A Matter Of Blood (The Dog-Faced Gods Trilogy)

by Sarah Pinborough

  Her sigh is soft, but he hears it. Her head is tilted as she sits with her sensible overcoat undone and her nurse’s uniform visible. He’s watched her emotional exhaustion grow over the weeks, as her shoulders slump forward a fraction of an inch more with every visit. He wonders if she’s even noticed that her walk home from the hospital now takes her four minutes longer than it used to. Her pace has shortened, her steps slowed, even though she has a family waiting for her. He thinks perhaps that she’s finding it harder and harder to raise her own energy levels in order to pretend to share in their joy at each other and the world. She is lost. She can feel it, but she doesn’t know how to change it.

  He watches the tiny signs as her body tenses, ready to get up, and he rises before her, moving towards the bank of candles. He is a few steps ahead and this is good. He doesn’t want her to feel as if she’s being followed. Her eyes follow him though, drawn by his golden hair and furrowed brow. He has tried hard to be invisible over the past months, to be just like one of them, but it’s difficult. Even though they can’t see the Glow, he knows they feel it. People are drawn to him, even those without a trace of the Glow in themselves - a genetic memory of the truth, perhaps. It’s been a long time since he’s walked freely among them without being bound by the shackles of the Network.

  He feels her come alongside him, but it’s only when she speaks that he visibly registers her presence.

  ‘I’ve seen you here before.’ Her voice is gentle, and there is a hint of an accent. Somewhere north. Somewhere she once belonged, before the capital lured her.

  ‘I work here.’ He smiles a little. ‘Well, I’m a volunteer.’

  ‘No job?’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ He feels her eyes take in his casual clothes. It’s been a while since he’s worn a suit. His soft olive corduroys and sweatshirt are all he needs now.

  She shrugs. Her shoulders are strong. She’s not skinny like the last one. ‘It seems to be a safe bet these days.’

  They are speaking softly, although the church is empty. The vicar is in his office at the back, preparing a sermon for the handful of people who will gather here on their way home after yet another long day of pointless work. He will try to give them hope, but he will fail. They’ll take his words anyway, and he’ll hope they’ll make a difference.

  She rummages in her bag and pulls out her purse. It’s small. She has to be careful about how much she spends. Nurses don’t earn much, and her husband works in a small supermarket. Still she slips a few coins into the box at the front before taking a candle. She lights it from one behind and then places it in a holder. They both watch it flicker.

  ‘Who do you light it for?’ he asks at last.

  Her eyes don’t waver from the flame. ‘Everyone.’ Her voice is like satin, and in the flickering light her skin looks almost beautiful.

  He takes a coin from his pocket, avoiding the key that still sits there, and slides it into the box himself. It clinks briefly and then hits wood. Not many people are paying for their candles these days. Everyone is looking out for themselves. Everyone always does in the end.

  ‘Do you think things will get better? Do you think there is hope for us? The world?’ She pauses. ‘I work with Strain II cases. It’s hard . . .’ She glances back towards the altar. ‘It’s hard to keep my faith.’

  He tilts the white wax stick, which starts to melt before the wick bursts alight. ‘Maybe things will get better, for a while. But I don’t have faith.’

  She looks at him, trying to see into his soul. He wonders what she would say if she could.

  ‘So why light the candle?’

  He smiles at her. ‘Because the Glow is beautiful.’

  He is standing so close that her warm natural scent overpowers the acrid polish that clings to his own clothes. She is so alive. He wonders how it will feel when he switches her off.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘You’ve got to give us something.’ Ramsey was starting to sound as tired as Cass felt. ‘We’ve got your DNA, indicating you had sex with Jessica Jones in the hours prior to her death, and your fingerprints are on the shotgun. There must be something you can tell us.’

  They’d been sitting in the over-warm interview room for almost two hours and they were just going round in circles. Cass wanted to bang his head against the solid table and scream. Instead, he lit another cigarette and gritted his teeth. There were only four left in the packet. Your DNA and your fingerprints. Even though the list of the evidence they’d found had been repeated over and over, it still sounded surreal.

