Smoke and Mirrors

by Denver Murphy

  However, it seemed that Brandt hadn’t done a very good job of hiding his feelings and eventually Kath had challenged him on his moody demeanour. The past few months had seen him lie so often that he wasn’t sure he understood what it was to be truthful anymore but, with her not accepting his claim that he was just tired, no doubt because she was still being over-sensitive herself, he told her about what he had seen on the calendar.

  Once Kath had explained that the very reason why she had cancelled the meeting was because she hadn’t wanted Brandt to think she was reading more into their arrangement than there was by her appearing to show him off to her friends, there followed a healthy and frank discussion where it seemed their attempts to be considerate were only serving to make things more awkward than if they just behaved as normal.

  To try and draw a line under their less than smooth start, and by way of thanking her for giving him a place to stay, Brandt had suggested they go out for the day. The weather was unusually warm and sunny for that time of year, and he hoped that being away from the house would allow them to develop their friendship on a more equal footing.

  Brandt hadn’t thought much of Rhyl, with the efforts of the local council to improve the seafront undermined by the tired town centre where the down-market nature of most of the shops that remained matched the demeanour of the locals. Llandudno, however, was entirely different. Kath had deliberately taken a coastal road so that, when they crested the brow of a particular hill, the bay in which it stood was suddenly revealed to them.

  Bathed in the sunlight from the clear blue sky, it looked immaculate; the neat row of white townhouses following the coastline, most of them independent hotels, leading to a pier at the top, gave it a Victorian picture postcard feel. That beyond the town rose mountains and cliffs, serviced by a cable car, only served to make the view even more stunning in Brandt’s eyes.

  Closer inspection did not reveal any cracks in the façade, with the properties’ owners no doubt having to keep them well-maintained in order to successfully compete in a very seasonal market. They parked adjacent to the beach and Kath suggested they cross into town to get some refreshments. Dismissing the chain coffee shops, they settled on a quaint little tearoom, far less pretentious than Mr Jones’ and, after Brandt’s insistence, they both had a slice of a lemon sponge to go with their hot drinks.

  Much as he enjoyed their little stop off and feeling Llandudno’s shopping district had avoided the tiredness that now blighted so many of Britain’s coastal towns, Brandt was keen to get back to the seafront. With the late autumn sun’s arc through the sky relatively low, once free from the loom of the buildings, they found themselves able to sit on a bench on the promenade for a time without becoming chilly. Brandt could feel his skin soaking up the Vitamin D and he breathed deeply in the nourishing sea air.

  They chatted intermittently but both seemed equally comfortable allowing the silence to better enable them to hear the gulls overhead and the gentle lapping of the sea against the shore. Even the sight of the wind turbines on the horizon couldn’t spoil what was, for Brandt, a perfect view. Benidorm’s beach may have been far sandier and its water a much more enticing shade of blue than the murky brown of the Irish Sea, but this felt far more real. More than that, it felt like home. In that moment all the struggles that Brandt had been through suddenly became worth it; if nothing else, but to bring him to this point.

  Somewhat with reluctance they agreed that they couldn’t just stay there all day and made their way down to the pier. Brandt could imagine it teeming with families in July and August. The world had changed so much in his life time and, as far as he was concerned, little for the better, but the thought of the children pestering their parents for money to go on the selection of fairground rides was a comforting reminder of his own childhood. People didn’t need their iPhones and eReaders and Ultra High Definition televisions playing hundreds of channels through their satellite receivers. They were just poor substitutes for what really mattered: companionship and friendship.

  With thoughts of the important things in life, he dragged Kath into one of the amusement arcades. Avoiding the computer games, he led her straight to the 2p coin pushers, after changing a pound into a pot of coppers. Brandt could tell she was equally excited by the slice of nostalgia and they laughed away whilst feeding their money greedily into the machine and debating whether they used to be called penny falls or ha’penny shoves in their day. For one dreadful moment Brandt feared he might have undone all his good work by letting slip a detail that directly contradicted his claim to be from another country, but Kath seemed so caught up in trying to tip over a particularly precarious ledge of coins that she seemed not to notice.

  Their grudging exit, following the depletion of all their loose change, was soon forgotten as they both found an immediate urge for lunch. The over-the-top consideration for each other’s feelings, which had been such a feature of the past few days, had been abandoned as they entered into a good-natured argument as to what to have. Despite both presenting an equally strong case for their preference, Brandt won through with his insistence that collecting fish and chips to sit down and eat back on the promenade, with the sea in front of them and watching the cable cars climb the cliffs to their side, could well provide the highlight on an entirely wonderful trip.

  The only thing that would have made their lunch any better was if it had been wrapped in newspaper rather than served in a tray. Not that the lack of traditionalism dented their appetite. With Brandt regretting his insistence on finishing his and Kath claiming she wouldn’t need to eat again for the rest of the week following hers, they spent the next few hours pottering around and slowly digesting.

  The sun was beginning to set far too early for either of their liking and they had trudged back to the car and headed home. Within a few minutes, they were back amongst the Welsh mountains and Brandt felt extremely lucky to be living in an area with such contrasting topography – any single element far more interesting than where he and his wife had set up home.

