by Tiana Carver
Phil tried to come up with an answer, couldn’t get his mind to work fast enough. Marina spoke once more.
‘Let it go, Brian,’ she said. ‘It’s over. Finished. You’re finished.’
‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Move away from the cage. Or I’ll shoot you.’
‘Why? You’re going to do that anyway. It’s over, Brian. There’s a team of SOCA officers at the warehouse now, intercepting your incoming shipment. Mickey’s with them too.’ Marina looked at her watch. ‘Should be all wrapped up about now.’
Glass looked like he was about to explode. ‘You’re lying …’
‘Yeah, that’s right, Brian. I’m lying. I’m making all of that up. I’ve plucked that information from thin air and flung it at you just to get a response. That’s what we psychologists do.’
Glass started to breathe heavily. He looked around as if trapped. ‘But I can still … still take the … the credit for this … I can …’
He pointed the gun at the Gardener, then at Marina and Phil. His earlier composure had slipped away following Marina’s words.
‘Bastards, you bastards …’
Hand shaking.
‘You’ve … you’ve ruined everything …’
He moved closer to them. Stepped across the body of the Gardener, round the upended altar, right in front of them.
Phil was aware of some movement behind him. He couldn’t focus strongly enough to make out what it was.
‘Put the … put the gun down, Glass …’ he said.
‘Shut up.’ Moving nearer.
‘Why not just run?’ said Marina. ‘Start now. We won’t try to stop you.’
‘Oh you won’t, will you? Well that’s good of you.’
Marina tried to move away from the cage, take Phil with her.
‘Stay where you are.’ The gun trained on her, finger tightening on the trigger.
‘Make your mind up,’ said Marina. ‘Move away from the cage, stay where you are … Honestly, Brian, what d’you mean? Which one is it?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Come on, Brian, be consistent. Man of action like you. Natural-born leader. Should be able to speak your mind and get people to do it.’
She moved once more. Nearer to him.
‘Is this right?’ she said. ‘Or should I move back again?’ She took a pace backwards. ‘You tell me, Brian, which is it?’
Phil watched her, puzzled. She seemed to be deliberately trying to provoke Glass. He didn’t know why. She couldn’t get the gun off him; she wasn’t physically strong enough to overpower him. And Phil couldn’t do anything. She was going to get herself killed.
He opened his mouth to say something, didn’t get the chance.
Glass was staring at Marina, trying to think what to do, angry at her interruptions. He didn’t see Finn creeping up behind him.
The boy had slipped out of the cage. That had been what Phil had heard behind him. Marina had seen Finn, known what he was doing. Let him.
Finn had picked up the blade Phil had dropped, crept round behind Glass. While the DCI was looking between the pair of them, while Marina’s words had been throwing him off balance, the boy had moved.
‘So what’s it to be, Brian? Come on, make a decision. Haven’t got all night.’
‘Shut up … shut up …’
Finn slipped his arm round Glass’s body. Pushed the razor-sharp blade between his ribs, as far as it would go. Hard.
Glass’s eyes widened. Two white-rimmed bullseyes. He dropped his gun. Finn pulled the blade out, did it again. Glass jumped. And again.
And now Glass screamed as he realised what had happened to him. Screamed and kept screaming.
Marina looked at Finn. He had the blade raised once more, ready to stab him.
‘No more, Finn,’ she said, her voice calm, reasonable.
‘Him,’ whispered Finn, ‘him … he kept us in the Garden … he hurt Mother … he hurt me …’
‘And he can’t hurt you any more. No more. Put the knife down, Finn.’
Finn did as he was told, let the blade drop at his feet.
‘Good. Come here.’
The boy went to her. She put her arm round him.
Glass fell to the floor.
Phil looked between them. Glass. The Gardener. Marina and the boy. He must have frowned.
‘It’s what mothers do,’ Marina said, ‘for their families to survive.’
Then Phil’s world went black.