  ‘I keep telling you, I don’t understand it. It’s got to be a mistake.’ He looked up at Ramsey and shrugged. ‘I don’t have any answers.’

  ‘Your brother’s dead wife had your sperm inside her.’ Bowman snorted derisively. He was seated next to Ramsey on the other side of the grey desk, and Cass was pleased to see him flinch slightly when he moved. His appendix might have turned out to be fine, but he was obviously still in pain from whatever was making him ill. ‘There’s one obvious answer that I can see. You were fucking her.’

  Cass glared. And so the trip round the circle began again. ‘I’ve already told you that I haven’t seen my brother or his wife in months. I was not there that night.’

  ‘But you admit you were fucking her?’

  Cass wanted to reach across and punch the smug bastard in the stomach, right through his stitches. He wanted to rip out his heart, just so Bowman could know what it felt like.

  ‘I was not sleeping with her, but - as I have already told you, eight times - we had a very brief affaire five years ago.’ The words were like razor blades, slashing his guilt into his flesh. He had wanted what Christian had, and so he had taken the only part of his life that he could. His throat tightened as his brother’s open, smiling face rose up, unwanted, in his memory. Christian had always been happy to see Cass. He’d never lost that puppy-dog adoration he’d had for his elder brother when they were kids. For a moment, Cass’s vision blurred and he sucked hard on the cigarette. Bowman would love to see him break down, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘What is it with you? Do you have to fuck every woman you meet, Cass?’ Bowman shook his head. ‘You’re fucking unbelievable.’

  ‘Enough.’

  Cass was too angry to pay any attention to Ramsey’s interjection. He glared at Bowman’s pale face. ‘I met your ex-wife, remember? But even I wouldn’t have touched that ugly bitch.’

  ‘I said enough!’ Ramsey snarled. ‘Leave your problems outside and let’s run this interview like the professionals we are supposed to be.’ He turned to look at Bowman. ‘And if you can’t manage that, then you can go and wait outside. This is my case. You’re just in here out of courtesy to your DCI . Do you understand that?’

  Bowman reluctantly nodded and Ramsey turned back to Cass. ‘And I know this isn’t easy for you, but try not to make it any harder on us all.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘So when did the affaire end?’

  ‘Almost immediately it started. Neither of us liked ourselves for it. From start to finish it can’t have been more than three months. It finished when my parents died.’ Cass met Ramsey’s gaze. If it had just been Ramsey in the room and no tape recorder, then perhaps he would have opened up, told him the details. There was something about the man that he liked. He felt a connection with him. He figured that Ramsey might just understand without judging . . . but there was no way in hell he was going to reveal his sordid little secrets in front of Bowman, knowing that every dirty little fact would be clinically typed up and put in a file for anyone to read. Some things were supposed to live only in a man’s soul.

  ‘It was wrong. We both knew that,’ he repeated quietly, ‘and it was not something either of us were wanting to start up again, ever. They got on with their lives, and raising Luke. I stayed out of the way as much as possible. Me and Kate—’

  ‘—your wife,’ Ramsey interjected, clarifying for the recording.

  ‘Kate, my wife, and I
would visit for Luke’s birthday, or Christmas sometimes. I saw them maybe three or four times a year. Kate saw them more often, but not exactly regularly.’

  ‘And as far as you’re aware, your brother never found out about the affaire.’

  ‘No, I’m sure he didn’t know. When he rang me the other night he didn’t sound angry - maybe anxious and wound up about something, but not angry.’

  ‘Although we only have your word for that,’ Bowman added.

  ‘I guess you do.’ Cass refused to rise to the bait. ‘But Kate spoke to him briefly. I’m sure if he’d told her that I’d been screwing his wife she would have mentioned that when I got home.’

  ‘You can never tell how women will react.’

  ‘I think I probably know my own wife. We’ve been together a long time. She’s not the sort to take that sort of thing quietly.’

  Bowman smirked, making Cass want to rip his heart out all over again.

  ‘Okay,’ Ramsey said, ignoring the DI, ‘let’s get back to the gun.’

