The chief constable case isn’t an easy nut to crack. We don’t have time to waste.”
“I…”
“What? What’s that?”
Brian opened his mouth again and prepared to say the words. He prepared to tell the truth and get it off his chest.
Then he closed his lips and looked at the floor below.
“Think McDone’s finally cracked,” someone said. Another of the officers chuckled.
“Brian?”
When Brian looked up, he saw Annie sitting there, narrow-eyed.
“What’s up with you?”
Brian looked around at all these people and he wished there was an easier way to tell them what he’d done. Sure, he’d killed the chief constable for a good reason. But he’d killed the chief constable. He’d fucking killed one of their own, and he’d not even reported it. He’d tried to cover it up himself.
“I think he’s having a fit,” another of the officers said.
Annie stood up and walked towards Brian. Sweat dripped down his forehead. Annie put a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. “What is it, mate? What’s going on with you?”
He looked right back into Annie’s eyes and he prepared to tell her everything. “I k…”
Then he remembered his milkshake with Davey. He remembered sitting opposite him, the pair of them spending precious time together—time that Brian wasn’t sure he’d ever spend with his oldest son again.
What Davey had said to him.
“You always tried to do the right thing, even if the police told you it was the wrong thing. I dunno how many times you saved people because of that. But you did.”
That was who he was. That was the kind of person he was.