The Absent Man: A Bermuda Jones Case File (The Bermuda Jones Case Files Book 2)

by Robert Enright

  Bermuda wet his whistle and continued, telling her about the doorway which had opened in his cell and beckoned him through, the dark, ashen world that had flickered to him like a grainy TV with a dodgy aerial. The eyes that had latched onto him, the moment he had realised he was going to die. Everything had still been fuzzy, but he had felt himself being carried back to the light, and he had crossed the divide once more and was in a small town in Morocco.

  The BTCO had come then, instantly locating him, expunging his medical records and putting him to work tracking down people and dealing with crimes that our world could never comprehend. As he spoke about his job, McAllister cut in.

  ‘What’s an Argyle?’

  ‘Argyle is my partner.’ Bermuda smirked. ‘He has been at every crime scene with me.’

  ‘Wait. Has he? I can’t see him, can I?’ Her words came out slowly, as she remembered the rules to the world.

  ‘No, because you don’t have the Knack. Also, you would have remembered him. The guy isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous.’

  ‘Well none of us can see him. So he ain’t too bad!’

  They clinked their glasses together.

  ‘Touché.’ Bermuda took a sip. ‘I owe Argyle my life so many times over it’s become almost redundant. If he hadn’t have been there the other night that tram would have killed me. If he hadn’t have helped me stop Barnaby, I would have died in Big Ben.’

  ‘He’s like your guardian angel.’ McAllister smirked, sipping her wine.

  ‘No, he’s my best friend.’

  Silence sat between them for a short while as McAllister dealt with the discovery of another world. She scolded herself a few times, convinced that Bermuda must be a charlatan of some sort, a con man with an ulterior motive. But she found herself leaning towards him.

  She wasn’t sure if she fully believed him.

  She did know that she wanted to.

  It had been a long time since she had felt she could trust someone. Her heart was yearning for Ethan but she immediately shut it away, refocusing on the chilling truth of another world and the case in front of them.

  ‘So Kevin Parker is an Other.’ McAllister returned to the picture. ‘Why is he doing this?’

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest. He asked me if I was the voice in the dark.’ Bermuda frowned, remembering the painful night. ‘He wanted to know where “she” was.’

  ‘Who is she?’ McAllister’s tone was all detective.

  ‘Beats me. All I know if that whatever Parker is, he isn’t going to stop until we find him.’

  They sat in silence, the gravity of their task pulling them downwards. Bermuda felt tired, the pain of the last week or so hanging from his neck like a weight. McAllister quietly sipped her drink and placed the empty glass back down, her entire body screaming for another.

  Bermuda cast a curious eye in her direction, watching as her finger gently caressed the stem of the glass.

  Addiction had never been so blatant.

  ‘You know, Bermuda isn’t my real name.’

  She turned and faced him as he spoke.

  ‘It’s actually Franklyn.’

  ‘Oh.’ McAllister’s eyes fell back to the empty wine glass.

  ‘I was nicknamed Bermuda after a few of my first cases. I found missing people.’ He looked at her, seeing if she got the reference.

  ‘Well we are not dealing with missing people. These women have been murdered.’

  McAllister’s words were curt and Bermuda leant back in his chair, his toned arms folded tightly across his chest.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about them.’ He braced himself. ‘I’m talking about you.’

  Suddenly McAllister’s head snapped up, and the fury he had seen during their drunken tryst and the anger that had exploded within her the night before gleamed from her eyes.

  Bermuda refused to break her stare. ‘You are lost, Sam.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Look, you keep telling me I’m not a detective. But I don’t have to be one to see the signs. The bottles of wine. The anger. The nursery. The downturned pictures of your husband that litter your house.’

  Her head dropped.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s pulling you deeper and deeper underground.’

  She lifted her head, her eyes glistening with fresh tears that began to barrel down her cheeks.

  Bermuda, despite the guilt, maintained his gaze.

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Her words were hopeless.

  ‘What happened?’ Bermuda finally leant forward, placing a hand on top of hers. ‘What did this to you?’

