Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

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Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set Page 62

by Robert Enright


  ‘She is dead, Caleb. She has been this whole time.’

  ‘Liar!’ Parker furiously swung his arm, the back of his hand crashing into Bermuda’s jaw and rocking him sideways. Bermuda stumbled back and instantly Parker lunged, driving a knee into his gut before ramming the same knee into Bermuda’s nose. Blood burst out of both nostrils as he shattered the bridge before grabbing the back of Bermuda’s coat and ramming him into the nearest car. Bermuda’s head shattered the glass window, the shards clattering to the wet pavement along with him. Bermuda coughed harshly, drew up, and then spat blood that was instantly washed away by the downpour. Bermuda pulled himself forward on his forearms, then slowly began to push himself to his knees.

  Parker connected with a vicious kick to the side, lifting Bermuda off the ground and slamming his spine into the same car, the alarm screeching in time with its orange flashing light. Parker hauled Bermuda up by the lapels of his coat before casually tossing him across the bonnet, watching with glee as the interfering man clattered across the metal and collapsed hard on the concrete.

  Parker would beat him to death.

  And he would enjoy every moment of it.

  McAllister had regained her composure on the side of the street and dashed back towards any sign of life, bumping into a few drunken friends who at first offered her nothing but an inappropriate comment. When the two men saw the bleeding, followed by her police badge, they handed her their phone.

  She called for backup.

  Then for an ambulance.

  In the street, a few passers-by watched in horror as a blood-soaked Bermuda was thrown across the street and landed on the windscreen of a parked car. It screeched to life, its alarm singing wildly into the night sky. The screen burst, flaring out into a thousand cracks as Bermuda rolled over and collapsed onto the hard pavement. His tried to crawl, hearing the approaching click of Parker’s shoes.

  Parker stepped in front of him, Bermuda trying to best to peer through his swollen eyes that pulsated around his blood-drenched face.

  ‘You will die tonight.’

  Parker then stamped with all his might, the heel of his expensive shoe crushing every bone in Bermuda’s left hand. Bermuda yelled in pain before receiving another firm kick to the mouth.

  As he rolled onto his front, his left hand flopped like a bag of loose pencil shavings. The pain caused all energy to leave him.

  This was over.

  With his last moments arriving, he swivelled his head and shot a glance through the downpour to confirm that McAllister had gone.

  She had.

  In the distance, he could hear the wailing of sirens, their welcome sound just a little too late. Parker placed the sole of his shoe onto the back of Bermuda’s head, holding him in place. With the fight beaten out of him, Bermuda felt his head being gently pressed to the floor. With his bones broken and blood sprayed all over the street, Bermuda closed his eyes.

  A vision of Chloe flashed before him.

  He closed his eyes.

  Parker slammed his foot down.

  The sound of metal piercing flesh and a roar of agony above caused Bermuda’s eyes to flash open. As he did, he saw the spike of the Retriever shunted out of the side of Parker’s leg before he was hoisted away. Parker stumbled to the ground, the bone shattering as the chain retracted, dragging him like a plough across the harsh concrete. The Retriever ripped back through the leg, its chain snaking back across the wet floor until it leapt up and took its rightful place on the golden slate that adorned Argyle’s arm.

  Bermuda’s vision was blurred, a cocktail of bruising, blood, and rainwater all stifling his view, the images burning and stinging with no clarity.

  Parker pushed himself to his knees, kneeling in the rain. Argyle marched towards him, the sudden arrival of Montgomery Black and Vincent doing little to slow him down.

  A burst of blue light filled the street, two police cars blocking off either entrance as the officers bundled out and took their positions. McAllister ran to the front of them, her dress soaked through and tears running down her face.

  Bermuda lay broken and motionless.

  Parker knelt a mere ten feet away from him.

  Black yelled for Argyle to stop, the crowd regarding him as insane. The words echoed down the street; Bermuda heard them ringing but saw them ignored.

  Argyle marched across the urban battlefield, splashing the blood that pooled from both men. Ignoring the fallen killer, Argyle dropped to one knee beside his partner, reaching out a caring hand and placing it gently on his shoulder.

