Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Gillian was suffocating in the small room with the sniveling girl in the corner. Her attitude towards her was now bordering on contempt. "Stop acting like a spoilt child, Beth, we found you breaking windows. The sooner you start talking to us the sooner we can get this sorted out", she said.

  Then we can both go home, she thought.

  Beth just sat there slowly and gently banging the back of her head against the wall, tears mixing with the dark eyeliner on her face slowly making its way down her cheeks.

  "Look Beth, let’s start again", Gillian said, deciding to try another tact.

  "I don't actually think I have introduced myself properly. My names Gillian and I don't think I'm all that bad a person". Gillian crouched down beside her in the corner, and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just trying to help you".

  Beth's eyes fluttered at the touch of Gillian's hand on her shoulder.

  "You know I knew a girl like you once, a long time ago. She was tough, like you. She could hold her own in any situation. She thought she was bulletproof. She was a top athlete in her school, she had played in the top netball team, and she had been someone. Nevertheless, inside she had these feelings of inadequacy, as if she did not measure up to what people expected of her. Those feelings were strong and it always held her back from going further. Any little mistake she used to analyze continuously in her mind until she had convinced herself that everybody had seen it and were judging her on it".

  Beth looked back at Gillian, her dark eyes flickered an interest that Gillian saw straight away.

  "When that girl left school, she joined the police; she had an ideal in her head that she could make a difference in people's lives. She was very young when she started, hardly experienced anything in life. It was difficult".

  Beth looked at the ground and shook her head slightly.

  "This job is not for everyone Beth it takes a certain type of person and she did not know whether she measured up, a bit like not everyone can go to university like you. The problem was the feelings of inadequacy she had got worse when she started work in what was essentially a man’s world. Her so-called colleagues had made her feel inferior in many ways; she had to fight for any respect or even recognition from them. She knew they were all thinking, what could a mere female do in the rough and tumble world of cops and robbers. She had no place in it all, which can be very hard for a girl with the type of feelings she had inside her. Then bit by bit, day after day, she found her place in it all. You see as police officers we deal with all sorts of issues. You see a lot of people with problems far worse that your own. By helping them in any small way, she helped herself overcome her own issues. Just by doing something positive in every interaction you have can help. That is true for both sides of the law. Just because someone has done something terrible, it does not mean that they are bad, there are always reasons behind someone's actions. No one is a true psychopath".

  Beth placed a hand on Gillians. "That girl was you weren’t it", she said.

  "Yes Beth, it was", Gillian admitted, "But I'm not that girl any more, I still have those feelings sometimes though, I won't lie to you, but when I do I remind myself how far I've come since those days. Others judge you by your actions and I make sure that whatever I do I can be proud of, no matter how small. It no longer matters to me what other people think, they don't live inside my head, I do, and I have to like it".

  Gillian could see a change behind Beth's eyes, very subtle, but she could see a light in them that was not there before. She could sense that Beth was in there, wanting to interact with the world again.

  "The house belongs to Daniel Crompton", Beth said, quietly.

  Now where getting somewhere, Gillian thought.

  "Ok Beth, why were you breaking Daniels windows"?

  "Because he's a tossed", Beth spat back.

  Well it is a start, thought Gillian.

  Bridger was making his way up to the third floor. He was deep in thought about Glenn Gallagher and his association with Matthews. It made sense that they would have worked together in the early days. He had heard first hand Matthews attitude about domestic violence, odds on that Gallagher thought the same way. Both men cut from the same cloth; they had come up together in the bad old days of cops and robbers. He thought they were probably very controlling in their own relationships as well, preferring the wife to be at home while they went out and provided for them. Very normal, very old fashioned. It only worked for some people these days, everybody wanted to feel like they contributed.

  He knew he could not just barge into Matthews’s office and demand that he tell him about any incidents he recalls from the past that would shed light on what the puppet master was saying. He was not even supposed to be still at work. His first stop would be with Jo and Mrs. Watson. He had to known what the connection was between her and Gallagher; it may give him some ammunition to help with confronting Matthews.

  As he approached the office, he saw that Matthews had his door closed. The door was open in the office further along which he knew Jo and Mrs. Watson were in. He could hear the sound of crying and as he reached the door, he saw Mrs. Watson in tears with Jo providing a comforting shoulder. He stood at the door for a second and took in the sight.

