Closer Than Blood

by Paul Grzegorzek

  I waited for him to surface, not realising that I was holding my breath until my lungs began to burn, but even after the Barry’s reached me there was no sign. I couldn’t even begin to process how I felt, having found the brother I thought was dead only to lose him again in the space of moments. I was still standing there, staring out at the whitecaps racing towards the shore in the slowly fading sunlight when the lifeboats arrived, followed soon after by the chugging roar of a coastguard helicopter.

  It wasn’t until my boss arrived, striding up the steps like fury personified, that I turned from the sea to face the storm of shit that was about to blow my way.

  Chapter 3

  In my experience there are three types of people who make Inspector. Those who are good at the job and settle into it like a comfortable coat, those who hang around for a couple of years before being promoted, and finally those who have risen as far as they will ever go and so wield their modicum of power with an unpleasant intensity that burns anyone who challenges it. There are exceptions to that rule, of course, but Toby Pike wasn’t one of them. Tall and thin with straw-coloured hair that stuck out at odd angles and wrapped in a long brown mac over his suit despite the clement weather, he looked like nothing so much as an angry scarecrow.

  “What kind of fucked up operation do you think you’re running?” he demanded as we stood by his car, abandoned at the bottom of the steps to the marina wall. “My fucking nephew could run a better follow and he’s three!”

  Unfortunately, in this case he was right.

  “There were complications,” I admitted, “and yes, I fucked up.”

  “Royally.” He scowled first at me, then at the team who hung back, unwilling to get too close in case they ended up sharing the outpouring of wrath. “What have we got, eh? Nothing, that’s what.”

  “We’ve got Simmonds in custody.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, money laundering for a start. He had fifty grand in that backpack, and I’ll bet he can’t explain where it came from.”

  “I’ll take that bet, his solicitor is a devious little prick.”

  “Then there’s this.” I held up my phone and replayed the audio I’d started recording in the car park while pretending to text on my phone. It was tinny, but you could clearly hear the conversation between Simmonds and Jake. I shut it off just at the part where I stood up.

  Pike listened to it carefully, then shook his head.

  “Still isn’t conclusive, ‘product’ could mean anything. What the hell were you thinking, showing out like that?”

  “I wasn’t,” I said. “I know I blew it, but the second man. He was my brother.”

  “Your brother is a drug dealer?” He eyed me suspiciously, no doubt wondering why he didn’t already know something that important.

  “Actually, I thought he was dead. He disappeared years ago.” Even now the words intensified the ache in my gut. Rotten apple he might be, but he was still my brother and we’d been close as kids.

  “Well he probably is now,” Pike said with his usual lack of tact. “But I guess that’s for PSD to sort out. Have they still got you on speed dial?”

  PSD, or professional standards, are the British version of Internal Affairs. I’d had more than my fair share of run-ins with them, it was true, but I’d kept my nose clean for a long time now and Pike’s attitude was starting to rankle.

  “I doubt it,” I said, trying not to rise to the bait. “Most of the people who were in PSD last time I was in trouble have probably retired by now. Was there anything else, sir? Only we’ve got a prisoner, and I need to debrief the team.”

  Pike stared at me for a while, clearly trying to figure out how to push my buttons a little more effectively. He was always like this, snide comments and not-so-subtle digs designed to rouse my infamous temper. It might have worked ten years ago, but I was older now. A little wiser and despite my stalled career, very keen not to lose my job.

  “Sir?”

  “Fine.” Pike sighed. “Get your team debriefed and the prisoner handed over to uniform, then check in later. By then I’ll no doubt have a better idea of just how badly you fucked up.”

  Burying an angry retort, I nodded and waved the team over. I moved far enough away until Pike was out of earshot, then looked at the expectant faces surrounding me.

  “Firstly, I want to apologise,” I began, squaring my shoulders. “I screwed it up. For those of you who haven’t pieced it together by now, the man Simmonds was meeting was my brother. I won’t bore you with the reasons, but when I realised it was him it threw me. It was stupid and unprofessional and it blew months of our, your, hard work.”

  One of the Barry’s shrugged and looked around at the others.

  “We still get paid the same, right? Not like we’re on commission. Besides, Simmonds is in custody and we’ll get him for something. Seems to me like that’s still half a win.”

  The others nodded and I felt more than a little relieved. The rest of the force could think whatever they wanted about me, but I needed the trust of my team or I had nothing.

  “Thank you. I can promise you it won’t happen again. Now, who wants to take a trip up to custody to book Simmonds in and deal with the property? I don’t want to let that cash out of our sight until it’s locked away in the store. Barry, Jane, well volunteered.”

  The officers I’d picked nodded and walked towards the marked van that had arrived to transport Simmonds. I looked at the rest of the team.

  “Right, the rest of you follow me back to the nick, then we can have a chat with CID about interviewing our prisoner.”

  I began to walk back to the spot where we’d left the car, only to feel a hand on my arm. I slowed as Phil spoke quietly in my ear, his gravelly voice a rumble like a rockslide in an earthquake.

  “You OK? What about your brother?”

