Closer Than Blood

by Paul Grzegorzek

  I bowed my head and let the tears fall then, mourning the man who had been father, friend and mentor for my whole life, who had encouraged me, scolded me and made me take responsibility for my actions without ever judging me. He had shaped me into the man I was, giving me the tools to think for myself so that I could stand on my own two feet, but had always been there when I needed advice. I couldn’t begin to imagine what life would be like without him.

  His hand squeezed mine, jerking me from my reverie to see him looking at me, his eyes two glittering points of light in the darkness.

  “You alright, matey?” he wheezed.

  “I’m fine, Dad.” I hurriedly wiped the tears away with my free hand. “More to the point, how are you?”

  “It itches.”

  “What does, do you need more cream?” I looked around for his medicines but he shook his head without raising it from the pillow.

  “Cream won’t help. Itches inside.” A single tear tracked its way down his cheek, carrying with it the realisation that these were his last few moments. “Love you Gareth. Always a good boy.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but instead a sob burst out. He squeezed my hand again until I could get my words out past the lump in my throat.

  “I love you too. Everything’s OK, Dad, I’m going to be fine. Sally … I had a chat with Sally, we had a proper talk.”

  “And?”

  “And we’ll see, but things are looking up.”

  “Where?” He gasped the word, his stomach pumping up and down as he fought for air.

  “Sally? She’s, uh, she …”

  “Had an accident at work,” Sally said, pushing through the door with Jimmy behind her, “but I’m fine.”

  She crossed the room to lean over and give Dad a gentle kiss. Her face was pale and her left arm was in a sling, but other than that she looked remarkably well for someone who’d just been shot. Only the lines around her eyes gave away the amount of pain she must be in, but as I’d learned to my cost many times over, Sally was formidable when she chose to be and wouldn’t let something like a bullet prevent her from saying goodbye to Dad.

  I glanced up at Jimmy who mouthed ‘couldn’t stop her’ at me, before he stepped out and closed the door, throwing one last look at Dad as he did so.

  “Look after him,” Dad wheezed to Sally, “and make sure he looks after you too.”

  “I will,” she promised, the tears in her eyes giving lie to the lightness of her tone. “You just rest. I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

  “Good”, he wheezed, his hand squeezing mine one last time before it went slack. Sally moved back, perching on the arm of my chair and placing her hand on top of ours in silence as we listened to his breathing grow shallower and shallower until, finally, it stopped altogether and my dad left us.

  Chapter 55

  “I’d like you to explain to me, Sergeant, why you didn’t report a group of armed assailants coming into your home and blackmailing you into finding your brother for them.” The speaker, a hugely overweight DCI from PSD who went by the name of Kent, shifted uncomfortably on his too-small chair. I was so absorbed in watching the wattles of his neck undulate against his collar when he spoke that I almost missed the question.

  “I’ve already told you, they threatened to kill everyone I cared about, and it turned out to be the right decision as they were already inside our network by then. Speaking of which, I hope you’re looking at our IT department too, because they need a proper kick up the arse.”

  I was starting to get fractious and we all knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. It had taken them two weeks to put their case together, and now Kent and his sidekick Inspector Phillips, a smart-looking woman in her late forties with long black hair tied back in a ponytail over her grey suit, were asking me questions that seemed designed to bore me into making an admission of guilt. It was my third interview in as many days, with the first two covering everything that had happened in excruciating detail. I’d been assured that this was the final interview and so I’d expected something clever and dynamic, but Watson had been relegated to teaboy and admin assistant while Kent and Phillips took the lead. So far they seemed content to pick at things I’d thought put to bed in the prior interrogations.

  I glanced over to where Watson sat, the only remaining sign of his broken nose a pair of purplish-yellow black eyes that looked tired and somewhat defeated. I’d done my homework while I’d been off, between spending time with Sally and organising Dad’s funeral, and it turned out that Watson had brokered the deal with the Crime Agency’s PSD without consulting his superiors. He’d tried, but no one had answered the phone and so he’d made a time-sensitive decision based on what he had in front of him. I would have done the same, but his bosses weren’t happy and were looking for an excuse to throw out the deal he’d made and me from the force.

  “Leave IT to us,” Kent wheezed, frowning. “You’ve got enough problems of your own to worry about.”

  “Like what, sir?”

  “Like your agreeing to work for the Russians,” Phillips cut in, her voice sharp. “You’ve freely admitted that you didn’t tell anyone. You say that they were in our network, but you could have gone to see someone in person, at least warned them on the quiet. Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I thought they would be following me, which they might well have been for all I know. For God’s sake, we’re talking about an outfit who already told me they’d seen my PSD file, so they clearly knew what buttons to press. Assuming, that is, you’ve been keeping my file up to date?”

  “That’s not up for discussion,” Kent snapped, glancing at the tape machine the interview was being recorded on.

  “Surely your colleagues would have been safer if you’d warned someone?” Phillips continued, frowning slightly at the interruption.

