Philip Brennan 01 - The Surrogate

by Carver, Tania

  She took another sip of tea, grimaced. Awful.

  She replaced the mug on the coffee table, sat back, checked her watch again. He was late. But just at that moment, when she was allowing all sorts of ridiculous fantasies about his whereabouts to run through her mind, she heard the front doorbell. She sighed. He must have forgotten his house key. Or had too much shopping and wanted her to carry it in. Idiot. In her state. But it was the kind of thing he would do.

  Prising herself up from the sofa, she managed to waddle slowly from the living room into the hall. The bell rang again.

  ‘Yeah, all right, I’m coming . . .’

  She reached the door, turned the knob to open it. And thought: Graeme wouldn’t have forgotten his house keys; they’re with his car keys.

  She opened the door fully, looked up. It wasn’t Graeme.

  And then the hammer came down.

  Her last thought: she wished she had gone to that hairdresser’s appointment.

  43

  ‘I shouldn’t be here, Clayton.You know that. You promised me.’

  Sophie Gale’s voice was low, hissing. She leaned across the table, kept hard, unblinking eye contact with Clayton. She was angry, he could see that. But he knew that underneath the anger there was something more. He just didn’t know what.

  ‘Yeah, I know. But what can I do? You’ve got to come in if the boss says so.You know the score. Look,’ he said, leaning across the table also and keeping his voice low, though where hers had been hissing, his was controlled, ‘don’t worry. And don’t panic. That’s the main thing. Main two things.’

  Sophie Gale said nothing in reply. Just stared at him, her eyes no less hostile, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. She stayed like that, staring, for what seemed to Clayton like several hours but was probably only seconds.

  Clayton and Sophie were in the twin of the room Phil was talking to Ryan Brotherton in. The same drab colour, depressing light, scarred table, absence of hope. There was no mirror, though. That, thought Clayton, was something.

  He had asked to conduct the interview on his own, wanted to press on with the inquiry. But he knew the rules. He had been attacked while working on a case. There was a charge of attempted murder against his attacker. It was now deemed personal and there was no place for him on the investigation. Standard procedure. But still, he had hoped.

  So he had sneaked in, tried to have a quick word before Anni arrived to take over. Out of all of the team it would have to be her, he thought. He knew that time was tight and he and Sophie would have to come up with something plausible very quickly.

  ‘I am so fucked,’ said Sophie.

  ‘No you’re not,’ said Clayton. But the phrase sounded weak even to him.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she said. ‘If I say Ryan was at home with me the night his ex got killed and you find out he wasn’t, I’ll get done by you lot. But if I tell you he was out that night, then he’ll have me. Either way, it’s not pretty.’ She sat back. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  Clayton felt himself begin to get angry with her. And he knew that his anger had its roots in the same place as hers: fear. ‘Look,’ he said, his arms out wide, imploring, ‘it’s not just you, is it? It’s me as well. Whatever comes out about you comes out about me. And then we’re both fucked. And now thanks to your shithead boyfriend I’m off the case. So I shouldn’t be here and we haven’t got long. We’ve got to make this work for us. Think. We’ve got to sort this together.’

  Silence descended once more.

  ‘This is what I think,’ said Clayton, speaking quickly. ‘This is what we should do. I go to my boss with what you said about Brotherton going out the night Claire Fielding was killed.’

  She began to interrupt but he silenced her with a hand.

  ‘Just listen. I tell him all that. But I also say that you’re terrified of him. You didn’t want to tell me and only want it used on the condition that Brotherton be charged and kept inside. No bail. Because . . . because your life’s in danger.’ Clayton sat back, pleased with himself. ‘That’ll work. Yeah. What d’you think?’

  Sophie kept staring at him. ‘And where’s the risk to you, then?’

  Clayton frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘You said this is a risk to both of us. I don’t see no risk to you there. Just me.’

  Clayton sighed. ‘It’s the best I can think of.’

  ‘Well you’ll have to think better. Because if I say that and they don’t keep Ryan in, I’m fucked. No job, nowhere to live. Not to mention what he might do to me.’

  ‘If he does anythin’ he’ll be back in custody.’

  She rolled her eyes, threw her arms up. ‘Oh great. And I’ll be in the bleedin’ hospital.’

  ‘Sophie, it’s the only way out.’

  ‘For you, maybe.’

  ‘Well have you got any better ideas?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Clayton didn’t like the nasty light that had started to glow in Sophie’s eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘I tell them everything. Not you, your boss. About the informin’ I used to do. All the intel I supplied. The convictions that led to. Remind them what a good source I was.’ The light got nastier. ‘Then I tell them you remembered me from those days, came to see me. Wanted me to keep quiet about the freebies you used to get. But it wasn’t just freebies, was it?’

