The rational part of Jack’s brain knew that he was overthinking what was, in reality, quite a small thing but, rather than it trouble him, he drew comfort from the depth of his preparation. Brandt had benefitted from the luxury of being retired when planning his murders; presumably with nothing to distract him from ensuring every last detail was considered. That Jack was going to such lengths to secure a murder weapon in the safest way possible made him feel worthy of following in his hero’s footsteps.
His preparation had been rewarded by a thoroughly enjoyable, if expensive evening. Rather than be put off by the upmarket steakhouse Jack had chosen, Mandy had been both impressed and excited. Having already moved onto her second Pornstar Martini by the time they ordered food, she’d matched his choice of a ribeye.
The longer they spent talking in the restaurant, the more he had found his date intriguing. Mandy was driven and wanted a political career so she could tackle the inequalities she saw in society. Whilst on the face of it her feelings were in stark contrast to his own privileged background, Jack could see a certain similarity between the two of them, even if the reason behind it wasn’t something he could share. He too had found his purpose in life and he drew inspiration from her seemingly unwavering commitment to hers.
Their different upbringings and outlook on life didn’t stifle the chemistry between them. They spent the evening discussing common interests. It turned out they liked many of the same movies and Jack’s eclectic taste in music overlapped with some of hers.
In fact, the evening was progressing so well that Jack almost forgot about the main purpose for them being there. If it hadn’t been for Mandy excusing herself to use the toilet after they had finished eating, Jack might have missed his chance altogether. Watching her confidently ascend the steps to the restaurant’s upper floor, he had concluded that he did find her physically attractive, and decided to spend the remainder of her absence planning how he could act on this knowledge. It was only when he was distractedly playing with his napkin that he noticed the steak knife sat innocently next to his fork.
The next few minutes had been extremely uncomfortable for Jack. Maintaining interest in Mandy’s conversation upon her return had been a challenge when, all the while, he had expected her to suddenly notice and comment on the sole item of cutlery left on his plate. However, that was nothing compared to how he felt when the waiter finally came to clear their table. It may have only taken a few seconds, but it was agonising nonetheless. When he didn’t immediately leave and opened his mouth to talk, Jack was ready to take the knife off his knee and theatrically look under the table for where he had supposedly dropped it.
‘Come again?’ Jack had responded, not sure of what he had been asked.
‘I said can I bring you the dessert menu?’
The question was so unexpected as to leave Jack flummoxed.
‘I’m not sure I could manage another thing,’ Mandy confessed.
‘Perhaps another drink?’ The waiter offered, but whilst Jack welcomed the calming influence additional alcohol would provide, more than anything he now wanted to get out of the restaurant altogether.
‘Just the bill, please.’ Jack’s gratitude for Mandy voicing his own desire, was quickly met with concern why she was similarly keen to leave. He may have only asked her out so he had a reason for being there, but he had started to like her and didn’t want her to have found his behaviour odd.
With the waiter now gone, Jack summoned up the courage to ask. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, look you’ve spent enough on me this evening. Let’s go somewhere else and I can buy you a drink instead.’
* * *
Sat naked in her bedroom chair, Jack remembered the relief he had felt. He had gone to the pub willingly, steering Mandy away from the sort of bar where the doormen were likely to search him and find the steak knife deposited in the lining of his coat. That it had meant going somewhere quiet had proven a bonus because, with little else to entertain them, Mandy had soon suggested heading for home.
Much as he enjoyed his evening out with her and what had followed, Jack now couldn’t wait to leave. He thought about writing her a note but didn’t want to be accused of being old fashioned again. Besides, hunting around for a piece of paper might only serve to wake her and he was anxious to get going.
Chapter Fifteen
Becky liked this route to work. It might not have been the most direct, but it allowed her to have some head-space. When you spent all day speaking to members of the public it was nice to see as few of them as possible either side of office hours. After what had happened, Becky had taken her mother’s advice and stuck to the main roads but now he was dead – that sick pervert preying on women in Nottingham – she had started using the river path once more. She hadn’t told her mother because she knew what she would say and, besides, she wouldn’t use it once the nights had drawn in and her journey home was in the dark.
What Becky liked most about her walk to the office, where she worked as a receptionist for a large company of recruitment consultants, was how it allowed her to spend time looking at the river. Water had always fascinated her. In a world where she knew she was just a cog in a very small wheel, it was a reminder of the power of nature. Whatever the weather, this particular stretch flowed with immense power and it gave her a strange sort of comfort to know that, if she were to fall in, she would be swept away to places unknown.