  “Or I could have gotten them killed,” I shot back. “And while hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I’ll be the first to agree that I could have done some things differently, I still believe I made the right decision based on the information I had at the time. The moment I could I made contact with Inspector Holdsworth and the NCA and told them everything.”

  “Was this before or after you broke into John Street police station, tampered with evidence and set the fire alarm off?”

  “Excuse me?” I hadn’t realised they’d known about that, and with everything else that had happened, I’d almost forgotten myself.

  “We’ve got CCTV,” she said, “that shows you entering the police station and heading up to the fourth floor.”

  “So let me get this straight,” I said, thinking furiously. I was perilously aware that the terms of my original deal with Watson could be breached by any new allegations. “You’re saying I broke into the police station and tampered with evidence?”

  “I am.” She held my gaze, challenging me to deny it. I was only too happy to oblige.

  “Firstly, I didn’t break in. I couldn’t have done, as at no point did I get suspended. As a serving officer working out of that station, I have every right to go in there whenever I choose.”

  Phillips broke eye contact to scribble something down in her investigator’s notepad. Her face was unreadable but she must have known all this, she clearly wasn’t stupid. Why then, I wondered, was she even bothering?

  “And what was your reason for going there in the middle of the night?”

  “I needed to get a number out of my brother’s phone.”

  “How did you know where it was?”

  “It made sense that it would be on the fourth floor,” I lied, aware that I could land the SOCO, Derek, in some very hot water if I wasn’t careful.

  “So you went straight there?”

  “Yes, through CID. It seemed a better route than going along the ground floor.”

  “You were trying to avoid being seen, then?”

  “Of course! Anyone who saw me would have been duty-bound to arrest me. If that had happened then the Russians would have started killing my frie
nds.”

  Phillips and Kent exchanged a quick glance. The man nodded slightly and Phillips looked back at me.

  “And how, Sergeant, did you know that the NCA had set up shop on the fourth floor?”

  And there it was. I’d been completely straight with them right up to the point I’d omitted mentioning my run-in with Derek. It was my first lie, but the moment I told it she was on me, her routine, unimaginative questions discarded for one that neatly trapped me. I couldn’t be sure if she’d spotted a tell I didn’t know I had, or if Derek had already come clean. I either answered truthfully and admitted that I’d lied, throwing my whole testimony into doubt, or I forged on with more lies and she tied me up in knots until my story fell apart. Fuck.

  “Educated guess,” I replied, unwilling to throw either myself or Derek under a bus. “Whenever we have a visiting taskforce, they get given the briefing room. If they hadn’t been there I would have tried the second floor instead, but it seemed the most obvious place.”

  “So no one told you where they were?”

  “And who would have told me? I was trying to avoid being seen, it’s not like I could stroll up to the front desk and ask directions, is it?”

  “How long have you known Agon Hoti?”

  The change of tack made me blink in surprise. She clearly thought she had my measure now, and so the real questions had started.

  “I did an intelligence assessment on him a while back, but he didn’t give us anything. Other than that, the only time I met him was when I went to his club to try and get the flash drive back.”

  “You had no other relationship with him?”

  “No.”

  “But you knew him well enough to stroll into his premises, Vivacio’s, and get a meeting with him just like that?”

  “What can I say? Sometimes being infamous is useful.”

  “When was the last time you saw Eric Simmonds?” The changes in direction were coming thick and fast now as she tried to throw me off balance.

  “The day Jake was killed.”

  “Where?”

  “In his office.”

  “You went to see him?” She sounded disappointed, as if she’d expected me to lie.

  “I did. I wanted to find out how he’d been introduced to Jake.”

  “And?”

  “They were set up by a mutual acquaintance, Craig Harrison.”

  “What happened when you got to his office?”

  “He told me to piss off.”

  “Did you?”

  “Not straight away, no.”

  “What did you do instead?”

  “His minder attacked me with a pool cue, so I defended myself.”

  “For the benefit of the tape,” she said, opening a slim brown envelope and pulling out a set of glossy photographs, “I am showing Sergeant Bell exhibit AP/230518/04 and 05, photographs of injuries to Eric Simmonds and Edward Baker. Sergeant Bell, as you can see, both men sustained serious injuries. Baker suffered a blow to the throat, while Simmonds received a cracked rib and a broken scapula. The marks on Simmonds’ back are consistent with the pattern of a heavy glass ashtray he claims was thrown at him. What can you tell me about that?”

  “He says I threw the ashtray?” I let some of the anger bubbling away under the surface leak out. If you’re going to lie, I figured, do it big. “Bullshit. Eddie went for me with the cue and I tried to get to the door, only Simmonds was already trying to leg it. Eddie threw the ashtray at me and I ducked, and it hit Simmonds square in the back. He blocked the door when he collapsed, and my safest option was to go back and disable Eddie before he found something else to throw.”

  “By hitting him in the throat?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “It’s hardly textbook.”

  “Nor is running around trying to stop everyone you care about from being shot! Listen to me, I’m not denying that I did some questionable things, but I did them because I had a very real fear of what might happen if I didn’t. If someone told you that they’d murder your family unless you did what they wanted, how would you react? I didn’t kill anybody, and as soon as I could I reported what had happened. I thought the deal I’d agreed with Watson covered all of this?”

