He looked up at Claire’s open face. He too had heard the rumour that she was dating Blackmore, but he could see the torch she still carried for him shining in her eyes from time to time. She’d not reproached him when he’d told her he was getting back together with Kate. She’d said it was the right thing to do, after all they’d been through together. There was something beautiful about Claire May’s goodness, even if she was a little naïve. It would be so good to dip into that, to take comfort from the feel of her living warmth wrapped around him, just for a few moments. Claire was young enough to believe that love could cure all your ills. He didn’t agree. He’d long ago learned that it was far more likely that your ills would kill your love - but the power of Claire’s belief was enough to make the world a better place, if only for a short while.
He leaned back in his chair and let the moment pass. It was just a small fantasy, nothing more. Their brief relationship was long in the past, and they were finally getting back onto some kind of less-awkward footing with each other. And then of course there was Blackmore. The last thing he needed was a moment of self-indulgence fucking up the relationship between the two teams that, for now at least, had to work together.
He smiled at her. ‘You’ve done good, Sergeant. Now get yourself home. Your overtime’s in for today.’
‘So’s yours, just in case you’ve forgotten. What time did you get in this morning? Six?’
Cass nodded. It had actually been before five-thirty, but he had no intention of letting his sergeant know that. ‘I couldn’t sleep. And anyway, I’m a DI. The force gets to own your soul when you get up the ladder. Haven’t you figured that out yet?’
She laughed lightly. ‘I sometimes wonder if you still have one, Cass Jones.’
Her words were only a joke, but they echoed inside him. ‘And now you know.’ He forced a grin. ‘They keep them all locked away down in Evidence. I just hope when I retire they don’t give me bloody Bowman’s soul back by mistake.’
‘Oh, he’s not so bad.’
‘And you’re too nice. He’s an arrogant prick. But you’ll figure that out one day, trust me.’
They paused, divided by his cynicism and her belief in the best in people. It worked well when they were on a case, one often seeing something the other had missed, but in personal discussions it inevitably ended in stalemate.
Cass slapped the desk. ‘Off you go. I’ll take another look through this and copy it before taking it down to Evidence to hold until morning.’
‘If you’re sure.’ She gave him a smile.
‘I’m sure. Get some rest. I’ll see you here at seven sharp. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’
‘Slave driver!’ She gave him a playful wink before disappearing down the corridor. He watched her switch the lights off in the empty Incident Room and vanish into the darkness before he returned his attention to the screen.
He’d saved the footage to his USB pen and was watching it through for the third time when there was a light knock on the door and Mat Blackmore peered in.
‘Sorry to disturb, sir. Is Sergeant May still around?’
‘She’s gone home. About twenty minutes ago. How’s Bowman?’
‘Okay, I think. They were doing some exploratory stuff last time I called. Haven’t had an update since.’
‘Sounds painful.’ Cass waved the younger man in. Even though it was the end of a long day, the sergeant’s suit was crease-free and his pink shirt remained tucked in perfectly. Was that a Bowman regulation, or was he ridiculously keen to climb the greasy pole? He hoped it wasn’t just the way Blackmore chose to dress. Uptight dressers usually made for uptight people. Time would surely tell. For now he’d give the detective the benefit of the doubt.
‘You may as well see this now that you’re on the case. It was sent in anonymously.’ He clicked on play and Blackmore leaned in to watch.
After a few moments, Blackmore frowned, and then his eyes widened. ‘Is this the Jackson and Miller killings?’ He paused. ‘Someone filmed it?’
‘And for some reason thought we should see it.’
They remained silent as the boys died violently and quietly on screen.
‘Do you know who sent it in?’ Blackmore ran his fingers over the short strip of beard that ran from just under his bottom lip to the curve of his chin. ‘Fashionable’ beards left Cass cold. He couldn’t see the point of them, unless of course the sergeant, who was a year or two younger than Claire May, wanted to look older. In which case, he’d failed miserably.
