‘Shit!’ Mandy cursed loudly, rousing Jack from his thoughts. She was sat in the middle of the room, with the contents of her shopping bags strewn around her.
‘What is it?’ Jack asked, genuinely concerned.
‘I forgot to buy the wine!’
He gave a hearty laugh full of contentment. If a reminder was needed how far they had come, then their biggest concern being that Mandy had forgotten the wine was it. ‘Don’t worry, I think I still have a few more beers in that box down there,’ he said, pointing to an untidy heap of random items under his desk.
‘No, Jack! We’re going to do this properly. I went to the actual supermarket and everything. Be a love and nip to the shop and get us a bottle.’ She fixed him with a glare that dared him to refuse. ‘And don’t go buying any of that cheap three quid shit. The purpose isn’t to get drunk but to have a nice accompaniment for our supper.’
‘Accompaniment for our supper,’ Jack mimicked, good-naturedly. ‘If only your left-wing anti-capitalist mates could see you now!’
‘Oi! If you want to eat all this nice food rather than wear it, I suggest you piss off to the shop right now!’ Mandy shouted, lobbing a packet of organic tomatoes on the vine at him for good measure.
Jack arrived back half an hour later to find Mandy trying to get out of the communal kitchen whilst holding a plate in each hand. ‘Get that for me, will you?’ she asked as Jack reached for the door. ‘I was starting to think you’d done a runner.’
‘The shop only had cheap shit, so I had to go to the off-license outside Uni.’
‘There’s a good boy. I may well house train you yet!’ she said, offering him a wink. ‘I’ve left all the stuff in the sink for now. Do you think the other people in the block will mind?’
‘Nah, fuck ’em. They’re messy enough themselves.’
The pasta dish Mandy had cooked may have been relatively simple, but it was a wonderful dinner. With the desk pulled out, she had sat on the wooden chair and Jack was forced to reach up from the much lower lounge seat. As they ate their food and drank their over-priced wine, they fantasised that they were sat at a nice restaurant somewhere in Italy.
‘I guess we should think about cleaning up,’ Mandy said reluctantly once they were finished.
‘Ah, shame, I forgot about that.’
‘You’re not at home now, posh boy, where you can just click your fingers and the maid will come in and clear away the dishes and do the washing up.’
Jack opened his mouth to protest but then closed it again. He supposed it was fair retaliation for his earlier comment about Mandy’s bourgeois attitude towards wine.
‘I’ll wash up and you can dry,’ he said, getting up and chucking her a pristine tea towel from the unused set his Mother had packed him off with.
Despite Jack’s earlier bravado, they were relieved to find the communal kitchen was empty and with no signs of anyone having been there in the meantime. As promised, Mandy had neatly stacked everything in the sink and Jack rummaged through the cupboards looking for the bottle of cheap washing up liquid that someone had left ages ago.
Having finally retrieved it and with Mandy waiting expectantly by the draining board, he started removing the sink’s contents, so he could fill it with hot water.
‘You seem to have used every pot and utensil I own,’ he teased pulling them out one by one for effect.
Suddenly, it felt like his heart had stopped dead in his chest.
He was holding the steak knife.
Mandy must have noticed his hesitation. ‘I tried using a butter knife, but it only squashed the tomatoes rather than cut them. If your mother remembered to buy you tea-towels she really should have thought to also get you a set of…’
‘You went through my drawers?’ Jack interrupted incredulously.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t find any pornos,’ Mandy laughed, clearly not yet sensing the change of mood. ‘I thought you might have a pair of scissors or something; anything with a half way sharp edge I could use.’
‘You went through my drawers?’ he repeated, his tone now less of shock and more of accusation. He regarded the serrated blade and his fears were confirmed when all he could see was a slight smear of juice from a tomato and a milky smudge that had presumably come from slicing the mozzarella.
All traces of blood were gone.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mandy replied defensively. ‘Although which is weirder, the person who hunts around for something to allow them to prepare dinner or someone who keeps dirty steak knives in a separate drawer to their cooking utensils?’
