Closer Than Blood

by Paul Grzegorzek

  Our guard moved towards the door, then stopped and looked at us.

  “Go on,” I said, nodding towards the developing chaos, “we’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’m not supposed to leave you alone,” he said uncertainly.

  “No, you’re not,” Patterson eyed me warily.

  “Go on,” I said again. “We can’t get out, and you can see in. There are officers in trouble, mate, go square it away and then come back. They’ll think you’re a right arsehole if you don’t help.”

  He nodded and pressed the intercom to be let out. One of the sergeants opened the door and he all but ran over to the huge bundle, leaping straight in.

  The moment the door swung shut I stood, crossing to where Patterson sat. Looming over him, I gave him a glare that should have killed him on the spot.

  “Tell me something,” I demanded. “Was any of it real?”

  “What?” He looked up at me, torn between defiance and fear.

  “All that shit you told me about the Russians. Did you make it all up, or just most of it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he glanced up at the join where the walls met the ceiling.

  “No cameras in here,” I said, following his gaze. “They don’t need them because they can see us from the bridge, so it’s just you and me. Now tell me, how much of it was bullshit?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” he began, but I punched the wall next to his head hard enough that I left a red smear from split knuckles on the white plaster.

  “Don’t give me that shit!” I roared in his face, spittle flying. “I saw the fucking video, same as you. I reckon we’ve got two or three minutes until they get that mess out there sorted, so we can either spend it talking or fighting. I recommend the former.”

  He glanced at my hand, knuckles dripping blood onto the bench next to him, then back up at my face and I saw the fight go out of him. His shoulders slumped as he bowed his head to avoid eye contact. Part of me was disappointed.

  “They are a gang from London, and we think Svetlana is probably ex-GRU. Not much to tell other than that.”

  “Oh, you’re so wrong. Is your whole fucking unit dirty or just you and Jones? Am I going to get your mates turning up on my doorstep looking for revenge?”

  “God no, what do you think we are, some kind of Mafia?” He shook his head. “Svetlana told me and Jones she had dirt on us, said that if we didn’t play by her rules then she’d give it to our colleagues, so we made up some intel that she had a military-grade virus, made it look bloody good, too. Then we fed it to one of the team and let him run with it. Got approval from above and everything, it was a proper, sanctioned op.”

  “Clever. Why did you do it?”

  “Which bit?”

  “Well, all of it, but taking the money in the first place. You’re clearly a smart man, how in hell did you think you’d get away with blackmailing criminals for money? They do this sort of thing for a living.”

  “It just sort of happened,” he looked off into the distance. “I didn’t plan it. It’s not like you wake up one morning and think ‘I know, I’ll turn dirty today and take a couple of grand off a gang’. Sometimes the lines blur, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded ruefully. “That I do know.”

  “I’m sorry about your ex,” he went on, refocusing on the present to look me in the eye, “I really am. I never intended for anyone to get hurt.”

  “And yet they did.” I moved back to my bench and sat down, the fingers of my left hand playing with the torn skin over the knuckles of my right. “Sally stabbed and shot, Jake dead, the girl at the brothel dead, officers injured, my dad’s house shot up and that’s just the tally for the good guys. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s Jones, he’s an animal. He’s broken inside, somehow. He was a sniper in the army before he joined the NCA, and he …” He stopped abruptly as I leapt to my feet again, crossed the space between us so fast he barely had time to blink and grabbed him by the throat. Hauled him to his feet.

  “He was what?” I slammed him against the wall. He grabbed my wrist with a panicked hand, but I tightened my fingers around his windpipe and he let go, eyes wide with fear in a slowly purpling face.

  “It was all him,” he gasped. “He was the one calling the shots. Told me that he’d kill me if I told anyone, even made me take the money in the first place.”

  “Bullshit!” I shouted, pulling him away from the wall only to slam him back into it. “I’ve seen how you two work, he takes his cues from you. Try lying to me again, see what happens.”

  “It’s true,” he began, but I pulled back a fist and he raised his hands in surrender.

  “He shot Jake, didn’t he?” I asked, my carefully even tone fraying dangerously at the edges.

  “Yes,” he whispered, clearly convinced that he was about to die. “But I had nothing to do with that.”

  “And he was the sniper at the industrial estate.” I let go of his throat so that he could talk properly, but remained close enough that I could smell the fear oozing out of his pores.

  “He was.” He rubbed his sore throat. “We thought we’d be able to get the drive back without involving anyone else. Tell me something. How did you know?”

  I moved back and sat once more, surprised that I wasn’t already trying to kill him. Despite his denials, I was alone in a room with the man who had likely ordered my brother’s death and yet all I felt was sad and empty.

  “Tell me something else first. How were you listening to us?”

  “The Russians. They’d hacked your systems but we’d already piggybacked their computers. Everything they knew from you, we knew from them. That’s how we kept finding you. So, when did you realise? What gave us away?”