PART FOUR
SPRING AWAKENING
132
‘And about time. What time d’you call this?’
Mickey smiled. ‘Well you’re feeling better.’
Anni Hepburn was sitting up in the hospital bed, back propped on pillows, arm and shoulder supported and bandaged. She was smiling and, apart from the occasional wince and grimace, looking relaxed. Mickey sat down on the chair beside her.
Anni put down the book she had been reading. David Nicholls. One Day.
It was almost a week since that night at Harwich. Since Mickey had confronted the extreme horror of what humans could do to other humans in the name of exploitation. He had seen some bad things before. Almost on a daily basis in his job. But that …
That night he hadn’t been able to sleep. Not without self-medicating himself into oblivion with a bottle of whisky. He had woken up with a raging hangover and the realisation that what he had witnessed had actually happened.
But he had resolved to change things.
‘I’ve been busy,’ he said.
I’ll bet. And here’s me stuck in this bed. Missing all the fun.’
Mickey opened his mouth to reply, came out with a different response. ‘There’ll be plenty left for you to do when you get up. Don’t worry about that.’
And there would be. With the deaths of the other Elders, Balchunas had been left to carry the blame. He had immediately started bargaining, but soon discovered he had very little to bargain with. He had been caught in his own warehouse with two containers of illegally trafficked young women. Also on the site was a prison made out of containers.
‘Ongoing inquiries?’ said Anni.
Mickey nodded. ‘The Elders, as they called themselves, left very detailed notes. Who their clients were, what kind of things they enjoyed, how much they paid, where and when … all of that. And their customers weren’t short of a bob or two, either.’
‘Which means they’ll be fighting all the way.’
‘Absolutely. We crack one of the biggest cases in ages, lawyers have a field day. Going to tie the courts up for years. And then there’s the Gardener. Whole country’s being torn apart looking for the remains of his victims. He’s going to be bigger than the Wests, Shipman, all of them put together.’ He looked at her. ‘So yeah, plenty of work for you to do. Hurry back.’
‘Yeah, great.’ Anni’s smile dropped. ‘Look, I … heard about your girlfriend. I’m sorry.’
‘She wasn’t my girlfriend.’ Said very quickly.
‘Right.’
‘She wasn’t. She was … she used me for information. I was in the way and I …’ He shrugged. Couldn’t look at her. ‘That was it, really.’
‘She killed herself when she couldn’t take it any more.’ Anni’s voice quiet, light. Not wanting to disturb the surface tension of the room.
‘Seems that way.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I rode her too hard in the interview room, made her face up to what she’d done. Maybe I could have …’ He sighed again. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You couldn’t have done any more, Mickey,’ said Anni. ‘Like you said, she faced up to what she’d done. What she’d been a part of. And couldn’t live with herself. It wasn’t your fault. So don’t blame yourself.’
He nodded, tried to appear convinced by her words.
They lapsed into silence.
‘Jenny Swan didn’t make it,’ said Anni. ‘She tried, she was a fighter, but …’
‘I heard,’ said Mickey. ‘Clemens, one of the SOCA g
uys, nearly lost his partner. But he’s pulled through.’
‘Well that’s something.’
‘They were all right, those two. In the end. Recommended Phil and me for promotion.’
Anni tried to sit up, fired by his words. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Phil to DCI, me to DI’
‘Wow.’
‘But Phil doesn’t want it. So that means …’
‘You’ll be staying where you are.’
He looked right at her. Eye to eye. ‘I’m staying where I am.’
Silence once more.
The wind blew dead leaves against the window. They could feel a faint draught coming through, the world outside penetrating the room inside.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Mickey, after deliberation.
‘Me too,’ said Anni. ‘Haven’t been able to do much else in here.’ She pointed to the TV. ‘Except watch Clash of the Titans on pay-per-view. Again.’
‘When you’re up and about, d’you want to …’ He felt himself reddening. ‘D’you fancy going out one night?’ He suddenly found the window beside her hugely interesting.
