by Michael Kerr
“So Santini sent a pro?”
“Looks that way. The hitter had some balls. He walked up to Keith and Tony in the van and took them out with head shots. Their weapons were still holstered, so they didn’t see it coming. And then he entered the bungalow through the garage and offed everyone but you. He had all the intel.”
“Which means we’ve got a leak. One of our own sold out.”
Tom looked pained, but nodded.
“When I’m back on my feet, I’ll¯”
“You’ll do nothing, Matt. You’re off this. You know the score. This is up front and personal to you and that gets in the way and clouds judgement.”
“You really believe I’m going to sit back and let Santini, his hired gun, and whoever served us up on a plate walk away from this?”
“Nobody is going to walk away from anything, Matt. And you’ll be kept up to speed. Whatever I get to know, you’ll know. But you aren’t going to work it, and that’s set in fucking stone. Just concentrate on getting back on your feet. You’re going to be laid up for awhile.”
“Okay, Tom. Will you ask Linda to come in?”
“You telling me to go?”
“Yeah. I think we’ve covered it. And I’m hurting. I lost four men that I was close to.”
“You couldn’t have stopped it, Matt. We were set up. So don’t waste time on a guilt trip. How do you think I feel, for Christ’s sake? It was my case.”
The DCI’s words hit home. He realised that Tom was also suffering. “Next time you drop by, bring a bottle of Scotch, huh?”
“In your dreams, Barnes,” Tom said, standing up and heading for the door.
Linda came back in and they talked for a long time. When she left, he knew that it was the beginning of the end for them, as a couple. It was sad, but not really a surprise to him. He’d seen it coming. Even understood her feelings of insecurity and frustration. But the bottom line was, that neither of them could, would, or even should change their personality to try and suit the other. He was too long in the tooth to fool himself that he would be happy to walk away from his chosen profession. You can’t be what you’re not. Being a murder cop was not just what he did for a living, it was who he was and somehow defined him. As she went out through the door of the unit, he felt an emptiness. It was the beginning of a new chapter for both of them. To all intents and purposes he was back on his own again. It was bittersweet. Not having the heavy responsibility for someone else’s happiness was, in a way, liberating. He was an individual, and not the easiest of men to be around. Linda needed more than he could give. She would be far happier with a nine-to-five homebody; some guy who could share her interests and aspirations. That didn’t stop him feeling a deep sense of failure, though. And yet another part of him reviled her for not being able to adjust. Christ, she’d known what he did from the word go. He hadn’t tried to be anything but what he was.
After being moved from the ICU to a private room with an armed officer outside the door, Matt determined to be out of the joint in less than a week. He felt driven, and every second seemed a small eternity. He was channelled, with only one goal. He would not sit idle for long. Santini and his paid assassin had unwittingly thrown down the gauntlet to a man who would not be averse to stepping outside the law if necessary to exact justice by any means, fair or foul.
CHAPTER FIVE
MARION sipped her tea and averted her eyes from Gary’s crotch. She had wanted him for months and found it difficult to keep up the facade of detached professionalism. Most of her patients were, to say the least, odd. Many of them were pathetic and confused individuals, barely able to function if not dosed up with medication. Gary was different. He wasn’t a problem patient. He accepted his condition, understood it, and complied readily with all requirements of his care plan. The sporadic self-mutilation was the only ongoing problem, which she attributed to be a physical manifestation of frustration; a symbolic cry for love and affection, which he found difficult to express.
Jesus! He crossed his ankles and shifted forward on the seat. His ‘lunch box’ appeared even more pronounced. She could see the shape of everything he’d got under the tight denim, and it made her damp and tingly. A part of her wanted to take advantage of being alone with the enigmatic, single young man. Her sex life consisted of manual stimulation once or twice a week, as she conjured up images of Russell Crowe, George Clooney or Brad Pitt naked, their bodies glistening with baby oil. She was almost squirming; could feel the sweat running down the middle of her back and feeding into the deep crack between her buttocks.
