“When Bryan Flynn was murdered in nineteen ninety six there was a serial killer operating in London called The Camden Carver,” explained Brodie. “Four women had their throats cut and all were of similar age and appearance to these four victims, victims of a killer operating in Manchester right now. They also had similar marks carved into their skin. My client was a resident of Camden where Mark - or should I say Theo - grew up and is very concerned by the similarities in the murders.”
“How did they know Mark was here?”
“They work in the media and were covering the story of Diane Speare’s murder, she was the third victim. They saw him in the crowd watching from the police cordon. He didn’t tell you he was there, did he?” Brodie added when Sarah winced.
She shook her head, dripping tears onto the photos of the victims. “He pointed out the article in the paper though about the last one, Patricia something. He’s done that more than once actually, he seems to find it interesting. I told him to stop being morbid.” She looked up and wiped her eyes when the waiter returned to the table. “Wait there,” she told him as she took her drink from his tray, downed the contents, grimaced and replaced the glass on the tray. “Another.”
The waiter frowned before hurrying back to the bar.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” she said, “Excuse my language, I don’t normally swear but I feel the occasion calls for it. Fuck,” she said loudly, drawing disapproving looks from the other diners.
Brodie found himself warming to this woman. He admired her spirit. “That’s alright, I’m not easily shocked.”
“I need to speak to your client, I have to hear it from them.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not happening.”
“How do I know you’re not making all this up for some sick reason? How do I know there’s even a client?”
“There is. You have all the proof you need that your husband is Theo Flynn and he killed his father.”
“It doesn’t prove that he killed four women and that he’s going to do it again. You don’t know Mark, I mean Theo. In the ten years we’ve been married he’s never once raised his hand to me. He’s just not violent.”
“Obviously he is,” he replied, tapping the picture of him being led into court.
“No he’s not,” she yelled, drawing more curious glances their way but she didn’t care.
“Sarah,” he said as gently as he could. “I’m here to help. You have to know what sort of man you’re living with and that you could be in danger.”
“Mark would never hurt me.”
“But he’s not Mark, is he? He’s Theo Flynn, daddy murderer.”
The waiter returned and this time Sarah snatched the brandy from him and greedily gulped it down. “Another,” she said, dumping the empty glass in his hands.
“Maybe you should go easy on that?” suggested Brodie.
She fixed him with a furious glare and pointed a sharply manicured digit at him. “You’ve just destroyed my life. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” When he put his hands up in surrender she turned her furious gaze back on the waiter. “Fuck it, bring me the bottle.”
“But Madam…”
“The bottle. Now.”
The waiter shrugged and returned to the bar, thinking it would be easier on him if she could fill her glass herself.
“Mark’s not a killer,” she whispered more to herself than Brodie.
“Sarah, you really need to listen to me. Your husband is a dangerous man and you have two daughters.”
Her blue eyes sharpened into daggers. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you bloody dare.”
“Calm down,” he said, trying to take her hand but she flung him off.
“Mark would die before he hurt me or the girls. What proof have you got? Witnesses? Forensics?”
“No but the similarities between the cases are too striking to be dismissed. The police are convinced the same person who committed the murders in Camden is responsible for the ones here or there’s a copycat with inside knowledge. Certain details about the mutilations done to the bodies down south were kept back from the press, mutilations that have appeared on the bodies of the victims up here.”
“Mutilations?” she shrieked, drawing more unwanted attention.
“Please Sarah.”
“Sorry. Mutilations?” she repeated in a quieter voice.
He nodded. “The newspapers in London reported that marks had been carved into the victims’ bodies but the police managed to hold back exactly what those marks were. The bodies here have those same marks, indicating...”
“It’s the same killer?”
“Yes or someone who knew the killer in London and who is now copying him.”
Sarah took a deep breath before asking, “are they investigating Mark?”
“He’s a person of interest and they have interviewed him.”
“Interviewed? He never mentioned it. Perfect timing,” she said when the waiter returned with the bottle of brandy, which was a third full. She snatched it off him and the waiter rolled his eyes before walking away.
“That’s not going to help,” said Brodie as she filled her glass.
“Actually it’s the only thing stopping me from screaming,” she retorted.
“In that case, be my guest.”
“I wasn’t waiting for your permission.” She knocked back another shot. “I don’t believe you,” she said, slurring slightly.
“Listen to me Sarah because this is really important,” he continued as she refilled her glass. “The main suspect in the original Carver murders in Camden was Bryan Flynn. Your husband’s father.”
Sarah’s response was to fling another shot of brandy down her neck then slam the glass down on the table, tears shining in her eyes.
“Murder’s in Mark’s blood,” pressed Brodie. “You have all the evidence you need right in front of you,” he said, tapping the file with his index finger.
Sarah stared at his hand curiously. It was very large and looked like it could cause a lot of damage, the nails rough and ragged. “I mean about the women, you’re wrong there,” she said.