  “What about him?” I forced myself to sound cheerful, despite the sick feeling in my gut and the little voice in my head telling me that he was dead for real this time. “He’s a tough nut, always was. A quick dip in the sea is nothing.”

  “You can’t kid a kidder, Gareth. You know you’d be perfectly within your rights to take some time off, what with your dad, and now this.”

  “What I don’t need,” I replied emphatically, “is time to think. I need to keep busy. I appreciate the concern though.”

  “Then at least stay here and wait to see if they find him. If it was me I’d be up on that wall right now. You go back to the nick and you’ll be useless.”

  “I’ve got a job to do.”

  “No disrespect, but any one of us can cover you for a few hours. Stay here, let me speak to CID and the others will do whatever else needs doing. We’ve got this, you go look for your brother.”

  I slowed, then stopped. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Stay.”

  “OK, but call me if you need me, yeah?”

  He nodded again and I turned, heading back towards the wall.

  Pike saw the movement and watched me as I crossed the plaza and climbed the steps again. He stared for a moment then got back in his car, face unreadable.

  I tried to find it in me to care, but instead all I felt inside was emptiness as I returned to the place where my brother had dropped into the cold waters below.

  Chapter 4

  It was dark when they finally called off the search. I stayed there on the wall, eyes searching the waves as lifeboats and a coastguard dinghy cut frothy white lines in the water.

  Sometime during the evening a thoughtful police officer, one of those waiting nearby in case anything was found, had brought me a cup of coffee, but other than that I’d been left alone with my thoughts.

  What I wanted, I realised, was closure. Even though Dad and I had given up hope, I realised now that a tiny part of me had never really believed that Jake was dead. Now I faced the same agony again, and I admitted to myself that I would rather know he was dead than spend more years wondering. Criminal he might be,
but he was my brother and a part of me still loved him.

  “Sarge?” The voice made me turn to see a young officer, face all but hidden in the twilight.

  “What’s up?”

  “They’re calling off the search, too dark.” He sounded apologetic.

  “Thanks, I hadn’t realised how late it was.”

  “You need a lift back?”

  “No thanks,” I shook my head. “I’ve got a car nearby.”

  He nodded and left. I stayed there a while longer, shivering slightly as the wind picked up, bringing with it the briny scent of the sea. Then, when the lights dotted along the top of the wall began to glow faint orange, I turned and made my way back to the car. I was dreading what I had to do next. I had two choices, and each one left me with a sour taste in my mouth. Did I tell my dad that Jake had been alive that morning, allowing him the false hope that that might still be the case, or did I stay quiet and lie by omission? What made it worse was that I couldn’t get his advice on the matter. Ever since I was young he’d been the one I turned to when I had a problem I couldn’t solve on my own, and I’d come to rely on his support the same way I relied on the fact there was air to breathe.

  By the time I reached the Hospice in Woodingdean, a little under ten minutes’ drive from the marina, I still hadn’t made a decision.

  It was beautiful, with sprawling red-brick buildings and gardens both sculpted and natural-looking, and it occurred to me that there were worse places to spend your last days. They had managed to instil an air of tranquillity, and as I climbed out of the car and walked towards the door I could barely hear the traffic passing on the busy road nearby.

  I punched the code into the door and heard the lock release, letting myself in to be hit by the smell of roast beef and baked bread. Unlike the hospital Dad had been in until recently, the food here was excellent and right up to the point he’d lost his appetite he was constantly remarking that he hadn’t eaten so will since Mum was with us.

  I waved at one of the nurses as I climbed the stairs to his room. Dad had only been here for a week but already I was a familiar face, coming as I did both before and after work every day. I paused outside his door and knocked loudly, hearing the muffled sounds of the TV through the wood.

  “Come.”

  I opened it and stepped inside, forcing a smile as he saw me and beamed.

  “Dad,” I crossed to the bed and gave him a careful hug. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not too bad, all things considered. Managed a bit of beef today.”

  “That’s good.” I pulled up an armchair and sunk into it. He looked, for want of a better phrase, like death. Never a small man, despite his short stature, he had ballooned in the last few years. The only exercise he’d had since Mum passed away had been walking the dog, Lily. But when she too passed on Dad had done little more than potter around the garden. Now, his skin hung in yellow folds, drooping towards his jaw. Dark circles rimmed his feverish eyes, and he looked more frail than I had ever thought to see him. I turned away and stared at the TV.

  “What you watching?” I blinked to bring the blurry figures into focus.

  “Gardening programmes, mostly. Speaking of which, Sylvia from number 72 popped in to see me earlier, I’ve agreed to do her garden when I’m back on my feet.”

  I looked at him, unsure what to say. Pancreatic cancer wasn’t the sort of thing you ‘got back on your feet’ from, and my father was not a stupid man, but there were times when he acted as though he had nothing more than a touch of the flu.

  “I’m not stupid,” he said, echoing my thoughts, “but I’m hoping I’ll rally enough to get outside one more time at least.”

  “I hope so, Dad, I really do.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see. Have you eaten? I’m sure they’ll feed you if you’re hungry, they always offer.”

