‘No.’ The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
‘Great! I mean, not great. Actually, it’s pretty sad, really…’ Brandt corrected himself sarcastically.
‘Fuck you, Jeff,’ Franklin whispered.
‘Ah come on, there’s no need to be nasty, now is there?! Right, out you get.’
The two of them made their way slowly through the gates that had been opened using a remote control stored in the car’s central console. The noise of their footsteps was loud against the quiet of the street and, despite having one himself, Brandt had to stifle a little shriek of surprise when the security light switched on automatically.
* * *
Perched on the end of the bed, carefully observing Franklin rummage through various drawers, Brandt wondered what was going through his mind right now. The mention of packing clothes had been an improvised joke, but Brandt had decided to run with it. He figured that the safest way to keep Franklin compliant was to give him hope. He knew all too well what people were capable of if they believed all to be lost. Even someone as spineless as Franklin might manage to get the jump on him if he thought there was no alternative, so affording him the time to pack a few clothes was a small price to pay for delaying that eventuality. Nevertheless, Brandt knew he would have to face this moment at some point if his plan were to be successful.
‘Done?’
‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh.
‘Mind if I check your passport?’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t start making me all unhappy by becoming defensive. I just want to check you haven’t popped an old one in by mistake.’
Franklin reluctantly handed it over. Although it was one way Brandt had anticipated that sneaky little bastard trying to put a spanner in the works, a quick examination of the cover, which was still intact without the snipped off corner, proved otherwise. ‘Let me just check the dates,’ he said opening up but only glancing to see that it had two years left. Instead his gaze lingered over the photograph.
‘Just one more thing,’ he added, getting up and handing the passport back to Franklin. ‘Have you got your wife’s address written down here somewhere?’
‘What?’ He shouted in shock. ‘No. No, I don’t.’
Brandt lifted up the gun in line with Franklin’s navel. He closed one eye in a pretence at aiming. ‘Remember what I said would happen if you lied to me?’
‘What?’ He repeated. ‘I’m not lying.’
He raised the gun to his head, so he could look over the barrel and directly into his eyes.
‘Yes, you are, Brian. What’s more, if you don’t tell me where it is right now, I’m going to shoot you in the head, find it, jump into that car of yours, go around to your wife’s and shoot your kids in front of her.’
Brandt didn’t intend any of this but could feel himself getting carried away with the power he held in his palm.
‘And then I’m going to fuck her in front of her new boyfriend. She does have a new boyfriend, doesn’t she? No, don’t answer that! I don’t want you to be upset. And then I’m going to kill her.’ He paused, as though finished, enjoying Franklin’s look of revulsion. ‘But I’m going to let the boyfriend live,’ he added finally.
Franklin remained there motionless and Brandt could see the conflict in his mind. He clearly believed every word he had been told and was wondering whether providing the address would lead to the same horrific outcome.
‘Hey,’ Brandt said in a lighter tone, eventually deciding to break the tension. ‘Look, I’m sure your wife is sexy and everything, but we’ve got a holiday to get to and we can’t afford any further delays.’ He offered a reassuring smile. ‘The address is just insurance, that’s all, in case you try and do something stupid.’
The hope instantly returned to Franklin’s pathetic face. ‘You mean,’ he croaked before using his tongue to wet his lips in an attempt to get the words out. ‘You mean we’re not going around there?’
‘Course not. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a wanted man and don’t have time for affairs of the heart. Now grab that bag, let’s get that address and we can hit the road.’
The contempt Brandt had always held for Franklin was continuing to multiply as he watched him virtually skip down the stairs in relief. He mused that it would be almost worth carrying out the threat of fucking his wife just to see his expression.
He was led into the kitchen; a huge open plan with gleaming marble worktops. Attached to the enormous American-style fridge freezer, among the various piss-poor drawings made by Franklin’s kids when they were younger, was a scrap of white paper with an address on.
