His other two employees, Christian and Ross, were younger, both in their mid twenties, eager and sometimes reckless with it but they were good boys and got the job done.
He hoped he had to bring Cass down here, he missed her already.
“No, don’t go there,” he muttered to himself, removing his jacket and shoes and lying back on the couch, eyes already closing. He didn’t think Sarah Creegan would sleep so easily.
CHAPTER 4
Sarah shuffled about the lounge, wincing at the daylight streaming in through the chink in the curtains.
“You look rough,” commented Brodie before he’d thought through what he was saying. He’d only just woken up after a deep, satisfying sleep on the luxurious couch.
“Thanks a bloody lot,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She’d failed to remove her make-up from the day before and black eyeliner had smeared around her eyes, making her look like an angry blond panda. Brodie decided not to say anything, he didn’t think it would help.
“I just meant you look hungover, that’s all,” he said. She didn’t look like she’d got much sleep. Her hair was all over the place and dark shadows circled her eyes that hadn’t been caused by the make-up. She looked like someone who’d spent the night tossing and turning.
“I couldn’t sleep, I was too busy trying to work out how to deal with Mark,” she yawned. “Sometimes things seem better in the cold light of day but this just seems sodding worse.”
“Did you come to a decision?”
“No.” She looked down at her fingers, which were twisting themselves together with anxiety. “Want a brew?”
“Aye, that would be lovely thanks,” he replied, pushing himself upright and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch.
“Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee black, no sugar please. Can I use your bathroom, that’s if it’s okay for me to go upstairs now?”
She nodded. “Upstairs, fourth door on the right.”
Fourth door, thought Brodie. Flash.
While she shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen he mounted the impressive staircase and eventually found the bathroom, which was the size of his living room. A large round marble bath dominated the room and he gazed at it longingly. Instead he splashed water on his face at the sink and ran his fingers through his hair. At least he looked more refreshed than Sarah.
As he returned to the stairs he quietly opened each door and stuck his head inside. In the master bedroom there was actually a four poster bed, rumpled after Sarah’s dark night of the soul. Two of the rooms were decorated in pinks and lilacs, clearly the girls’ rooms and another seemed to be filled with nothing but antiques, floor to ceiling glass cabinets bursting at the seams with mannequins in period clothing and a weird and wonderful assortment of historical objects. Brodie didn’t know anything about antiques but even he could tell these things added up to a fortune. A burglar’s paradise, that was if the burglar in question was smart enough to get past the state-of-the-art security system. In his experience most of them weren’t.
The remaining doors revealed nothing but bland guest rooms, holding no interest for him whatsoever, so he returned downstairs before Sarah realised what he was up to.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” commented Brodie as he strolled into the kitchen.
“Only the best for Mark,” she said peevishly. “After being poor when he was growing up he likes to surround himself with expensive things.”
Brodie took in her streaked hair, manicured nails and silk dressing gown and wondered if that included her.
They took their coffee through to the lounge and sat on opposing couches.
“Thanks for staying over by the way, I felt much safer,” she said.
“No problem.”
“I know you’ve got your suspicions about Mark but just wait until you meet the rest of the clan, especially Seth.”
Before he could question her further about that statement there was a crunch of gravel and Sarah was on her feet, slopping coffee onto the cream carpet, eyes fixed on the window.
“It’s Mark, he’s here.” The panic of last night had gone. Now she just sounded tired and hollowed-out.
“Want me to leave you to it?” said Brodie.
“I don’t know. Could you hang about and see what sort of mood he’s in?”
Brodie nodded.
Sarah watched Mark approach the front door, her eyes big and wary. Brodie felt sorry for her. A husband should be the man a wife can trust the most, be a protector to her. That had been taken from Sarah and replaced with fear and doubt.
The second he was through the door Mark tried to take her in his arms but she stepped out of reach.
“I missed you last night,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides.
She didn’t return the sentiment. “What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“I suppose we must, if only for the kids. You’d better come through,” she said, heading back towards the living room.
“Thank you,” he said, following her like an eager child. He was furious to see Brodie standing in his hallway clutching one of his coffee mugs. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you stay over last night?”
Brodie took a sip of the excellent coffee before replying, “I did because Sarah was afraid of her own husband coming home.”
“I told you she’s nothing to fear from me,” he yelled. When Sarah jumped he turned to her, his expression gentle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, he just winds me up.”
“The kitchen’s through there. Why don’t you stab him to death?” she retorted.
Mark’s lips pinched into an almost invisible line, eyes full of hurt.
There was an awkward silence, Sarah shuffling, clearly regretting her words.
“Brodie, thanks for your time but you can leave us to it,” she said.
He glanced at Mark, who was staring sadly at the carpet. “If you’re sure?”
“I am.”
