Smoke and Mirrors

by Denver Murphy

  She had no intention of engaging with him and instantly moved in the direction of Potter’s office. But Fisher had one distinct advantage. Johnson might not be willing to run and give the impression she thought she was doing something wrong, but he had no such qualms. With the long loping stride offered by his lanky frame, he was in front of her before she had even made it halfway across the office.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded, hatred dripping from his voice. There were to be no games or trading of petty insults today. Things had got far too serious for that.

  ‘If you don’t move within the next two seconds, I’m going to put you on your arse right here in front of everybody,’ she hissed venomously.

  Fisher didn’t move and, without further discussion, seemed quite happy to remain there, blocking her path indefinitely.

  Johnson thought about reissuing the threat but knew that to do so would just weaken it. As far as she could see, she had two choices: either she carry it out and knock this prick out, or leave and hope she could catch Potter on the telephone. Decision made, she took a step away, so her swing would have enough time and space to gather sufficient momentum. She had already closed her hand into a fist and was pulling it back, observing the look of shocked disbelief in Fisher’s eyes, when a shout from ahead of her caused her to stop.

  ‘Stella! I thought I might hear from you today.’

  ‘Coming, guv,’ she called, offering Fisher a vicious smile as he moved to one side.

  ‘Lucky escape,’ he said, low enough to be out of Potter’s earshot.

  ‘For you perhaps,’ she muttered in return.

  Johnson entered the office and closed the door firmly behind her. In most circumstances, she had resisted Potter’s attempts to get her to sit down, but she needed to show that whatever breakdown they had suffered in their working relationship over the past few months wasn’t irreparable.

  ‘Look, if you’ve come to tell me what a shit job we’re all doing then you needn’t bother. I’ve had phone calls to that effect all night.’

  It wasn’t just the rare use of profanity that shocked Johnson, Potter rarely spoke in other than couched phrases about pressure from the top brass.

  ‘Actually, guv, I wasn’t but I do think it’s a far worse situation than any of us realised.’ She could see Potter’s eyebrows raise at this rare moment of humility. ‘I can imagine how much stick you’re getting for Sarah’s murder being predictable and that steps weren’t taken to ensure her safety.’ She raised a finger to stop the response that his open mouth suggested was about to follow. ‘But whilst you’re dealing with that, the important question is not what happened but what is going to happen next.’

  ‘Go on…’ This was the standard non-committal response from Potter for something he had yet to hear enough of to make his mind up about. Johnson had long learned to read the expression behind the bland instruction. She could see that in all the tumult since yesterday, he hadn’t even begun to consider what the killer’s next move might be.

  ‘Well, I guess the big question is whether he is going to stick with Nottingham or, as Brandt did after three attacks, move further afield.’

  ‘You still don’t think this is Brandt then.’ Half question, half statement and with none of the surety of their previous discussion as to the likely identity of the attacker.

  Johnson now had a difficult decision to make. For all manner of reasons, she was not about to lie to Potter and claim that she knew that the last attack was going to be on Sarah. Rather, the issue was whether she would exaggerate her sense that the station wasn’t the right call enough to elevate herself. Concluding that the situation was far more important than her own sense of propriety, she decided she would.

  ‘Yes, and if you had believed me then you wouldn’t have gotten into the same situation yesterday.’ The words tasted bitter in her mouth, so she continued rather than let them linger too long. ‘The very reason why you didn’t think to provide extra protection for Sarah yesterday was because it was not something Brandt would do. We both know that if he hadn’t intended for her to live when he attacked her, he had ample opportunity to finish off the job before now. If nothing else, look at how he managed to get to me. Twice.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll come for you next?’

  ‘No!’ Johnson responded, putting her head in her hands. ‘That’s the complete opposite of what I think! I’m saying that if it was Brandt and he was doing this to somehow tie up loose ends, he would have come for me first.’

  She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her voice down. If Potter tired of their conversation, there was nothing stopping him from just kicking her out of his office and the police station altogether.

  ‘Think about it: of everything he tried to achieve and failed to do, is his greatest regret going to be me or her? So, what I’m saying is,’ she continued before he could answer the question, ‘that if nothing else, yesterday proves this isn’t Brandt.’

  Johnson waited, watching Potter digest the information carefully. His expression became open, which suggested he was coming around to her way of thinking but then, abruptly, he shook his head. ‘Okay, let’s just assume, for argument’s sake, that I believe this wasn’t Brandt’s doing. I don’t have the luxury of being able to focus on one possibility and dismiss the others, especially if your claim is true, that such a thing led us to getting it wrong yesterday. The fact is that it could be Brandt because he is still at large and so we have to move forward, whilst considering every possibility.’

  ‘And that’s why you need me, guv.’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting you offer yourself up as bait,’ Potter said incredulously. ‘Again!’