  It was such a natural act to comfort someone. As a man he found it very difficult to comfort someone, he did fell empathy for people but did not feel comfortable to express those emotions physically to anyone other than people he loved. Jo looked up and seemed startled. She said something quietly in Mrs. Watson's ears then stood up. Bridger watched as she ran the back of her hand over her left eye. Had she been crying as well? Jo motioned for Bridger to move away from the door.

  "Come into the hall Sergeant, I think there is something you need to hear".

  "What is it Jo?”

  "I've just listened to the most awful story of Mrs. Watson's past life. I think it involves that Glenn Gallagher that was in to see Inspector Matthews earlier. I know you probably don't have time right now with Marion missing, but I think I need to tell someone".

  Bridger felt a surge of adrenalin, "Now would be perfect Jo, fire away. But just give me the quick version".

  "Things have gone too far now Glenn, Marion and that unknown male are in serious danger. We have to let on what we know. The police force is a very different place now; it is not the same as when you left all those years ago. Have you any idea what name he is using now".

  "Don't lecture me on morality Gregg", Gallagher’s breathy voice was coming short and sharp over the telephone receiver. "There is no way it will go that far. A little bit of blood is nothing. Just let it play out, I am sure once he has said his piece it will end there. Why do you think he is broadcasting it over the Internet, he wants an audience to witness his mothers suffering. He cannot be that stupid as to let them watch him commit a crime though, it doesn't make sense".

  "None of this makes sense Glenn, he is a mad man. If he is who you think he is then you had a hand in making him this way. You are the architect of this situation; he is just the by-product of bad workmanship. If you had dealt with this properly back then we would not be here now. So now it’s your turn to man up and make things right".

  "Fuck that mate, I've got to much invested in my own life to worry about the silly little problems of others. You would be wise to think of yourself to. Marion will be fine, trust me".

  "I don't care what you think you have on me Glenn, you need to tell me who he is so we can get on with some real police work and stop a serious crime being committed".

  Gallagher sighed on the other end of the receiver.

  "The only name I have for him is Daniel; I don't even remember his surname. I suppose you can ask Mrs. Watson what her married name was back then. I'm surprised you didn't record it in your little note book that first night, you were always recording things weren't you Gregg".

  "Thank you Glenn, I will take it from here".

  Matthews was about to put down th
e receiver.

  "Whatever is said, I will deny it Gregg, and I will leak what I know to the papers. Just you remember that when you talk to him. The public is getting very sick of senior officials and their skeletons, whatever job they are in".

  Matthews could feel the vein in his forehead pulsing against his sweaty skin. He spoke slowly, quietly, deliberately.

  "When we find him and Marion is safe, I'm not going to talk to him Glenn, you are. You are going to explain yourself and then we will see what skeletons rise from the grave to haunt you. You said it yourself, whatever job you are in; the public are getting sick of it".

  "Are you trying to out cock the cock Gregg? Don’t be silly man; you don't have the back bone".

  "We'll see, won't we".

  Matthews put down the phone before he got a reply.

  He looked around his office and took a deep breath. Time to take some action he thought. Nevertheless, Gallagher was right; it frightened him to think an unscrupulous media, using snippets of sound bites to evoke outrage in the public, could take everything he worked for away from him. He had not done anything illegal, or morally wrong in his eyes, but that would not stop the feeding frenzy for fresh blood. One thing that the greater public liked more than anything was someone to fall from grace. The higher they were the harder they fell and the better the public felt about it, finding new ways to be morally outraged.

  The public had not evolved much from the times of public executions, all sitting, watching, knitting and cackling as head after head fell into the baskets.

  He picked up the newspaper lying unopened in front of him and threw it into the waste-paper bin under his desk.

  "Shit".

  Matthews stood up and straightened his tie. Time to talk to Mrs. Watson, he thought. However, he was going to have to be smart about it. One thing he had learned in his career was that you never play all your cards at once, always hold something back to use later if needed. Sometimes it turned it that you never had to reveal what you know. He was hoping for that option.

  Bridger's mind was working overtime. "Have you not been listening to the commentary on the live feed Jo? It matches Mrs. Watson's story almost too perfectly".

  "I've had the sound turned off Sergeant; I didn't want her to have to hear what was going on. She was distressed enough".

  "The only thing that doesn't fit is the fact that this puppet master says that his mother died and he killed his father for it. Mrs. Watson is saying her husband and child died and she was put in a mental facility by the policeman who she was having an affair with".

  "It sounded more like she was being raped to me", said Jo. "I don't care what she says about feeling desired and wanted; she was being taken advantage of. That negates any consent in my eyes".