Anni smiled. To herself. ‘You asking me out on a date?’
Mickey didn’t trust himself to answer immediately. He feared his tongue would trip his words.
‘Yeah,’ he said eventually. ‘Yeah, a date.’ He looked at her this time. Saw her smile. For him.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I’d really like that. I’d love that.’
He tried to hold her hand, but it was strapped up. Settled for touching her arm.
‘Ow’
Sorry.’
They both laughed. Kept looking at each other.
Outside, it was a miserable day.
But inside, the room was warm.
133
Donna had never had a good time with religion. Standing outside the church of St James and St Paul on East Hill, she thought of turning, walking away. Not going in.
But she bit down on her fear. Pulled the last bit of life from her cigarette, crushed it under her boot. Went into the church.
Inside, it was as she had expected. Dark. Polished wood. Stone. Tall stained-glass windows, high carved ceiling. All of it dwarfing the people inside. Making small lives seem smaller.
Don and Eileen were sitting about halfway back. Her first impulse was to go to them, join them in their pew. But she resisted. They might not want her with them. Might not welcome her. So she sat near the back. Easier to escape when it was all over.
Donna hated funerals. She had been to Faith’s just a couple of days before. It hadn’t been anything like this. Much simpler. A nearby church, the crematorium, then drinks at the Shakespeare. She had sent Ben to school. He didn’t need to be there, she had reasoned. His mother wouldn’t be.
She had witnessed the vicar glance at his watch while he talked about Faith, seen her cheap wooden coffin go through the curtains, then watched while people she barely knew used her death as an excuse to get hammered. Later she had picked Ben up from school, taken him out in town for a meal. Watching him eat, laugh and tell her about his day at school, she became determined to honour Faith’s memory in a better way. And do something for herself – and Ben – while she was at it.
She looked round the church. A lot of coppers there. Some she recognised. Not always happily. Part of her wished she hadn’t come. But part of her knew she had had no choice.
The service went on. Phil was asked to speak.
She had liked him. A decent copper, a decent man. All too rare. She watched as he stood at the lectern, fumbled to take his papers from his pocket since his arm was strapped up, looked round the church.
‘Rose Martin,’ he said, and glanced down at his notes, ‘was one of my officers for a time. And in that time I came to know her well. She was …’ He paused, glanced down at a very attractive dark-haired woman who had been sitting next to him. She nodded. He looked up, kept going. ‘She was all the things a good police officer should have been. Conscientious. Hard-working. Loyal.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And that she should die in this way is … particularly upsetting. Now, we didn’t always see eye to eye, Rose and me. But we were on the same side. And she knew it. When she needed an ally, when she needed help, she came to me.’ He sighed. ‘And I wish I could have saved her. I wish …’ He stopped talking, trailed off. Looked at the stained glass. ‘I wish she was still here. I wish I wasn’t standing here saying this. In the end, I was proud to know her.’
There was more, talking of Rose’s achievements, her accomplishments. But Donna tuned out. That was just cop talk. Nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the woman she had known briefly, who had died in her house.
Died in her house. A lot had changed in the few weeks since that had happened, thought Donna. A lot. She wanted to move on. Not sell her body any more, not take her anger out on the world. She had responsibilities now, she had Ben to look after. She had to look after herself, for his sake if nothing else. After what she had been through recently, she owed it to him. And Faith. And herself.
So she had gone to St Quinlan’s Trust, asked for help, enrolled in some classes. And she had felt good about herself. The first positive thing she had done in ages. She had a long way to go, but she had made a start.
Someone else was up now, another copper, talking about Rose. Donna tuned out again. She had come, paid her respects, that was enough. She could just slip out the back door, no one would notice.
And that was when she noticed Don turning round, looking at her. He smiled. Caught, she smiled back.
Now she would have to stay.