  “A few things.” I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to remember when I’d last had a proper night’s sleep. It felt like a year ago. “First Jake said someone else being involved. I should have listened more carefully. Then Svetlana said that she hadn’t killed Jake, but I thought that she just meant that she hadn’t personally pulled the trigger. Even then I didn’t realise that anything was wrong until I saw you hide the real drive and hold up a different one. Had you just stuck it in your pocket it wouldn’t have seemed odd.”

  “That was all?” He sounded bitter.

  “Almost. The biggest mistake you made was offering me that deal in the car.”

  “How come?”

  “Because there was no reason to make me a deal. Unless you wanted to make sure that I owed you one in case something came out later and you needed me to keep my mouth shut. It was enough for me to nick the drive and take a chance.”

  “Christ. You are one lucky fucker, you know that?”

  “Well one of us has to be.” I looked down at my chest. “Is that enough? Because if he says much more I think I’m going to kill him.”

  Patterson looked confused for a moment, then realisation dawned alongside a rage that was truly awe-inspiring to see.

  “Oh, you cunt,” he spat, face darkening. “You fucking deranged piece of shit. You know what? I hope that bitch we shot dies in agony, you hear me?”

  He stood and puffed out his chest, tilting his chin up for the blow he knew was coming. Red mist began to colour the edges of my vision and I rose to oblige, when the door burst open, bringing with it a wall of shouts from outside as Watson and another PSD officer ran in, grabbed me and shoved me up against the wall.

  “Gareth,” Watson barked. “Remember our deal! You hit him now and we lose everything. You want him to pay for what he’s done, get a hold of yourself.”

  To this day I don’t know how I managed it, but I nodded, then reached under my shirt and pulled out the recording device taped there.

  I waved it at Patterson.

  “Seems your PSD and my PSD are better friends than you and me,” I handed the device to Watson. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll
regret.”

  I walked out, nodded at Barry Everett, who, having finished playing at being a violent prisoner, was leaning against the custody desk and dabbing at a split lip with a tissue.

  I had to hand it to Watson. He might be PSD, but he knew how to copper. More than half the angry prisoners at the desk when we’d come in had actually been plain clothed police officers, the whole thing thrown together in the forty-five minutes it had taken them to drive us up to custody. All so we’d be left alone for a few crucial moments without making Patterson suspicious.

  In exchange I was allowed to walk away, although there would still be a price to pay later. For now though, all that filled my mind was getting to see the two people I cared about most in the world, even if it was just to say goodbye.

  Chapter 53

  Jimmy was waiting for me as I cleared the gates of the custody centre and stepped out onto Crowhurst Road opposite the car park of a large Asda store. He was driving my Audi, of all things, sitting in the driver’s seat chain-smoking cigarettes out the window in the clothes he’d worn at the café.

  “Took your time,” he said as the gate swung shut behind me, releasing me into what was now little more than a fine drizzle. “Get in.”

  I climbed in as instructed, surprised but glad to see him. I hadn’t expected a friendly face.

  “Like my car?” I asked as he passed me a cigarette without asking.

  “Always thought I should be more of a wanker. Turns out driving an Audi helps. We found your keys next to your phone at Sally’s house, and I thought I’d return them.” He threw my phone at me. “Of course, they’re probably both evidence but I understand you’ve wangled a stay of execution. The whole nick is buzzing with rumours about you and some of the NCA guys. Are they true?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded as he pulled away. “Patterson and one of his guys were dirty, they set the whole thing up. They … it was them who killed Jake.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Do you know how Sally is?”

  “I do.” He grinned and it felt as though a weight lifted off my shoulders at the sight. “She’s awake and well. The bullet passed straight through, didn’t hit anything major and she’s going to be fine. She’s probably pretty pissed at you though. That’s twice you’ve got her kidnapped.”

  “Don’t I know it.” His grin disappeared as he caught my grim expression. “Why does this shit keep happening?”

  “I told you before, it’s because you’re a shit-magnet.” He turned onto the A27, the dual carriageway that skirted Brighton, and headed east. “You’re like the eye of a shit-storm. Crazy things happen around you and leave you sat in the middle wondering how the hell you came out unscathed.”

  “Unscathed?” I rubbed the scar from where I’d been shot so many years before. “Not sure that’s quite accurate, mate.”

  “Compared to everyone else involved, it is. This time, at least.”

  “I guess. So what do you reckon I’ll get this time?”

  “From PSD?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Well they’ve outlawed the use of boiling oil, but I reckon they’ll come up with something that hurts just as much. You know you can’t keep doing this?”

  “I don’t intend to,” I plugged my phone in and dropped it in the tray between us. “I’ve had about as much excitement as one man can stand in a lifetime. I’d be perfectly happy if they ordered me never to leave the nick again.”

  “You think they’ll keep you?” Jimmy looked at me in astonishment. “If I were you, I’d be straight on Indeed and looking for supermarket security jobs, because that’s all you’ll be able to get after this.”

  “Maybe.” I could have told him about my deal with Watson, but some things you can’t even tell your best friend. Especially not when you’d signed something as binding as I had to get it.