  Bridger looked at Jo, her eyes burning fiercely with self-assurance in her assumption of the facts. She would go a long way in this job, he thought.

  "Well that's for another time Jo, what matters is that the link in all this is the policeman that appears in both stories. It is too much of a coincidence to discount that the ex police officer called Glenn Gallagher Mrs. Watson talks about is not the same person that the puppet master relates to in his story. They must be connected what ever happened that night".

  Bridger smiled inwardly, his hunch was proving to be right. Jo had done excellent work in getting Mrs. Watson to open up about her past, it had provided the last piece of the puzzle needed to cement in his mind the evidence he needed to confront Matthews and then Gallagher. More importantly, he hoped it took them one-step closer to getting Marion back. He looked over towards the detective inspectors closed door. He imagined the red puffy face behind the desk, he wondered if Matthews knew anything of Gallagher’s involvement.

  The door opened and the red puffy face appeared in the now open space, Matthews’s eyes had a slightly haunted look about them. He did not seem surprised to see Bridger staring back. Something to subtle for either to register passed silently between them.

  "Sergeant…, my office. Could you bring Mrs. Watson and Constable Williamson with you to please".

  Bridger could detect nothing in Matthews’s neutral tone. He motioned for Jo to fetch Mrs. Watson, and then stalked down the hall and into the lion’s den.

  He did not sit down, Jo and Mrs. Watson followed close behind but sat on the chairs provided, then the big man himself completed the party as he shut the door on the confined space. Bridger would much rather have confronted Matthews on his own, confirming his suspicions before subjecting Mrs. Watson to them.

  Bridger was about to start when Matthews cleared his throat loudly before sitting behind his desk and placing his meaty hands in front of him, the whites of his knuckles showing clearly as his fingers intertwined tightly.

  "There have been some developments", he said quietly, "It has come to my attention that there may be more to this that meets the eye".

  "No shit, Sir". Bridger was in no mood to listen to Matthews; Marion did not have the time.

  Matthews held up a meaty hand, "Just listen will you". He looked directly at Mrs. Watson, "I know about you and Glenn Gallagher, about what went on, he told me some of it, and I worked out the rest".

  Matthews looked at Bridger trying to gauge his reaction to the admission.

  Mrs. Watson looked stunned, before regaining her composure a little.

  "What did he tell you", she said, not looking at him but at Jo with a questioning gaze.

  "He lied to you Mrs. Watson; your son is still alive. I think he may be the one holding Marion".

  The statement had the effect of a knockout punch. Mrs. Watson's mouth fell open; her eyes betrayed the fact that her mind did not really comprehend what had just heard. Bridger looked at Matthews; this was not what he had expected. Matthews face remained expressionless; it was hard to tell how much of his admission contained the truth. If he knew more, he was not likely to let anything slip if he did not have to.

  "Mrs. Watson, I know your son’s name was Daniel, I need to know what you’re married name was when you had him".

  Mrs. Watson just continued to stare at Matthews open mouthed. Matthews looked at a loss for what to say next, so he looked over at Jo.

  Jo took the hint and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Mrs. Watson I know this is a shock but it’s going to help us find Marion".

  "Marion..., yes Marion, my daughter..., Daniels sister... It cannot be Daniel. He is dead. Glenn told me... Daniel would not do this to his sister. What are you trying to tell me? He died. He is not here anymore. He did not get to live; he never even met his sister. How did you know it is Daniel, I know dam well that ghosts do not exist. Why are you saying this...?”

  "Mrs. Watson, you have to trust us right now". The look Jo gave Matthews was full of questions. She turned back to Mrs. Watson. "I know it’s difficult, but we believe that Daniel is alive, he may be holding Marion but we have no way of knowing if he is aware of his relationship with her. If we know who he is then we may be able to find him faster. You can speak with him when we find them. Make your peace, whatever he's done".

  "Maine, it was Maine, but I thought you would have known that already. You lot always stick together. Close ranks when you need to. You just screw the public when their problems do not fit within your silly little rules for the game you are playing. You are all just boys who never grew up, all playing cops and robbers. Well it is not a game, its other people's lives, lives that matter. There are no rules in this life. The only thing that matters is what is right and what is wrong. What is wrong with life is what put Marion where she is now. At the hands of some mad man you think is my son. Well if it is him, it was one of your lot that made him like that, that and one man’s weakness". She was looking at Matthews when she said this.

  "Thank you", Jo said.

  "Jo can you take Mrs. Watson through to the other room, I need to speak with the inspector privately".