  ‘You owe me ten pounds,’ he said softly.

  Bermuda smiled, but instantly groaned in pain.

  ‘Sadly, this is goodbye.’

  Bermuda fought for words, but the blood in his throat choked him. He watched through his heartbreak as Argyle stood and slowly walked back towards Parker, his hand raised and clutching the handle to his murderous blade.

  Bermuda tried to reach out a hand, anything to stop Argyle from what he had to do.

  The finality of the coming execution.

  Argyle circled round, ignoring the wild calls from Black and now Vincent for him to stand down, to obey his orders. As the rain clattered against his mighty frame, he glared at the harbinger of death before him.

  The Absent Man.

  His father.

  ‘Is she gone?’ Parker’s words were drenched in defeat.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Argyle felt his heart ache for his mother. ‘Goodbye.’

  With a swing of his blade, the entire crowd gasped in horror. The man before them slunk backwards, his throat opening in a large gash and blood spraying out like a crimson firework. Parker fell back against the pavement, the blood gurgling in his throat.

  After a few moments, the sickening noises ceased.

  Kevin Parker was dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Bermuda lifted off the floor as the paramedics placed him onto the gurney, the comforting mattress a welcome change from the ice cold concrete. The flashing lights of the ambulance danced with the police cars for authority, the watching faces of the crowd a mixture of flashing blue and red.

  A paramedic held a massive umbrella over them as they wheel him towards the ambulance, Bermuda trying this best to see beyond them.

  After Argyle had watched Parker bleed out, he had slowly lowered himself to his knees and laid his sword out before him. Unclasping the Retriever, he had placed it alongside his other weapon and then placed his hands behind his back in a show of surrender.

  Parker, despite his possession, had been a human.

  Argyle had murdered him in full view of the BTCO.

  Bermuda had passed out through the pain as a few other agents flooded the scene, hoisting Bermuda away with only he and Black witnessing.

  DC Butler berated a few officers, screaming at them to clear the path for the paramedics, demanding Bermuda get the attention he needed. Despite their animosity, Butler knew that Bermuda had sacrificed himself for his partner. He needed to be treated.

  He deserved his respect.

  As the paramedics had tended to him, he heard a number of horrifying injuries being listed out.

  ‘A fractured eye socket …’

  ‘Several cracks to the collarbone …’

  ‘Deep lacerations to the skull …’

  ‘Crushed left hand, possible amputation …’

  None of it hurt as much as the pain of watching Argyle be marched away as a prisoner. Refusing to think of the outcome, Bermuda knew their partnership was over. Parker had been obsessed, but Argyle clearly had reason to end his life. His partner was the most caring creature spanning two worlds.

  He was not a murderer.

  The wheel of the trolley squeaked as they led him to the ambulance, the buzz of the crime scene humming all around him. A sheet had been thrown over the lifeless body of Kevin Parker, a senior officer taking pictures of the entire area.

  Any forensics would be lost to the rain.

  Before B
ermuda was loaded onto the ambulance, an authoritative voice dismissed the two paramedics. As they left, along with the protection from the rain, Bermuda’s headache grew as DCI Fowler loomed over him.

  ‘Don’t think this clears anything, Jones,’ he threatened, enjoying Bermuda’s clear anguish. ‘You will be facing every inch of my wrath.’

  ‘Mrs Fowler sounds like a lucky lady,’ Bermuda muttered through his blood-soaked, broken smile.

  ‘They will charge you, Jones. I have friends who will ensure the charges stick and you will soon be on the all-meat diet in Pentonville.’

  ‘No he won’t.’

  Both men looked up with surprise as the deep voice of Montgomery Black cut the tension between them. Marching with the authority that Bermuda constantly undercut, he approached the gurney, stepping between Fowler and his injured agent.

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘I dare, lad. This man, despite himself, has just done what your entire police department couldn’t. He managed to figure out how to track that monster and he brought him to justice.’

  ‘That man is dead.’