  It was still with a feeling of true contentment that Brandt eased himself down onto the squishy cream leather sofa and turned on the television. Whilst he waited for the six o’clock news to start, he turned down the volume, so he could listen to Kath pottering around the kitchen – a sound he found extremely comforting.

  But Brandt’s sense of wellbeing was short lived. No sooner had the BBC’s announcer introduced the news than he was greeted with his own face staring back at him. Although fearful that, at any second, Kath might walk in with the tray of whatever light tea she had prepared, he increased the sound, so he could find out why the hell he had become the lead story.

  If his mind hadn’t been in so much shock, he would have known that there could only be one possible explanation. Instead he sat there slack jawed as he listened to how the body, his body, had been exhumed and forensically identified as belonging to someone else.

  When he had come up with the idea of faking his suicide, it had only been to buy himself enough time to escape. He had known that procedure should see his subterfuge exposed but, as the days turned into weeks and months since then, he believed he had got away with it. An extremely welcome slice of good fortune; it had allowed him to confidently establish his new identity, knowing that not only were the authorities no longer hunting for him, but neither would the general public expect to see him.

  Why now? What had led the police to make this untimely and, for them, deeply embarrassing discovery? With his brain starting to catch up, the explanation became obvious. Brandt’s ambivalence towards the person recreating some of his murders evaporated in the knowledge that it had now put him at risk. The cruel irony of it coming on the day when he had finally found true peace with his own continued existence, was all too clear.

  His mind wanted to lead him to ponder how another person must be feeling; much as the news had come as a surprise to Brandt, he could only imagine what a tremendous shock this must be for Johnson. But consideration fo
r her would have to wait, he had a much more pressing issue to deal with.

  Kath.

  He had to protect her, not just for himself, but the enormous damage it could do to her to find out that the man she had aided in his hour of need, now her lodger and, he hoped she considered, a friend, was someone depicted by the press as a vicious and evil serial killer.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered, hearing her footsteps in the hallway. Fumbling for the remote control, he managed to change the television programme before she stepped through into the living room.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Kath asked, pausing awkwardly by the door.

  ‘It’s nothing! I just… I just wanted to find us something nice to watch before you came in.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, shaking her head in puzzlement and putting the tray down onto the coffee table. It might only have been meant to be a light meal, but she clearly had gone to some effort. There was a bowl of dressed salad, a plate of meats and various accompaniments, including bread rolls and home-made coleslaw. ‘I thought we said we were going to watch the news first?’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Brandt laughed nervously. ‘About that… Well, it’s been such a nice day I thought it would be a shame to let something depressing spoil it.’ Kath looked unconvinced. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that her devotion to keeping up with the country’s affairs was only bettered by her addiction to EastEnders and Coronation Street, soap operas which Brandt firmly detested, not least because his own wife had been so committed to the former. ‘The world seems such an unkind place these days that I just wanted us to continue to live in our little bubble for a while longer.’

  ‘That’s really sweet, Greggy,’ she responded, sitting down next to him. ‘I never knew you were such an old romantic.’ Her smile instantly faded, and her wide eyes told Brandt that she was worried her words were a step too far.

  He only had a moment in which to act. He wasn’t so much concerned that the wrong decision would somehow lead to her accessing the news that night, but he still had tomorrow to think about. The first thing she did each day after rising was to make the short walk down to the newsagents to get her favoured paper, which she would then read over breakfast. Even her desire to make Brandt feel at home hadn’t interrupted this crucial part of her routine, and he had been made to eat in silence whilst she studied the sections she found most interesting. Any efforts at striking up conversation had been met by single word responses and he had even tried to hint at her unusual, almost obsessive behaviour, by questioning why she didn’t choose to have it delivered and save herself the hassle of going out to collect it. Her reply that she couldn’t trust it would be with her by the time she ate was enough to confirm that her behaviour was fully ingrained.

  There was really only one thing for it. The only way he could ensure that tomorrow started differently for her. The voice returned, telling him that this was all part of the trap she had laid for him. That she really was just like that woman in the caravan in Benidorm. Moreover, it claimed that even if he wanted to, the unfamiliar surroundings and the worry about what was happening back in Nottingham would see him unable to perform.

  It may only have been to spite that pernicious parasite lodged in his mind, but Brandt came to the conclusion that he wanted to. All the news headlines had done was to accelerate a process that had already started. Today had been wonderful; a perfect example of the joy companionship can bring and what better way to cement that than through greater intimacy.

  Brandt leaned forward to kiss her. She pulled away, but he could see from her expression that it was through apprehension rather than reluctance. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile and moved in again. She went to resist once more. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know I don’t,’ he replied simply, trying for a third time. His attempt was met with a moment’s more hesitation but this time it was followed by her leaning in towards him. Their lips touched softly and tentatively at first, but then becoming firmer and more passionate.