Marion Peterson was thirty-one, unmarried, and at least five stone overweight at a conservative estimate. She had given up weighing herself. It was a depressing, humiliating procedure, standing bare-arsed on the bathroom scales, only able to see the glowing red readout if she leaned forward to peer down over pendulous breasts that rested on her swollen belly. She was a blimp, and knew it. Inside was a Kate Moss trying to get out; a slim attractive, sexy-looking chick. By contrast, she was a plump caterpillar, waiting to pupate and burst free from a chrysalis, to be transformed into a beautiful butterfly. It wasn’t her fault she was so fat. It was glandular, or in her genes. She didn’t eat too much; hardly ever pigged out these days, or raided the fridge in the middle of the night. Her mother, Glenda, had been obese, and dropped dead at the ripe old age of fifty-four, just two years ago. It had been a massive stroke, and Marion knew that she might go the same way, and was already borderline diabetic. If anything, the worry over it made her eat more. It was always tomorrow that she was going to turn herself round and radically change her lifestyle. Her face was fine. She had the look of Gillian Anderson, the actress who’d played Dana Scully in the X-Files. Maybe if she had her hair dyed auburn and styled, and could just lose a few pounds, it would give her the kick-start she needed to get with a programme. Her self esteem needed a boost. A makeover would be a start. And she would have to exercise. Sat in front of the TV – sometimes with a comforting box of chocolates within easy reach – was never going to be the answer.
It was over three years since Marion had felt the fullness of a man inside her. The memory of the incident was at once exciting and abhorrent. It had been at the Christmas office party. One of the psychiatrists, Barry Levin, had plied her with vodka and tonic until she was three sheets to the wind, and her already wafer-thin inhibitions were overcome by an alcoholic haze. There was a vague memory of him leading her into an interview room, pushing her over the table, lifting her skirt up and pulling her tights and panties down below her knees. It had lasted all of thirty seconds. Just wham, bang, and not even a ‘thank you, ma’am’. As she had wiped herself with a Kleenex and rearranged her clothing, he had left without a word. The only lasting impressions were bruises on her breasts, caused by his fingers digging into them. Neither of them ever mentioned the one-off encounter. He had needed somewhere wet and warm to off load, and she had served the purpose. Damn the fucking man! Being a shrink, he had recognised her need, and treated her as easy pickings.
Her rule of thumb, now, was that all men were bastards, whose brains were, for the most part located in their pants. But that didn’t stop her from wanting sex.
“You seem a little, er, distracted, Marion. Are you sure you’re all right?” Gary asked, noticing the preoccupied look in her eyes. She was staring off into the middle distance and chewing the inside of her cheek. Looked like a fucking hamster.
“Uh! Sorry. I was away with the fairies for a minute, Gary. Tell me about your week. Any voices?”
“Hardly a murmur. The new medication is brilliant, with a couple of small reservations.”
“Being?”
“I don’t sleep too well, and...and, just one other thing, but it’s not important.”
Marion tutted. “We don’t have secrets, Gary, do we? I thought we could talk about anything and everything.”
“It’s a little embarrassing, Marion.”
“There’s no one else to hear. Don�
��t forget, a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”
“I think the drug has made me...you know, impotent. I haven’t had an...been the same since shortly after starting this course.”
“And are you active, Gary? Is it causing relationship problems?”
“Well, no. I haven’t done, er, been with anyone for a long time. It’s just making me a little anxious. I feel as though I’ve been, well, chemically castrated, like how they sometimes treat sex offenders.”
He let his head drop, clamped his face in his hands, and even forced a few tears from his eyes. Kevin Spacey, eat your heart out. This is an Oscar-winning performance.
Marion put her cup down, heaved herself up and went to sit next to him on the settee, draping her arm around his shoulder and actually hugging him. “I’ll talk to the doctor, Gary. I’m sure we’ll be able to prescribe an alternative. Maybe risperdone or olanzapine. Don’t worry about it, or you’ll make it worse.”