  ‘Justice is justice.’ Black spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I understand he also saved the life of your detective.’

  ‘So she says.’

  ‘Well let me make it clearer to you. I have your superior by the balls, aye. I want to squeeze them, so he makes you disappear, I’ll bloody squeeze them.’ He clenched his fist to emphasise. ‘Now you drop the charges against this man and fuck off.’

  Fowler stood straight, his jaw pushed out in frustration. He looked deep into the unrelenting stare of Black before trading a few glances with the battered Bermuda. Sighing, he turned and walked off into the rain, barking his frustration at DI Strachan as she followed like an obedient lapdog.

  ‘What a horrible man,’ Black uttered, watching the DCI depart with disgust.

  ‘Thanks, Monty.’ Bermuda tried to lift his right thumb, the left probably gone forever.

  ‘Well, despite everything, Jones, the usual breed of chaos, you did manage to stop Parker and save a young lady’s life.’ Black removed the glasses from his hooked nose, wiping them on his shirt. ‘That at least deserves to be respected.’

  Bermuda nodded his thanks, coughing roughly and feeling a sharp pain in his chest. Did the paramedics mention a punctured lung? Probably.

  ‘As you know, Jones, I don’t really like you. Not at all.’

  ‘Charming,’ Bermuda managed, drawing a dry smile from his superior.

  ‘But Ottoway was right about you. You can be the balance that we need, the man who can step in both worlds and keep them both turning. With Ottoway’s regrettable condition, I have been elected to perform his role in the interim. I have therefore dismissed the notion put forward by the Committee to have you removed from the agency.’

  ‘Didn’t you put that notion through, sir?’ Vincent interjected, with the usual perfect timing.

  Bermuda smirked.

  ‘That is neither here nor there.’ Black waved a hand dismissively. He straightened his tie before looking at Bermuda without the usual malic. ‘Good job, Jones.’

  Bermuda watched him trundle off, the enigma of a man doing his best to ward the demons knocking at Bermuda’s door.

  Vincent cast a caring eye over the crumpled mess before him. ‘You don’t look good, Jones.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I don’t feel that great either.’

  ‘Quite.’ Vincent’s eyes scanned him. ‘Several breaks, a number of of internal bleeds. You will heal but it will be painful for a few days.’

  ‘Days,’ Bermuda scoffed quietly, reminded once again of his condition. The world that had just tried to beat him to death was alive and kicking inside him. ‘How did you guys find me, anyway?’

  ‘The Oracles can track the activity of our world. After the overload at the Necropolis, we went there first. A number of soldiers slaughtered. We counted eight dead.’

  Bermuda raised his eyebrows, impressed at Argyle’s kill count.

  Vincent continued. ‘General Mandrake was found, incapacitated and ready to surrender. He has been taken back to the BTCO to be transferred back to his world for his sentence.’

  ‘His death,’ Bermuda corrected.

  ‘His sentence.’

  After a few moments of silence Bermuda turned to Vincent, his eyes slightly watering. ‘What will happen to Argyle?’

  Vincent paused. ‘It is out of our hands now.’

  ‘Vincent,’ Bermuda snapped, a tear rolling down his cheek. ‘Will they kill him?’

  ‘I am sorry, Jones.’

  Vincent turned and walked away from the growing confrontation, leaving Bermuda to drop his head back to the pillow. His left arm had been tied tightly across his chest in a sling, a bag of ice had been forced into the crushed remnants of his left hand.

  ‘Vincent,’ he called out, the senior Neither turning. ‘Do right by Gordon, okay? He needs something to reach out to him.’

  Vincent nodded. The homeless man who had spoken to them earlier in the evening had already been accompanied back to the BTCO HQ. They would afford him a shower and a change of clothes. Anyone who was aware of the world that enveloped humanity was an asset.

  They would look after Gordon Foster.

  He was one of their own.

  As Vincent disappeared into the crowd, Bermuda felt the bed shift slightly before being lifted into the back of the ambulance. The paramedic, a petite lady with mousy brown hair and a cute smile, spoke calmly to Bermuda, assuring him that he was going to be okay.