‘You sure this is the one?’ Brandt asked as it was handed to him, but the sadness with which Franklin regarded it meant that no answer was required. ‘Right then, let’s saddle up,’ he said shoving it into his pocket.
Franklin had already made it to the hallway when the doorbell stopped them in their tracks. Barely a couple of seconds passed before it sounded again, only to be immediately followed by an impatient hammering on the door.
‘Guv, it’s me,’ came the voice from outside.
‘What have you done?’ Brandt hissed, flicking the safety off the Glock once more, his mind desperately trying to work out when Franklin could have managed to call for help.
‘Nothing, I swear!’
‘Guv, I can see it’s you.’ His face was pressed against the small pane of frosted glass.
‘Get rid of him!’
‘What do you want Pulford?’
‘Guv, I need to speak to you. When you didn’t make it back to the station, I tried your phone…’
‘Answer it but get him the fuck away. Quickly.’ Brandt felt extremely uncomfortable watching Franklin walk slowly up the hallway. There were too many ways this could go wrong. ‘Just remember I have your wife’s address,’ he called quietly after him.
‘What do you want, Pulford?’ Franklin repeated, pulling the door ajar. He hoped that the irritation in his voice, which had been easy to put on given how much he detested this pernicious little scroat, would be enough to stop Brandt from doing anything rash.
‘Guv, we need you down at the station right now. There has been a development. Where were you by the way?’
‘None of your fucking business.’ It felt good to have a little power and control back. Now that Brandt knew where his wife and kids were, any thoughts of not doing exactly what he had been told were cast from his mind.
If DC Pulford was perturbed by his terse reply, he didn’t show it. ‘We’ve had a positive ID on the suspect.’
Franklin winced at the thought of Brandt hearing this and listened out for movement behind. His brain was screaming for him to barge past his visitor and get some distance. Pulford may be shot in the cross fire but that was okay as long as he made it to his car unharmed. He wondered whether he could get some officers round to his wife’s house before Brandt got there. It was a mile or so up the road, but if he used Pulford’s car…
‘Guv, you alright?’
The question shook Franklin from his thoughts. ‘So, who is it?’
‘Well we don’t know yet, guv, but it’s the man from the image earlier.’
He let out a sigh of both frustration and relief. ‘Well that’s not a positive ID then, is it? You twat!’
‘Well no, guv,’ he replied, the hurt of which caused Franklin a brief moment of satisfaction. ‘But they’re cleaning up the images right now so that’s why we need you back at the station.’
‘Right, I’ll follow you. I just need to lock up first.’ Pulford remained stood there. ‘Go on, fuck off then!’ Franklin slammed the door and waited until the silhouette moved away from the glass. He turned around and gave a little yelp at the sight of Brandt who was now right behind him.
‘Okay, good. We’ll give it a minute and then you go out and check he’s gone. I’ll wait here with the gun trained on you.’
The time passed excruciatingly slowly for both of them. When Brandt finally indicat
ed for him to go out, Franklin opened the door but then turned back. ‘My bag?’
‘Fuck your fucking bag,’ Brandt hissed. ‘I’ll bring it out with me once we know the coast is clear.’
‘I can’t see,’ he whispered before jumping up to look over the hedges that were obscuring his view. ‘Shit!’
‘What?’
‘He’s just waiting by his car.’
‘Bollocks.’ This was going horribly wrong. The moment the copper had mentioned identifying the suspect, Brandt had applied pressure to the trigger. He had waited for any movement from Franklin, even the slightest inclination of the head would have caused him to blow him away and then tackle his friend. The revelation that Pulford didn’t have the first fucking clue what he was talking about, had stopped him doing so but Brandt regretted that now. ‘Which way is he pointing?’
‘What?’
‘Which fucking way?’
‘I… I don’t understand…’
‘The car you twat.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Franklin jumped again to find the answer to Brandt’s question. The camp wave he provided Pulford, who had spotted him this time, might have been comic under other circumstances. ‘The other way,’ he said indicating left with his hand and in the opposite direction to where the X5 was facing.