Becky had wondered from time to time whether she was unusual. It was a fear she had shared with her mother whilst still at school but had been told in reply that it was normal for teenage girls to feel a little lost. Becky guessed she had now found her place in life. Having received few qualifications, she knew she was lucky to have obtained such a steady job and was currently enjoying the stability of a long-term boyfriend. Like much of her life, it wasn’t quite how she had imagined it as a child. It certainly wasn’t love at first sight, nor had Kyle swept her off her feet. Instead they had met in a chatroom discussing video games. She had been used to, had courted even, the attention one of the few girls in there had received. Hidden behind her keyboard she had developed a confidence that could never be replicated in the real world. In amongst the usual requests for her photo, along with boys sending inappropriate images of themselves, Kyle had stood out as someone more interested in what she had to say about the topics for discussion than the fact she had breasts. What’s more, once they had been chatting for a few weeks, it was Becky who had finally suggested they meet up. She took his hesitation as a sign of his continued respect for her but when he finally agreed to send her a photograph, so she would be better able to recognise him, she understood why. He looked like a typical computer nerd. From her experience, these people came in two flavours, they were either terribly skinny with a bad complexion to match their greasy hair or, as was in Kyle’s case, self-consciously overweight.
But Becky didn’t mind. She liked that it kind of made him look strong and, in a world where she experienced a number of anxieties, that was important to her, along with the fact that he was generous and thoughtful. Becky could tell from the moment they met up that he considered her way out of his league. She found it flattering but believed it to be symptomatic of his own self-image problems, until one day he declared that the thing he loved about her most was the way she had no clue how truly stunning she was.
Yes, life was much better for Becky since she had found Kyle and, although he lived a few miles away in Chesterfield, she hoped he would soon suggest they find a place together. She was loath to give up her job because the company she worked for had always been kind to her, but she now had enough experience to hope that she could pick up something similar anywhere. Not only did Becky know that she could bring up the idea of them renting their own place, but she also knew from the way Kyle doted on her that there was little chance of him turning her down. However, she was a traditionalist and a romantic at heart. Life might not have turned out to be quite as magical as she had hoped, but she was
prepared to wait for Kyle to build up enough courage to ask her himself.
Becky smiled as she took out her phone. Just because she wanted him to take the lead in this, it didn’t mean she couldn’t start sowing the seeds that would compel him to search for some privacy. His parents were quite liberal and seemed to have no issue with them sharing the same room when she stayed over, but her mother was more conservative with her values. When Kyle came to Nottingham, they would have to make do with a kiss and a cuddle in his car before returning to her place, whereupon they would head to their separate bedrooms. Becky had never been confident with her appearance and much less herself as a sexual being but trying to assist Kyle with his own body-image problems had not only seen her address that, but also become far more daring than she would have ever previously thought possible.
With the River Trent glinting in the weak autumn sunshine, she started typing her opening gambit. Now was always a good time to catch Kyle. He started his job as a web designer an hour before she did and rarely seemed busy first thing. Typically, she could expect his undivided attention at this time of day.
– Hi babe. Really looking forward to this weekend. Would you mind if you came over again? It’s proving to be quite a hectic week and I’m not sure I fancy the coach ride. B xxx
Becky wasn’t used to being manipulative and was sure this would somehow backfire. Kyle would either look to cancel altogether or suggest she use her meagre savings, which unbeknownst to him were there purely to help with the deposit on a flat, to buy a car.
– Morning gorgeous! I don’t care as long as we’re together although we do get more of a chance to be alone at my place… Xxx
She could feel her heart flutter. This was typical Kyle. She knew exactly what he meant about being alone.
– That’s true but I do feel a little self-conscious with your parents sleeping close-by xxx
Becky’s pace slowed as she waited for the reply. The time between texts was much longer than before and caused her to consider whether she had said something wrong. She hoped he hadn’t taken her claim that she couldn’t completely relax as a sign that she didn’t enjoy the sex. Not only would that not be true, but she would hate the potential impact on Kyle. He was really starting to come out of his shell and when she had last been round he had suggested they try a couple of new positions.
Becky was almost too scared to read the message, its arrival heralded by a sharp ping.
– I completely understand. Why don’t we go away for the weekend – my treat? I could come and pick you up and we could head to the Peak District or somewhere? Xxx
She knew she needed to respond straight away to save him the same agony she had experienced but found herself too excited to type properly. Her fingers were hitting the wrong keys and the phone was autocorrecting her mistyped words into nonsense. The nervous giggle this provoked only served to make her hands shake more and prompt a fresh round of laughter at the ridiculousness of her situation.
‘Something funny?’
The sudden and unexpected voice caused Becky to spin round with shock, her phone slipping from her grasp and dropping to the pavement.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ the young man replied, bending down to pick it up. ‘Thank goodness the screen didn’t crack. Of course, if it had, I would have got it replaced for you, seeing as it was my fault you dropped it.’
‘Er, thanks,’ replied Becky taking back her phone, unsure what she should say in the circumstances. The man in front of her, little more than a boy, sounded sincere, but there was a strange look in his eyes that suggested he found the whole thing entertaining despite his concerned words. She turned to leave. Her message to Kyle would just have to wait until she got to the office.
‘You know it’s sad really, isn’t it?’
Becky could feel herself involuntarily turning back to see what the man was referring to. But he was no longer looking at her. Instead he was gazing at the withered bunches of flowers tied to a tree. Her skin began to prickle as she realised the exact spot along the river where she was. She wanted to turn and run but that would be crazy behaviour. She didn’t know who this lad was, but she prided herself on at least appearing normal.