So she listened, and she stood and sat when they asked her to. She sang a hymn, or at least mouthed the words. And as she sat there, something came over her. Grief. She hadn’t mourned Faith’s passing. Not really. She had wanted to remain strong for Ben. But now, thinking of Rose, she let it all come out. Rose, this woman she had hated, who had hated her. Rose, who she had developed respect for, knew it had been reciprocated. Rose, who had died in her house.
She began to cry. Torrents of tears, flooding from her body. An unstoppable flow. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry, just let them come. Sat there, on her own, hunched forward, crying. For Rose. For Faith. For Ben. For what she had done with her life.
And then it was time to leave. Donna stood with the rest of them, tried to duck out. But couldn’t quite move. She took a deep breath. Another. And felt cleansed. Purging the grief from her system had made her feel clear-headed.
Don came alongside her. ‘How are you bearing up?’
Donna tried to smile. ‘OK,’ she said, her voice small and wet.
Eileen passed her a tissue. ‘Take it, I’ve got plenty.’
Donna thanked her, took it.
They walked out of the church together.
‘We’re … we’re going back home,’ said Don. ‘There’s a proper reception for Rose. But we’re not going.’
‘No,’ said Donna.
‘Would you like to come with us?’ asked Eileen. ‘Have a bit of lunch?’
Donna thought of their house. How warm it was, how safe it felt. And she was tempted. Very tempted.
Don and Donna. I could be your daughter …
She shook her head. ‘Thanks. But no. I’ve got to …’ I’ve got to make my own way. I’ve got to make my own safe house. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘OK,’ said Don. ‘But you’re welcome any time. Any time at all. You’ve got our number, give us a ring. Let’s get together.’
Donna nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Turned and walked away.
Out of the dark and into the daylight.
134
The table was laid, the chicken roasting in the oven, the wine bottles open. Don, beer in hand, took over the kitchen on a Sunday, wouldn’t let anyone else in. Insisted on doing the whole thing himself. Phil and Marina, exiled to the living room with their glasses of wine, joined Eileen, who was playing with Josephina on her mat.
An almost stereotypically happy family Sunda
y scene.
But the picture was distorted. Disguising just how difficult the last few weeks had been.
For all of them.
When Phil had recovered consciousness and was lying in a hospital bed, he had opened his eyes to find Marina by his side.
‘Hey,’ he had managed.
‘Hey yourself,’ she had replied.
He had felt good seeing her there, like it had all been worthwhile. And then he had drifted off again.
A few days later, he was up and talking. Mickey had been to see him, filled him in on what had happened; Don and Eileen too. And Marina. Always Marina.
They had sent him home with his arm strapped up and instructions to take it easy. He couldn’t do anything else. But although his body wasn’t responding, his mind was. And there were things he needed to talk about.
‘How’s Finn?’ he had asked Marina, the night after he had been discharged from hospital. Sitting in an armchair in the living room, the Decemberists playing, drinking wine. Trying to relax. Not doing a good job of it.
Marina had looked up from her book. ‘He’s fine,’ she had said. ‘He’s been reunited with his mother. We’ve got him counselling. We’re getting all of them counselling. They’re going to need it.’
Phil took a mouthful of wine.
‘D’you think you did the right thing?’
‘What d’you mean?’
Phil could tell from the look on her face that she knew exactly what he meant. It was what he had wanted to talk to her about since he had come round in hospital. And she had been expecting it.
‘Down in the chamber. You encouraged Finn to kill Glass.’
‘He was going to do it anyway. Or try. What could I do?’
‘He’s a damaged boy, Marina. What you allowed him to do could make him even worse. Unreachable, even.’
‘Things weren’t that simple, Phil, and you know it. What was I supposed to do? Tell him that I knew what he was about to do but strongly advise him not to do it? And then let Glass kill all of us?’
‘But …’
‘No, Phil. No buts. He’d just watched you kill the Gardener. He did the same thing to Glass. It wasn’t a situation where middle-class morality applied.’