Ritual (Brian McDone Mysteries Book 5)

by Ryan Casey

  He’d hide it in the washing machine or under the toilet cover.

  Brian shifted the toilet cover aside.

  Smiled.

  Bingo.

  He went to reach in for the small black handgun when a sudden flash filled his mind. A flash that invaded all his senses. Split through his present consciousness.

  Jerry Matthews.

  The rings on his fingers.

  The man with the sun on his fingers …

  He thought about the injustices. Thought about all the things the police had made him do in the name of their idea of justice.

  But that wasn’t justice. Letting the police operate the way it did wasn’t justice. It was corruption. Pure, undiluted corruption.

  He thought back to his meeting with Samantha. The last time he’d seen her. Hadn’t visited her since. And he remembered something she’d said. Some words that hadn’t resonated with him at the time, but did now, louder and clearer than ever.

  “Justice isn’t some idea that’s decided by corrupt governments and police officers trying to hit targets, Brian. Justice is something much bigger than that. Much greater. I hope you don’t come to realise that one day. Or you’ll be in here with me.”

  Justice.

  Morals.

  Doing the right thing.

  Doing—

  “You okay in there?”

  Annie made Brian jump. He lowered the cover to the drum. Nodded, smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Found anything?”

  It was a moment. One solitary moment where Brian had to decide what was more important. Where he had to decide what meant more to him. Justice or walking in line.

  Where he had to decide what mattered.

  “No,” he said.

  Annie nodded. She looked at his hand as it rested on the toilet drum, then looked back at Brian.

  He’d never be sure whether she knew he was lying. Whether he had found the gun. But for whatever reason, either naivety or understanding, she turned around and walked back into the main apartment room. “Lucky day, kid. You’re off the hook for now.”

  And while Annie said her goodbyes to James, Brian looked back at the toilet cover.

  He looked back at it, adrenaline kicking through his body.

  He lifted it.

  Pulled the pistol out.

  Stuffed it in his pocket.

  Then, he left.

  Forty-Seven

  “Jesus Christ. You run a marathon with him or something?”

  Brian smiled. He sat by Hannah’s bedside. Sam sat in his arms, wobbling from side to side as he tried to stave off the onset of sleep. Then smiling and giggling when he woke up from his doze, making Brian giggle, Hannah giggle.

  Although Hannah’s giggles were pained. Hannah’s giggles were a struggle. Brian could hear that much. The way she winced whenever she laughed too hard. The way she made that sound, like a cat warding off a dog, the way she jolted.

  But she was alive. She was laughing. And that was all that mattered now.

  The new ward that Hannah had been put in was a damned sight cheerier than critical care. There wasn’t that dull droning silence for one; the silence that bred misery and negativity. There was a gentle chatter between visitors and patients. The sound of hospital workers’ feet squeaking against the well-polished floor. The smell of … okay, that disinfectant smell was still strong. But that was a good thing. Last thing you needed in a hospital was any kind of superbug, even if the disinfectant did make you want to cry.

  “You seem cheery,” Hannah said.

  Brian held Sam close. Looked over his sleepy head. “I do?”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes. The right side of her face was bandaged. “You do.”

  Brian smiled. “Just happy to be here with my family.” He kissed Sam on his forehead. Sam smiled and squeezed Brian’s nose, which made the three of them laugh all over again.

  “Not been screwing some criminal girl while I’ve been in here, I hope?”

  “Oh, y’know how much I love those criminal ladies. Their greasy hair, their meth-teeth …”

  “Stop it. You’re getting me hot already.”

  “Think you’ve been hot enough for a lifetime, my dear.”

  Hannah widened her eyes and mouth like she was offended.

  “Alright. Sorry. That one was probably a bit too soon.”

  “I thought it was rather witty. For you.”

  Brian almost said he was “burning with pride”. But he figured that might be a joke too far.

  The pair of them sat in pleasant silence for a while. In truth, it was nice. Nice to just sit there, Sam with them, together in one another’s company. He could die happy right now. He could die right here with his family—with the people he loved—and he wouldn’t have to say another word.

  As long as they were together. That was all that mattered.

  “How’s the case going?”

  The mention of the case made Brian’s skin crawl. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to tell Hannah. Didn’t know what to tell anyone.

  So he just smiled. “I’m not quite done yet,” he said, as honestly as he could. “But I can just about see the end up ahead.”

  “Good,” Hannah said, barely acknowledging him. “Because we’ve got a christening to organise. I figured we could ring up some of your work pals to keep you company.”

  “Please don’t ring any of my colleagues.”

  “You need to have some friends there.”

  Brian shook his head. Stood, Sam in his arms. “Hence why I don’t want you to ring any of my colleagues.”

  He walked over to Hannah. Crouched down beside her. Smelled that sweetness that she always gave off.

  He looked into her eyes and he felt the warmth of her body. He just wanted to climb in that hospital bed with her. Climb in and hold her and never let her go.

  “I should get back,” he said. “Let this little soldier get some kip.”

  He saw the disappointment in Hannah’s eyes for a split second.

