Unfinished Business

by Heather Atkinson

  Time ticked by interminably slowly and when she heard the rumble of a car engine she returned to the window and spotted Mark’s Audi pulling up at the kerb right outside the shop. She unlocked the door to let him in, her hands shaking.

  He hurried inside. “Are you okay?” he said anxiously as she locked up behind him.

  “I suppose. I just want to go home,” she replied, suddenly feeling very tired.

  He grasped her hand and she smiled up at him, reassured by his broad six foot one frame.

  “Where are the girls?” she said.

  “I left them with Carol. I didn’t want to bring them here.”

  Sarah nodded approvingly. Carol had been their next door neighbour for seven years and had babysat the girls plenty of times.

  “I’ll go and have a word,” he said, nodding at the figure still leaning against the car, watching them. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the car was a blue Astra.

  “No, don’t,” she said, grabbing his hand.

  “I’m not letting anyone scare my wife.”

  “He might be dangerous. Leave him to the police.”

  Mark glared through the window at the stranger, who still hadn’t moved.

  “Please Mark.”

  He wrestled with himself but when he looked into his wife’s pleading eyes he was decided. “Okay, let’s go. Just walk straight to the car and get in, no dawdling.”

  Sarah swallowed hard and nodded. “I need to get my things first.”

  “Okay but do it quickly.”

  He kept his eye on the stranger as Sarah snatched up her jacket and handbag. The man didn’t move, he just continued to casually lean against his car, watching them.

  “Ready?” said Mark impatiently.

  “Y…yes.”

  He nodded, staying close to her as she unlocked the door and they stepped outside. It was still broad daylight but it was early evening so rush hour was over and the street was quiet. Mark hovered by Sarah’s shoulder as she locked the door and pulled down the shutter. Keeping one arm around her waist he ushered her to the car and held the door open for her to get in. He slammed it shut behind her and threw the stranger a black look before jumping into the driver’s seat.

  “You said he’s been following you?” Mark said as he started the engine. The man still had his hood up, making it difficult to see his face.

  “I’ve seen his car about a lot but I thought it was my imagination. Now I know it’s not,” she replied.

  “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” he said, frowning at the stranger as they set off down the street, who turned to watch them go.

  “Like I said, I thought I was imagining it. There are lots of blue Astras about.”

  “Obviously it’s not in your head, it’s a very real danger. Did you get the licence plate?”

  She nodded.

  “Then we go to the police tomorrow.”

  “And say what? That he was parked in the street? That’s not illegal and he’s not actually approached me.”

  “We’ll make them listen,” he said almost brutally.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence, Mark keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror, but there was no sign of the Astra.

  Not wanting to upset the children they didn’t mention their stalker until both girls were safely tucked up in bed.

  “So where have you seen the car before?” Mark said, handing Sarah a glass of white wine and sitting beside her on the couch in the large, luxurious lounge, everything white and contemporary. They’d had a hell of a time keeping it so pristine with two rambunctious children in the house.

  “On the front street, at school, at the shops,” she replied.

  “Wait a minute. You’re telling me you’ve seen this car basically everywhere and you’ve never mentioned it?”

  “I did as soon as I knew something wasn’t right.”

  “You should have told me sooner.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. Please don’t nag me about it, I feel stupid enough as it is.”

  “Alright,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to him, already knowing he wouldn’t tell her he’d seen it too, he was so afraid of this sinister stranger being linked to the past he’d fled in London. “After we’ve dropped the kids off at school tomorrow we’ll go straight to the police.” He could ignore it when he thought it just affected him but now it was threatening Sarah he had to do something, he would not take any chances with his wife’s life or his children’s.

  “If you insist but they won’t do anything,” she said.

  “Fine. We’ll wait until he’s attacked you then, shall we?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Sarah, you’ve no idea who that man is. He could be some loony released from a mental hospital or a violent criminal. What if he’s the man who’s been going around carving things into women’s bodies?”

  Sarah paled and took a swig of wine. “Oh my God. What if he is?”

  “You’re safe tonight with all the security we’ve got then tomorrow we go straight to the police, no arguments.”

  “You won’t get any from me,” she said, leaning into his warmth.

  He held her even tighter. “I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said, kissing him. “The girls are asleep. How about you take me to bed?”

  “How could I refuse such an offer?” he said before devouring her mouth.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sarah woke the next morning to find Mark wrapped around her protectively. He’d kept her close all night.

  Mark was a heavy sleeper so she managed to gently disentangle herself from him and quietly climbed out of bed. She pulled on her robe and walked to the window. Opening the curtain she saw the blue Astra parked on the front street right outside their home. It was the first time it had ever got so near and she wondered if the close call the previous night had emboldened the driver.

  “Mark,” she exclaimed.

  “What…what is it?” he said, jerking upright, eyes bleary.

  “The Astra’s back. It’s right outside our house.” Her eyes widened. “The girls.”