  Jo and Mrs. Watson stood up and went towards the door.

  Mrs. Wats
on turned and looked back at Matthews. "I know it was you that first night", she said, then left the room.

  Bridger had his phone in his hand, "Brian the name we are looking for is Daniel Maine.... Yes, that is the one. I will be down in a second. I just need to square something away with Inspector Matthews".

  Putting his phone away, he looked at Matthews sitting behind the desk.

  "I think you know more than you’re letting on, I don't really care what your involvement is at this stage, the priority is Marion and the unconscious male. But if I find out you’re holding something back that might make it easier for us to find them, I'm..."

  "You’re what, Sergeant; you are in no position to bargain with me. You are not even supposed to be here. There’s disobeying a direct order for a start. We have no room for pissheads on the force; if I want you out, you will be out, simple as that. But you are right on one thing; Marion is the priority and as much as it pains me to say, I need you to get on with it".

  "There's a connection with you and Mrs. Watson isn't there, I heard her almost say as much before she walked out of the room".

  "Don't go there Sergeant, she's upset, not thinking straight".

  "We'll see".

  Bridger walked out of the room, something had happened all those years ago, Mrs. Watson had said, 'you lot all stick together'. He wondered if she had just meant what Gallagher had done or if there was another connection.

  Bridger saw Mrs. Watson and Jo sitting across from each other next to the monitor in the office. Jo had switched it back on and he could see the far away image of a wretched puppet. Mrs. Watson was watching with renewed interest, trying to make a connection with the scene and the memory of her son Daniel. Bridger could see nothing had changed on the screen; Marion was swaying from side to side, a bloodied knife in her hands, like a deranged bride, drunk with bloodlust.

  Jo had a look of confused concern on her face. Matthews was a senior officer and what he revealed to them was a little strange, a story with many unanswered questions. What he had seen of Jo in the last couple of days he was sure it would not have slipped her attention.

  "Mrs. Watson, I realise I have not shown the greatest sensitivity with you in the last few days and for that I apologize. But believe me when I say it, I have your daughters best interest at heart and I will do my utmost to find her and get her back safe and sound".

  Mrs. Watson looked at Bridger; her look did not show any malice or emotion. "I know you are doing your best Sergeant but you will have to excuse me, I don't have much faith in the police as a whole. I have been badly let down in the past".

  "I can only apologize again for what's happened in the past between you and the police, I hope by finding your daughter we can go some way to restoring some faith in us".

  "You will only be doing your job Sergeant, something that should have been done all those years ago".

  That is what I need to know about, thought Bridger, the sins of the past.

  "I do need to ask you a few questions Mrs. Watson. What did you mean by what you said to Inspector Matthews before?”

  "That's between him and I, Sergeant".

  "You told us your married name was Maine; can you tell me who your late husband was?”

  "I would have thought it would be common knowledge between you lot, but I don't suppose you were working in the police back then. You look to young. If you do not know already, I think that is something you should ask your Inspector. He was great pals with Glenn in those days. I certainly will not get involved in any more cover-ups. That is all behind me now. He told me that he died that night. I just want my daughter back".

  Mrs. Watson turned back to the screen and stroked Marion's face through the glass.

  "Thank you", Bridger said, before retreating to the door. "I will be down stairs Jo, if Mrs. Watson needs to ask any questions just let me know".

  Bridger walked into the open elevator. They had a strong lead but where would that really lead them. It could throw up a name, possible location maybe. If they were lucky, he would be living in the address they had on record and it would all be over.

  Something was bugging him about the whole situation. Who was the Maine person that both the inspector and Mrs. Watson did not want to elaborate on? If the puppet master was to be believed, he was dead anyway, so what would it matter. Then the son was supposed to be dead as well and he turned up unexpectedly holding his sister in some sort of revenge ritual against his mother.

  The past was a murky place and the participants all had something to hide. What were they protecting?

  Bridger's phone rang in his pocket, the annoying symphony again. I have to change that bloody ring tone he thought angrily.

  "Mike, its Grant, I've made all the usual checks with our databases and we have no record of a Daniel Maine. It is a dead end. He must be using another name, or he doesn't exist".

  "Shit, that's not what I wanted to hear".

  "I can check with outside agencies but that will take time".

  "Make a few calls; see what you can turn up. I will see what else I can come up with in the mean time".

  Bridger pushed the call cancel button and looked at the blank screen.

  It is not going to be that easy after all, he thought.