  Then she smiled. Nodded. Winced. “Yeah. Yeah you should.”

  He leaned over. Kissed Hannah. And when he did, he felt the warmth of her lips. Felt the electricity it sparked in his body. The emotion and the love it ignited.

  He closed his eyes and he kissed her like it was the last time.

  Because it might be the last time.

  He pulled away. Let Hannah kiss Sam on the head. Stood, and headed towards the exit. “I’ll get the christening sorted.”

  “You will not,” Hannah said. “I feel useless enough as it is in here. Least let me do something.”

  Brian looked back at her. Nodded.

  He turned away and started to leave. But as he walked, a weight filled his chest. Weighed heavier with every step. Made his muscles tighten.

  He stopped. Looked back.

  “Hannah, can I ask you something?”

  “Anything, m’dear.”

  He opened his mouth. Went to speak, but couldn’t find the right words. “You … Before any of this happened. Before the fire. You told me something.”

  “I tell you a lot of things.”

  “You said I was … I was a moral man.”

  “Sounds like something I’d say when I want you to fuck me.”

  An old man lifted his head and looked over at Hannah with a glint in his eyes.

  Brian swallowed a lump in his throat. “If … I had to do something. If I had to do the right thing, even if it meant it wasn’t necessarily the thing everyone else wants me to do. Would you support me?”

  Hannah looked at Brian in silence for a few seconds. Studied him. Then she smiled. “If you think it’s the right thing then it probably is. Can’t argue with that.”

  Brian let go of the breath he’d been holding. Smiled back at Hannah. “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too,” Hannah said in return.

  He stared at Hannah for a little longer. Stared as his son’s gentle
heartbeat tapped against his body. And as he stared, he felt tears building up. Felt pressure in his eyes.

  He wanted to say so much more to Hannah.

  He wanted to stand here and say so much more to her.

  But he turned.

  He turned and he left.

  Because he knew now what had to be done.

  He knew exactly what he had to do.

  Forty-Eight

  Cromwell Road was dark.

  There were street lamps, but most of them were shielded by large trees. Trees which drowned out the light, which made it feel like it was detached from the rest of humanity somewhat, fractured from civilisation. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked. The gentle light of televisions flickered from behind closed curtains. The sound of footsteps somewhere in the distance, somewhere far away.

  Brian sat in his car in the darkness. His inside and outside lights were off. He knew that right now he was invisible. Invisible to anyone who walked by. Invisible to anyone inside their houses.

  And that’s how he needed to stay.

  Because he was here for one thing.

  Chief Constable Jerry Matthews.

  He looked out of his passenger window. Looked up towards the house on his right. A tall detached house perched on top a slight hill. Must’ve cost a hell of a lot of money. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Posh black Mercedes parked just behind the ornate mechanical gates. All paid for by corruption. By corruption that entrenched the entire police force.

  Corruption that Brian had to stop.

  He rubbed his hands against his black jeans. He wasn’t sure why he was here exactly. Wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. Only that he needed the truth. He needed to hear it from Jerry Matthews himself. The police were in bed with the Children of the Light. Jerry Matthews—the man with the sun on his fingers—had set Joe Kershaw up. He’d framed him for murder. Just so the police could keep on getting funded by the Children of the Light. Just so a generation of ritual corruption could spiral on.

  He just had to speak with Jerry Matthews. He had to look him in the eye and get the truth from him.

  Just for good measure, he’d brought James MacPearce’s loaded pistol along.

  He looked at the gun. It sat in the cup holders alongside a few loose pound coins and an old McDonalds cup he meant to chuck out days ago. It wasn’t that he wanted to kill Jerry Matthews. Wasn’t that he even wanted to point a gun at the big fucking police boss in the Lancashire region. He just felt like he needed it. Because he was afraid. Afraid after what happened to Hannah. After what the Children of the Light did to his house.

  He was afraid after what the police did to George Andrews. Trying to kill him, then succeeding many years later.

  All in the name of a cover-up.

  He just needed something to defend himself with.

  He looked away from the gun. Looked back at Jerry Matthews’ house. Still no sign of life in there. Still no movement. But, fuck. It was past midnight. Course there was no movement. Jerry was probably fast asleep with his wife or whatever. Probably wasn’t going to see him ’til morning. And what then? Was Brian going to just wait around then pounce on him the second he stepped through his gates? Pretend he’s the milkman then bam—whip out the pistol and get it done with?

  No. He had to go up to Jerry’s house. He had to knock. He had to deal with him face to face.

  He thought about what Samantha and Hannah said. The things they said about his morals, his justice. And he knew now they were right. He had seen the truth. He’d seen he couldn’t turn his back on what was right. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair to his colleagues, it wasn’t fucking fair to anyone.

  He knew the police were in some kind of arrangement with the Children of the Light now. He knew Jerry Matthews was covering for them. Killing for them, even.

  But now Brian just needed to know why.

  He needed to know what happened in the Children of the Light.

  What secrets were worth killing for.

  What Carly Mahone couldn’t go ahead with at “Level Ten,” and why she’d died for it so many years later.