He put his hand on her thigh, casually, and felt deeply buried muscle quiver beneath the soft, pliant flesh. It was time to push the envelope. He continued to sob, half-turned towards her and buried his face into her massive bosom.
She stroked his short, thinning hair, and actually rocked him as though he were a child. This cannot happen, she thought, as their cheeks somehow met, and her lips greedily sought his.
He tongued her mouth. Held her close and let his fingers trace a line down her cheek, around the rim of her ear. She gasped and began to shake.
“You’re beautiful, Marion,” he lied, as they began to frantically undress each other.
Once both of them were completely stripped off, he led her to his bed.
Forbidden fruit. I’m risking my career, everything, and I don’t give a fuck, Marion thought, spreading her tree-trunk-thick thighs and unconsciously raising herself up, eager to receive his far from drug-wilted member. His problem had miraculously evaporated, or in this case, expanded, which instilled her with renewed self worth. Her sexuality had caused him to rise to what she knew was going to be a great occasion. And he had said that she was beautiful.
Ignoring the hippo’s body odour, he applied himself to the task, if not wholeheartedly. Christ! she was almost killing him. Her legs were locked around his waist with such force that he could hardly breathe. He thought she might spring a rib or two as she screamed, bucked, and raked his back with her fingernails. To his surprise, he actually found himself beginning to enjoy it. She was now his to control and dominate. The newly transferred seat of power, and the sex, turned him on.
Sated, Marion sagged down next to him. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer, her lungs ached, and the post-orgasmic sensations in her nether regions made muscles she had not known existed twitch and jump, causing her to moan. It had been the single most wondrous experience of her life, to date. It had been pure lust, and she had every intention of repeating the act at every given opportunity.
“That was mind-blowing, Marion. Would you like a nice cup of tea, now?” Gary said, getting up and smiling down at his conquest.
Marion nodded as she licked beads of sweat from her top lip and appraised his smooth, tanned body.
They drank the tea, made love again, then showered and finally dressed.
He kissed her tenderly on the mouth at the flat door. Said he could hardly wait for her next visit. And when she had gone, he went through to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out with Listerine, then returned to the kitchen and made black coffee.
This was a new dynamic. After Marion’s next visit, with everything they would do together taped for posterity, she would be his to manipulate and shape like so much Plasticine in the palm of his hand.
Turning on the portable TV that perched – hardly ever watched – on a countertop, Gary caught the tail-end of a news bulletin. One of the fucking cops was still alive. He thought it through. Loose ends bothered him. What would the cop have seen, a split second of the dead guy’s baseball cap and fleece, and a gun pointing at him? No big deal. There was no way he could be identified. Whichever of the pigs had survived would never be able to pick him out of a crowd. And yet, should he take the slightest chance? His paranoia swelled inside his brain like an overfilled balloon. He would play it by ear. If necessary he would find out the cop’s identity and negate the problem. Time would tell.
Marion drove back to the clinic on cloud nine. She felt mixed emotions. She had never before formed any personal relationship with a patient. Doing things by the book had been her rule of thumb. How had it happened? They were mutually attracted to each other, it was as simple as that. Gary had probably been infatuated with her for a long time, and today it had just come together. She giggled. They had come together in every sense of the word. It would just have to be their secret. If anyone found out, they wouldn’t understand, and she would be looking for a new post. Maybe it was time to move on. If she wasn’t a part of the team that oversaw Gary’s mental health, then their relationship would be nobody else’s business. She certainly wasn’t going to let anything or anyone come between them. She had found somebody who appreciated her for who she was and how she looked. Before next week, she would visit Big Girls Boutique in Tottenham and splash out on some sexy bras, panties, and a suspender belt and stockings. Something black or ruby red, and in silk. And she would visit a department store perfume counter. Treat herself to some exotic scent. It was high time she started to enjoy life.