  He ignored her, already aware of his body piecing itself back together. Suddenly, a knock rattled the inside of the door.

  ‘Can I have a moment?’

  The young paramedic looked to Bermuda, who nodded his approval. With a smile she left the ambulance, allowing McAllister to climb up into the vehicle and take a seat next to him. Her dress, clinging to her slim body, was soaked through, but she held a towel in her hand and had evidently dried her hair slightly.

  She offered him a warm smile, looking with shock at the extent of his injuries.

  The sheer brutality of the beating he had taken.

  For her.

  Silently, a few tears ran down her cheeks.

  ‘Bermuda, I have to say that what you did this evening was the most …’ she struggled as another tear raced down after the others.

  ‘Heroic thing ever? Brave?’ Bermuda flashed his cracked grin.

  She laughed, shaking her head. ‘Idiotic was the word.’ She squeezed the only hand still intact. ‘But you saved my life.’ She leant forward and gently kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I just wanted you to know that you were right. There are things I can’t control in this world. What happened to my little Emily will always stay with me. But it can’t dictate the rest of my life.’

  ‘It can’t,’ Bermuda agreed, nodding slowly.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Ethan. We have agreed to meet this weekend for dinner. Cards on the table. Get everything out.’ McAllister’s eyes filled with hopeful tears. ‘I just want my husband back.’

  Bermuda lifted his free arm and beckoned her in for a hug. She leant in, squeezing his broken body. Bermuda ignored the pain, squeezing with as much energy as he could muster before she slowly pulled away.

  ‘Look after yourself, Bermuda.’

  ‘You too, Sam.’ He smiled. ‘You too.’

  She waved delicately before stepping back out into the rain, lifting the towel over her head. Butler approached her, nodding his goodbye to Bermuda, who returned in kind. The paramedic returned, closing the door, and the engine roared to life. As the ambulance pulled away, Bermuda closed his eyes.

  Images of his bizarre life danced through his mind: The scarring first case he ever worked, being chased through the Cutty Sark by that dangerous creature. The jet-black eyes of Barnaby, his own fingers gripping the edges of a doorway at the top of Big Ben. He thought of Kevin Parker, the various dead wom
en he had encountered this past week. Slowly his thoughts faded to the real world, to having a beer with Brett, discussing all things inappropriate. A flash of Sophie Summers made his heart ache.

  A discussion with Angela, her voice berating him for being a lousy father to Chloe, that his delusions were dangerous. His mind raced to Ottoway, the father he never had and the inevitable journey he would soon take to the afterlife.

  He thought of Argyle, his partner and loyal friend, who had once again saved his life on numerous occasions. Who had gone to war with eight of the most dangerous creatures on either side of the divide and walked away victorious.

  Who had protected him at all costs.

  Bermuda’s one working hand clenched into a fist at the images of that sinister world welcoming Argyle home to an undoubtedly horrible fate.

  Then Bermuda thought of Chloe.

  His beloved daughter.

  Her breathtaking smile that shone underneath her silky blond hair. Her tears when she had realised her dad hadn’t called on her birthday.

  The continuous strain his life had on their relationship.

  As the ambulance roared through the wet Glasgow streets, Bermuda thought of his daughter and the pain slowly filtered away. The mind-numbing agony of his broken body dissolved at the very idea of her.

  With the image of his daughter firmly in his mind, he slowly closed his eyes to rest.

  The case was over.

  He’d be with her soon.

  EPILOGUE

  The afternoon sky had already begun to darken, the wintery night doing its level best to dominate the remainder of the day. It was only ten past four, but the dark fingers of the night were creeping in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of Ottoway’s hospital room.

  His bed was pressed to the far wall, poking out into the centre of the sparse room. He lay under the white quilt, his eyes firmly closed as he drifted in a medically induced sleep. Plastic tubes scattered out of him in different directions, hooking him up to a number of different machines, ready to be shocked like Frankenstein’s monster.

  The beeping of his heart monitor synchronised with the heaving of his breathing apparatus.

 

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