  Sam took deep breaths, the pain and torment rising up and crashing inside her like a tidal wave. After a few composing exhales, she gritted her teeth and shot Bermuda a bloodshot look.

  ‘Ethan and I got married two years ago. He’s a really good guy – too good for me and this job.’ She sniffed a few times, trying her best to pull back the tears. ‘All he wanted was to love me. And our little girl.’

  Her voice cracked, but she breathed through, Bermuda watching silently.

  She needed to speak it.

  Confront it.

  ‘We were going to call her Emily.’ McAllister swallowed her sadness. ‘We picked out her nursery together one Saturday. Ethan was so sure it would be a girl, and so he bought everything before we even knew. Then a week later we had our sonogram, and they said he was right. He squeezed my hand so tight …’

  She broke off, the memory calling to her and causing a fresh batch of tears to rise up.

  Bermuda watched, his heart slowly breaking for her. After a few more moments and some sharp breaths, McAllister turned back to him with a measure of calm.

  ‘When I was just over seven months, I woke up one morning and I felt wrong. Worse, I felt alone. I couldn’t feel her.’

  Bermuda raised a hand to his mouth, the horror of her story causing his stomach to turn.

  ‘When I got to the hospital, she was already gone.’ Silent tears lined her face once more. ‘There was nothing they could do. She just didn’t make it. My poor, sweet Emily.’

  ‘Sam, I’m so sorry.’

  McAllister lifted a hand. She hadn’t finished.

  She needed to finish.

  ‘I had to carry her for four more weeks, and then they removed her from me. They took away my baby girl. She was so tiny, Jones. She was so delicate, and for some goddamn reason I will never know, she never got to feel the air in her lungs. Or feel my heart beat next to hers.’

  McAllister sobbed a few times. A few other customers peered over at the emotional outburst and quickly decided to look away.

  ‘She never got to hear me say, I love you.’ She took a deep breath, the pain finally leaving her and a sense of relief bursting through. ‘After that, Ethan and I spent six months trying to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand to look at him and see how damn devastated he was every time our eyes met. So I started drinking, we started arguing, and eventually I told him to leave.’

  ‘Did you want him to go?’ Bermuda asked, his own eyes shiny from sadness.

  ‘Of course not.’ McAllister shook her head. ‘But it was easier to push him away than deal with the pain. Soon we lost contact, and I just started doing whatever I could to punish myself. Drink, men, whatever. None of it matters.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ Bermuda’s words cut through the air with precision.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’ve spent my whole life pushing the people I care most about away from me for reasons that are out of my control. I spent so long hating myself and fucking everything up. It took me a long time to realise that some things just can’t be controlled. Sometimes, shit really does happen.’

  McAllister stared at the table, sullen.

  Bermuda stood up, slipping his arms into his jacket. ‘What I’m trying to say, Sam, is don’t do what I did. I spent six years pushing my daughter away. I’m doing my best to fix that now.’

  Berm
uda walked around the table and squatted down slightly, his eyes meeting hers and projecting warmth into the pain.

  ‘Don’t let the things you can’t control destroy the things you can.’ He smiled warmly and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Your husband is out there, wishing you were too.’

  Slowly, and with an ache skiing down his spine, Bermuda stood and turned, heading towards the door and the bitter world awaiting him. After a few steps, McAllister’s voice followed him.

  ‘Thank you, Jones.’

  He turned back to her grateful face.

  ‘You’re not so bad after all.’

  Bermuda flashed her a gentle smile. ‘Don’t tell anyone.’

  They nodded, a friendship forged and cemented. Bermuda headed to the door, knowing full well that a killer of two worlds was most likely ready to strike again. He pushed through the doors to the whipping cold of the Glasgow night, a freezing rain dancing on the cusp of the wind. He pulled his hat down lower over his ears and his collar up, cocooning as much of his face as possible. Through squinted eyes he looked up.

  And saw a hooded figure in the alleyway ahead.