After daydreaming for a while, Marion wrote a glowing report on Gary, and then left the clinic and drove home to the terrace house in Hornsey where she had been born and which now – since her mother’s death – belonged to her. Gary would have to visit. Maybe even stay over. The future was looking decidedly brighter. Her empty life was suddenly full to overflowing. How she had survived her whole life without someone special in it, she found almost impossible to fathom. But the loneliness was now behind her. It was time to spread her wings and live life to the full. Gary had opened a door, unleashing emotions that she had kept wholly subdued. Emotions that she now knew there was no way she could ignore or contain.
CHAPTER SIX
DURING the next forty-eight hours, and having been aided by one or other of the four regular cops who took turns to guard him night and day, Matt had been spared the indignity of the dreaded bedpan. He felt like a geriatric, being helped out of bed, supported, and walked from the bed to the room’s en suite bathroom. Having his leg plastered up to his crotch didn’t help matters.
On the seventh day, Dr. Lawson gave him the all clear to go home, and also an appointment card for him to attend as an outpatient for check-ups and physio.
“You’re going to be sore for awhile yet,” Sam Lawson said. “Maybe breaking your leg was a blessing in disguise. It’ll slow you down a bit and make you take it easy.”
With Tom there to drive him home, Matt was wheel chaired to the main doors of the hospital. If he was going to have another mishap, then they obviously wanted it to happen off the premises.
“What’s with you and Linda?” Tom asked after he had driven almost halfway to Harrow. “Why did you need me as a taxi driver?”
Tom always cut to the chase without preamble. Matt was the same, and knew that his boss wouldn’t be offended if he told him to mind his own business. Though he didn’t.
“She moved out yesterday, Tom. Couldn’t hack it any longer. She would have stayed on to look after me for a week or two, but I figured if it was over, then it was over.”
“Sorry, Matt. I thought you two were tight.”
“So did I. She apparently needed more than I was giving. She looked down the road a few years and saw a lot more of the same on the horizon. My getting shot just moved things along. I can’t say I blame her. She deserves better than a bloke who passes through like a lodger. She loves me, maybe too much to hang in for the duration. We talked a lot this last week, while I’ve been a captive audience. Came to the decision that there wasn’t enough common ground to build anything perma
nent on.”
“You’ll need a nurse for a while. You’re in no fit state to look after yourself properly, yet.”
“I’ve seen enough nurses to last me a lifetime. I’ll sleep downstairs. The sofa converts.”
“Whatever. If you need help, there’ll be a car outside.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I do. The papers have made you a duck in a shooting gallery. They ran the story of how you were the only survivor of a mini massacre, and slapped your ugly mug all over the front pages.”
“It was a hit, for Christ’s sake. He isn’t going to worry about one cop. I wasn’t the mark.”
“The subject isn’t open for debate, Matt. If he thinks you could ID him, he might decide to try and whack you.”
“If he does, then remember what happened to Tony and Keith outside the safe house. It’s too risky having a cop out there. Get me my piece and I’ll watch my own back.”
“They’ll be very low profile. And you’re on sick leave. I can’t authorise for you to be armed off duty.”
“Get round it, Tom. Put me down as being on duty. If you think I’m at risk, do the paperwork and bring me a gun. Because if you’re right and I wind up shot like a rat in a barrel, you’ll have made it easy for him.”
Tom pulled into the kerb outside the nondescript maisonette that was fronted by a postage stamp open-plan lawn. He hadn’t answered Matt, and didn’t need to. They both knew he’d pull strings and make sure that Matt had the resources to defend himself with, should the perp make a play for him.
Tom let Matt hobble on the hospital-issue aluminium crutches, but stayed as close to him as a mother hen, just in case he lost his balance.
In the kitchen, they settled to smoke, drink coffee and run through what little they had. One bonus of Linda not being there was that Matt could now light-up in the house, and not have to go outside or into the garage to feed his habit.