Unfinished Business

by Heather Atkinson

  “Your mum’s right Lauren,” he said, attempting to gently unwind her arms from him and failing. “We’re talking about things you don’t want to hear.”

  “I don’t care, I’m sick of being treated like a child and being shut out of things. I want to know why you were shouting.”

  “No Lauren,” said Maggie.

  “Yes,” she yelled, stamping her foot. She released Brodie and rounded on her mother, dissent in her eyes. “I will not be kept in the dark any longer. You will tell me what’s going on.”

  “Brodie wants to know if Seth killed your dad,” said Cass.

  Lauren flung herself back against the wall in terror, eyes wild. “Why do you want to know that?” she gasped.

  “Lauren, go to your room right now.” Maggie turned on Brodie. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

  He ignored her. “Who was it Lauren?”

  She had the look of a trapped animal, her mouth opening and closing with indecision.

  “Do you know what Seth’s been up to?” he pressed.

  “Don’t answer him,” said Maggie.

  “He’s been hurting women, hasn’t he Lauren?”

  Violently she shook her head, screwing her eyes tight shut, tears squeezing from the lids.

  “You have to tell the truth Lauren before more women die, young, innocent women with their lives ahead of them.”

  “Stop it,” she whimpered, burying her face in her hands, black hair hanging over her face like a curtain.

  “Brodie, go easy,” said Cass.

  “People have told you what to do your whole life but now you can set yourself free,” he pressed. “You can end this now Lauren, for once in your life you have control.”

  That got her attention. She looked up at him, hair falling back from her tear-streaked face. “I do?”

  “Yes. I know how unhappy you are. You can change things with one little word. Did Seth kill your dad?”

  “I did it,” yelled Maggie, angrily stabbing out her cigarette in an ashtray.

  Lauren cringed and buried her face in her hands again while Brodie and Cass turned to her.

  “Really?” said Brodie.

  “Yes,” she replied weakly. Maggie’s legs gave way and she sank into a chair. “He went for me again and I couldn’t take anymore, not one single second. So I stabbed the bastard.”

  Lauren whimpered into her hands.

  “And I don’t regret it for one minute,” she rasped in her husky voice, lighting up another cigarette.

  Brodie was disappointed. Somehow this wasn’t what he’d envisioned. There was no triumph, no sense of justice finally being done. The moment fell flat.

  “You let your son take the blame for something you did,” said Cass with disapproval. “Great mothering.”

  “Do you have kids?” demanded Maggie, eyes narrowing.

  “No.”

  “Then keep it shut you barren bitch.”

  “Do not speak to my associate like that,” said Brodie even though he knew Cass wouldn’t be in the least bit bothered by the insult. She’d never aspired to being a mother.

  “I had two other kids to think of,” continued Maggie. “Their dad was dead, the boys were under eighteen and Lauren was only fourteen. Look at her. What do you think would have become of her in one of those children’s homes? Mark volunteered to say he did it. He’d no record like Seth, we knew with the history of abuse he wouldn’t serve very long in prison.”

  Brodie stared down at her hard. “You’re lying. You’re protecting Seth.”

  “That’s the truth. If you don’t like it then tough. Seth’s not a killer but I am so I suggest you leave quickly.”

  Brodie recognised he was getting nowhere with her so he turned back to Lauren. “Is that how it happened?”

  She was too choked up to reply, trembling and crying into her hands.

  “Lauren?”

  “Brodie, leave her be,” said Cass, feeling sorry for the poor girl.

  “There’s no point repeating this to anyone because I’ll only deny it,” said Maggie. “And I’ll tell the police you burst in here and threatened us. Get out and this time don’t come back.”

  “If you think you can fob me off with that crap explanation then you’ve got another thing coming,” said Brodie. “Seth was responsible for killing Bryan Flynn. He knew all about his dad’s activities and now he’s trying to be him only this time he might finish what he started. Why don’t you do yourself a favour and tell the truth for the first time in your life?”