  Bridger looked at the key pad on the elevator wall; the lable read 'Watch House' next to the ground floor button. Maine was the surname they were looking for and John Maine would be sitting in the watch house this afternoon.

  He had said it himself, Dunedin is a small place and the name was the same. It was worth asking if he knew of a Daniel Maine or his father, relations maybe. He was certainly working in the area at the time all this happened. He pushed the button for the ground floor and the doors closed, leaving Bridger in the quiet confines, his mind working over the details.

  Senior Sergeant John Maine was sitting behind the desk in his office as Bridger walked in. He could almost see the stale cigarette smoke rising off his uniform.

  The man must smoke like a train, he thought, at least he does it outside during the week.

  "Mike, how are things going with young Marion?”

  "We're making headway..., which is why I need to pick your brains".

  Maine looked puzzled. "How's that Mike? I'm not sure I would know any more than you".

  "It's more what you may know about the past John..., Mrs. Watson, Matthews and Gallagher are all connected in some way. I have just been upstairs with Matthews and Mrs. Watson, from what I can work out, Gallagher and Mrs. Watson had an affair, years ago. Matthews won't let on what his involvement was".

  "Gallagher was screwing a lot of people back then Mike, literally and figuratively". Maine’s expression showed renewed curiosity with a touch of bitterness.

  "I think this particular affair has something to do with Marion's disappearance, something that happened between them all a long time ago".

  Maine sat quietly looking at Bridger, waiting for something more.

  "The man holding Marion has been telling a story of an abusive upbringing, culminating in his mother dying and him killing his father. Does that ring any bells with you?”

  Maine’s face remained impassive, "It's not something I recall happening around here Mike. How is Mrs. Watson connected to the man whose holding Marion?”

  "I think that she's his mother".

  Bridger saw something flash behind Maine’s eyes, small and imperceptible, but there all the same.

  "What's Mrs. Watson's first name Mike?”

  A question set off the alarm bells in Bridger's head, the conversation had just taken a turn in the wrong direction.

  "It's June, it would have been on the paperwork. Did you not read through it?”

  "I only had a surname when the job came in; you have been dealing with it since. What else have you worked out?”

  Bridger listed the points of information they had pieced together so far, watching closely for any sign of recognition or stress in Maine’s eyes.

  "That's som
e story Mike; I still don't know how I can help though. As far as I know, there was no other Maine’s living in the area apart from me at the time. It is farfetched though, to link the two, a bloody coincidence that the stories are very similar. You said it yourself though, that his mother and father are dead. It's pretty hard to mistake that".

  "The boy was pretty young at the time John, his memory of what happened would have been tarnished by fear and his age".

  "Mrs. Watson says her son is dead..., Gallagher told her so. It is a mess; I will give you that Mike. But I think you are barking up the wrong tree". Maine was looking into Bridger's eyes, a hard and menacing stare.

  "We've known each other a while now John, you’re a good copper, if there was anything you knew about this I know you would tell me".

  "What are you trying to say Mike, because my last name is the same as the name that silly cow upstairs gave you I must be involved. You’re better than that Mike, I would expect more from you".

  "I'm not saying that John, I'm just following my nose. Marion is my priority".

  "Well don't let that nose get you in trouble, people have long memories Mike. They don't forget".

  Bridger could not tell whether Maine’s anger was coming from guilt or the indignation of having someone accuse him of something. He wanted to believe the latter. "Fair call John, as I said I know you would let me know".

  Bridger turned to go.

  "There is one thing Mike, that little problem with Jonas earlier, I've had a word with him and he isn't taking it any further, as far as he is concerned he deserved it. I am not even going to commit anything to paper. No need to get Matthews involved. I'm sure the rest of the crew won't say anything about it either".

  Bridger did not really know what to say. "Thanks John, I know I was out of order with him, but it’s a load off anyway".

  Their eyes met and held each other in conflict.

  "That's what friends are for Mike, we look out for each other. God knows that there are many out there who would love to see us come crashing down". There was a knowing smile on Maine’s face.

  Bridger broke eye contact and left the office, closing the door behind him.

  Did that mean he was now indebted to Maine for covering his screw up? It seems everyone has something on somebody to use against them. He just hoped for Maine’s sake that he was not involved in the puppet masters little revenge act.

  Twenty-five years in the job had given what Gillian liked to think of as her 'Bullshit radar', it had never let her down. It was not that what Beth was telling her was untrue; it is what she was not saying that had her intrigued. She knew there was always something unsaid.