“The profile says the perpetrator will be in a normal relationship, long standing with children.”
“I would know if he was a murderer,” she whispered, eyes filling with fresh tears.
Brodie was starting to feel like a complete shit. He’d known this would be a difficult conversation but the devastation in her eyes was painful to see. He reasoned he was doing this to help her but it didn’t make him feel any better.
“Everyone has their secrets,” he said.
“An affair is a secret or gambling away our life savings, not multiple murder,” she mumbled into her drink. “Put them away will you, I don’t want to look at them anymore,” she said, shoving the newspaper clippings at him. When he didn’t do it fast enough for her liking she picked up the folder and threw it at him. It hit him in the chest and slid onto his lap.
He pursed his lips. “Please calm down Sarah.”
“Calm down? Are you fucking serious?”
More people looked their way and Sarah buried her face in her hands.
“I think you could use some fresh air. Let’s go for a walk,” he said, throwing some money onto the table to cover the cost of the brandy. He’d make sure to add that onto his expenses.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. How do I know you’re not the real killer? How do I know this isn’t some sick plot?” Before he could reply she’d shot to her feet and was standing there, swaying.
“Take this and look through it,” he said, holding the folder out to her. “My card’s in there. If you need me please call anytime. I’ll be staying in the area for a while.”
She snatched both items from him, lifted her chin and marched proudly to the door, any dramatic impact generated by such an exit marred by her unsteady gait, which almost caused her to collide with the put-upon waiter. “You’ll get a taxi, won’t you?” he called after her.
“Yes,�
� she snapped back before disappearing out the door.
The rest of the customers, who had watched her exit in amused silence, turned their gazes on him and he stared back at them until they looked away.
Sighing, Brodie took out his phone and jabbed at the buttons, cursing under his breath when he hit the wrong one. Why did they have to make everything so small these days? In his day bigger had been better. “Cass, I’ve made contact,” he said gruffly when he finally managed to hit the right keys and the voice of his second-in-command in Glasgow answered.
“And?” she replied.
“She didn’t take it very well.”
“Well duh. Did you think telling her that her husband’s a murdering bastard was going to make her day?”
“Cut the bloody sarcasm. How are you doing on the Barnes case?”
“He’s not taking the hint. Still thinks he can stalk his ex-wife.”
“Give the numpty a good kicking. That’ll teach him not to beat up women. What are you looking at?” he demanded of two men sitting at the next table watching him. They suddenly found their soup bowls extremely interesting.
“What was that Boss?”
“Not you Cass, I was talking to a couple of spare pricks at the next table. What about Derek Collins?”
“Ross and Christian are keeping him under surveillance. So far he’s not made a move. He’s probably guessed someone’s watching him.”
“He will, slimy little creep. Tell them to keep at it, as long as it takes, I don’t care.”
“They’re going to love that,” said Cass.
“Tough.” Collins was a paedophile recently released from prison after serving six years for abusing two boys. The victims’ mothers don’t believe he’s been rehabilitated and neither does Brodie. Collins would soon slip back into his old ways but this time his firm would be there to intervene before any more little boys were victimised.
“Want me to come down there?” said Cass.
“No, I’ve got it. I need you up there kicking Christian and Ross up the arse.”
“Obviously your charms aren’t having any effect on Mrs Creegan.”
“All I need is for her to be aware of the danger. Mission accomplished.”
“What if she confronts him about it and he snaps?”
“He won’t because he knows he’s being watched. Anyway, got to go. I want to be there when she breaks the happy news to him.”
“Do you think he’ll hurt her?”
“Right now I’m more worried about her hurting him. She’s feisty and steamin’.”
“Never a good combination.”
“No.”
He hung up without another word. Brodie had never been one for formalities. He preferred to get straight to the point. Cass wouldn’t be offended, she was very familiar with his ways.
He picked up his car keys and got to his feet, pausing to throw one last glare at the suits at the next table before heading outside. He’d just opened Pandora’s box. Now he was intrigued to see what came out of it.
CHAPTER 3
After puking up most of the brandy she’d consumed at the bistro into the downstairs toilet Sarah felt a bit better, well, at least her stomach did. The rest of her felt like shit. Thank God the girls were going straight to their friend’s house for a sleepover after school. It left her free to deal with her husband, but deal with him how?
When she heard a car pull up on the drive outside she rushed to the window. Mark was here. Her heart launched into a frantic drumbeat, making her feel sick all over again. Fortunately there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up.
She watched Mark hesitate and look down the street as he got out of his car. What was he doing? It was then she spied the blue Astra sat two doors down, a dark shape inside. She wasn’t sure whether she found Brodie’s presence reassuring or scary.
Mark dithered, deciding whether he should tackle the man again or not. When he saw her at the window he was decided and hurried inside.