  “Get out of my house,” she said, getting to her feet and turning her back on them all.

  Lauren was still sobbing into her hands. Brodie gently placed a hand on her arm, encouraging her to look up. “I’m really sorry about that hen,” he said. “But until the truth comes out you will always be weighed down by it. I’m only trying to help you and other women who are at risk.”

  She looked up at him and nodded, eyes saucer-wide.

  “You don’t need to be afraid any longer,” he whispered.

  He straightened up and jerked his head at Cass, indicating it was time for them to leave. He hesitated by Maggie and said, “watch your back. Seth’s started something and he intends to finish it.”

  “Fuck off,” she growled.

  “Well that was an experience,” said Cass once they were outside. “Are you sure Maggie’s really a woman?”

  “As sure as I can be without getting up close and personal and I’ve no intention of doing that.”

  “What’s the next move? Tackle Seth head on?”

  “No, I want to talk to Mark. He’s the weak link in the Creegan chain of psychos. Let’s see if he’s still getting loved up at home. If he’s not there we’ll try his shop.”

  “He won’t talk to us again after you shouted at him and called him a windbag.”

  “He was only posturing for Sarah’s sake. He might be different alone.”

  “I doubt it,” she said as they climbed into the Astra.

  Brodie had to repeatedly slam his door to get it to stay shut, but every time he tried it popped open again.

  “Don’t you dare laugh,” he said while Cass sat beside him, smirking. “Ah ya bastard, come on…there it is,” he said when the door finally remained shut. “See, there’s nothing wrong with her.”

  “You won’t be saying that when the door falls off. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Have a little faith,” he said, starting the engine, which spluttered before coughing into life, reminding him of Maggie’s respiratory tract.

  Cass’s phone rang and she frowned at the screen. “It’s Matt.”

  “That wee wank. What does he want?”

  “I’ll find out.” She put the phone to her ear. “Yes?”

  Brodie kept one ear cocked on the conversation as he drove.

  “Really, when?” she said.

  He was tempted to glance her way and gauge her expression but instead he waited until she’d concluded the call, smiling when she unceremoniously hung up on Matt.

  “Another woman’s gone missing, dark haired and dark eyed,” she explained. “Twenty seven. Name of Emily Spencer. Disappeared after a night out clubbing.”

  “Already? Jeezo, he’s escalating. He’s never taken another one so fast. I’ll give DS Clarke a bell after we’ve spoken to Mark.”

  “If this is to do with Seth or Mark you don’t think our interference is pushing him to kill faster? What if he feels we’re closing in on him and he wants to kill as many as he can before he’s caught?”

  “What are we supposed to do? Not investigate and leave him free to kill?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Don’t feel guilty about it for a second, this is his fault, not ours.”

  “Still, if it is Seth then he’s going to be feeling penned in, which makes him even more dangerous.”

  “I want to speak to Mark Creegan. Let’s see what he says about his ma confessing to doing his murder.”

  “I’ve g
ot the feeling it’s not going to go down well.”

  He smiled. “I really hope so. Anyway, why was Matt the Molester ringing you with information? I thought we pissed him off the last time we saw him.”

  “We did but I threatened to go to another journalist friend of mine and tell them all about what he did to me.”

  “So you’ve got the wee worm wrapped around your little finger now?”

  “Oh yes and I’m loving it,” she said, lips curving into a smile. “Don’t you just love revenge?”

  “I hope I never get on your bad side.”

  “Not you Bossman. Never you.”

  It was his turn to smile.

  CHAPTER 17

  No one was in at Mark’s house so forty minutes later, after fighting their way through the city traffic, they pulled up outside Creegan Antiques, both glad to see Mark’s Audi parked outside.

  “I’m looking forward to this,” said Brodie before jumping out of the car.

  The second they entered the shop they were accosted by the little mincing man dressed in pink who Brodie had seen enter the shop when he’d been staking it out.