  It stood, monstrously tall and broad, with a hood casting a shadow that cut its white mask in half. The streetlight cast a shine across the two buildings, with the edge splitting the creature into part light and part darkness.

  It didn’t move.

  ‘HEY!’ Bermuda yelled, dashing across the road and barely missing a cab hurtling through the downpour, a cocktail of car horns and expletives filling the air. Bermuda held up a hand in apology before continuing. He looked again.

  The alleyway was empty.

  The rain clattered the pavement where the figure had stood, and Bermuda could feel the eyes on him still. The Otherside was nearby, and it was slowly stalking him.

  Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he dipped his head and headed back towards his hotel, knowing that the Otherside was watching every single step.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Argyle stood on top of the Premier Inn, casting his eye out over the city of Scotland. In the building beneath him, his partner had retired to his quarters, sleeping a tortured sleep that would undoubtedly shake him to his core. He worried for Bermuda, a man who had so much pain trapped in his body but the heart of a warrior.

  A man who would surely die protecting the world.

  As noble a death as that would be, and one that Argyle would accept with glee, it was his job to ensure it wouldn’t happen. He had sworn an oath, not just to the BTCO but to Ottoway himself, that he would protect Bermuda. They both knew that he would the moment he had crossed the divide and joined Earth when he had looked Ottoway in the eyes and their silent agreement was made.

  He would stand between Bermuda and the Otherside.

  Even if it meant death.

  The wind circled him, spinning raindrops into his shiny armour. He didn’t move; he stood, stoic and proud, as his eyes scowled at the city below. Somewhere in the darkness, a creature that he had more in common with was killing innocent women and destroying the lives of countless others.

  Somewhere in the darkness, death was waiting.

  But something didn’t sit correctly within. Argyle was one of the greatest warriors the Otherside had ever produced, despite the lifetime of abuse and hatred from his own kind. Despite being beaten and despised, he had become a soldier of extreme capability, and the sword which clung to his spine had ended many a battle.

  But this Kevin Parker, they knew he wasn’t human.

  He was an Other.

  Yet Argyle could not sense him. Ever since he had crossed to the human world, Argyle could sense when another creature of his world was nearby, a voice whispering in his ear to notify him of their presence. Usually, a firm stare from his grey eyes was enough to let them know the consequences if they were to leave the shadows.

  His mighty blade had delivered them to those who dared.

  But Kevin Parker had walked up directly behind him and left him bloodied and beaten. A mighty hand reached up and rubbed the back of his skull, the wound healed but the skin felt scarred and rigid. In time it would fade, like every other wound. Yet the memory of it wouldn’t. It wasn’t the pain or the surprise that would stay with him.

  It was the fear.

  A feeling as alien to Argyle as he was to this world, he had been brought up through the barracks of his world to face it head-on. To wrestle his fear to the ground and execute it without hesitation.

  Argyle hadn’t even seen him coming.

  Knowing that protocol was for him to return to the BTCO HQ and rest, Argyle kept vigil. His eyes fixated on the city below, the small orange squares of car windows whipping by. Shadows of humans moved between the windows on the surrounding buildings. Creatures that humans wouldn’t even concoct in their nightmares slithered through the shadows.

  Argyle watched.

  Kevin Parker was out there somewhere. Another sundown had come, which meant another woman would die.

  They would find her.

  They would not be able to save her.

  With a solemn shake of the head, Argyle returned his gaze to the city, doing his best to sense Parker. To sense anything that could stop him that would alleviate the fear.

  All he sensed was that he and Bermuda were in serious trouble.

  Bermuda shot up from his dream in a cold sweat. The image of the Otherside ripping his daughter to pieces had become all too familiar. After a few deep breaths he muttered a curse or two before swinging his legs round and pushing himself out of the bed. He tapped his phone, the screen bursting up like a spotlight in the dark room.

  It was quarter past five, which meant he knew that McAllister was probably at a crime scene.