  She rushed across the hall and into Donna’s room, who was fast asleep. Next she ran into Megan’s room, who was also sound asleep.

  Mark charged past her and downstairs in his jogging bottoms, pulling on a jumper as he went.

  “Where are you going?” she said, closing Megan’s door and hurrying after him.

  “To have it out with that creep.”

  “Don’t do that, leave it to the police.”

  “They won’t do anything. All they’ll say is he’s entitled to park on the front street. Where’s the bloody door key?” he snapped before he spotted it on the hallway table. He shoved his feet into a pair of trainers, pulled the door open and rushed outside.

  Sarah was momentarily delayed as she fumbled getting her feet into a pair of slippers, her hands shaking, then followed him out.

  Mark paused halfway down the drive. “Get back inside Sarah.”

  “No,” she retorted, clutching her mobile phone to her chest, ready to dial nine nine nine should the stranger prove to be dangerous.

  “Wait there then,” he told her as he stormed through the gates and up to the car.

  Sarah’s heart was in her mouth as the car door opened and out climbed a tall, well built man in a rumpled leather jacket and blue denim jeans. He was older than Sarah had assumed from her shadowy glimpse of him the previous night - mid forties, a full head of black hair, a streak of grey at both temples, strong, attractive features. His eyes were unusual, almost amber, the colour of malt whisky and those same eyes danced with amusement as Mark strode up to him in a cloud of bluster and outrage. Despite the stranger’s pleasing exterior Sarah sensed he was a man not to be crossed, although he was far from the lunatic she’d imagined. Clearly he wasn’t what Mark had expected either because he seemed to deflate a little. Then he recalled how much this man had scared Sarah and recovered his reso
lve.

  “Why are you stalking my wife?” he demanded, standing nose-to-nose with the stranger, who regarded him coolly.

  “I’m not stalking her, I’m here for her protection,” replied the man in a harsh Glaswegian accent, penetrating amber eyes flicking between Sarah and Mark. He spoke quietly so Sarah standing at the gate couldn’t overhear.

  “Protection from what?” said Mark, similarly lowering his voice.

  The man flashed a chilling smile. “You Mr Creegan.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  Sweat broke out on the back of Mark’s neck. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “Look, just fuck off or we’re going to the police.”

  “And tell them what? That I’ve been parking my car on a public street?”

  “No, that you’ve been stalking my wife and scaring the crap out of her.”

  “I’m sorry if I did that, I didn’t mean to.”

  “I would never hurt her,” said Mark, shaking with outrage. “Who the hell are you to come here and tell me I will?”

  “Someone who knows the truth about you Mr Creegan. I’m keeping an eye on you.” With that he tried to get back into his car but Mark grabbed his shoulder.

  “Who are you?”

  The stranger’s expression was cold, amber eyes hard as resin. “It would be smart if you took your hand off my jacket.”

  “So you’re not here to hurt Sarah?” he replied, refusing to relinquish his grip.

  “No Mr Creegan. Quite the opposite. I’m watching you,” he said before shrugging him off and getting back in the Astra.

  Mark stood helplessly on the pavement as he watched the man drive away, the old car coughing and rattling as it went.

  “Who was he?” said Sarah, rushing up to him.

  Mark looked down into his wife’s wide, scared eyes and felt a wave of shame as well as fear that his past was finally catching up with him. “Just some nutter,” he replied before sloping back up the drive to the house, reeling from what he’d just been told.

  “Should we go to the police?” she said, hurrying after him.

  The man’s words buzzed about his brain, tormenting him. He knew. “No, I saw him off.”

  “Are you sure? He was a big bloke.”

  He stopped in his tracks and rounded on her. “I’ve sorted him,” he barked. “I’m sorry,” he added when her eyes filled with hurt. He pulled her into his chest. “Come on, let’s get back inside before the kids start wondering where we are.”

  “So it’s really sorted?”

  “Really. You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

  As he steered her back into the house he glanced down the street but the Astra was gone. He felt sick and his head spun. One word to Sarah from the stranger and his life would be torn apart.

  Mark had to drive Sarah to the florists that morning because she’d left her own car outside the shop so they took the girls to school together. He started to relax when there was no sign of the blue Astra.

  “See,” said Mark, hope rising in his breast. “My warning off worked.”

  “Looks like it,” said Sarah, already much more cheerful.

  However Mark thought the stranger hadn’t seemed like the type of man to allow himself to be warned off.

  After dropping Sarah off at the florists he hung around outside for a bit just in case any blue Astras turned up, but they didn’t. He watched her through the shop window, happily bustling about with her flowers. She was his world, he’d defied his redoubtable mother for her. If it hadn’t been for the fact that they’d given her grandkids his family would have had nothing to do with either of them, which wouldn’t have been such a big loss. He’d forfeited a real relationship with his mother, sister and twin brother for Sarah. Now thanks to the stranger it might all have been for nothing.