  “Good afternoon Sir, Madam,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he took in Brodie’s jeans and rumpled shirt. “Can I help you?” he said, managing to convey in those four little words that Brodie must have strayed into the shop by accident while he was looking for a charity shop.

  “We’re here to see Mark.”

  “I take it you’re referring to Mr Creegan?”

  Brodie was getting pissed off with the prick’s superior attitude. “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble,” he retorted, mimicking the man’s posh accent.

  Mr Pink stuck his nose in the air. “I’ll see if he’s available, he’s a very busy man.”

  “Just tell him it’s Brodie. He’ll see me.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Brodie shoved his face into the pink man’s. “You trot along and get him before I remove the pole from your arse with this,” he said, snatching up a bizarre implement with long silver prongs and bone handles. The prongs might have been old but they were capable of causing damage in the wrong hands.

  “Please put those down Sir, they’re worth more than I’m sure you can afford,” he sniffed.

  “That shows what you know ya arsehole because I could buy this place twice over. Now go fetch.”

  Mr Pink threw him a malicious glare before mincing through a door at the rear of the shop.

  “Stuck up prick,” muttered Brodie, waving the pronged implement about.

  “Careful, I don’t fancy forking out for any damage in here,” said Cass. “And those are old, have some respect.”

  “What the hell are they anyway?” he said, frowning at the contraption.

  “Victorian glove stretchers, you philistine.”

  “Well excuse me,” he huffed. “So what’s your take on this place? High class? What about the arse pole-removing implements?” he said, brandishing the glove stretchers.

  “It’s a bit of an eclectic mix,” she said, looking around the room. Her father owned an antiques shop so places like this weren’t new to her. “Some high end stuff, some cheap as chips. They’re not worth much,” she said, gesturing to the glove stretchers.

  “In that case I might buy them. I can think of lots of ways I could use these in the line of duty.”

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t play with the goods,” said a voice.

  Mark entered the room, followed by Mr Pink.

  “I can get rid of them if you like?” Mr Pink told Mark.

  “Yeah, that should be really entertaining,” said Brodie.

  “That won’t be necessary Quentin.” He ignored the snigger Brodie released at his employee’s name. “You can go for lunch.”

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Then go and do some shopping.”

  “With pay?”

  “Yes, with pay.”

  “In that case, I’ll be off.” Quentin hesitated on his way to the door and turned back to his boss. “You’re sure you’ll be okay Mr Creegan?”

  “Fine thank you,” he replied, eyes locked on Brodie.

  Quentin looked from Brodie to Cass. “You should know I have a photographic memory for faces.”

  “Bully for you,” replied Brodie. “Now do one.”

  The man harrumphed and strode out of the shop with his head held high, dignity intact.

  “What do you want?” said Mark in a weary voice when his employee had gone.

  “We’ve just been to see your ma,” began Brodie.

  “Why have you been bothering her? Just leave us all alone,” he exclaimed.

  “She admitted to killing your father,” said Cass.

  Mark’s face turned white and he pursed his lips so hard they practically disappeared into his face. “I killed him,” he eventually said.

  “No you didn’t and neither did she,” said Brodie. “It was Seth, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m not saying another word on the matter, it’s over with.”

  “You just need to look at Lauren to know it’s far from over. What’s happening here right now is linked to what happened to Bryan Flynn.”

  “What a load of crap. It’s nothing to do with us.”

  “Then why are you sweating?”

  “I’m not,” he frowned.

  “Seth killed your dad and he knew what he was doing.”

  “What was he doing?” he said, looking confused.

  “Bryan was the original Carver, the one operating in Camden. Now his son’s following in his footsteps.”

  Mark vigorously shook his head. “Seth’s many things, he has a temper but he’s not a murderer.”

  “Yes he is, just like his daddy.”

  “My dad didn’t kill anyone. Granted he was a bastard but he wasn’t a killer.”

  “He taught you to carve wood.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Brodie ignored the question. “Apparently it was quite a hobby of his.”