  ‘Christian didn’t own a gun.’

  ‘Well, whether he’d owned it for long, had only just bought it or had borrowed it from someone, there it was, found next to his dead body, and your fingerprints were on the barrels.’

  Cass stared. ‘The barrels? Not the trigger? Look, I’ve said this before and I’m going to keep repeating it until the cows come home, because it’s the bloody truth: as far as I was aware, Christian didn’t own a gun. I wasn’t there that night. I don’t know what happened, other than what’s in the report. Until Claire told me they were dead, I had had no bloody idea.’

  He leaned forward, looked at Ramsey. ‘Look, I wish I did know more. I wish I could understand what my brother did. But I don’t. And I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Which brings us back to where you were.’ Bowman made a pretence of flicking through papers. ‘You drove around London and then fell asleep in a Tesco car park down in Newham? It’s not exactly the most watertight of alibis, is it? You’re not even clear on where you went before deciding that Tesco was the best place to lay your head for the night - when you’re in charge of two serious cases.’

  Ramsey sent the DI a sharp glare. ‘Stay on the point.’

  ‘With all due respect, I am on the point. The Tesco security camera has his car parking up at gone three in the morning. He could have been anywhere between the time he rowed with his wife and stormed out of the house and when he ended up there. And he can’t tell us where he was.’

  ‘I did tell you where I was,’ Cass said, trying to keep hold of his exasperation. ‘I was driving. And I can tell you where I wasn’t. I wasn’t at my brother’s house.’

  ‘Again, we only have your word for that.’ Bowman’s voice rose slightly. ‘So you go out and get drunk, or whatever you did, and then, after sleeping it off in a car park, you go home and stick your clothes straight in the washing machine. Nothing else, just your clothes. And we’re just supposed to take you at your word?’

  ‘Like I said, I stank,’ he sighed. ‘And I had some blood on my sleeve.’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, you moron, it was my fucking blood! I’d woken up with a nosebleed.’

  Both pairs of eyes stared at him. He stared back. ‘Go and check my fucking car. If I’d been at the scene, then we all know I’d have been covered in it. I just had a nosebleed. I went home and stuck my clothes straight in the machine. I didn’t think to go upstairs and get the rest of the fucking laundry. I just wanted to get showered and get to work.’ He turned to Ramsey. ‘It’s a set-up. It’s got to be. I can’t see how it can be anything else.’

  ‘How about this: you’d seen your brother’s wife earlier in the day. She’d told you he was going to be working late - we’ve got him on security camera leaving his office at The Bank at 11.30 p.m. Maybe you decided to go back to your lover’s house for a while. Have a quickie.’

  ‘And what?’ Cass almost laughed, it was so ridiculous. ‘Get caught and then sit there on the edge of the bed, waiting while he shot his wife and child? Don’t be so fucking stupid. That’s just fucking crazy.’ He stubbed his cigarette out. ‘It doesn’t fucking work and you know it.’

  ‘Well, what about this, then? Your brother’s acting funny. He calls you and your wife. Maybe Jessica is worried that he’s found out about your dirty little secret. You’re out driving around and you decide to call round there, check everything’s okay. But when you get there it isn’t. Your brother opens the door, gun in hand and covered in blood.’ Bowman leaned forward, his voice low, almost conversational.

  ‘You’re a policeman. You know what you’re doing, so you talk him down a bit. You go inside and into the dining room. At some point he tells you what he’s done. Maybe he starts to lose it again. He points the gun at you and you wrestle. He falls back into the seat and somehow he pulls the trigger. Completely shocked, you find somewhere to park up and calm down for a couple of hours. When you know your wife will definitely be asleep you go home, wash your clothes and then go to work as if nothing has happened.’

  Cass stared at him. ‘How many times do I have to say this? It didn’t happen. I didn’t have sex with my brother’s wife. I wasn’t there.’

  Ramsey rubbed his face. ‘But you can see how it could look that way.’

  ‘Or maybe it was you that snapped,’ Bowman cut in, ‘you that blew them all away.’

  Cass gripped the edge of the table to stop himself lunging forward.