“Alright but I’ll just be outside in my car. Shout if you need me.”
“I will,” she said solemnly.
Brodie glanced once more at Mark, who was slumped with defeat, a far cry from a homicidal maniac.
He left, quietly closing the door behind him. Outside the morning was mild and cheerful. It was the height of summer and already warm. The street was just starting to wake up. A smartly dressed woman coming out of a house on the opposite side of the road gave him a snooty look as she walked down her drive with a tiny hairless dog on a lead. He just stared back until she looked away. He was not in the mood for stuck-up tossers, even though he was aware he was a rumpled mess.
He climbed into his car and looked back at the Creegan house but he couldn’t see inside because the blinds were still drawn. With nothing else to do he decided to call Cass.
“What have you got?” he said the moment she answered the phone.
“I’m sleeping like you told me to,” was her curt reply.
“Oh, sorry.”
“You really need some lessons in etiquette,” she yawned. “Who makes phone calls at six in the morning?”
Brodie glanced at the dashboard clock and grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t realise it was so early. Anyway, you’re one to talk about etiquette when only a few hours ago you were slamming a man’s head into a door.”
“Technically I was slamming the door into his head and the prick deserved it. Actually I did a bit more research into mirror-image twins before I fell asleep. Apparently the egg splits later than in the case of identical twins, so it has already developed a right side and a left side. Did you know there have been cases where one twin has their internal organs on the usual side and the other has them on the opposite side? But that’s really rare.”
“Interesting.”
“It is. I found it quite fascinating. Do you know which one’s right-handed?”
“Mark is, like any good wanker,” he muttered.
“You’re right-handed.”
&n
bsp; “Alright, it was a crap joke. I spent the night on a couch, okay?”
“That’s no excuse Boss. Your jokes are always crap.”
“Isn’t insulting my joke-telling skills a sackable offence?”
“Not unless you want the arsed sued off you.”
“Good point. Are you on standby to come down here?”
“My bag’s packed and I’m just waiting for your word oh Lord and Master.”
“Cheeky beggar.” He’d picked up some of her lingo too. “Let me know when you’ve done the background check into the rest of the Creegan Clan.”
There was a big yawn followed by, “will do,” and the line went dead.
Brodie smiled at his phone before hanging up. His manners were rubbing off on her.
All seemed quiet at the Creegan house for about an hour until the front door opened and Mark emerged clutching a small suitcase and wearing a black look.
Brodie hopped out of the car, stretched and smiled. “Leaving so soon?”
Mark dropped the suitcase and stormed up to him. “This is all your fucking fault you nosy, interfering Jock wanker.”
“That’s racist Mr Creegan.”
“You smug bastard. Someone needs to bring you down a peg or two,” he said, thrusting his face into Brodie’s.
“Please Mr Creegan, you’re just embarrassing yourself. I wouldn’t recommend it,” he added when Mark drew back his fist.
Mark found himself on his knees, his right arm twisted up his back. “Get off me,” he yelled, cheeks pink with fury and embarrassment.
“I tried to warn you.” It was then Brodie spotted Sarah at her front door, mouth falling open at the scene. “Your wife’s watching,” he told Mark. “What do you think this display is going to do to convince her you’re not violent?”
He released Mark, who shot to his feet and whipped round. “Sarah, I…”
But she stepped back inside and slammed the door shut.
“Shit,” he sighed.
“Give her some space,” said Brodie, not letting his guard down in case Mark decided to attack again.
However he hardly heard him, lost in thoughts of his wife. Dejectedly he retrieved his suitcase then tramped to his car. He threw the case into the boot and backed the car out onto the road. He didn’t even look Brodie’s way as he drove off.
Brodie returned to the house and walked straight inside without knocking. He felt that would be acceptable now.
“Sarah, are you alright?” he called, finding her sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, staring into her mug of now-cold coffee.
“I told him it’s best if he gives me some space for a few days,” she replied without looking up.
“Did he get rough?”
“No. He never has.” Finally she looked up at him. “He went for you though.”
“It was nothing, he’s just hurt and frustrated. It can get to the best of us.”
She nodded and hauled herself to her feet. “I’m going for a lie down, try and get myself together before I have to pick the girls up from their friend’s house.”
“Okay. You’ve got my number. Call me if you need me.”
“Where are you going?” When he appeared surprised by the desperation in her voice she added, “sorry, it’s just that you’re the only person I’ve got to talk to about this.”
“Are you going to tell the rest of your family?”
“Not yet, not until I know what I’m going to do.”
“That’s probably wise. Work out how you feel about it first then you’ll be able to deal with other people’s reactions.”
“That’s good advice. So, you’re really leaving?”
“Sorry, I need to get to my hotel and shower and change and make some calls.”
