“Does she ever talk about her other brother, Seth?”
“Rarely. When I encourage her to talk about him she shuts down. She’s terrified of him and I can’t say I blame her, he’s a brute. He once told me that if I didn’t hurry up and cure his sister he’d stamp on my head.”
“Sounds like Seth, subtle as a kick to the goolies.”
“Quite.”
“Has Seth ever physically hurt Lauren?”
“Not that I know of but then again, I can’t get Lauren to open up about him.”
“Do you think he has?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he needs to. If he said jump she’d throw herself off a cliff, she’s that afraid of him. Lauren’s timid and she can’t bear confrontation of any kind. It doesn’t take much to subdue her.”
Brodie found his use of the word doesn’t in favour of wouldn’t very interesting. Had Prosser tried subduing her himself? It was subtle word play like that which gave away a person’s true personality. “What are your thoughts on the matriarch?”
“Maggie,” he said dourly. “A classic manipulative personality so adept she can even control Seth who, in my opinion, is incapable of controlling his own powerful emotions.”
“He doesn’t have any. He’s a psychopath.”
“I beg to differ,” smiled Prosser, forgetting the fear of Cass’s hold over him as he revelled in dispensing his knowledge, playing teacher to the student. “Seth Creegan has some of the defining traits of a psychopath - he’s cunning, manipulative, egocentric, narcissistic, uncaring of the difference between right and wrong and exhibits antisocial behaviour. However I believe Seth is capable of genuine emotion, experiencing violent mood swings and when his sister’s upset he’s upset. In his own strange way I believe he genuinely loves her and wants her to get better but he becomes frustrated that, after all these years, she isn’t improving. I would say Seth Creegan experiences almost overwhelming emotions but has never developed the ability to control them. Just think of it Mr Brodie…”
“Brodie’s my first name,” he repeated but Prosser was so caught up in the sound of his own voice that once again he didn’t hear.
“…Seth possesses the physical strength and potent emotions of an adult male with the control mechanism of a child. Like any child he lashes out when things don’t go his way. His emotional development was stunted in childhood by negligent parents and exposure to violence at a young age. He learnt from his father that it’s okay to lash out when vexed.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Oh yes, I’d say very much so Mr Brodie. If you’re dealing with him then I’d advise you to watch your back.”
Brodie didn’t bother to try and correct him about his name again, he lacked the energy. This case seemed to be snowballing into something much bigger than he’d initially anticipated and he was starting to think he’d be stuck in Manchester for months. “Is Seth capable of murder?”
Prosser started to panic again, dabbing at his forehead with the handkerchief. “You think he’s killed someone, don’t you? My God, I knew it was inevitable that time bomb exploded in some poor soul’s face. I insist you go to the police with what you know, I absolutely insist.”
“Dr Prosser, please calm down. I don’t know that he has hurt anyone. I’m only trying to get a clear picture of him.”
Prosser took in a deep, slightly hysterical breath, his hand shaking as it returned the handkerchief to his breast pocket.
“I take it by that reaction your answer’s yes?” said Brodie.
Prosser nodded his grey head. “Most assuredly yes. This is just my personal opinion, I’ve never assessed him, but I don’t need to. Any fool can see what he’s capable of.”
The way he said it intimated to Brodie that Prosser thought he was the fool, but he didn’t care either way, he’d never been one to worry about what other people thought of him. “Have you ever met Mark Creegan?”
“No, he’s never come to the hospital. All I know of him comes from Lauren and that’s not very much at all.”
“Has Lauren ever said anything negative about Mark, apart from his wife?”
“No. In fact all the positive things she has to say are about him.” Prosser glanced at the clock on the wall with the name of a drug company emblazoned on the face, a tacky gift from a pharmaceutical rep. “If you’re done I have patients to see.”
“Keen for this interview to be over?”
“I have a lot of work to do.” The handkerchief came out again, which by now was quite damp.
“Your luck’s in Doc, I’ve got all I need. For now.”
Prosser swallowed hard. “Does that mean you’ll be back?”
“Possibly.” Brodie leaned forward and smiled maliciously. “I’ll keep you guessing.”
“I upheld my end of the bargain, I’ve given you what you wanted. I won’t break my code of ethics again.”
“According to my friend you don’t have any ethics left to break.”
Prosser turned from grey to white but he didn’t protest.
“Thank you for your time Doctor Prosser,” said Brodie as he left.
He couldn’t wait to get outside, rushing through the corridors, away from the institutional stink, the grey walls, the vacant expressions and the shouting. It reminded him too much of his visits to his brother.
He burst outside into the fresh air. The hospital gardens were actually very pleasant, a blaze of beautiful blooms distracting the eye from the ugly hulk of the building. He sat on a bench to call Cass.
“How did it go?” she said.
“Great. Sang like a Scouse canary. What do you have on him?”
“He used to practice in Liverpool until two complaints of interfering with female patients were brought against him. The victims were both very unstable.”
“Unreliable witnesses?”