‘Nope. I doubt it was a concerned citizen, though. Someone wanted this caught on camera, and someone, either the cameraman or someone else, wanted me to see it.’
Blackmore stared at the screen a little longer and then smiled. ‘A mystery in a mystery. At least we won’t be short of work in the morning.’
‘You’re not wrong. I’ll see you at seven. In fact, I want the boards from the serial killer case in here by seven. Can you organise that?’
‘No problem. See you then, sir.’
Cass carefully picked up the original disc and slid it into an evidence bag. In the gloom of the corridor he saw the blue flash of a mobile phone screen lighting up before the doors leading to the stairs creaked and Blackmore disappeared. He couldn’t fight the small grin that twitched the corners of his mouth. He was probably ringing Claire May. Couldn’t even wait until he’d got out of the building. Cass wondered if he’d ever been like that; full of the optimism of youth. Maybe, a long time ago. But it had been well and truly knocked out of him by the time he was Blackmore’s age, that much was for sure. His time in SO10 had taken care of that.
Even though it’s been hours since he left the heavy metal track playing loudly in the high-rise it still echoes in his head. It’s starting to irritate. He lets it run on in the background of his mind as he watches the street. It will fade soon enough. Everything does. He knows this because he’s fading.
He doesn’t have to wait long. The homeless shelters fill up quickly in London. Hard times have fallen, and among the drunk and the mad are the dazed and ordinary, who shuffle inside in the hope of a bed, wondering how on earth this could have happened to them. Tonight, though, it’s not the people he’s watching. The people are, as they have always been, irrelevant. Flies buzz under his collar. He blinks them quiet. There is enough noise in his head and he’s tired.
The boy, aged about seventeen, comes out of the shelter and takes a few steps before shouting an obscenity back at the door. There is no real menace or energy in it. His shoulders slump and he lights a cigarette, then crouches down to stroke the puppy that bounds and bumbles beside him, looking up at him with adoration.
‘No space tonight?’
The boy is surprised to see the man in front of him. His emotions are clear too: suspicion, fear, and then wary curiosity. The man has that effect. His face is rugged, but handsome and open. Kindness and gentle humour live there.
‘They won’t take Sam,’ the boy says eventually. Hearing his name, the puppy’s tail wags faster and he pulls at the string lead to get closer to the man.
‘That’s a shame. He looks like he’s got the makings of a good dog.’ He pats the soft, warm head, and the small creature nips and licks at his fingers, the chubby body wriggling with excitement.
‘He’s great.’ The boy grins. His fears have disappeared in a moment of pride. ‘He’s only eight weeks old and he already knows his name, and he’ll sit when you tell him.’
‘You can’t leave him somewhere and get a good night’s sleep and then find him in the morning?’ The man keeps his tone light. He doesn’t need to ask the question. It’s the puppy he needs, just to make sure everything goes as planned. He doesn’t need to do this, but the habit of testing them dies hard.
The boy’s eyes darken with imagined hurt. ‘Nah, no way. He’d be shit-scared all night.’ He shakes his head hard. ‘I couldn’t do it. If those bastards won’t let Sam in, then I’m not staying.’
The man smiles. ‘Together
or not at all?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ The kid grins again. His teeth haven’t started to rot yet and there’s no sign of drug abuse in his clear eyes and skin. The man thinks that given time and a different set of chances and choices this boy could have grown into a good man. He is kind. The man knows that. He can see it. But he can also see exactly how this boy will end.
The man looks down at the mongrel puppy again. The dog yaps for a moment and then looks up at the boy. For a second the boy forgets the man is even there. He loves the dog. He thinks he and the dog love each other unconditionally. It strikes the man that the boy knows very little about the nature of love.
‘I was going to take a walk down by the river,’ the man says. ‘Feel free to tag along.’ He smiles. ‘Sam looks like he needs to shake some energy off.’
There is only the briefest moment of hesitation and then the boy smiles. ‘Sure, fuck it.’