  People held back for many reasons, privacy, guilt, fear. Beth was just being obstructive. She had gone back to the moody, silent, 'Poor Me' routine after revealing the name Daniel.

  Gillian was getting really agitated. Beth was a silly little girl, tied up in her own unremarkable life. She was obviously not used to looking after herself and did not have the coping mechanisms that she needed. Maybe she was a daddy's girl and she craved the attention of older males now that she was far away from home. That would explain the relationship with Jonas, apart from the drugs. Maybe this Daniel was older as well.

  The room was beginning to spin a little as she breathed in the stale air.

  All this for a couple of broken windows, Gillian thought.

  She needed a break.

  "If you’re not going to talk to me Beth then I'm afraid there's not much I can do. You can sit there banging your head off the wall all you want while I get some fresh air".

  She got up and left the room, making sure the lock was on as she did. Stomping down the hall, she put her head in the open door of spacious office they used as a muster room and yelled at the back of Steve’s head.

  "Your turn babysitting, I'm going for a break".

  Steve turned and wiped his mouth as a piece of meatball fell onto his lap.

  "Ok partner", he coughed.

  "I didn't know you were a smoker Mike, I should know I'm out here most hours of the day and I've never seen you here before".

  "I'm not Gill, I just needed some air".

  "You and me both", Gillian said letting out a deep lungful of smoke.

  Mike had known Gillian Holler since the first day he had arrived in Dunedin; she was the next person he had met after Julie Downie in the front office. She was the officer assigned to showing him the patch. He had found her straightforward, pragmatic approach to the job refreshing. She was tough, but she also had a touch of the 'Mother Hen' about her. Deep down she had the best intentions for everyone she encountered, although she hid it well beneath her tough outer shell. The need to hide her emotions was a hangover from past times, when she had to fight for respect in a job full of testosterone.

  They were both standing under the shelter of the high roof next to the armed offender’s squad room in the rear yard of the police station. The hulking mass of the mobile command unit parked behind them.

  "Penny for them, Gill?”

  "I'm sure you have got more than enough on your plate with the missing girl to have me add to your woes".

  "Sometimes I find not thinking about the problem for a short while helps me. I can cleanse my brain a bit and see it from a new angle. Lay it on me Gill; you will only be helping me". Bridger attempted a smile.

  "I've got our mutual friend Beth upstairs; Steve and I picked her up breaking windows at an empty house in the Leith Valley. She is playing her teenage angst routine again and is really starting to piss me off. People have to realise that they are responsible for their own actions and take ownership for once. People are too quick to blame their upbringing or the fact that they were not loved enough as a child. This girl has that act down to a tee".

  "Sounds like you have your hands full…, why was she breaking windows?”

  "I don't know. The only thing she has told me in the last couple of hours is that she was breaking Daniel’s windows because he is a tosser. I have not even been able to find out who Daniel is and why he is a tosser. When we arrested her, she was just repeating, I am the one. I’m beginning to think she is a real fruitcake".

  Alarm bells were ringing loudly in Bridger's head. Connections were firing in the right order producing scenarios that started to sound plausible. Outwardly, he was staring open mouthed at Gillian.

  "Are you Ok Mike?’

  Bridger was trying to suppress the excitement, it was not the first time today that he had felt this and each time it resulted in a dead end.

  "It's not the first time I have heard the name Daniel today Gill; and Beth has come into this investigation one way or another since the beginning. Beth connected to Marion by way of her flat and the play, and now Marion connects to a Daniel… I believe he is the person holding her".

  After he had said it aloud, it sounded more and more plausible. Bridger had his cell phone in his hand, "Where are you holding her Gill?” he asked as he was dialing.

  "She's in the interview room on the first floor. Steve is with her. We're just waiting for the mental health crisis team to come for her".

  Becky answered his call. "Becky, get down to the first floor and talk to Beth, she's back again, locked up for breaking windows this time. I think she knows Daniel, and he is the one holding Marion. Do not let the crisis team anywhere near her, you already have a good rapport with her; get her to tell you where he is. I'll be up soon".

  Gillian was looking at Mike uncertainly. "You know she's having some sort of episode Mike, I'm not sure that even what she has said already is true".

  "You said it yourself Gill, she's only throwing a tantrum. I trust your instincts, and I am willing to run with it. It's too much of a coincidence".

  Bridger turned and jogged over to the rear door of the building, fumbling in his pocket for his electronic key tag.

  Gillian inhaled deeply, holding it for a second before blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air. Stubbing the butt out on the grou
nd, she followed Bridger up the stairs.