  ‘Enough, Bowman,’ Ramsey barked. ‘Right, let’s look at the facts again - just the facts. For a start the only prints on the trigger belong to Christian. And although there is a fingerprint of yours on the gun, I have to be honest with you, I don’t see you leaving it there. You’re not that careless. On top of that,’ he looked up, ‘Hask is pretty convinced you’re not the murdering type.’

  ‘That shows what he’s worth.’ Bowman pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Every fucker on the force knows that Cass Jones is a killer. The worst kind. It’s all in the files.’

  Cass’s blood boiled. ‘I did what I did, Bowman. You weren’t there. And do you ever wonder what you would have done in my position?’

  ‘Get out, Bowman.’ Ramsey’s voice was low but deadly. ‘Get the fuck out of here before I do something that I might not regret.’ Even with the hint of molasses in his accent, the words were sharp.

  The DI glared at Cass as he paused at the door. ‘You think you’re above everything, Jones. You always have. But you’re not. You got away with murder once and still kept your job. It’s not going to happen again.’

  Ramsey stood. ‘That’s not your call, Bowman. Now why don’t you go and cool your head somewhere else. You’ve got plenty out there with your own caseload to keep you busy.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Cass figured it was taking all Bowman’s reserve not to spit in his face. He contented himself with slamming the door.

  ‘I always knew that bastard didn’t like me, but I never realised just how much until now,’ he said quietly. Despite the foul taste in his mouth he lit another cigarette. His lungs felt cold from smoking too much, but he sucked in hard regardless.

  ‘It’s true he doesn’t seem too keen on you.’ Ramsey waved away the offered Marlboro. ‘But he made some valid points. The way he suggested things went down could play out in court, you know.’ He held his hands up as Cass opened his mouth to protest again. ‘For what it’s worth, Jones, I believe you. But if someone is trying to set you up, then they’ve done a pretty good job.’

  ‘Someone isn’t trying, he has set me up.’

  ‘Then give me suggestions. Who and why?’

  ‘Maybe whoever tried to kill Macintyre wants me out of the way. Maybe they think I’ve got something.’

  ‘Killing your brother’s whole family is perhaps a little far out, don’t you think? Just to get you off a case?’

  ‘They shot two schoolkids in broad daylight. They didn’t seem to feel too guilty about th
at.’

  Ramsey shook his head. ‘It’s still extreme - especially when from what I can gather you didn’t really have a lot to go on.’

  Cass knew his fellow DI was right. It was hard to believe that someone would go to that length just to get him off a case that wasn’t looking solvable any time soon. But he couldn’t see any other explanation. Frustration gnawed at him. ‘There’s something here that we’re not seeing. We’ve got a suspect in the serial killings sending me a film of those two boys being gunned down. And now this set-up.’ Ash dropped to the table from the burning end of the forgotten cigarette. ‘And however bad it looks, I know it’s a set-up. Something’s linking all this, but we’re just not getting it.’

  Ramsey looked at him. ‘Okay, so let’s say this is a set-up. How would they have got your sperm?’ There was no accusation in his tone, simply curiosity.

  Cass shrugged. ‘Fuck knows. They must have gone through our rubbish. Got a condom.’

  ‘You and your wife use protection?’

  ‘She doesn’t like the pill and I didn’t want a vasectomy.’ He paused. ‘Can’t beat safety first in this day and age. I’ve seen people with Strain II . It’s not pretty.’

  ‘You think your wife was sleeping around?’

  ‘No.’ His smile was bitter. ‘But I know what I’m like. She probably does too, and you hear too many revengefuck stories these days.’ He finally remembered the cigarette and pulled on it. The smoke was hot and tasted of old dirt. He stubbed it out and immediately regretted it. ‘Don’t even try to understand my marriage. We don’t understand it, and we’re in it. It’s a fuck-up. I damaged it when I was undercover and it’s never recovered. If we didn’t use condoms, then that would mean that we trusted each other.’ He paused. ‘No, that’s not right. It would mean she trusted me.’ He smiled slightly. ‘And I don’t even trust me. Not like that.’