“Exactly. The charges were dropped and he moved to Manchester in a hurry. Apparently his victims’ relations were gunning for him. The brother of one of the women is Tommy Shenka, a local gangster and all-round nasty bastard. I told Prosser if he didn’t talk to you I’d give Tommy his address.”
“Cass, I’m surprised at you, scaring an upstanding citizen like Doctor Prosser,” he smiled.
“He’s guilty alright. He practically admitted it to me over the phone. My worry is that he’s carrying on his nasty little habits in Manchester. Some of his patients are sexual abuse victims for God’s sake.”
Brodie thought of Lauren’s terrified, haunted eyes. “He probably gets a kick out of hearing their stories.”
“I’ll make sure to give Tommy Shenka a bell when you’re finished with him.”
“Good.”
“Was he useful? I was worried Lauren hadn’t told him anything.”
“He might be an old perv but he was full of useful insights into all the Creegans. He said Seth Creegan is a very violent individual and is capable of killing someone.”
“I could have told you that and I’ve not even met him.”
“I’m thinking a mistake has been made and Seth could be The Carver, not Mark. They’re so alike physically it’s weird.”
“Everything about this case seems weird.”
“You’re right there. Mark just doesn’t seem the type. When he gets angry he’s ridiculous. His weans probably have him wrapped around their wee fingers but Seth is dark, very dark.”
“So what’s next Boss?”
“I’ve asked Sarah Creegan to talk to DCI Hillyard about her husband.”
“I doubt he’ll tell her anything.”
“He might be able to indicate one way or the other. It’s worth a try anyway.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“That’s touching Cass but I’m fine.” Maybe she did care for him more than as a friend…stop it. “I want to talk to Seth alone, away from the family.”
“Why? Do you really think he’s going to say yeah, it was all a mistake. I’m really The Carver. By the way, I killed my dad too. How
clever of you to realise.”
“It’s possible,” he sniffed.
“Mark’s prints were all over the murder weapon. No one else’s.”
“That’s what’s off. He took that knife from the block on the kitchen counter, so it should have been covered in prints. Why didn’t they find Maggie’s or even Bryan’s? Because someone wiped it and why would they do that?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end before Cass said, “Maggie had just washed it.”
“If she had then she would have had to touch the knife to replace it in the block, but her prints weren’t on it. But still, what if he’s taking the blame for someone else?”
“Wouldn’t he have admitted it to Sarah?”
“The consequences might be too big,” said Brodie. “He’d be done for perverting the course of justice, interfering with a police investigation, a fresh enquiry would be launched, their names would be dragged through the mud again.”
“Only if she let it slip.”
“She might just be angry enough to and she wouldn’t go out of her way to protect the other Creegans. She can’t stand them. On top of that, if Mark didn’t do it then someone else did and telling Sarah might put her in danger.”
“You need to talk to Mark alone.”
“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, wishing he hadn’t wound the man up. He’d never confide in him now but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. “Here’s what I want you to do Cass. Go down to London and speak to the investigating officers in the Bryan Flynn murder case. I don’t want what the police reports say, I want their impressions and gut feelings. Then I want you to come straight here.”
“About time. Why don’t you wait until I get there before tackling Seth?”
“I don’t need you to hold my hand.”
“I know but I need you in one piece. You’ve no back-up down there and I don’t like that.”
“I can take him, no worries hen but I’ll make you a promise. I won’t speak to him or Mark until you get here.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally seen sense.”
“See, I’m not that thick-headed.”
“No, just bull-headed.” With that Cass ended the call and Brodie remained in the garden for another ten minutes enjoying the warmth and the colours while wondering what his next move should be.
When a patient in striped pyjamas came outside, lit a cigarette then proceeded to pull down his pyjama bottoms and stand there with his privates proudly on display Brodie decided it was time to leave. As he walked away two nurses came outside to gently encourage the man to cover himself up again, but he continued to smoke his cigarette with an amused smile playing on his lips, ignoring all their efforts.
As it turned out, Brodie’s next move was decided for him by Sarah Creegan. Just as he returned to his car he received a text message from her informing him that her visit to the police station had been less than useless and they had told her nothing. The fact they hadn’t denied anything rang alarm bells in Brodie’s head. Surely if Mark wasn’t a suspect they would have come straight out with it? He didn’t allow this to sway his judgement either way though, it didn’t prove Mark was guilty, but it didn’t prove he was innocent either.
So he decided to resort to some good old fashioned police work and follow Mark. For this purpose Brodie hired a black Ford Focus for a couple of days. His faithful old Astra would be spotted a mile off.
For his vigil he purchased a pile of sandwiches, flask of coffee and a couple of packets of crisps from the café near his hotel - the cute waitress was absent, to his disappointment. Surveillance could take a long time and he’d learnt long ago to ensure he was fully prepared. What could be a short operation could easily turn into a long one and too many times he’d been stuck in a car starving and dying of thirst. He also had a spare empty bottle in case he needed to answer a call of nature.