  Clayton said nothing.

  ‘No,’ Sophie continued. ‘You weren’t content with that. You wanted to run the show as well, didn’t you? Keep your friends supplied. Strangers, too. That was you, wasn’t it? PC Pimp.’

  ‘Shut up . . .’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what you came to see me about. Because freebies, that’s nothing. But running your own little business empire . . . I don’t think that’ll go down too well. And I’ll tell them. That you said you’d keep my name out of it if I kept my mouth shut. That you even asked for a blow job for old times’ sake.’

  ‘That’s not—’

  Sophie smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘It’s the only way out,’ she echoed, mirroring his words back at him.

  Clayton sighed, sat back. ‘This is so fucked.’

  ‘Ain’t it though.’

  ‘We have to think of something. Fast.’

  The room, small already, began to feel overpoweringly claustrophobic.

  They stared at each other.

  Neither of them could think of anything to say.

  44

  ‘You know,’ said Phil, as if imparting an intimate secret to an old friend, ‘you didn’t have to do all that. With the grab and the metal.’

  ‘No?’ Brotherton looked genuinely interested.

  Phil was working Brotherton hard, but not letting the other man know what he was doing. The technique was working well. He had seen hardened criminals respond to it. Even coppers who had strayed over the line and ended up on the other side of the table responded to it. And they had been trained not to.

  But Phil didn’t want to get cocky. He stayed focused, concentrated. He still had a long way to go.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘If you’d wanted to do Clayton or me some damage, why didn’t you just hit one of us?’

  ‘That would have been assault, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but it could have bought you time; you could have got away. And then a good lawyer could have argued it out later. Said I was harassing you or something.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Phil thought it best not to mention the attempted murder charge now hanging over Brotherton’s head. He didn’t want to break the flow. ‘You could have done that. I mean,’ he said, ‘you’ve got the muscles for it.’ He waited a few seconds, let his words sink in, then continued. ‘I like to think I keep myself in pretty good shape, but to get the kind of body you’ve got, you must be very dedicated. That’s not just from working in the yard, is it?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Brotherton, unconsciously flexing his biceps. ‘I work out.’

  ‘Thought so. How long have you been doing that, then?’
r />   Brotherton’s eyes looked to the right. ‘Since my early twenties. About fifteen years?’

  ‘That is dedication. Whereabouts?’

  Again a look to the right. ‘Used to work out in the leisure centre on the Avenue of Remembrance. But now it’s the gym up in High Woods.’

  ‘Good place. I like a good workout but I’m between gyms at the moment. Just moved house.’ He laughed. ‘But I’m nowhere near your league. What’s High Woods like? Would I like it?’

  Brotherton frowned, his eyes falling down to the left. ‘Yeah. It’s a gym, you know? Leisure facilities, they’ve got a pool, sauna.’ He nodded. ‘Not as bad as some places, not as cliquey. But you know. Gym’s a gym when it comes down to it.You get out what you put in.’

  Phil nodded, apparently giving the matter some thought. ‘Good.’ He put his hand behind his back, moved it up and down. There was a knocking on the mirror.

  Brotherton jumped. Phil affected to.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘They must want me. I’ll be right back.’

  He got up and left the room.

  Marina was waiting for him when he entered the room.

  ‘Did you get all that?’ he said.

  ‘Yep. Eyes to the right, he’s remembering. Eyes to the left, he’s thinking.’

  Phil gave a grim smile. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t have a squint or a nervous tic. Then we’re completely buggered.’

  Marina returned the smile.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We good to go?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Neurolinguistic interviewing technique involved two different kinds of questions: remembering and cognitive. The innocuous questions, as well as lulling the subject into a false sense of security, established a yardstick to judge all subsequent answers by. A subject’s body language would be different for each kind of answer. When asked a remembering question, Brotherton looked down to the right. But when asked a thinking question, he looked away to the left. Phil and Marina now knew that if he was asked a remembering question and answered as he would for a thinking question, he was buying himself time, working on an answer. In short, probably lying.

  ‘Sorry about all that . . . stuff. In there,’ said Phil.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Marina, her head down in her notes. ‘You were working. No apologies necessary.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, and picked up a file folder from the desk. It had Brotherton’s name written on the front. ‘Off I go. Wish me luck.’

  She smiled. ‘You don’t need it.’

  He returned the smile. ‘Do it anyway.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He left her alone once more. She looked at the mirror. Waited for it to start again.

  45

  Clayton looked around the room. He was beginning to know how it felt to be on the other side of the table. Like he was the one trapped, about to give himself away, be caught out by his own lies. He looked at Sophie. She caught his eye, glanced away in disgust. He didn’t blame her.