“You’ve booked a hotel and I kept you here last night? I’m so sorry Brodie, I didn’t realise. You must think me so rude.”
“I’ve spent nights in worse places, believe me. Mark drove off, I think he’ll respect your wishes about staying away. You’ve still got my number?”
She nodded.
“Call me anytime, for anything. I’ll be back later.”
“Okay. I’ll lock up behind you,” she said, following him to the front door. “I took Mark’s key off him this time so he won’t be able to sneak in but I might have the locks changed, just so I feel extra safe.”
“Good idea. Try and get some rest. It’ll do you good.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said in a way that indicated it was hopeless.
Starving hungry, Brodie returned to his hotel. Cass had been fibbing when she’d said she’d booked him into a luxurious establishment. The bed was small and lumpy with a duvet cover that looked to have been there since the first world war. The faded red carpet was worn and spotted with dubious stains and the furniture chipped and sagging. Just to add to the depression the sink sprayed the front of his jeans with water, making him swear.
On the bright side the shower was a belter and he stood beneath its hot spray for a full twenty minutes. As he lathered up his body he felt the scar beneath his fingertips running down his left side, originating from the larger scar on his back, a parting gift from the Judas bastard John Lyons. The man he’d thought was his best friend had used their new business - which was supposed to help people - to make a drug deal with the McVay’s, the most powerful criminal family in Glasgow, a bunch of vicious psychopaths with absolutely no moral compass. Brodie had found out but before he could confront his ‘friend’ the bastard had ambushed him with two McVay heavies, stabbed him and left him for dead. That betrayal still stuck in his throat and made him furious, his empty stomach churning with bile. Brodie released a growl and slammed his fist against the tiles. One day he’d find that bastard.
He had to drag himself out of the shower to dress and was downstairs for breakfast with ten minutes to spare. The staff, who had been looking forward to getting tidied up early, threw him nasty looks. He smiled back at them cheerfully as he sat and sipped his coffee.
Just as he was polishing off his one sausage, single slice of bacon, overcooked egg and tiny puddle of beans his phone rang, breaking the overbearing silence in the dated dining room.
“Cass, what have you got?” he said, mopping up the beans with a limp slice of bread.
“Are you eating?” she replied.
“If this crap can be called food. There’s not enough to fill a wee white mouse.” He glanced up at the waiter and waitress, who both pouted at him.
“I’ve been looking into Seth Creegan. He’s an interesting character,” said Cass.
“Okay, give me a sec.” He downed the remnants of his bitter coffee then stood, banging his knee on the underside of the table, annoyed by the amused smiles of the staff, and headed back upstairs to his room. “Go on.”
“He’s been in and out of trouble since he was ten. Started off vandalising bus shelters, nicking sweeties from shops, petty stuff. Got a slap on the wrists a couple of times but nothing serious. When he was fourteen he graduated to assault, beat up a boy five years his senior who was known for being a bit of a hard nut himself. The boy dropped the charges so he was never prosecuted but that sealed his reputation as top dog in the neighbourhood. He ran around with a gang for a while who didn’t seem to do anything more than hang around street corners getting pissed and making noise. When he turned eighteen he decided to mug someone, almost killed them for forty quid. Got a reduced sentence because his solicitor pled he was under substantial strain - Mark was just about to go on trial for his father’s murder. Not only was his custodial sentence deferred until after the trial so he could be there to support his murdering brother but he only served nine months and was out by the time he was twenty.”
Brodie gritted his teeth. That was why he’d left the force, the justice system had more sympathy for the offender than the victim. Fucking typical. “Any more trouble after that?”
“Some, not much. His mum and sister were already in Manchester by then so he followed them north a
fter his release. A couple of speeding tickets, one drunk and disorderly. He was suspected of attacking a man after a boozy night in a pub but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him.”
“So he’s a nasty wee bastard then. Was there any doubt that he was involved in his father’s death?”
“Doubting Mark did it?”
“He admitted it but I’m wondering if he’s covering for Seth. He just doesn’t seem the type to stab someone to death. Buffoon’s the word that springs to mind when I think of Mark.”
“You know as well as I do that absolutely anyone is capable of anything when pushed too far.”
“True. Speak to the officers involved in the Bryan Flynn case, if they’re still around, it was nearly twenty years ago. I’d like to get their thoughts and feelings on the case, not just what was in the case file. I want you on this full time Cass. Leave everything else to Christian and Ross.”
“Will do. I’m looking forward to it, the Creegans are interesting in an Addams family sort of way.”
“You’re a ghoul.”
“It helps in our line of work. How are you liking your luxury hotel?”
“It’s shite thanks, apart from the shower. Now I’m going to find a café and stuff my face with real food.”
Cass’s laugh was deep and dirty and he was treated to the full force of it, making him grin.
Unfinished Business Page 5