by Kevin Brooks
I shook my head, more in annoyance with myself than anything else. I couldn’t believe that I was actually conversing with this man, treating him like a human being, or that just a few minutes ago I’d almost been tempted into feeling sorry for him.
‘You’re no better than your brother, are you?’ I said to him. ‘The only difference is that he’s a bit more honest than you.’
Bishop shrugged. ‘Well, that’s as maybe … but none of us gets to choose who we are, do we? Or what we do. You, of all people, should know that, John.’
‘What do you mean?’
He smiled. ‘Anton Viner …?’
I shook my head. ‘Viner’s — ’
‘Dead … yes, I know. It took me a while to figure it out, but once I started thinking about it … well, it was the only thing that made sense.’
‘I don’t understand — ’
He laughed. ‘It’s all right, John. You don’t have to keep pretending any more. I know you killed him. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did.’
‘That’s ridiculous — ’
‘John … John,’ he said gently, almost intimately. ‘It’s all right … I don’t have a problem with it. He killed your wife, you killed him. If I’d been in your shoes, I would have done exactly the same. My only concern is that I didn’t know you’d killed him until after I’d planted Viner’s DNA on Anna Gerrish’s body.’
‘So you knew your brother had killed her?’
He sighed, looking at Ray. ‘I told him not to come back. I fucking told him … but he just …’
‘What?’
Mick looked at me. ‘He just wanted to see me, that’s all. We hadn’t seen each other for years … he said he was lonely. I didn’t think he’d do anything while he was here.’
‘But he did.’
Mick nodded. ‘I guessed he’d killed Anna as soon as I found out that she worked the streets. He always went after whores.’ He shook his head. ‘They make it so fucking easy. I mean, all you’ve got to do is …’ He sighed, shaking his head again. ‘Anyway, I went to see Ray, and he denied it at first, but I knew he was lying. And he couldn’t keep it up for long, not with me. He never could. So I got it all out of him — where he’d picked her up, what he’d done with the body — and I thought it’d be all right. I thought I’d have enough time to get him out of Hey and sort everything out before the body was found …’ He looked at me. ‘But then you got involved. Not that I was worried at first, because I didn’t think you’d stick with it, but once I realised you weren’t going to give up, I knew I had to do something. It was too risky to move the body, so all I could do was try to make sure that if it was found, there was no way it could be connected to Ray.’
‘But why did you use Viner’s DNA?’ I said. ‘What was the point?’
‘That first day you came to see me, when I told you I’d been going through your wife’s case file? I wasn’t lying. I had been going through it.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘I always like to know as much as possible about the people I’m meeting before I actually meet them, so I had somebody bring me all the paperwork on your wife’s murder. Paperwork, photographs, evidence … I had it all in my office. And later on, when I decided I had to plant some evidence on Anna’s body, it was all still there. Nice and convenient. And then, of course, I realised that if the body was discovered, and we released the fact that Viner’s DNA had been found under Anna’s fingernails, everyone’s attention would be drawn to you and Viner and the whole serial-killer thing, and while all that was going on, Ray could just quietly disappear. But now …’ He glanced down at Ray again, then back at me. ‘Well, that’s out of the question now, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘It’s over … for both of you.’
Bishop smiled. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Give me your phone,’ I said.
‘I don’t think so.’
Without taking my eyes off him, or the gun from Ray’s head, I reached back and felt through Ray’s trouser pockets, looking for a mobile. The front pockets were empty, so I leaned over and dug into his back pocket, but that was empty too.
‘You’re wasting your time, John,’ Mick said to me. ‘He doesn’t carry a mobile when he’s …’
‘When he’s what? Killing people?’
Mick shrugged.
‘Give me your phone,’ I said to him again. ‘Or I’ll kill your brother.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll tell you what, John. You give me the gun, and then we can talk things over. How about that?’
I shook my head. ‘I’d rather just kill him.’
‘Like you killed Viner?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But this is different, John.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because if you kill Ray, you’ll have to kill me too.’
‘And why wouldn’t I want to do that?’
He smiled. ‘Because I’m a DCI, I’m a serving police officer. And no matter how dirty I am, no matter how much I’m loathed and despised … I’m still a serving police officer. And that means that if you kill me, you will go down. Guaranteed. You’ll be locked up for the rest of your life.’
‘You know what?’ I said, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. ‘I really don’t care any more. I don’t care what happens to me, and I don’t care whether you believe me or not.’ I looked down at Ray. He was starting to come round now — moaning softly, his semi-conscious eyes gazing up at me. I stared back at him, seeing nothing but a half-dead sack of bones and blood, a heartless thing with a broken head. And in the dulled grey mirror of his eyes, I saw myself holding the gun to my own head … and I heard a voice that might have been mine, or it might have been my father’s:
It won’t feel like anything, John.