  Johnson laughed, openly and heartedly. Much to her surprise, after a few moments Potter followed. The tension that had built up between them, not over the course of the last few minutes, but in the months since she was first attacked, began lifting. More than any apology or attempted justification for the way they had treated one another, the simple act of finding something mutually amusing in such an awful situation served to highlight the strength of the bond they had grown before all of this mess. What Johnson had found funny was that Potter knew her well enough to both jump to such a wild conclusion as to her intentions and, at the same time, be utterly appalled by the idea. She assumed that he had laughed too because he realised she would have expected him to say the exact same thing.

  ‘No, guv, not this time,’ she said when they had both calmed down. ‘And I would like to point out that I didn’t intend the first one.’ She found it hard not to succumb to the thought that flashed through her mind that she was making light of the situation that led to McNeil’s death.

  ‘And the second?’

  ‘Well, that was just unfortunate timing,’ she responded with a knowing smile, before taking on a more serious expression. ‘In all honesty, though, I never want to get into a situation like that again. What I’m saying is that you need me. Here. Back at work where I can lead the investigation. You can worry about keeping all the options open and so forth, whilst I can focus on catching that sick bastard.’ She could see that Potter was attracted to the idea but was otherwise unsure. ‘Look, let me just ask you one simple question. Who does Fisher think killed Sarah?’

  ‘Brandt.’ The wholly predictable answer was immediate.

  Much in the same way Potter didn’t deem it necessary to qualify it or offer any justification, neither did Johnson feel the need to respond. She had done all she could, and it was now up to Potter to make the correct call.

  Nevertheless, even though she had shown him all her cards, there was one final thing to add into the mix. They both turned the instant they heard the knock at the door. Under other circumstances, it would have tickled Johnson that whoever it was, in complete contrast to her, was waiting patiently for the invitation to enter.

  ‘Come!’ Potter barked impatiently.

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ Hardy said, stepping into the office. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he added, w
hich Johnson took as more than mere courtesy given he had been aware that she was here specifically to see the DSI. ‘I’ve got the report back from the forensics.’

  ‘And have you shared this with Fisher yet?’

  ‘No, guv… I thought you might like to see it first.’

  ‘Very well,’ Potter said, holding out his hand to receive it. He waited until Hardy was just about to leave and added. ‘I’ll tell Fisher, once I’ve looked over it.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Hardy responded with a deferential bow of the head before closing the door.

  ‘Shit load of DNA was there?’ Johnson said as Potter looked at the sheet in front of him.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not the question you want to ask.’

  ‘So, what’s the answer then?’

  ‘No, it’s not Brandt’s and no, it doesn’t match to anything on file.’

  ‘I see,’ she said evenly. It was hard to feel triumphant under such circumstances.

  ‘Look, Stella, I have a number of things I need to sort out. Can I give you a call later today? It’ll be tonight I would imagine.’

  ‘Sure thing, guv,’ she replied, standing up. She stepped out of the office to see Hardy at his desk with Fisher looming over him. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but it didn’t take her much to work out that he was pressing Hardy into revealing the details of the forensic report.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ she called over cheerfully, grateful to do what she could to buy Hardy a little more time. As it transpired, a little was all he needed.

  ‘DI Fisher, step in here please,’ came the order from over Johnson’s shoulder.

  She tried to infer from Potter’s tone the exact nature of their meeting but knew that the DSI always tried to be discreet when dealing with a colleague in front of their subordinates. As she left CID and headed down the stairs and towards the exit to the car park, she reflected that, no matter how the phone call with Potter that evening went and what the future for them held, she was glad that today had done something to repair their relationship.

  * * *

  The contentment Johnson felt soon faded as the hours passed by and she found herself imagining what it must have been like for Sarah’s parents to hear the news. To think they would have only just got over the trauma of the last attack and believe she had begun to rebuild her life. Had they known she was pregnant? Johnson couldn’t work out which was worse, not having known or having the joy they would have felt snatched from them. And there was also Josh. Josh had been central to Sarah’s recovery and, no matter how little Johnson had warmed to him in her dealings with her future husband, she wouldn’t have wished anything like that on him.

  But what she found strangest of all as she observed the sun going down on what surely would be one of the last warm days before spring, was how she had yet to fully come to terms with the news that Brandt was still alive.

  Her thoughts had been centred around what that meant in terms of the person currently killing women in Nottingham, but now that she had made her plea to Potter and was simply waiting for the result, she could begin to explore her own feelings on the matter. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered why he had allowed her to escape. For there was no longer any doubt in her mind that this was what had happened. It wasn’t something she would ever share with anyone, because she knew they would point to the fact he had been unsuccessful with his first visit to her house. She wouldn’t want to have to get into the details again of how it was only thanks to McNeil’s intervention that she didn’t find herself raped and murdered.

  But what she feared most was that she might not only be accused of somehow wanting to make excuses for Brandt, but that in some small way, the accusation might be valid. Despite everything he had done to her and everything she had been through since, there was something about this new killer that she found even more distasteful. Originally, she supposed it was the lack of imagination where, not only was he a deeply disturbed individual, but an uninspired one at that. However, the killing of Sarah had taken this to an entirely new level.