The boy is not smiling a short while later in the minutes before he dies. Neither does he care about the puppy that is tied up to the lamppost, whining, scared and confused. In fact, his last snotty words are, ‘Take the fucking puppy if you want it. Just don’t kill me. Please.’ There is no hope in his words though, and the man finishes him quickly after that before letting the body roll into the water. The man smiles sadly as he unties the puppy, who jumps and licks and wags his tail for reassurance. As they walk away, the puppy doesn’t look back. So much for love, the man thinks. One day, he’d like to be proved wrong.
Chapter Three
Kate was just putting the phone back in its holder when Cass came through the door and for a second he thought she had jumped slightly when she saw him. Had things really got that bad between them?
‘Who was that?’
‘Christian.’ She didn’t look at him but stared at the wall, one hand still resting on the handset.
‘Shit.’ Cass looked at his watch. It was nearly nine. An itch of guilt roiled in his stomach.
‘Don’t worry. I told him you’d call him tomorrow. He said that was fine because he had stuff to do tonight.’ She sounded vague.
He glanced down the corridor to the kitchen and spotted the half-empty bottle of wine. ‘Thanks.’ He paused. ‘How was he?’
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and he saw her bones shift under her smooth skin. If she dieted much more she’d disappear. ‘He seemed okay. Why do you ask?’
‘I spoke to him briefly earlier and he seemed agitated by something.’
‘Did he say what?’
‘No.’ Cass tossed his keys on the side, along with the brown envelope of cash Artie Mullins had given him. He could feel her eyes watching it from over his shoulder. She knew what it was. She’d long ago come to terms with the necessity of the bonuses. ‘I was driving, and something had come up in the Jackson and Miller case. I had to get back to the office.’
‘Of course you did.’ She smiled, but it did little to hide the acid in her voice. She shook her head, thick strands of hair loose around her shoulders. ‘I don’t know why you work so hard.’ She picked up her wine glass. ‘It’s not as if they’re ever going to promote you.’
‘Thanks.’ He stared at her. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her flat belly showed in the gap between the shoe-string-strap T-shirt and her low-slung jeans as she leaned against the wall, one hip thrust outwards. Kate, unlike Claire, was an undisguised beauty. Even now, with the atmosphere taut between them, he could feel himself drawn to her.
‘I’m sorry.’ She spoke so softly that he barely heard her. ‘That was uncalled for.’
Cass said nothing. Her blue eyes looked almost black as she watched him. ‘I mean it. I’m sorry.’
‘Forget it. We both know it’s true.’
‘I shouldn’t have said it though.’ She pushed herself away from the wall. ‘Are you hungry?’
He thought about it. ‘No. No, I don’t think so.’
‘A drink then.’ She sauntered towards the kitchen and he watched the movement of her slim hips. ‘Help me finish this wine.’ She rolled the glass loosely in her hand.
‘Okay.’ He didn’t say any more, not wanting to break this unexpected - if uneasy - truce in the stalemate of their marriage.
‘Unless you’ve got something else to do rather than entertain your wife for a few hours?’
Her voice was almost flirtatious, and Cass felt his tiredness ebb away slightly. Why did he find his wife’s unpredictability so attractive? The times she hated him, he could almost respect. Even if she didn’t know about his drunken (and not-so-drunken) one-night stands and ragged affaires, he was sure she must still have her suspicions. Their brief split nearly two years ago hadn’t mended anything. He sometimes wondered why they still clung together in the face of all their failings. Was it just the sex?
In the kitchen she picked up the bottle and a second glass. ‘Is straight to the bedroom okay, or would you prefer polite conversation in the lounge first?’
He looked at the stranger he loved, his eyes tracing the familiar curves of her body. Her nipples were hard, straining the thin fabric of her T-shirt, and for an instant Carla Rae’s dead body flashed before him like a photograph. He blinked, and drowned it in the darkness of his mind. Life, that was what he needed now.
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘The bedroom’s fine with me.’