Jack didn’t respond; couldn’t respond. He could feel the rage building inside him. After everything he’d done, this nosey bitch had taken his one memento of what he had achieved. The steak knife had been his trophy, something to be celebrated and revisited when he needed reminding of the extent of his capability and, thanks to her thoughtlessness, it had been reduced to the by-product of a decidedly average meal.
‘Jack,’ she said, twisting him around so he was facing her. The silence had clearly given her time to think as well. ‘What are you doing with a dirty knife in your drawer anyway?’
He swallowed down the anger. Regardless of what a disaster this was for him, it could not be rectified by berating her. Sarah’s blood was gone and there was little point adding to his loss by scaring off Mandy. Worse still, the more he made of this situation, the more she was likely to find his attachment to the knife suspicious. With that in mind he needed to answer her question.
‘Well, you see,’ he said offering what he hoped appeared a coy smile. ‘I took it that night we first went for dinner.’ Jack could see her look of concern start to be replaced by one of confusion. ‘I didn’t know if it was going to lead anywhere but I… I had such a good time that if it wasn’t to be repeated then I wanted a… a keepsake from our time together.’
Mandy let out a nervous laugh. ‘Okay, that’s just totally weird. And more than a little gross I might add. I was ages scrubbing off the remnants of your steak before I could use it, by the way!’ She stopped to study him more closely and Jack tried to read what was going through her mind. ‘I suppose,’ she finally added, ‘that it’s kind of cute in a strange sort of way. But now that I know how odd you are, now’s the time to confess if you took any of my used underwear from the laundry pile when you scarpered off early the next morning.’
‘I swear, I didn’t,’ Jack responded with a laugh he didn’t feel inside. He might have been relieved that he had managed to smooth things over with Mandy but that didn’t remove his main concern. Would he continue to feel differently now he had nothing to remember his achievements by?
Chapter Thirty-seven
Brandt closed the laptop lid with a satisfied sigh. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was enjoying doing some detective work, albeit remotely. Now having been on both sides of the fence he could see how comparable the thrill of the chase was between someone identifying their next victim and the person tasked with catching the murderer. The only real frustration with having to rely solely on the information that was fed through to him, was that he couldn’t then act on his findings. Nevertheless, it hadn’t taken him much studying of the available evidence to start to build up a picture of their quarry. It wasn’t just his first-hand experience of killing, Brandt had progressed in the police force because of his ability to put himself in the mind of the person he was hunting. Perhaps it was that over-exposure that had begun to lead him down an alternative path but there was no point dwelling on that now.
That Johnson had also demonstrated a similar quality hadn’t escaped Brandt. He may have managed to stay one step ahead on more than one occasion, but she had got far closer to him than anyone else. It wasn’t just for this reason he was going to make her work for the breakthrough she so desperately craved. He considered it a bit like looking after a dangerous breed of dog. One of the things you were never meant to do was to feed it before you ate your own meal. As soon as it started to think it had the
upper hand, it would seek to exploit that. Similarly, if you didn’t feed it there was every chance it might view you as surplus to requirements and turn on you.
That Johnson remained a wild animal was in no doubt in Brandt’s mind. Given the slightest opportunity, he was sure that she would end this uneasy alliance and track him down. Not that he was seeking to string this out: the very reason why he had risked contacting her is that he wanted this killer caught before he could commit more abhorrent acts in his name, but he didn’t want to give away his true value too quickly. If nothing else, it would spoil his fun.
‘Kath dear? Do you fancy a walk to the pub tonight?’ he called along the corridor as he headed to the sitting room. ‘What’s the matter?’ Brandt asked as soon as he found her.
‘Oh, it’s nothing, why don’t you head on down without me?’
Brandt took a seat in the armchair opposite. ‘The only reason why I suggested it is because I thought you might like it. I certainly don’t want to go there without you.’ He was excellent at spotting when someone was lying, as well as holding something back. Equally, he also knew how best to draw the truth out and, with Kath, a considered and measured approach was more effective than tackling it head-on.
‘Perhaps an early night would do me some good,’ she replied flatly.
‘Cracking idea!’ Brandt declared with enough enthusiasm to ensure she felt he had misread her intentions.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that!’ Kath responded firmly.
Confident the trap was set, it was now time to spring it. ‘Oh,’ he said, putting on his best crestfallen expression and getting up as though to walk out. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I have been getting a little carried away with… you-know-what since we got together. It’s just… oh never mind,’ he said sadly, reaching the door.
