Unfinished Business

by Heather Atkinson

  Lauren’s pale face watched them through the back window of the car as it hesitated at the bottom of the drive to allow a car to pass. Seth must have lost patience because the Escort shot out into the street, narrowly avoiding slamming into an orange four by four driven by someone so small they could barely see over the steering wheel.

  “That’s Mrs Wilkie, she lives two houses down,” explained Sarah. “I don’t know why she bought that thing, she’s hopeless at driving it and she’s five foot nothing. She shouldn’t even be driving at her age, she’s eighty if she’s a day.”

  “She’s a mess,” commented Brodie.

  “Mrs Wilkie? She’s old but I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I meant Lauren.”

  “Oh. You’re right there. She’s had all sorts of treatments including electroconvulsive therapy. Sounds barbaric but sometimes it does improve her for a bit.”

  “What exactly is wrong with her?”

  Sarah shrugged. “You name it she has it. Depression, severe mania, psychosis, bipolar disorder. She used to self harm too but I think she’s stopped that now. Sometimes she even gets catatonic depression where she’ll just sit there staring into space, not moving or speaking for hours. It’s really weird.”

  Brodie, who had a brother in a psychiatric hospital, was annoyed. “It’s not her fault.” It was attitudes like Sarah’s that kept people’s opinions of the mentally ill in the dark ages.

  She was surprised by his vehemence. “I never said it was, I know she can’t help it. It’s just a bit unnerving, that’s all I’m saying. Lauren’s the one I like most out of all the Creegans now I know what Mark really is. When she’s having a good day she’s great, she’s so bright and funny and clever, a real live wire. It’s such a shame. Her family’s done that to her.”

  “She seems frightened of Seth.”

  “Who isn’t? Apart from you of course. He’s not used to people standing up to him.”

  “Then he’d better get used to it,” glowered Brodie.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” said Sarah. “I’ve no idea who sent you but I’m very grateful to them. If you hadn’t turned up they never would have left. They don’t listen to me.”

  He nodded and gazed meditatively out of the window. “What do you know about Seth? Any dark secrets?”

  “Loads I should think but I try to have as little to do with him as possible. He creeps me out.”

  “He probably gets a kick out of it. It’s just got me thinking…”

  “Thinking what?” she said when Brodie drifted off into his own world. She’d noticed he had the tendency to do that.

  “Nothing.”

  Sarah knew it wasn’t nothing, he’d made a connection but he wasn’t sharing.

  “I think they’ve gone for now,” announced Brodie, making it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate on his earlier thought. “Have you heard from Mark?”

  “No, I haven’t heard from Theo since this morning when he called begging me to meet up with him. I told him to get stuffed then hung up. He tried calling back but I unplugged the landline and turned off my mobile. He’ll turn up here soon, I know it.”

  “So your talk earlier didn’t do much good?”

  “No, I just got angry and he got soppy, telling me how much he loved me, couldn’t live without me, blah, blah, blah. It got on my nerves, so I told him to get lost.”

  “It’ll be hard but you have to face him again at some point. He was right when he said there are things you need to discuss, especially the weans.”

  “Who’s Wayne?”

  “I mean your kids,” he explained.

  She blushed. “Sorry. You know what’s weird? If it was just the killing his dad thing I probably wouldn’t have chucked him out, I would have been willing to talk it through. It was a long time ago and his dad was a bastard but if there’s any possibility that he’s The Carver then I want him as far from me and the girls as possible.”

  “Maybe we can prove he’s not. Why don’t you ask to speak to the senior investigating officer on The Carver case? He might tell you how seriously they’re considering Mark as a suspect.”

  “Don’t you know that already?”

  “No. They won’t tell me anything because I’m not a police officer.”

  “You used to be a copper.”

  He thought copper a strange term for her to use, it didn’t fit in with the upper middle class image. He’d get Cass to do some digging into Sarah Creegan too. “I did,” he said through a set jaw.