Brandt wasn’t comfortable with his hastily conceived plan, but time was of the essence and, in the absence of an alternative, it would have to do. ‘Right, now go to your car and back into the drive so you can turn around to follow him.’
‘I could probably just do a three-point turn in the road…’
‘I know that,’ Brandt said, exasperation causing his voice to be louder than intended. ‘Just do it!’
‘My bag?’
‘I’ve got the sodding bag,’ he spat, closing the door behind him. The security light was searingly bright, but he stayed low, walking on the grass alongside the driveway to avoid two sets of footsteps being audible. As they approached the gates he dashed to crouch behind the adjacent section of hedge. ‘Just reverse in enough so that I can get in the back.’
Franklin didn’t reply and walked out the gates, towards the X5. He turned around to give another wave to Pulford as well as a twirling gesture that he hoped would convey his intention to turn the car around. To the side he could see the crouched figure of Brandt, who had gained a clear line of sight all the way to his car.
As he pulled himself up into the driver’s seat of the large SUV, Franklin considered his chances should he just pull away. Even if Brandt didn’t manage to shoot him through the glass, there was nothing to stop him blowing out the wide tyres and chasing him down on foot. With a resigned intake of breath, he put the automatic gearbox in drive and allowed it to creep forward before selecting reverse. Listening to the familiar sound of the gravel pinging away from under the weight of the car, an instant later the back door opened, and Brandt slid himself quickly inside.
Despite the tinted windows he crouched down as Franklin pulled forward. ‘Let him go in front.’ His voice was a needless whisper. He waited until he heard the car go past before sitting up. Pulford was in an anonymous dark Ford Focus and was driving slowly to allow Franklin to catch up. ‘Better follow him for a while,’ he instructed as they settled into a steady gap behind. ‘How far is the station?’
‘About twenty minutes away.’
‘Good, that gives us enough time.’
It took more than three miles for Brandt to feel confident that Pulford was no longer concerned about the extent of Franklin’s intention to follow him all the way. He had gradually picked up speed and his desire to wait at junctions until there was a gap sufficient for the both of them had waned. ‘Just a bit longer,’ he muttered.
‘Right, come off the gas a bit,’ he said, observing the traffic lights on green at an intersection a couple of hundred metres up the road. ‘Easy does it.’ The gap between them had doubled by the time Pulford went through. ‘Yesssss,’ Brandt pumped his fist as they turned to amber less than a second later. With Franklin bringing the car to a halt, he stared ahead to see if Pulford’s brake lights would come on. They did, but only a flicker, as he wiped off a touch of speed before taking the gentle bend head of him. ‘Great, chuck a left here.’
‘Want me to put the destination in the sat nav?’ Franklin asked whilst making the manoeuvre, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.
‘No thanks, mate, I know exactly where we’re going. Just keep following signs for the motorway.’ The cheerfulness in his tone wasn’t in the slightest bit forced. Not only had he thought his way out of the sticky situation, but he now had it confirmed to him that the police were still a couple of steps behind. He was once again in a vehicle that wasn’t linked to him, and this time he had no concerns that it might break down. He wriggled his backside to find the most comfortable position in the car’s spacious rear seats and settled down for the long journey ahead.
His thoughts turned to DCI Johnson and how she was getting on.
Chapter Seven
There was no cruel, tantalising dream this time. One moment Johnson was unconscious and the next she was awake. However, it still took a few more seconds for her brain to explain the tremendous sense of loss she felt. McNeil was dead. Perhaps she had known it from the very moment his eyes had stopped seeing her and his hand went limp. He was dead because of her. She didn’t know how that man, the man whose actions had first brought her and McNeil together and then conspired to keep them apart, knew where she lived. But of one thing she was certain. If it hadn’t been for her, then McNeil would still be alive; she would most likely be dead but at least he would be safe somewhere.