  Carly. Harry. Joe. Jodie. Alison. So many people, dead because of this man. Dead because he refused to hold the Children of the Light to account. Dead because he let that weird bitch Lilian Chalmers go about her “work” like she had any kind of right.

  Brian wasn’t accepting it.

  Not now they’d attacked his family.

  Not now they’d burned down his home.

  He reached into the cup holder.

  Grabbed the pistol.

  Held his breath.

  Then he went to open the door.

  The interior light flicked on inside his car.

  But he stopped when he saw another light.

  A light flicker on outside Jerry Matthews’ house.

  His porch light.

  Then his door opened and …

  Fuck.

  Brian clicked his door shut, keeping as quiet as possible. He listened to his racing pulse. Watched as Jerry Matthews walked out of his house. Walked down the pathway. Unlocked his car, grabbed the car door.

  Fucking interior light. Please turn off. Please turn off.

  He swore Jerry turned and looked at him. Swore he made eye contact.

  But he didn’t acknowledge Brian. Didn’t notice him.

  He just got into his Mercedes. Started up the engine. Lifted his phone to his ear.

  The light faded in Brian’s car. He sat there in the darkness, gun in hand, watching as Jerry Matthews spoke to someone on his phone, as his electric gates crept open.

  He watched and he felt sweat drip down his face. Felt hungry butterflies ravage his stomach. Watched as Jerry drove out of his driveway. Down onto the road.

  Towards Brian.

  He held his breath as he passed. Prayed the headlights wouldn’t light him up. Prayed he wouldn’t see.

  The lights shone in the car.

  Covered Brian. Made him feel exposed, like he’d been caught by helicopter lights on one of those old video games Davey used to play.

  But Jerry Matthews kept on driving.

  Past Brian.

  Down the road.

  Brian looked into his rear-view mirror. Watched as Jerry headed straight down Cromwell Road, lights bright in the total darkness.

  He looked at his gun. Looked at it for a moment.

  Then he put it back in the cup holder.

  Turned off the pavement.

  And he followed Jerry Matthews’ car.

  He was going to get answers tonight.

  One way or another, he was going to get answers tonight.

  Forty-Nine

  Brian lost track of how long he’d been following Jerry Matthews’ car.

  He followed it out of his street. Down towards town. Past the nightclubs and the bars spilling people onto the streets.

  He followed it down the dual carriageway. Kept his distance. Not too much. He didn’t want to lose Matthews before he’d even figured where he was going. But he didn’t want him to spot him either. He didn’t want him to divert his route.

  He had to know what Chief Constable Jerry Matthews was up to.

  What his endgame was.

  He gripped the steering wheel tight. It was sweaty from his hands. He kept his focus on Matthews all the time. Kept his focus on the back of his car. Squinted at the registration. Memorised it, just in case he lost him.

  BL59 UBH

  BL59 UBH

  BL59 UBH

  He’d thought about turning around a few times. About driving back to the hotel he was staying. Picking Sam up from Helena, one of Hannah’s old friends. Heading back and locking himself in the hotel for eternity.

  He thought about driving back to Hannah. Spending the night in the hospital by her bedside.

  Then he saw the gun in the drinks compartment and he knew he couldn’t go back.

  He took another turn, this time onto the bridge that headed over the River Ribble. Brian swore it
was the second time he’d crossed the Ribble since he’d started his pursuit. He wondered whether Matthews had seen him. If he was dragging him along like a cat to string.

  Only he didn’t imagine something nice was on the other end of the string.

  Not knowing the kind of groups Jerry Matthews had been covering up.

  He thought about what might happen to him if Matthews knew he was following him. What might happen to his family. Would he send the Children of the Light back to finish their arson job? Or would he just kill Brian himself? Toss his body into the Ribble and act like it was an unfortunate suicide or something.

  Brian didn’t want Hannah or Sam to think he’d ended his life. To think he’d opted out when he loved them so damned much.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  But the only way to find out if Matthews knew about him was to keep on following.

  After they crossed the Ribble, Matthews’ left indicators flicked on. And it soon became clear to Brian where he was heading. Where he was leading him.

  The church.

  The River Edge Methodist Church.

  The place where George Andrews’ old case files were convinced was a kind of hot spot for the Children of the Light’s activities.

  Brian slowed down as Matthews turned down the road leading to the church. Slowed, waited a few seconds, then he followed.

  He turned his lights off. Risky, but it was quiet. And he didn’t want Matthews to see him. Not now. Not when he was so close to the truth.

  Jerry Matthews’ Mercedes reached the bottom of the hill. The River Ribble illuminated in the bright moonlight. The church looked dead. Empty. Didn’t look like anyone was around.

  Jerry pulled up right outside the church. Sat there for a few minutes, visible from the interior light in his car. He didn’t look up at Brian, who pulled up at the side of the hilly road and watched. He didn’t turn. He was oblivious. Brian was invisible.

  At least he hoped he was invisible.

  After a few torturous seconds, Jerry Matthews opened his car door. He stepped out into the night, into the darkness. Stood still for a few seconds as the light of his car faded away.