  “Is that a tense subject?”

  “It is.” The shadow passed and he forced himself to smile. “It doesn’t matter to them. They wouldn’t give me any information about on ongoing investigation.”

  “Would they tell me?”

  “They can’t give you details either but if you play the terrified card right then they might be able to give you a hint.”

  “It’s worth a try and I don’t think acting terrified will be much of a challenge right now. Do you know who I should ask for?”

  “Detective Chief Inspector Hillyard. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

  “I’ll do my best. I’ve been looking through those newspaper articles you gave me. Bryan Flynn was a horrible, brutal man and he deserved what he got.” She paused to take a breath, puffing out her pink cheeks, running her fingers through her short hair, flicking her fringe into her eyes. “But it’s the way Mark killed him. If he’d hit him over the head with something heavy or pushed him down a flight of stairs it would have been different, but stabbing him twenty four times is just…”

  “Overkill?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly it. For some reason I’m finding it hard to let it go.”

  “I’ve seen cases like that before. They always stem from very powerful, violent emotions and perpetrated by someone known to the victim. It’s more common than you’d think.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Sorry.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You’re not leaving Manchester, are you?” she said a little panicky.

  “No, I’m sticking around, but I’ve a few calls to make. If you need me give me a bell.”

  “I will and I’ll speak to DCI Hillyard, was it?”

  He nodded and thought how curious it was that she’d said DCI instead of detective chief inspector, but then again everyone these days seemed to be familiar with police and their procedures thanks to the telly.

  She followed him to the front door, opened it and stared uneasily down the drive. “I’m worried they’ll come back.”

  “Keep all the doors and windows locked. They don’t have a spare key, do they?”

  “God no.”

  “Good. If they do come by and you’re in don’t open the door.”

  “You don’t know them, they won’t be so easily put off.”

  “Like I said, I’ll be around if you need me.”

  He stepped outside, already pulling his phone from his pocket. He waited until Sarah had closed the door and he’d heard it lock before dialling.

  “I’m working on it, I’m working on it,” came Cass’s voice.

  “I know but there’s something else.” He winced and held the phone away from his ear. Sarah Creegan could take some lessons in swearing from Cass. “Alright, you can give it to Christian to do, I don’t think he’ll screw it up.”

  Another put-upon sigh. “No, I’ll do it. Christian and Ross are busy today.”

  “Fine. I want you to look into Sarah Creegan. She’s not as prim and proper as she likes to make out.”

  “Copper’s instinct?”

  “Something like that.” The use of that word suited Cass, she was from a working class background and had had several run-ins herself with the police in her past. It fit with her but not Sarah Creegan. They were from two different worlds. He knew which world he’d rather be a part of. “If it’s possible that Mark Creegan’s The Carver then it’s possible Seth is too.”

 
“The twin? I suppose.”

  “He’s a vicious sod and he enjoys people’s fear. The Carver might think he’s some fancy artist but he’s also a sadist, like Seth.”

  “Interesting,” said Cass. “Just don’t forget we do have other cases.”

  “I bet none of them are as interesting as this one.”

  “Ooh. When can I come down there?”

  “Soon.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Until then I’ll stay stuck behind my desk. By the way, I’ve got more information on Lauren Creegan, I’ll send it to your phone.”

  “Thanks. How’s Phil behaving after his warning?”

  “Wisely he heeded it. After leaving hospital he took a ferry straight to Ireland. His wife’s made up.”

  “Nice work.”

  “Thank you. Anything else you’d like me to do? Paint a masterpiece? Solve world hunger? Or would you just like me to move the office a bit to the left?”

  He grinned. “Where would I be without your incredible wit Cass?”

  “You’d be even more of a miserable bugger than you are now.”

  “You are a charmer.”