  Both interviewers threw dark looks at the bearded man sat to one side.

  “What it does and doesn’t cover,” Phillips said with a frown, “is a subject of some debate. Are you admitting to assaulting Edward Baker?”

  “In self-defence. Section 3 of the Criminal Law Act clearly states that a person may use such force as is reasonable in the circumstances in the prevention of crime. He was trying to assault me which was, when I last looked, still a crime. Not only that, but as you well know the law states that you can make a pre-emptive strike if you have the honestly held belief that you are in imminent danger of attack. I’d say having someone go at you with a pool cue fits that criteria, wouldn’t you?”

  Phillips and Kent shared another look, then she hovered a finger over the stop button on the tape machine.

  “It’s 1103 hours, I am now terminating the interview.” She pressed the button and the gentle hum of the tape deck stopped. Neither she nor Kent looked at me as she gathered her papers together and stood to leave.

  “How long is this going to drag on?” I asked before they could exit. Kent shook his head and walked out, but Phillips turned back to me.

  “For better or worse, this is the last interview. DC Watson will take you to a holding area while I speak to CPS and the Chief Constable. This is a high-profile case, so you’ll be delighted to know that he’s insisted on being involved.”

  “Yeah, ecstatic.”

  “Look, Sergeant,” she said, her expression softening slightly, “whatever happens, you’ll know in the next hour. That’s got to be better than nothing, right?”

  “That depends,” I said glumly, “on which side of the table you’re on, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 56

  Sally and I walked along the beach, fingers entwined as we strolled in the sunshine. Gulls flew overhead, their mournful cry echoing off the buildings on the road above while the sun glinted and sparkled on the waves and turned the sea to gold.

  “So, did they honour Watson’s deal?” Sally asked, nudging me with her shoulder.

  “They did,” I admitted, having refused to talk about it until the sea air had driven the last vestiges of that morning’s PSD interview out of my head, “but they’re not happy with him. I’ve been their number one target for so long that I think at least one of them had to be defibbed when they heard what he’d offered me. The NCA’s PSD are delighted though, it looks like Patterson and Jones are going to spend the next twenty years behind bars. Patterson tried to blame it all on Jones, so Jones flipped and told them everything.”

  Sally nodded and we walked along in silence for a little while. In the two weeks since Dad’s death we’d grown ever closer, but we’d barely begun to scratch the surface of the damage I’d done in the past and there were things that were still hard to talk about.

  “What about Simmonds and Eddie Baker?”

  “Baker gets away, but Simmonds is being charged with money laundering. He’ll serve a couple of years at least.”

  “So you’re ready to go back then?”

  “To being a PC? You bet. I never really wanted sergeant’s stripes anyway, it’s just not me. I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do. You know, show them I was a new man.”

  “And look how well that turned out.”

  “I know, I know. Anyway, I start back on Monday. They wanted to move me to another DIU, maybe Crawley, but someone stepped in and insisted I stay on Division.”

  “Who?”

  “Striker.”

  “Makes sense.” She nodded.

  I stopped and turned to face her. “Why?”

  “Well, you’re her favourite, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Jimmy said the same thing but I don’t know what I’ve done to make her
feel like that.”

  “You’ve got her brother to thank for that. Back when you were after Davey, do you remember chasing those guys up by Bhasvic? You know, the ones who came down looking to hurt him?”

  “What, you mean when that idiot PC got involved in a marked car and nearly got his head shot off?”

  “Yup. That idiot PC is Striker’s little brother, he works over in Hastings now. The way he talks about you, you’d think your bollocks were made from solid gold.”

  “Huh. Small world.”

  “Yeah. So, PC Bell. It’s funny, in a way it feels like the clock is turning back. You back to your old rank, you and me … well, you and me hopefully being something we can work on and,” she paused and gave me a sly grin, “me coming back to work in Brighton.”

  “You what? When did that happen?” I tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help but grin in return. It really did feel as if time were turning itself back to better days. Apart from Dad and Jake, of course. That thought wiped the smile off my face, but I still felt happier than I had in weeks.

  “Confirmed this morning. Lead analyst in DIU, so we’ll be working in the same department even if I’m not in your team anymore.” She poked me in the chest. “But whoever your analyst is, she’d better be overweight and ugly. Or better yet, a he.”

  We both laughed and began walking again. We had no particular destination in mind, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d just enjoyed Brighton rather than running around it trying to catch criminals.

  “You know they’ll be watching me around the clock, right?” I asked as we were absorbed by a group of foreign students, their bright backpacks and brighter clothes making it feel like we were being swallowed by a chattering rainbow. “I won’t be able to fart without someone measuring it in case it breaches regulations.”

  “You’d better not fart!” she exclaimed in mock horror before turning serious. “But you can’t really blame them, can you? That’s twice now you’ve gone and pulled something off-the-books, and both times people have gotten hurt.”

  “I know, I just … well. I just kind of get caught up in the moment.” I couldn’t help but sound defensive.