‘How quickly people seem to forget what happened here,’ he continued. ‘At first, I thought you had stopped to pay your respects but then I heard…’
The unfinished sentence was left hanging in the air. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,’ she said. He wasn’t acting affronted but it seemed the right thing to say in the circumstances. When he didn’t respond but remained stood there with his hands in his pockets, she decided to add more, by way of an explanation. ‘It’s just my boyfriend had texted me and I was trying to respond but my phone…’
‘I have a girlfriend,’ he interrupted, turning back to face her; his tone matter-of-fact. Becky was starting to wonder whether this man had some sort of disability. ‘Well, I think she is. I didn’t wake her to ask her because I needed to get down here as quickly as possible.’
Now it all suddenly made sense to Becky. He didn’t have learning difficulties or something similar. It also explained why he commented on the dead flowers and had spoken to her when he had found her laughing. ‘I’m so sorry. You knew her.’ More a statement than a question.
The man smiled, to Becky it didn’t look sad but cruel instead. She supposed it must feel cruel to see the place where someone you were close to died, the tributes now forgotten and people passing like normal. ‘No, I didn’t know her.’ The pause that followed was just enough for Becky to consider that this conversation was getting stranger by the second. ‘But I did know the man who killed her.’
‘What?’ So shocked was Becky but this, surely false, claim that she neither noticed that the lad had taken his hands out of his pockets nor that one of them was not empty.
‘And you’re about to meet him,’ Jack cried, plunging the blade into her stomach.
Chapter Sixteen
‘I’m sorry, Mr Jones, I just… well, I can’t…’
‘I understand, Gregori, really I do. I’ll still pay you until the end of the week and, of course, am happy to provide you with a glowing reference for your next job. You take care now.’
The phone line went dead. Even if it wasn’t for the relief he could detect in Mr Jones’ voice, the speed at which he hung up demonstrated he wasn’t exactly disappointed that Brandt didn’t feel up to working his notice.
Yesterday was hard. The feelings of anger that Brandt had experienced when hearing the news he was to be let go hadn’t, as he had feared, lingered. At least rage had a certain power to it, whereas what followed was merely debilitating. Sadness had never been an overriding emotion in Brandt’s life but, as he tried to carry out his duties that day, he had felt close to tears at a number of points. His new life wasn’t much, and certainly on paper didn’t look anywhere near as good as what went before, but he had built it from nothing and it was something he was proud of. It wasn’t the work itself that he was going to miss, but the relationships he had built up. He liked the other staff there but the resentment that they were to be kept on whilst he was to be cast adrift prevented him from feeling too sorry that he wouldn’t be seeing them again. It was the customers he would miss. He still held the tourists in contempt, not least now because their absence was the root cause of his departure, but he had grown fond of a number of the regulars. His relationship with them was small in the context of their overall lives, but it still felt real.
All Brandt had ever wanted to do was to serve the people. What he was doing in the tearoom in the quiet Welsh food market, was on a much smaller scale to what he had been trying to achieve when he had been in the police, but the difference was that here he had made a success of it. The people appreciated what he did for them. Of course, the expectation was there, given that was what he was paid to do, but the fact he went above and beyond the call of duty to make them feel welcome was keenly felt. None of the apathy he had experienced with so
ciety as a whole had set in.
Seeing them arrive the day before not only served as a reminder about how far he had come, but also was an indication of what he was soon to lose. The job had been purely about ensuring he had the finances to survive, but had become much more than that. Ironically if he had stayed fruit picking until the inevitable lay off there, he might not have realised that he would be unable to live in solitude. And that’s why Brandt had broken his abstinence and spent some of his dwindling reserves of cash on whisky. It wasn’t just that his circumstances had forced him to purchase the cheap stuff, the knowledge that it represented the enormous setback he had suffered had served to make every drop of it taste sour. But he had persevered in search of the temporary oblivion it offered.
Brandt had known the moment he handed over the money at the local shop that he wouldn’t set foot in that tearoom again. In his later years in the police he had gone to work plenty of times suffering the effects of a night’s drinking, but he knew a stonking headache and acerbic gut would erode any last resilience he felt.
He uttered a bitter laugh at the irony of him still wearing yesterday’s uniform and headed for the bathroom. Brandt tended to use the campsite’s communal washing facilities because he found the caravan’s shower cubicle too small and the water temperature too erratic. But today he didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into anyone and, having washed, he plonked himself in front of the daytime television he so detested and allowed himself to drift off into a troubled doze.
A knock at the door awoke Brandt some time later. He struggled to hang onto the wisps of his dream and the second, louder rap, roused him so he could only remember that it was his long recurring fantasy of plunging to his death. The interruption caused him more confusion than irritation because he hadn’t received a visitor since agreeing to the long term let with the caravan’s owner.
‘Mrs Hardcastle?’ The surprise in his voice masked the absence of any semblance of an Eastern European accent.
Smoke and Mirrors Page 7