  The tears came then, and I couldn’t stop them. Here he was on his deathbed, still trying to look after me instead of the other way around.

  “Don’t,” he warned, his voice thick, “or you’ll start me off.”

  “Sorry Dad, I just …” I reached out and took his hand, surprised at how strong his grip was even now.

  “I know.”

  I sniffed a few times and shook my head, then suddenly I reached a decision.

  “Dad, Jake’s alive.” I blurted the words out before I could change my mind.

  The grip, strong before, became iron.

  “Say that again.”

  “Jake’s alive, or at least he was this afternoon.”

  Behind his glasses, Dad’s eyes grew wide. “What? How?”

  “It’s a bit complicated.”

  “Just tell me!” My fingers grew white from the strength of his grip. I sighed in relief as he finally released my hand and pushed himself up on his pillows.

  And so I told him, relaying the whole thing from start to finish and leaving nothing out. By the time I finished, he too was crying, silent tears running down his cheeks to lose themselves in the folds of skin around his jaw.

  “Gareth,” he said after a long moment. “You have to find him. I don’t care what he’s done, I need to know that he’s safe. Please, Gareth.”

  “Dad,” I warned, “If I see him I’m going to have to arrest him. Anything less and I might lose my job or worse. Besides, he might not even be alive, there’s no guarantee he survived that fall.”

  “He did, he must have done. Everything happens for a reason, my boy, and Jake reappearing now can’t be coincidence. And at least if you arrest him I know he’ll be safe.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”

  “Really? I can already think of one place you might try.”

  “Where?”

  “You told him I was here, right?”

  “Not where exactly, but I told him you were in a hospice.”

  “Then he knows my place is empty. Where better to hide than somewhere you already know?”

  The moment he said it I knew he was right. Jake might not want to bring trouble to Dad, but if Dad wasn’t there then the bungalow would be a perfect spot for him to lay low.

  “Are you sure you want me to do this?” I asked, standing reluctantly. Some tiny part of me was, I realised, jealous of the fact that Dad was so desperate to see Jake, despite everything he’d done. I pushed it away as he spoke, back into the darkness that spawned it.

  “Gareth, I’ve never asked you for anything, have I? Well, I’m asking now and if it makes a difference you can consider it a dying wish. Find out where Jake is, find out what kind of trouble he’s in and for the love of God, if you can do it, keep him safe.”

  Chapter 5

  Dad’s bungalow was up a steep hill called, unimaginatively, Hillside, at the top of Woodingdean, a few miles to the east of Brighton. At the end of the road, the chalk hills of the downs curved away east and west, while from the garden you could see the sea to the south.

  The road itself was quiet, the homes little more than slashes of light escaping from around drawn curtains to disappear in the dark evening. The evening wind had died down now, and as the darkness deepened it brought with it an oppressive mugginess that made even the short walk from the car to the house sticky and unpleasant.

  I could see lights on in Dad’s place as I approached, although that could be the timer I’d installed to make it look as though someone was always in. I moved as quietly as I could along the side of the building, feet still crunching on gravel as I passed forlorn-looking plants that were usually so well-tended. As if the house was a reflection of Dad’s health, once hale and hearty but rapidly slipping into decay.

  Taking out my keys, I searched for the right one by feel and slid it softly into the lock on the side door, hearing it bump gently against the tumblers. With a careful twist it opened silently. Even after all these years, I still expected Lily to bark as she ran at the door, but the kitchen was empty.

  I closed the door in silence and crept across the faded lino towards the small hallway.
Although technically a bungalow, the loft had been turned into bedrooms when we were kids, and so I headed up the stairs, avoiding the ones that squeaked with an ease born from years of midnight raids on the fridge.

  The light was on in Jake’s old room, fingers of it creeping out from under the door. I placed my ear against it and heard movement within. Taking a breath, I put a hand on the handle and turned it sharply, bursting into the room to see Jake, now dressed in some of my old clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hands.

  He was off the bed in a flash, fist flying towards my face. I ducked it easily, slamming an open hand into his chest and hurling him back onto the bed.

  “Jake, it’s me!”

  He paused in the act of scrambling back to his feet and I saw realisation dawn. He stood slowly, favouring his right leg and keeping the bed between us.

  “Didn’t think you’d come here.” His eyes never left mine, as if I was a snake that might bite him if he turned away.

  “Dad thought you’d be here.”

  “You told him? Why the hell did you do that?”

  “Because he deserves to know! He’s got days left, maybe a week at best, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him going to his grave not knowing what had happened to you. He wants to see you.”

  “No way.” Jake shook his head. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. The guys looking for me are the worst kind. If they even get a sniff of where Dad is, they’ll hurt him just to draw me out. Tell him … tell him I’m sorry, and that I love him, but I can’t go. You try and make me and you’ll be hurting Dad as much as it hurts me.”

  I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, folding my arms.

  “Then tell me who they are.”

  “Look, I know you don’t leave shit alone, so the less I tell you, the better for all of us. These people won’t give a damn that you’re a copper, they’ll still leave you in a ditch.”

  “Then surely I’m safer if I know what might be coming my way?”