  She couldn’t begin to fathom what drove this person to follow Brandt’s depravity but unless Potter gave her the news she required, any of her musings would be purely academic. The anxiety over the past 24 hours, along with the fact she hadn’t been to the gym that day meant she had little appetite, but she fixed herself some dinner, if nothing else but to use up some time in its preparation.

  Having poured a glass of wine to go with the pasta dish, she settled down in front of the television. Just as she was lifting the fork to her mouth for the first time, her phone beeped. Her initial thought was that she must have somehow missed Potter’s call whilst in the final throws of assembling her meal, and was surprised it wasn’t a message to tell her that she had received a voicemail.

  Such a simple message and, to the casual observer, innocent, but the implications for Johnson were massive. It wasn’t me. It mattered little that she knew it wasn’t, the real question was why he wanted, perhaps needed, her to know that. And why now? What was it about the murder of Sarah Donovan that had led to him raising his head? Of course, it might have something to do with the fact that this was the first attack since it had been discovered his suicide had been fake, but Johnson knew it was more than that; it was quite probably the fact that Sarah had been pregnant. On the day when Johnson had visited his ex-wife, Susan had spoken at length about their unsuccessful efforts to have a child, and the effect it’d had on Brandt.

  She would make a decision whether to respond and what with, once she had heard from Potter. With her supper now cold and losing what little appeal it had held, she concentrated on drinking her wine instead.

  By the time the phone rang, she had reached the stage where she was deciding whether she should slow down or risk getting to the point where she would be unable to resist opening a new bottle.

  ‘Stella. I know I said it would be the evening but I’m sorry it’s taken so long.’

  From Johnson’s experience, commencing a call with an apology wasn’t someone starting off on the back foot but was a pre-cursor to them following it with some bad news. ‘Not a problem, guv,’ she lied, noticing how easily the form of greeting she had always used once again sat so comfortably on her lips. ‘Busy day I guess.’

  ‘It was and with much to arrange. It was for that reason I couldn’t call you any earlier.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, to cut a long story short, we would like you back.’ This was the news Johnson had been hoping for from the very moment she had heard what had happened to Sarah Donovan. Yet, and no doubt not helped by the slight fogginess in her mind caused by the alcohol, she wasn’t sure how best to respond. ‘I need you back,’ Potter added after a few moments of silence.

  ‘Do the team know?’

  ‘I wanted to make sure you were on board before making an official announcement.’

  ‘Come on, guv, you know what I’m asking…’

  ‘If you mean Fisher, then yes it’s sorted.’ Another silence, but this one was entirely deliberate on Johnson’s part. She wanted to know what Potter meant by sorted but didn’t want to have to ask. ‘That was what took most of the day to arrange. He’s decided to switch constabulary.’

  ‘Guv?’ All sense of playing it cool had gone out of the window with this revelation and her tone was both shocked and desperate to know more.

  ‘Yes. It turns out there’s still a shortage at Thames Valley after Franklin and so on. I tried to get him the acting DCI post to cover the person who was promoted to DSI in the interviews that followed Franklin’s… er… death. But it was a bit more complicated than I imagined.’

  ‘I bet they’d heard of Fisher and weren’t too keen,’ she offered, unable to hide her glee.

  ‘Something like that perhaps,’ he replied coyly.

  Johnson supposed there was no point pushing him any further on the circumstances of Fisher’s transfer but, given that what Potter had said already was uncharacteristi
cally candid, she decided to try her luck with one final question.

  ‘How did he take it? Fisher, I mean.’

  ‘How do you think?’ Potter replied rhetorically. ‘Let’s just say he was left with little choice. I wasn’t lying when I said the top brass had been on my back. I need you, Stella, and I need us to catch this sick bastard quickly.’

  Johnson thought that he had pretty much summed up the situation and there was little more to add at this point. ‘I’ll see you first thing in the morning, guv.’

  ‘Get some rest, Stella,’ he said, signing off.

  You’re going to need it, she thought, finishing off his sentence. And that was what she intended doing. She would head to bed in a couple of minutes but in the meantime, she would finish off her glass and attempt to deal with the other issue of the evening. If she didn’t respond to Brandt, she knew that her mind would not allow her to sleep, no matter how much wine she had consumed.

  With the bottle drained but no message yet sent, she made her way out to the balcony. The act of smoking, as much as the nicotine itself, always managed to allow her to think more clearly. Deliberately eschewing a coat and promising herself that she would not be allowed back inside until the job was done, she sparked up her cigarette, perched on her plastic chair and stared at the open, but as yet blank, email.

  A couple of minutes later and with the night time chill already causing her to shiver, Johnson punched in her simple reply and sent it before her analytical mind started sowing seeds of doubt.

  – I know.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Darling, have you got lost down there?’ Kath called softly from upstairs.

  ‘Sorry, just a couple more minutes,’ Brandt replied. On reflection, he had been up for quite some time, and had done little in terms of putting together their breakfast, having gone straight to the laptop, convincing himself that he would then prepare the food whilst considering any response he had received from Johnson. But his initial euphoria of finding his message had been answered was met with incomprehension of its true meaning. Of all the various replies he had anticipated, it hadn’t been one as simple as this.