  He checked his watch, sighed. It seemed to be showing the same time as when he had last looked. Another sigh. Like waiting in a doctor’s surgery, he thought. For test results to come back and confirm the worst. Something bad. Something terminal.

  Another sigh. He resisted the temptation to check his watch again.

  ‘Your boyfriend’s probably given it up by now.’

  Sophie stared at him. ‘I doubt it.’ Her words seemed strong but he sensed nervousness behind them. ‘He’s not the type.’

  Clayton shook his head. ‘They’re all the type.’ He drew his sleeve back, fought not to bring his eyes to his wrist. Let his sleeve fall back into place. ‘He’s no different.’

  Sophie sat forward, about to argue, but decided against it. Slumped back into the seat. Defeated.

  Clayton could empathise with her. He had never felt so—

  His thought went uncompleted. The door to the interview room opened and Anni Hepburn entered. She was carrying a document wallet under her arm and had a look of triumph in her eyes. She gave a start when she saw him but controlled it well, crossing to the table, pulling up a chair placed against the wall and sitting down next to Clayton.

  She gave him a brittle, yet unreadable smile and looked at Sophie. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said. ‘I’m DC Hepburn. I believe you already know my colleague DS Thompson.’

  She looked towards Clayton as she spoke. There was no mistaking the message in her eyes. The doctor had arrived with the test results.

  ‘Right.’ Anni opened the folder, read down. Clayton knew there was often nothing in these files they brought out in front of suspects; they were just props. There was nothing someone who had a problem with authority found more terrifying, a training officer had once explained, than someone in authority holding a file on them.

  Anni looked up, seemingly startled to find Clayton still there. ‘I thought you were off this case now?’

  Clayton felt his cheeks warming up. ‘Yeah. I’ll just . . .’ He rose, scraped his chair back along the floor. Made his way reluctantly to the door and out. He glanced at Sophie before he left, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring straight ahead, her face unreadable.

  Once outside the room, Clayton looked quickly round, then made his way as fast as he could to Ben Fenwick’s office. There was a CCTV relay in there and he could watch the interview on it. He ran up the stairs, stood outside, getting his breath back, knocked. No reply. He tried the handle. Open. He went inside, set the TV monitor up. Started watching.

  ‘Sophie Gale,’ Anni was saying as he turned it on.

  ‘Yes.’ Sophie’s voice was dry and cracked.

  Anni looked up from the file, directly at her. ‘But that’s not your real name, is it?’

  ‘It’s . . .’ Sophie looked towards where Clayton had been sitting. She seemed to have guessed which way this was going to go and, now that he was no longer there, suddenly needed an ally.

  ‘It’s not your real name,’ said Anni; not a question, a statement.

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘Gail Johnson. That’s the name under which you first came to our attention. When you were a prostitute.’

  ‘Yes.’

  A tight smile from Anni. ‘Good.’ She looked down at the file again, pretended to be reading. ‘Charges were never brought against you, were they?’

  Something hardened in Sophie. ‘You know they weren’t. And you know why.’

  ‘Yes. I know why. Just found out today.’ Anni’s gaze went to the screen.

  Clayton jumped back. Was she looking at him? Did she know he was watching?

  She continued. ‘You were an informant. You were protected. ’

  Sophie nodded.

  Anni’s voice changed. Became less accusatory. ‘Very good. Can’t have been easy to do that. Downright dangerous at times, I would have thought.’

  Sophie shrugged. Clayton could tell she was thawing. He knew Anni was playing her.

  ‘Having to go with men you didn’t want to was bad enough. But then having to come and tell us about it . . . bad men, dangerous men . . . that’s real bravery. I mean it.’ And she sounded like she did. She smiled.

  ‘Thank you.’ Sophie returned the smile.

  ‘How long did you do that for?’

  Sophie thought. ‘Oh . . . feels like for ever. But it also feels like it happened years ago. To someone else.’

  ‘So how long?’

  ‘About five years.’

  Anni looked impressed. ‘Long time.’

  ‘Felt like it.’

  Anni nodded, smiled. ‘But that’s all in the past now.’

  ‘Absolutely. New life, new everything.’ Sophie gave a tentative smile. Even on CCTV, Clayton could see that her guard was starting to drop. He knew exactly what Anni was doing. And what the end result would be. And he was powerless to stop her.

  ‘So.’ Anni looked back at the file. Pretended to be reading. ‘Wednesday the seventeenth. You were at
home. With Ryan Brotherton.Your boyfriend. In the house you share together.’ She looked up. ‘That right?’