  They hung up on each other, Brodie’s thoughts turning to Cass as he strolled to his car, fantasies that involved her completely naked. He only allowed himself to indulge in these dreams when he was far away from her, so he had time to purge himself of them before he saw her again. That nice little waitress at the café would be just the tonic. Cass had called him a hound but in truth he loved women, loved talking to them as well as doing other things, loved their softness and fragrance, loved cosying up to them in bed, the intimacy. Cass had never noticed that all his women broadly resembled her and he hoped she never did.

  Brodie wasn’t so lost in thoughts of Cass that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. He turned just in time to see Seth Creegan coming at him. Brodie found himself slammed back against his own car but, before Seth could get a proper hold on him, he’d thrown him off.

  “You’re off your fucking heid,” yelled Brodie.

  “And you’re not going to have a heid for much longer,” Seth yelled back, poorly mimicking his accent. “Stay out of our fucking business.”

  “No can do Seth. I’m here for Sarah.”

  “You’re shagging the tart, aren’t you? Admit it.”

  “Do you always reduce everything to sex Seth? Going a bit short are you?” he goaded.

  With a bellow of rage Seth came at him, swinging his fists. Brodie dodged and one of Seth’s fists slammed into the car, denting it. To Brodie’s amazement it didn’t even slow him down. Any normal person would have been in agony but, as Brodie was discovering, Seth was far from normal.

  Brodie grabbed his left arm and twisted it up his back. “Calm down,” he snarled in Seth’s ear. “Don’t make me break your fucking arm.” It was then he spied the ratty Escort parked at the kerb a few doors down. In the back he could see Lauren cowering, hands tearing at her hair in fear. Brodie caught a glimpse of her wide, scared eyes. Maggie was twisted round in the front passenger seat attempting to calm her down.

  “You see what you’re doing to your sister?” he told Seth, pointing at the car. Seth was struggling against him and even though Brodie was bigger he was having to fight to keep a hold on him, able to feel the raw power in the rigid muscles of Seth’s arm.

  “Fuck her, she’s always been a bag of nerves. She’s weak, weak like Theo.”

  “And what are you? Strong because you attack someone in the street? No Seth, you’re a bully and bullies are weak.”

  With a roar Seth wrenched himself free, spun round and drew back his fist. “Wanker,” he spat.

  Brodie stood his ground, ready to defend himself. He was looking forward to bringing this idiot down a peg or two.

  “Seth.”

  Maggie’s wind-blowing-through-a-graveyard voice came to them from further up the street. They both turned to see her climbing out of the car, eyes flashing with annoyance, gone from dead and empty to burning with fury. Only Lauren’s back was visible through the rear window because she’d curled herself up so tight.

  “You’re upsetting your sister,” continued Maggie. “Get in the car.”

  “Best do as Mummy says or she won’t buy you any sweeties,” smirked Brodie, deciding to take every opportunity to wind this arsehole up.

  “This isn’t finished,” said Seth before walking away.

  Brodie was disappointed. He’d been looking forward to taking him on. He watched Seth’s car back up a neighbour’s drive then turn back onto the road, having to drive right by Brodie, who waved. He saw Seth’s eyes narrow, saw his palm slap the steering wheel and a ghost-white face gazing out at him pleadingly from the back seat. Brodie had encountered some fucked up families in his time but the Creegan’s took the biscuit.

  “The creepy Creegans,” he murmured.

  His phone bleeped and he opened up a text message from Cass.

  “You amazing woman,” he smiled.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dr Prosser reminded Brodie of a pencil - tall, thin, rigid and grey all over. There wasn’t a bit of colour on him - his moustache, eyes, suit, shirt, tie and shoes were all grey. Even his skin was grey but Brodie didn’t think that was normal for him. He thought it was more to do with the leverage Cass had used to get him to agree to this meeting. Prosser was slumped in a chair behind his desk in his office at the hospital, his rigid frame collapsing in on itself with shock. Cass tended to have that effect on people.