It won’t feel like anything at all.
And I knew then that all I had to do was pull the trigger.
‘What about Bridget?’
I looked up slowly at Bishop. ‘What?’
‘You might not care about yourself,’ he said. ‘But what about Bridget?’
I sighed. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, knowing Ray, I’m guessing that she’s been through a hell of a lot in the last hour or so. And I’d imagine that when all of this is over, however things turn out, she’s going to need somebody to look after her, somebody who understands what she’s been through. And I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how it feels when you lose someone you really care for, John, someone who really understands you. Of course, I don’t know how close the two of you are — ’
‘You’re sick,’ I said wearily. ‘You know that, don’t you? You’re genuinely fucking sick.’
He smiled. ‘I’m only trying to help you see the bigger picture, John. That’s all I’m doing. I’m just trying to remind you — ’
‘I know what you’re doing.’
He looked at me for a few moments, thoughtfully nodding his head, then — very slowly — he got to his feet and began walking towards me. ‘So how about it, John?’ he said calmly. ‘You give me the gun, we sit down and work things out, and that’ll be it — end of story.’
‘End of story?’ I said incredulously.
He nodded. ‘Trust me — I can fix this. By tomorrow morning, Ray will be gone, Bridget will be in hospital, and you’ll be wherever you want to be.’ He stopped in front of me and held out his hand. ‘All you have to do is give me the gun.’
I looked up at him, and if it hadn’t been for the overbearing weight of tiredness inside me, I might have actually laughed out loud at the idea of trusting him … but I was so exhausted now, so lost and black and full of nothing, that I could barely even think. I was deep down in the black place, draped in the darkness, and I’d been there for ever and I’d be there for ever …
I couldn’t do anything.
Didn’t want anything.
What was the point?
The temptation to just end it all was almost irresistible. All I had to do was move my
finger … I could do that. Move my finger, pull the trigger …
Once … and Ray Bishop would be gone.
Twice … his brother.
And a third time …
Nothing.
John?
Fuck everything, just do it.
Listen to me, John.
‘Stacy?’
Bishop’s right … Bridget needs you.
‘He’s just saying that, Stace … he’s just using her — ’
I know he is. But she still needs you. And you need her.
‘I don’t — ’
Yes, you do.
‘I want to be with you, Stace.’
I’m in your heart, John … always. No matter what.
‘I love you.’
I know.
‘John …?’
I looked at Bishop. He’d crouched down beside me and was staring into my eyes.
‘It’s OK, John,’ he said quietly. ‘Everything’s all right … just give me the gun …’
I looked down at his outstretched hand — seeing the shape of it, the colour, the texture of the skin … the lines and the whorls and the pores — and all of a sudden I knew that I didn’t have to think any more. All I had to do was place the pistol in Bishop’s hand, and that would be it. No more decisions, nothing to think about. Whatever happened would happen. If I lived, I lived. If I died, I died.
The future doesn’t exist.
I moved my finger off the trigger, slowly lifted the gun, and placed it carefully in Bishop’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He studied the pistol for a moment, frowning slightly, then he looked down at his brother.
‘Micky?’ Ray muttered quietly. ‘Are we — ?’
‘Goodbye, Ray,’ Mick said.
He put the gun to his brother’s head and calmly pulled the trigger.
33
I probably only sat there for a minute or so, perched in stunned silence on Ray Bishop’s dead body, but it seemed like a long, long time. His brother remained where he was too, and when I finally managed to turn my head and look at him, I saw that he was crying. There was still no emotion in his face, and he wasn’t making any sound; he was just crouched down on the floor, staring at his brother, the tears streaming silently from his eyes.
I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t know what to say.
Eventually, Mick took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and without taking his eyes off Ray, he said to me, ‘It was the only way. There was nothing left for him. It had to end.’
I remained quiet.
Bishop looked at me. ‘He was my brother. I looked after him. I gave him his life … I had to give him his death. No one else … not you. I couldn’t let you do it. He was my brother.’
I nodded. ‘So what happens now?’
He blew out his cheeks and stood up. ‘Like I said, I fix it.’
He held his hand out to me. I reached up and took it, and he helped me to my feet. I looked over at Bridget. She was still out cold.
Bishop pulled a mobile phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll call an ambulance for her as soon as I’ve got everything cleaned up in here. I need to make some calls, make some arrangements. It’ll take a while, but that’s how it’s got to be.’ He looked at me. ‘Are you all right with that?’
I glanced at the pistol in his hand. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘No.’