Once he was prepared he drove to Creegan Antiques, which was owned by Mark, and parked down the street, sipping his coffee as he watched the shop front. Mark was definitely in there because his Audi was parked outside. Brodie was surprised by the number of people who wanted antiques, there was always someone going in or coming out carrying black plastic bags with the name of the shop emblazoned on the side in italics. But then again, he knew nothing about the antiques business so he wasn’t qualified to comment.
At one o’clock a strange, mincing little man sashayed down the street, his spindly frame encased in a hideous dark pink tartan suit. He wore the pointiest shoes Brodie had ever seen, making him wonder if his toes went all the way to the top. His light brown hair took on a life of its own, flopping about his face independently of the rest of him. He was even wearing a bright puce cravat.
Brodie watched the pink man enter the shop. Five minutes later Mark emerged clutching an expensive leather briefcase. So Mr Pink worked for him.
As Mark got into his car Brodie started the engine and followed him into the city traffic.
It was no surprise when Mark led him back to Sarah’s house but instead of going inside Mark remained in his car, staring up at the house in a pathetic, puppy dog way. It wasn’t clear whether she was in or not, her car wasn’t on the drive but then again it might have been in the garage. There were no signs of life inside the house.
Next Mark drove out of the affluent area and headed towards Salford. The house Maggie and Lauren shared was a hovel in comparison to Mark’s palatial home. It was a rundown council house with a postage stamp for a garden, comprised of a square patch of brown grass with a dead sapling in the middle. Everything about the house was brown - the garden, the exterior, the front door, even the curtains hanging in the living room window. It was a house that made you glad you didn’t live there.
Seth’s car was parked crookedly, half-on, half-off the kerb. The impression it conveyed wasn’t one of someone who couldn’t park properly but of someone who had pulled up in a hurry with a screech of tyres, the handbrake yanked on with a loud creak. It boggled Brodie’s mind that someone’s car could seem angry but that was Seth’s aura, his rage at the world enveloped everything he touched.
Mark disappeared inside the house and Brodie sat back for the wait. It was impossible to see into the house, the windows were too grimy, the interior just a yawning blackness beyond the limp, turd-brown curtains. Mark was probably in there moaning about how hard done by he was, Mr Moneybags with the flash car, the big house, the beautiful wife and kids. Not that Brodie himself could complain, his business was thriving and he was quite wealthy himself but he’d been in his poky two-bedroomed flat for years, kept his battered blue Astra because he saw little point in changing. He was comfortable as he was and, because he was on his own, what was the point in moving to a bigger place? Rattling around in a huge house would only make him feel even more alone.
Mark was in there for forty minutes. He and Seth exited the house together, talking seriously and rather heatedly, but they didn’t appear to be angry at each other. They hesitated at the gate, continuing the conversation then parted ways not unfriendly but not friendly either, especially not for twins, which was supposed to be the tightest of all bonds. They didn’t seem to be close at all.
Brodie looked from Mark getting into his car to Seth walking to his, then to the house. Which to choose? Mark was probably only going back to the shop or to sit outside his own house for a good brood but Seth could be going anywhere. However wasn’t this the ideal time to talk to Maggie and Lauren, while both brothers were out of the way? He doubted the women of the family would say anything against the men. Seth was the one who interested him the most but fortunately he didn’t need to follow him thanks to the tracking device he’d slipped into his pocket when he’d had him in an armlock.
He sunk down in his seat as Mark drove by but he paid him no attention, he looked lost in his own world. Seth had already driven off in the opposite direction way too fast. Once both cars had disappeared from view he got out of his own car and jogged across the street to the brown house. He k
nocked on the door, which was opened by Maggie.
“What do you want?” she frowned, cold eyes disappearing into the lines of her face.
“To talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. You’ve ruined my family. It’s your fault I can’t see my grandkids anymore.” She followed this up with a harsh, barking cough that silenced any more protests.
Brodie fought the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust. All the government had to do to stop kids from smoking was to parade this woman through the schools. Look children, if you smoke you will end up looking like this. It would put them right off.
Lauren appeared in the doorway behind her. “Brodie,” she said, gently pushing her mother aside, who was still in the grip of a coughing fit. “Come on in.”
“Thank you,” he replied, surprised.
Inside the house was dark and just as brown as the exterior. He surmised they’d been going for a contemporary chocolate-brown look but instead of combining it with a lighter colour they’d just gone ahead and painted everything the one colour and bought furniture to match, consequently the house felt oppressive. He did note that everything was fresh and new, as though a colour blind version of Changing Rooms had just exited. The carpet was thick and plush, the sofas rigid from lack of use. An enormous flat screen TV dominated one entire wall. It didn’t exactly fit in with the exterior.
Lauren steered him to the rigid couch. “Would you like some tea or coffee?” she offered.
Great, more brown. “No thanks.”
“Okay,” she chirpily replied.
She sat next to him on the couch with her legs crossed, grinning inanely at him. She looked so cheerful, a big contrast to their last meeting.
“Err, I wondered if I could talk to you both about Sarah and Mark,” he began.
“Why should we tell you anything after what you’ve done?” barked Maggie, looming over him and sparking up another cigarette, clenching it between her manky teeth.
Unfinished Business Page 8