The conflicting emotions swirling around Johnson’s mind were threatening to cause her to scream again and she just managed to stop herself, for fear that she might be pinned to the bed once more and put back to sleep. It was only as she tried to put her right hand to her mouth to keep herself silent that she realised she had been strapped down. The sensation of only being able to waggle her limbs mere millimetres was too reminiscent of her attack to endure, and she let out a long, loud bellow of distress.
‘Help, we need a nurse in here!’
The shout made Johnson look to the door. It was an officer but, thankfully, different to the one who had restrained her before. She opened her mouth to speak to him but, before she could, he moved out of the way to allow one of the medical staff to enter. Even if Johnson hadn’t recognised her face, the nervous expression with which she regarded her would have been enough to confirm she was the nurse who had sedated her.
Her hesitation to approach gave Johnson enough time to speak. ‘Please, please don’t put me under again.’ She had done her best to replace the hatred she felt towards this woman with a tone of fear.
‘I… I…’ was all she could manage to stutter, her eyes glancing towards the small bag of liquid attached to the IV drip.
‘He tied me up like this.’ Although her statement was met with confusion, it had served to make the nurse look at her again. ‘The man who attacked me,’ she added. There was no need to feign hurt this time. Bubbling under all the rage, the guilt and the bitterness Johnson felt, was the knowledge that she had been violated by this man. He may not have got as far as penetrating her, but he had stripped her, tied her up and even sunk his teeth into her body. She fought to push this aside knowing she would have to deal with it eventually but, for now, she needed to concentrate on finding out what had happened since then.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry,’ the woman cried, her face transformed. ‘Here! Help me get her out of these.’ She gestured for the man to attend to the other side of the bed. Despite her concern, no sooner had Johnson been freed from her shackles, she took three quick steps backwards to get herself out of arm’s reach.
Johnson couldn’t bring herself to thank the nurse and, instead, turned her attention to the officer. ‘I need to speak to Potter.’
‘I’m sorry?’ He looked genuinely confused.
‘Pot
ter. I need to speak to Detective Superintendent Steven Potter.’
‘But I… er…’
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Er, no, miss. I wasn’t told anything. I was told to come down and guard you. I was told that you weren’t dangerous but then Blakey, I mean PC Blake, the officer I relieved, said you had gone mad and they had needed to, er… you know…’ he said, pointing at the straps.
Despite her urgency to speak and find out what the hell was going on, she couldn’t help but sigh. This was just typical, and the piss poor communication was something she had struggled with when she had first joined the force. As a new recruit, she had been frustrated at being given orders without any context, much less an explanation why. It wasn’t that she was over-inquisitive; she believed that she would be able to do a better job if she understood all the facts.
‘I’m DCI Stella Johnson,’ she said simply. She could see his expression change as the name caused a spark of recognition, before he stared intensely past the hospital gown, and the bruising on her face that, no doubt, was replicated across much of her body following her impact with the road.
‘Shit, sorry, ma’am,’ he responded, unconsciously rubbing his head with embarrassment, not only for not realising who she was, but also for swearing in front of a superior. The slight bow he then gave, which was hastily repeated by the nurse, would have, under different circumstances, been amusing.
‘Not your fault, but I do still need to talk to the DSI.’
‘Erm, okay. Right. I’ll call it in,’ he said, lifting the radio attached to the front of his uniform. ‘Nurse, do you have a mobile phone?’ She started patting her pockets and now it was his turn to sigh. ‘No, I mean one of those telephones on a trolley.’
‘Sure,’ she replied, running out of the room blushing.
It only took a couple of minutes to sort, but it seemed like an age for Johnson. The thought of the killer getting away was too much to bear but the longer she waited the more convinced she became that it was going to be bad news.
‘Stella, how are you?’ Potter must have been informed that she was trying to get hold of him. There was a desperation in his voice that seemed beyond just concern for her wellbeing.
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