  “So?”

  “The Carver enjoys carving too.”

  “Really? I thought he was called The Carver because he likes stuffing teddy bears,” he said acerbically.

  “What does Seth do for you?”

  The sudden swerve in conversation wrong-footed Mark. “What do you mean?”

  “He works for you sometimes. I can’t see him in here selling stuck-up prats antiques, so what does he do for you?”

  “That’s none of your business,” he yelled. “I’ve just about had enough of you. I’ve warned you time and time again but you’ve not listened. I’m calling the police and reporting you for harassment.”

  “I’m working for the police,” Brodie called as he turned towards his office, intent on using the phone.

  Mark halted and spun on his heel. “You’re making it up.”

  “I’m not. Call DS Clarke if you don’t believe me. Oh, and I used to be a police officer too. I must have forgotten to mention that,” he said with a smug smile.

  Mark strode up to him and thrust his face into his, eyes burning, lips drawn back over his teeth. It was so far from his usual bluster and bumbling that Brodie was momentarily lost for words.

  “Get the fuck out of my shop before I throw you through the window head first and your little lapdog too,” he bellowed, nodding at Cass.

  This threat to Cass returned Brodie to himself. “You fucking try and I’ll put these to good use,” he said, snatching up the glove stretchers again. He was growing quite fond of them.

  Cass watched, convinced the two men were about to attack each other, surprised by the change in Mark. He actually looked like he could hold his own against Brodie. Not many men could make such a claim. She was preparing to jump into the fray when the door opened, agitating a little bell hanging over it. A man entered who looked startled to see two aggressive males squaring up to each other.

  Mark tore his gaze from Brodie and turned it to his client, smoothing his expression out in
to a smile, the hostility lifting from him. “How can I help you Sir?”

  “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” began the man, the tension in the air making him nervous.

  “No, not at all. These people were just leaving,” he said, throwing Brodie and Cass a glower over his shoulder.

  “For now,” said Brodie.

  “What, no more questions?” said Mark, unable to keep the ice out of his voice.

  “Actually yes, just one,” retorted Brodie. He held up the glove stretchers. “How much are these?”

  “One hundred and fifty pounds,” replied Mark, trying to force his tone to be polite in front of his customer.

  “For this? But it’s old.”

  “That’s the point,” Mark replied through a tense jaw.

  “I think I’ll leave it,” he said, replacing it on a table.

  He and Cass left, the customer’s eyes flicking between them and Mark, whose angry gaze remained riveted on them.

  “Maybe you were wrong about Mark?” said Cass as they headed back to the car. “He looked like he could have done you some damage then.”

  “He could have tried,” he muttered. “He’s got a black aura just like his brother, only he’s better at hiding it.”

  “So he’s back on the table as a possible suspect in The Carver case?”

  “I’d say so after that display.”

  “Which in turn means he was guilty of killing his dad.”

  “If that was true then why did Maggie say she did it?”

  Cass was lost for an answer.

  “No, there’s more to this than they’re telling us.”

  They got back in the car and Brodie sighed. “A hundred and fifty quid for those glove stretchers. Ridiculous.”

  “He didn’t want you to buy them. They were worth thirty quid tops.”

  “Bastard,” said Brodie. “I really liked them too. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  “Mum’s the word. By the way, did I mention I haven’t had any time off for ages?”

  “You can have a week off when this is over.”

  “Then it’ll remain our little secret.”

  He smiled at her gratefully as his phone started to ring. “What?” he barked into it. “Oh, it’s you Nat,” he muttered. “How’s Ricky?”

  Tactfully Cass got out of the car to allow Brodie to complete his call in private. She leaned against the door, watching the front of Creegan Antiques. She saw movement at the window - Mark’s face - which quickly evaporated. From inside the car came the sound of shouting. That was inevitably how conversations between Brodie and his sister went. Once all had gone quiet she got back in. “Everything okay?”