  He sent her a quick message which simply said, ‘where?’ A quick blast under the shower and Bermuda was raring to go, running the toothbrush back and forth across his teeth as he checked the cupboard for what clothes he had left. The ‘system’ in the corner of the room, which consisted of his previously worn clothes, was yet another mess he was keen to avoid.

  A check shirt and jeans, along with his beanie and coat, would suffice, and Bermuda turned as his phone rumbled. Within minutes he was in a taxi, hurtling down the dimly lit wet streets of Glasgow as the rest of the city was still safely in bed.

  As the taxi rumbled on, Bermuda watched the dark streets as they passed. The city was a labyrinth, thin dark streets lined by tall gothic buildings. Each alleyway was crawling with Others, the darkness that enveloped most of the city was alive.

  Kevin Parker was in that darkness, reaching out and taking these women.

  Bermuda had to stop him.

  They turned onto the street and instantly stopped. The flashing blue lights of two police cars signalled the way, and Bermuda paid the man and then stepped out into the cold. The taxi slowly reversed and left him to it. A cordon had been set up, a few early risers trying their best to get a peek of the action. Bermuda could see DC Butler, his wet shirt clinging to the muscular arms that would choke him out in a heartbeat. He stood by the door, his face like thunder as he spoke angrily to a SOCO. McAllister appeared through the doorway, ushering Butler away from the house and talking quietly to him as they headed towards a tented area.

  Partners looked out for each other.

  As if on cue, Bermuda felt an invisible shadow cast over him.

  ‘Morning, Argyle.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Argyle said sternly. ‘Another human has been murdered.’

  ‘Yep. This is what happens when we make no fucking progress,’ Bermuda said, angry at himself.

  He marched towards the cordon, lifting the police tape and entering the crime scene. A police officer moved to stop him but Bermuda flashed him his badge for a second and continued through, shocked at how much easier it was to get this far in with such little resistance. Back in London, he had to jump through more hoops than a basketball just to even see the police tape.

  Argyle gracefully entered the crime scene too, do
ing his best to avoid an invisible collision. Bermuda ducked into the tent, almost causing his own head-on smash with two SOCOs, one of whom muttered something inaudibly Scottish.

  ‘Jones.’ Butler’s voice was as welcoming as a red-hot poker to the genitals.

  ‘All right, mate.’ Bermuda flashed him a grin before turning to McAllister. ‘What’s the story?’

  Before McAllister could speak, Butler stepped forward, his nose a few inches from Bermuda’s.

  ‘The story is you getting the fuck out of here and leaving this to the real police.’ He smirked. ‘Sam’s already told me about your ghosts and goblins. Why don’t you fuck off back to your comics and leave us to work, aye?’

  Bermuda sighed and looked past Butler to McAllister, who offered an apologetic shrug.

  ‘Can you tighten his leash?’ Bermuda asked, instantly feeling the full force of Butler as he shoved him in the chest. Bermuda stumbled back a few feet before quickly regaining his balance.

  ‘DC BUTLER!’ McAllister yelled.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Bermuda warned, his mind racing back to the moment Hugo LaPone had shoved him in the brightly lit corridors of the BTCO HQ in London. A sudden twinge of guilt hooked his heart like an expert fisherman.

  ‘I swear to God, if he utters one more word to me, I’m gonna smash his teeth down his fucking throat,’ Butler said to McAllister, loud enough for Bermuda to register the threat. Never had Bermuda heard truer words spoken. With a grunt, Butler stormed out of the tent and into the mayhem of the crime scene.

  McAllister slowly walked up to Bermuda, who went to call after him.

  ‘Just don’t, Jones,’ McAllister suggested. ‘He is aching for a reason to go all Mike Tyson on you.’

  ‘What, speak with a lisp?’

  McAllister rolled her eyes and approached the small refreshments table. A large, metallic cylinder was surrounded by a few jugs of room temperature milk. She pressed down on the black lid, syphoning the tepid coffee out of the container and into a plastic cup.

  Bermuda shuddered, as the Glaswegian Police Department were hardly going to erect a pop-up Starbucks at every crime scene. McAllister forced the coffee down before transforming into detective mode.