  It was good, wonderful even, but not enough for Brandt. He wanted to feel her skin beneath his hands but to start groping at her on the sofa, like some lustful teenager, would feel like a betrayal of the tenderness of their union. He leaned his head back to break the kiss. He could feel her mouth trying to follow him before she realised what was happening. But any fear of rejection she once held, was noticeable by its absence as she slowly opened her eyes.

  ‘Shall we forget tea and head straight upstairs?’ Kath purred, standing up and holding out her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ‘This is no good,’ Johnson muttered, picking up her phone. She had been feeling uneasy all week but now it was Friday she needed to find out more.

  ‘Hardy, it’s me,’ she spoke into the phone as soon as it was answered.

  ‘Look, ma’am, what is it?’ This was typical of DC Hardy, reluctant to speak to her but unable to avoid respecting the position she had once held.

  ‘I told you to keep me up to date with what’s going on. What have you found?’

  ‘Nothing major, unfortunately.’

  ‘So, what do you have?’

  ‘Ma’am, I’m really sorry but Fisher directly forbade any of us speaking to you about the case.’

  ‘What the hell?!’ To be honest, Johnson wasn’t terribly surprised. That sort of move was just typical of that weasel. Rather than accept he needed some help, he just wanted to bury his head in the sand and was ordering the rest of the team to do the same.

  ‘Er, yeah,’ Hardy said, the awkwardness evident in his tone. ‘It seems like he didn’t appreciate your visit to the station.’

  ‘But that wasn’t my choice, Potter called me in,’ she replied as innocently as possible.

  ‘That’s as may be, ma’am, but he didn’t like what you had to say to him.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she huffed. It seemed like Fisher couldn’t take what he dished out. ‘And I bet finding out he had fucked up with Brandt’s body did nothing to improve his mood. How’s Potter been with him since? Tell you what, don’t answer that, just tell me where you are with finding out who is doing these murders.’

  ‘Look, I really can’t say… I could be in the shit for just speaking to you at all.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Hardy, don’t be such a pussy!’ She tried to make her jibe sound little more than banter between colleagues. ‘Just tell me that people believe it is the work of a copycat and not Brandt himself…’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Don’t any of you get it? It makes no sense for him to fake his suicide and then do the very things that would make people suspect he wasn’t dead.’ Johnson could sense that she was heading down the road of the argument she’d had with Potter. Much as she wanted to discuss swipes of blood, she resisted. ‘Surely you see that?’

  ‘I guess so… but it doesn’t really change anything, does it?’

  ‘Why not?’ Johnson was taken aback by this claim.

  ‘Well, whoever it is, we just have to work on the evidence until we find them.’

  ‘Holy shit, Hardy, please tell me you’re doing more than that?’

  ‘You what, ma’am?’ Hardy hadn’t been able to disguise the hurt in his voice.

  ‘I said, please don’t tell me you’re all just sitting around waiting for the next murder to happen in the hope that the killer will leave you some nice juicy clues this time?’

  ‘Of course not!’ he shouted, affronted by the accusation.

  ‘So, what are you doing then?’ It hadn’t been her intention to use this line of enquiry to get the information she needed, but it seemed to be working anyway.

  ‘Well, there’s tomorrow of course…’

  This was good. The increased anxiety Johnson had been experiencing was because of their proximity to Saturday, the day of the week Brandt had favoured. She might have been convinced that all this was the work of someone else, but the fact remained that they were doing this as some sort of sick tribute to him. Th
erefore, it made sense for him to start using the same day as well as the same locations and type of murder weapon.

  ‘Visible presence, yeah? All leave cancelled so everyone’s out and about?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And where will the bulk of the force be concentrated?’

  ‘I really shouldn’t say…’

  ‘Hardy!’

  ‘Around the railway station.’

  ‘Good,’ she replied, hanging up the phone. With the alleyway and the river having been used, this was the most likely next destination. Perhaps Hardy was right. Maybe it didn’t matter so much that they weren’t as convinced it was the work of a copycat killer. In their complete misunderstanding of what Brandt would do, they had inadvertently come to the same conclusion she had: that the most likely place to be hit tomorrow was the scene of Brandt’s very first attack.

  When she had been tracking Brandt the first time, she hadn’t felt comfortable just waiting for the next dead body to turn up. Back then, they had an enormous disadvantage in that it could have been literally anywhere – something Brandt’s actions in other parts of the country had shown him at great pains to illustrate –but the station would be ideal. Even if it wasn’t, that Hardy had confirmed there would be a significant undercover police presence, meant only someone with the skill of Brandt could hope to carry out a stabbing there and manage to slip away unnoticed.

  But something still didn’t feel right. It was as though there was an alternative place for the killer that was equally as good, if not better than the station.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Jack awoke, immediately knowing this day would be different to any other. It was as though he had been building up to it his whole life. He expected to feel nervous, but he was excited to prove his worth. Perhaps Brandt would want to meet him to congratulate him on what he achieved and to thank him for doing what he could not.

  The time leading up to the weekend had been a tricky balance between completing the research required to ensure today would be a success, and paying Mandy enough attention that she didn’t become suspicious.