While Bishop got busy on the phone, I went over and sat down beside Bridget. I put a cushion under her head, cleaned some blood from her face, stroked her hair … I told her, very quietly, that she was going to be OK. And then I think I probably cried for a while. And then I went into the bedroom and found the bottle of whisky that Bridget had told me about. As I poured myself a dusty glassful, I pictured us lying in bed together, and I could remember almost everything about it — the feelings, the sounds, the scents … I could see myself in the bed, rolling over and reaching down for my jacket, patting the pockets until I found my cigarettes. I could hear myself asking Bridget if she minded if I smoked, and her saying, ‘There’s a bottle of whisky somewhere. Sarah’s always liked a drop of good malt … I think it’s in the cupboard over there. Just help yourself if you want.’
And I’d said,’ I’m all right, thanks.’
I remembered all that. But as to when it had happened … I simply had no idea at all. Today? Yesterday? This week? Last week?
My head was blank.
I just couldn’t remember.
I went back into the sitting room, sat down beside Bridget, and lit a cigarette.
It took Bishop about forty minutes — and at least ten separate phone calls — to make all the arrangements, but eventually he put the mobile back in his pocket and sat down on the settee.
‘All right,’ he said to me, glancing at his watch. ‘It’s all done. There’ll be some people coming round in a while to take the body away and clean everything up. They won’t have time to make the place forensically clean — and it’d be too risky ripping out carpets at this time of night anyway — but they’ll make sure there’s no visible evidence left.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘I’ll get Ray’s house sorted out tomorrow, and the rest of it … well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?’
‘What about me?’
He shrugged. ‘What about you?’
‘What’s going to happen — ?’
‘Nothing’s going to happen.’
‘Your brother was a serial killer — ’
‘And now he’s dead.’
‘You helped him kill all those people — ’
‘What would you have done, John? If someone you loved, if the only person you’d ever cared about …’ He sighed, rubbing his eyes. ‘I mean, imagine if Stacy had killed people, and you’d found out about it. What would you have done?’
‘She didn’t — ’
‘But if she did. Would you have given her up? Would you have had her locked away in Broadmoor for the rest of her life? Would you?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know …’
‘I did what I had to do, John. I traded a few dozen worthless lives for the life of my brother. Right or wrong, that’s all I did. You can judge me if you want — ’
‘It’s not up to me to judge you. It’s up to a court.’
He sniffed. ‘If I go to court, so do you, for killing Anton Viner. That’s why nothing’s going to happen to either of us. You know what Ray did, you know what I did — and what I’ve just done — and I know what you did. We’re all in the same boat, John. We can either sink in it together, or we can survive together. And the way I see it, if we both go down … well, what purpose will it serve? What good will it do anyone?’
‘What good will it do if we both survive? What good will that do to anyone?’
He smiled. ‘You’re a cheerful fucker, aren’t you?’
I didn’t smile back. ‘What about Cal?’
‘Cal Franks?’ Bishop shrugged. ‘He does the same as us — keeps his mouth shut about everything.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘I’ll just make a couple of phone calls to some very spooky people who don’t take kindly to cyber-terrorists. By the time they’ve finished with him, he’ll be lucky if he knows what a computer is, let alone how to use one.’ Bishop smiled at me again. ‘Any more concerns?’
‘What are you going to do about the Anna Gerrish investigation?’
‘Nothing … I’ll keep it alive for a while, go through the motions of looking for Viner, and then gradually wind it down. No one’s going to care. It’s just another murder … the media will soon forget about it.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’
He nodded. ‘It’s what I do.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
He just shrugged again. ‘It’s what I do.’
I looked at him, sick of talking now. I just wanted this to be over. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be at home, sitting in my armchair beneath the high w
indow, drinking whisky in the darkness, listening to the whisper of ghosts …
A bell sounded downstairs.
‘That’ll be them,’ Bishop said, getting to his feet and heading for the door.
‘I want the gun back,’ I told him.
He stopped. ‘The gun?’
‘I want it back.’
‘Why?’
‘Does it matter?’
He took the pistol from his pocket, studied it for a moment, then looked at me. ‘It was your father’s, wasn’t it? It was the gun he used to kill himself.’
‘How do you know that?’
He carried on looking at me for a second or two, then he took the magazine out of the pistol, emptied the bullets into his hand, put the magazine back, and passed the gun to me.
‘How do you know it was my father’s?’ I asked him again.
He dropped the bullets into his pocket, turned round, and left the room without saying anything.
Bridget was finally beginning to come round as I went over and sat down beside her. Her eyelids were twitching, her lips were fluttering, and she was making faint little whimpering sounds.
I took hold of her hand.
It was cold.
‘It’s OK, Bridget,’ I said softly. ‘You’re going to be fine now. Everything’s going to be all right …’
But I knew I was probably lying.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-6353f8-8a99-4947-c284-0bec-e821-3a5766
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 21.04.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.24, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Brooks, Kevin
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