  As there was no sign of the stranger for the rest of the morning Sarah had deemed it safe to go out to her usual smart little bistro for lunch. She settled at a table in the corner with her book, a salad and an orange juice and became so engrossed in the story that she failed to notice her stalker until he was right beside her.

  She released a gasp and shot to her feet.

  “What the hell are you doing? What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  “You don’t need to be frightened Mrs Creegan,” he replied in a deep voice, amber eyes bright and riveted on her.

  “No need to be afraid? You’ve been stalking me,” she said loudly, causing a few heads to turn their way.

  “I’ve been protecting you, on the instructions of my client.”

  His Glaswegian accent was thick and she had to concentrate on his words to understand him. “Client? What client? What are you talking about?”

  He placed his card on the table and she peered at it.

  “My name’s Brodie MacBride,” he said. “I’m a private investigator but I specialise in cases that have gone cold. Basically my business is unfinished business.”

  “Is that your motto?” she said sarcastically.

  “Actually yes,” he replied with a surprisingly pleasant smile. “If you’d care to retake your seat I’ll explain.”

  “Why should I? You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to.”

  “Mark said you’re a crazy stalker.”

  “I’m really not Mrs Creegan. I’m here to tell you something that you really need to know.”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she said, snatching up her coat and handbag. “Stay away from me or I will press charges.”

  “It’s about your husband,” he called when she started to walk away.

  Sarah hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you going to tell me he’s having an affair? Because if you are I won’t believe it.”

  “I wish I was Mrs Creegan.”

  Brodie watched the emotions trip across her face - curiosity, bewilderment and a little fear. He couldn’t help but admire her composure as she replaced her handbag on the table and retook her seat.

  “You’ve got five minutes then I’m gone,” she said.

  “Plenty of time,” he replied.

  As he took the seat opposite her she leaned back, as though afraid he was going to reach across the table and punch her.

  Brodie produced a buff folder from inside his leather jacket and placed it on the table between them. Sarah stared mistrustfully as he opened it up to reveal a pile of newspaper clippings.

  “Eighteen years ago,” he began, “a man called Bryan Flynn was stabbed to death in the kitchen of his home in Camden Town, London.”

  “Sounds horrible. Why are you telling me?”

  “The perpetrator was his seventeen year old son, Theo Flynn. He called the police himself and confessed when they arrived.” He took a small colour photograph out of the folder and pushed it across the table to her. “That is Theo Flynn.”

  Sarah recoiled, her hands flying to her mouth. Although the person in the picture was just a teenager she’d recognise her husband anywhere. “That’s Mark.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No wait, he has a twin brother, Seth. It could be him, it’s hard to tell them apart.”

  “It wasn’t his brother Sarah,” he said gently, starting to feel sorry for the poor cow.

  She gaped at the photograph in impotent shock, face white, lips pinched, too stunned to demand what right he had to use her first name. Somehow it was easier to let it be.

  “This can’t be right,” she eventually croaked. “You’ve made a mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake,” he said, taking out more press cuttings and spreading them out before her. The murder had made big news and she found herself looking at images of her own family, not just her husband but Maggie - her mother-in-law - and Seth and Lauren - Mark’s twin brother and younger sister. Her eyes shone with tears as horrible phrases like savag
e assault, numerous stab wounds and patricide leapt out at her from the black and white pages.

  “His name’s not Mark Creegan?” she eventually said.

  “No,” he replied as gently as his rough voice would allow. “The family took Maggie’s maiden name when they moved north to get away from the scandal. Mark was the only one who changed his first name though, I suppose because he was the most infamous.”

  “Theo Flynn,” she said, rolling the foreign name around on her tongue. “I can’t believe it.”

  Brodie took pity on the distraught woman whose world had just imploded and ordered her a brandy from a passing waiter.

  “I’ve got to get back to work this afternoon,” she said, eyes riveted to the photo of a teenage version of her husband being led into court in handcuffs.

  “Take the rest of the day off. I don’t think you’ll be able to concentrate anyway,” he said.

  She dragged her gaze from the page to look him in the face, his amber eyes full of concern. “Why are you doing this to me? What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing. I’ve been sent to warn you by a concerned citizen.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you, client confidentiality.”

  “Can you tell me why now, after so many years?”

  “Because of this,” he said, reaching into the folder again.

  “Oh God, no more newspaper articles, please. I can’t take any more.”

  “If you want to understand then you really need to see this.”

  The waiter put a brandy on the table beside her. She knocked it back in one go and told him to fetch another before he’d even had the chance to walk away.

  After the empty glass had been collected and the waiter had returned to the bar Sarah steeled herself to confront this second shock. The article was about the recent spate of murders in Manchester by the killer the press had nicknamed The Carver, accompanied by photos of all four victims - pre-mortem thankfully - happy and smiling and staring back at her, including the latest one, Patricia Henley.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. It was a lie, she understood perfectly but she didn’t want to accept it. Four women had been murdered in Manchester in the last six months and this man was hinting that her husband, the violent knife man, was responsible.