Even as their sweat cooled the awkwardness re-emerged from the shadowy corners of the room and squeezed between their entwined bodies, a cold, deadly thing intent on pushing them apart. Cass pulled Kate’s slim body closer, but he could feel her arms begin to stiffen, as if now their blind lust was spent, she didn’t know where to put her hands.
She pulled away, leaving only cold air to mark her skin on his. ‘Let me get rid of this.’
Cass watched her pull on her thin robe as she padded to the en-suite bathroom, the used condom carefully pinched between two fingers. She held it with something like disdain, and Cass thought that pretty much summed up their marriage. There were bits of it she liked, but she didn’t like herself for it.
He pushed himself up on one arm and took a long gulp of his untouched glass of wine. The now-warm Chardonnay had an acid bite that didn’t suit his taste, but he swallowed some more. The bed felt huge around him. From the bathroom came the sound of brushing teeth, swift and efficient. So the rare romantic moment was over. He turned his pillow over to the cool side and lay back. The toilet flushed. In some ways she wasn’t so different from him. Although the closeness in their marriage had slowly faded since the abrupt end of his SO10 undercover operation back in 2005, they rarely went more than a week without seeking each other out physically. That chemistry that had flown like an electric current between them when they’d first met hadn’t died out, like it did in so many marriages. In those relationships people sank into some kind of faux-happy platonic companionship and drifted through years of life together, hiding the cracks behind the business of raising children and buying bigger houses. He wasn’t sure if either was ideal, but he’d take what he and Kate had over the other any day. At least it was honest.
The bathroom door opened. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and she kept her robe tightly closed as she returned to her side of the bed. For a while they lay there in silence. Although Cass’s eyes ached with tiredness, the clock was only just ticking round to half-past nine. It was too early to sleep, and too late to get up again. The awkwardness that was the only child of their strange marriage embraced Cass and he felt tension knot in his shoulders. His breathing sounded irregular in his chest, and he could barely hear hers.
‘Why did you do it, Cass?’
He rubbed his tired eyes and then rested his arm across them. He didn’t need to ask what she meant. It was the same question, always. It was the only question. It was the cause of the rot in their marriage, hidden deep. It was like a corpse dumped and left to bloat on a riverbed, but it was there all the same.
‘I don’t want to talk about it, Kate.’ He tried not to let a long sigh escape with
his words, but he failed.
‘I do.’
The mattress creaked. In the darkness behind his closed, covered eyes, he thought perhaps she’d sat up.
‘Well, I don’t. It’s been a shit day in the middle of a shit week.’
‘You never want to talk about it.’
Her tone had hardened and his skin prickled. Great. Just what they needed. A post-sex argument. Echoes of colour swirled behind his closed lids and he thought he saw the outline of wide, dark eyes in them. He opened his own before those from the memory could take shape completely. She was right. He never did want to talk about it.
‘Just not tonight, Kate. Okay?’
‘It’s never any night.’ The words were hot and angry. ‘I need to understand it.’
‘Kate, you know there’s nothing more I can say.’ He stared at the ceiling. ‘And I don’t see why you need to discuss it tonight. Just let it go.’
‘If only we could.’ She rolled onto her back, mirroring his position. The invisible divide down the middle of the bed had never felt more pronounced to Cass, as if the mattress itself were straining to tear itself in two and make the break definite.
‘I’ve had to live with it too, you know. All these years,’ she said, ‘the looks at parties. The whispers among the other wives. The way they left me out of everything as if I was tainted by what you’d done.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I stood by you, Cass, when they said it was over for you. That even if you kept your job, you’d never be promoted. And then even after . . . after the thing that happened with us . . . I stood by you.’
You didn’t really have anywhere else to go. He bit the retort back. This was an old argument that refused to die and there was nothing new to throw at each other in the ring, primarily because he rarely joined in. He wasn’t going to make matters worse by starting now.
A Matter Of Blood (The Dog-Faced Gods Trilogy) Page 4