“Sarah, are you okay? That bastard’s outside again. He’s not approached you, has he?”
“I’m fine Theo,” she blurted out.
The effect on him was dramatic. His face turned colourless, even his lips. His jaw went slack and his eyes darkened and bulged. Sarah had just got all the confirmation she needed.
The silence drew out between them, stretching on and on, so intense it was almost deafening.
“Who’s Theo?” he eventually said.
“Don’t give me that crap. It’s you,” she yelled, emboldened by the effects of the brandy. “That man in the blue car who’s been stalking us is from Glasgow. His name’s Brodie MacBride. He’s a private investigator and someone - he wouldn’t tell me who - hired him to keep an eye on me because he thinks I’m in danger.”
“From who?”
“You, you pillock, because apparently you’re a murderer.”
He gave her a patronising smile that made her blood boil. “And you believed him?”
“Not until he showed me some newspaper cuttings of you in handcuffs being led in and out of court when you were on trial. At first I thought he must have mixed you up with Seth, there was no way you could do something like that and it was easy to believe that psycho could murder his own dad, but you? Never. Turns out it was you Mark, there was no doubt and if you even try and deny it I will leave you right now and never come back.”
“No,” he exclaimed. “Please don’t go Sarah, I love you.”
“Then you’d better explain and you’d better explain good because I am a heartbeat away from going straight to my solicitor to start divorce proceedings. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought you’d run a mile and who could blame you? When we first started seeing each other I kept telling myself I’d only tell you if we got serious.”
“You don’t call ten years of marriage and two kids serious?” she cried.
“Of course I do, that’s not what I mean.” He closed his eyes and dragged in a deep, steadying breath. “Things were going so well and I didn’t want to ruin them. Then we got engaged and I chickened out. When we got married it seemed too late.”
“You bastard.”
He opened his eyes and gave her his best pleading look. “I know and I’m sorry. You had every right to know exactly who you were marrying but I spoke to Mum about it and she said…”
Sarah’s lip curled with contempt at the mention of her mother-in-law. “Let me guess, she told you to keep your mouth shut?”
“She thought it was for the best.”
“Best for who? Not me. She’s never liked me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is and you know what? I don’t like her. She’s a creepy, manipulative old witch.”
Mark didn’t argue. He didn’t dare.
Sarah started pacing the room, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling cold and shivery. “You murdered your own dad Mark, or should I say Theo. You stabbed him twenty four times.”
He cast his eyes to the floor and nodded. “You don’t know what he was like.”
“Because you never told me. Well now’s your chance.”
“He was an evil bastard Sarah. He beat the shit out of us all.”
It was Sarah’s turn to pale. “What?”
“The day it happened he came home from work after stopping at the pub first. He was drunk and mean and he started laying into me with his fists. It was unfortunate for him that he did it in the kitchen. If he’d attacked me in any other room in the house I wouldn’t have reached for the butcher’s knife. I remember feeling this incredible anger building up inside me with each punch and kick until I snapped. I was sick of it, I couldn’t take a single second more. I grabbed the nearest thing, which just happened to be a knife and I…I made him stop.”
Sarah stared up at him, quiet and scared.
“Say something, please,” he whispered.
“I’m going to throw up.”
She raced into the downstairs toilet and r
etched into the bowl but her stomach was empty so nothing came up. She straightened up, turned to the door and screamed when she saw Mark standing there, blocking her exit.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.
A terrific pounding started up on the front door. “Sarah, are you alright?” called a Glaswegian voice. “I heard a scream.”
“That’s him, isn’t it? That’s the fucker who did this to us,” yelled Mark.
“You’re the one who did this Mark,” she yelled back. “Get out of my way,” she said, shoving him in the chest.
“Sarah, open the door,” called Brodie.
“Let me pass,” Sarah told her husband when he refused to move.
“You’re not listening to me. It wasn’t my fault,” said Mark.
“Sarah, open the door,” shouted Brodie.
“I don’t want to listen to you Mark, I can’t even look at you,” she cried, tears running down her face. “You’re a killer.”
“It was self defence.”
“If you don’t open the door I will break it down,” yelled the voice through the door.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Mark stalked to the front door, yanked it open and grabbed Brodie by the lapels, dragging him over the threshold. “You bastard. Why couldn’t you keep your fucking mouth shut? We were so happy.”
Brodie’s whisky eyes turned hard. “I understand you’re upset but if you don’t take your hands off me I will snap off all your fingers and ram them down your throat.”
Mark released him.
Brodie pushed his way past him to get to Sarah. “Are you okay?” he said, concerned by how violently she was shaking.
“Yes, I mean no…I don’t know.”
“Did he hurt you?”
She threw her husband a glower. “Not physically.”
“Why?” Mark barked in his face. “Why did you have to do this to us?”
“I was hired by a concerned citizen.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Unfinished Business Page 3