  We lapsed into silence as Jimmy pulled off the A27 and dropped down Lewes Road, passing first Moulsecoomb, the giant estate on the edge of the city, then the university buildings that stood on either side of the road. It seemed odd, unreal somehow after everything that had happened to watch people going about their daily lives in the gathering dusk.

  We drove on, up Bear Road and past the cemetery where I had so recently caught Craig Harrison, then turned south and headed back down towards the hospital.

  I still felt disconnected, but through that wormed a sliver of fear. I was desperate to see Sally, to hold her hand and know that she was going to be OK, but I was also scared of what she might say. We’d shared something again in the short time we’d been together, and I was sure it was more than just an echo of what we’d had before. What scared me was losing that, and although I had no right to expect anything from her, I still found myself hoping that she would forgive me.

  By the time we pulled into the hospital car park, the sliver of worry had turned into a full-blown conviction that she’d refuse to speak to me. The distraction of my phone ringing was a relief until I recognised the number as Dad’s hospice.

  “Bell,” I answered, mouth suddenly dry.

  “Gareth, it’s Frank from St James. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Don’t ask. How’s Dad?”

  “That’s why I’m calling, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. You need to get here now.”

  “Is he …” I couldn’t bring myself to say the next word.

  “He’s hanging on, but I’m honestly surprised that he’s lasted this long. I think he’s waiting for you. Please, Gareth, he’s in a lot of pain and it’s time for him to let go.”

  “OK.” Tears pricked at my eyelids. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  Jimmy stopped the car halfway into the car park and turned to look at me as I dropped the phone.

  “Your dad?”

  “Yeah. I need to go.”

  He nodded and slid out of the driver’s seat, earning an angry honk from the driver behind us. I climbed out and round, slipping in behind the wheel while Jimmy hovered nearby, unsure of what to say.

  “I’ll check on Sally,” he said finally, “don’t worry about her. Tell your dad … um, yeah.”

  He tailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. His visible upset helped me to get a grip on mine and I forced a cheerful tone.

  “I’ll tell him you said goodbye, mate, he always liked you. Probably because you’re so shit at cards.”

  We both grinned, although mine felt like more of a rictus, and I reversed and shot off, leaving him standing there watching as I went to say a final goodbye to the man I loved most in the world.

  Chapter 54

  I broke every traffic law there is on the way to Woodingdean, screeching into the car park at the hospice a little over five minutes after leaving Jimmy.

  I sprinted across the gravel and almost broke the door down in my haste to get in. It seemed like a year before someone finally answered the intercom, letting me in the moment they heard my voice.

  I ran down the hallway towards his room, nearly bowling Frank over as he stepped out of another doorway.

  “Slow down,” he said grumpily. “He’s asleep. Typical police, don’t turn up when you’re needed then act like your arse is on fire when everything is calm.”

  “But you said …”

  “He’s not going to be with us for much longer,” Frank confirmed, switching from his usual caustic tone to one that was unusually gentle, “but he’s resting at the moment, so if you go barging in there like the world’s about to end it won’t do either of you any good. Slow down, take a breath and walk in there like everything is OK.”

  I nodded and patted him on the shoulder, taking his advice and slowing my breathing. I approached the door and stopped with my hand on the handle, resting my forehead against the wood. Forced myself to smile until it felt as close to genuine as it could get. If he woke up I didn’t want him to see how scared I was. He’d been my rock for as long as I could remember, and the thought of losing him was like standing at the edge of an abyss.

 
; Finally calm, I opened the door and slipped inside, squinting to try and see in the dim light. The curtains were drawn, and the only illumination came from a small night light next to the bed. The soft glow was just enough to throw his face into shadow, making him little more than a shape in the darkness.

  I could hear his breathing though, coming in short, sharp rasps that told of a body struggling to keep itself alive. I crossed the room and pulled up a chair, the movement disturbing him enough that he began to fidget, throwing back the covers as he squirmed in his sleep.

  On the pillow next to him a syringe driver held two vials of morphine, one already half empty as the machine sought to numb his pain.

  Reaching out slowly so as not to wake him, I took his hand in mine and sat there holding it, half hoping that he would wake to say goodbye before the end, the rest of me that he would slip away quietly while free from pain.

  As I sat there, memories crowded into my head from my younger, happier years, bringing both tears and smiles as I remembered trips down to the rockpools at Rottingdean with Mum, Dad and Jake, or a day out to Drusillas Zoo as a child.

  Then there were the later memories, like Dad and I crying on each other’s shoulders at Mum’s funeral when no one was watching, or the love I felt for him as he welcomed Sally into our family at our wedding. We’d had our rocky moments too, but most of my memories of him were happy ones, and I could honestly put my hand on my heart and say that he was my best friend as well as my father.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, tears trickling down my cheeks in the darkness, but eventually his breathing began to quicken again, his stomach heaving up and down as he fought desperately to draw breath.

  “You,” I whispered, leaning over to kiss his forehead, “were always the very best of men. Whatever good parts of me there are exist because of you. You don’t need to fight it anymore, Dad, you’ve done everything you can. It’s OK if you want to let go.”