  “This is highly irregular,” blustered Prosser in a thick Liverpudlian accent. “Usually it would be impossible for me to give out any patient details, it’s all confidential, but in this case…after what your friend said…” He paused to mop his brow with a grey silk handkerchief he removed from his left breast pocket. “…I’m willing to make an exception.”

  “I need to know everything you can tell me about Lauren Creegan.”

  Prosser appeared to shrink in his seat, deflated with defeat. “Very well,” he said resignedly. “Lauren Creegan is a very disturbed individual. She self harms and is a pyromaniac.”

  “Self harms?”

  “At least, she used to. She’s got that particular impulse under control now, thankfully. But she used to cut her arms, she did some horrible damage to herself too, it’s why she wears those long sleeved jumpers all the time, no matter how warm the weather.”

  “Why do you think she likes setting fire to things?” said Brodie, settling back in his chair, making it clear this wasn’t going to be over any time soon.

  “Pyromania is a psychiatric diagnosis in itself and Lauren is one of the true ones, where mental illness really is responsible for her fascination with fire. It arouses her and after the crime she experiences an intense gratification.” Prosser paused to dab at his forehead again. “Lauren’s had precious little control in her life and this is her way of gaining some.”

  “Why do you think she needs control?”

  “She’s been in and out of institutions most of her life. The normal choices we take for granted have been taken from her.”

  “If that was the case wouldn’t there be more arsonists? Lots of people have their choices taken from them - people with mental health issues, prisoners, hospital patients…”

  “I see where you’re going Mr Brodie…”

  “Brodie’s my first name,” he muttered.

  “…but this is more than that. Her family, because of her illness, control most aspects of her life and Lauren was abused by her father when she was a child.”

  Brodie leaned forwards in his seat. “What has she told you about her childhood?”

  “Not much to be honest,” replied Prosser, a little put out. “When I try to talk about it she clams up. All she’ll say about her father is that he hurt her. I got the impression he was a very violent man.”

  “Then how can you be sure her pyromania stems from childhood?”

  “Pyromania remains a bit of a mystery, even to us psychiatrists. No one is really s
ure of its motivations, mainly because law enforcement doesn’t help by lumping pyromaniac cases in with standard arson,” said Prosser bitterly. “Pyromaniacs are also notoriously uncooperative. It’s just my theory that her motivation stems from childhood.”

  “And how do you treat something that you don’t understand?”

  Prosser bristled but didn’t rise to the bait. “Long term therapy combined with medication.”

  “What sort of medication?”

  “Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors,” he replied cockily. “An antidepressant, it raises the level of serotonin in the brain. Serotonin is…”

  “A messenger chemical that carries signals between nerve cells and the brain, yes I know.” It was Brodie’s turn to be cocky.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No.” I just have a brother on SSRI.

  “It has fewer side-effects than other anti-depressants. It makes the patient more responsive to cognitive behavioural therapy.”

  “The talking therapy?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Is it working for Lauren?”

  “It takes years for this type of treatment to work…”

  “That’ll be a no then.”

  Prosser’s grey lips pursed. “Lauren Creegan has been in and out of psychiatric care her whole life and I’m the first therapist she has even mentioned her childhood to. I anticipate I will gain her trust more and more until she opens up entirely.”

  “Will that cure her?”

  “Who can say? Psychiatry is not an exact science. The human mind is such a mystery,” he said theatrically.

  “Does she ever talk about her relationship with her brothers?”

  “So it’s them you’re really interested in?”

  “I’m interested in the entire clan.”

  “She’s told me fragments about their relationships. She seems to be very fond of Mark but her feelings for him are tied up with resentment. Since he married he’s had little to do with his family. There’s some contention with his wife. Lauren is a very sensitive, guilt-driven woman. She fully understands why…Sarah is it?”

  Brodie nodded.

  “…why Sarah wants nothing to do with them, but at the same time Lauren despises her and Mark for it. This has put her into a cycle of loathing and guilt that only compounds her sense of powerlessness and lack of control, which she alleviates by setting fire to things.”