‘No, Greggy, wait!’ Kath called out.
Bingo! Brandt thought, turning back to look at her.
‘Hold on, there is something. Please, will you sit down?’
‘Sure, but whatever it is I want you to know that I didn’t mean to upset you and I promise not to do it again.’
The hesitation once he was sat down as well as the uncertain look on Kath’s face indicated that she was still unsure whether she should raise her concern.
‘We mustn’t hide our feelings from one another,’ he prompted gently.
‘Well, I suppose that’s it in a way,’ she began finally. ‘I’m a little concerned how much time you’re spending on the internet.’
Brandt had to work extremely hard to stifle a laugh and hoped that he had successfully masked it with a fake cough. ‘The internet?’ He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Although he had told Johnson he would restrict their contact to twice a day, once in the morning and then again in the evening, now he thought about it, the regularity would seem in contrast with his claim that its use was for casual purposes.
‘Yes,’ she replied awkwardly. ‘I’m not some kind of IT specialist, but I do read a lot in the news and I understand that these things can become quite addictive.’
‘These things?’
‘Pornography,’ she whispered, as though the very mention of the word would soil her.
This time no amount of coughing would be able to conceal Brandt’s mirth. He knew that it would work contrary to his efforts to resolve things with Kath, but he was helpless to resist.
‘You think I’m on there looking at… inappropriate images?’ he asked as soon as he calmed down.
‘I hear the web is riddled with it!’ Her haughty tone and Daily Mail attitude really was making her show her true age, but there wasn’t the slightest chance Brandt would dare point that out to her.
‘Well, that’s probably true,’ he conceded. ‘But I promise you I’m not accessing pornography. I can show you my browser history if you like.’
‘I’ve also read that it can be easily doctored.’ However, this was presented more as a statement of fact than a suggestion that Brandt would have done this. Nevertheless, he had to admit that she was pretty clued up about things and he was glad that, as well as always disguising the IP address when contacting Johnson, he ensured that he opened plenty of pages pertaining to whichever topic of research he was claiming to be completing.
He got up from his seat and knelt down beside her, pleased to see that she didn’t try and pull her hand away when he grasped it. ‘I promise you Kath, I don’t have the slightest interest in seeing anything like that. I have you now and that’s all I want.’ He regarded her carefully, hoping that the tears he could see welling in her eyes were a good thing. ‘Years ago, I had given up hope of ever finding love again, much less developing a physical relationship.’
He waited as she stared down at him, wondering whether adding anything more would help or serve to undermine what had already been said.
‘Perhaps we should have that early night after all,’ she eventually said.
Chapter Thirty-eight
‘He better have something good for me,’ muttered Johnson, stalking back to her office. No sooner had she arrived at the station than Potter had wanted to meet with her. It turned out that the top brass and the media weren’t the only ones pushing them for a result. There were reports that Fisher was kicking up a bit of a stink over at Thames Valley. Rather than take his transfer with good grace, it seemed like he was attempting to ingratiate himself with his new colleagues by bad mouthing everyone back in Nottingham. In many respects, it was to be expected; what wasn’t was that he was finding himself something of a receptive audience. Whilst Franklin may not have been the most popular of DSIs, many of the people there resented what they had seen as an attempt by Nottingham to push the blame from Brandt to Franklin. Rather than Fisher admit his ultimate culpability in this, he had been using it as a way to get back at Potter and was now claiming his very speaking out about it was the reason why he had been moved elsewhere.
Not that Johnson had got away scot free in all of this. Fisher was claiming that her insistence that Brandt had nothing to do with these latest murders was down to Stockholm Syndrome. Whilst accepting these accusations were just the bitter feelings of an incompetent little twat, the combined effects of his mudslinging was that Nottingham CID was under even more pressure to deliver a result, and time was running out. The top brass were even starting to call into question Potter’s decision to reinstate Johnson to head up the investigation. It seemed that the winds of favour changed direction fast, given that little more than a week ago they were leaking the news to the press in order to gain a little bit of respite from all the negativity.
As Johnson sat down at her desk and entered the password for her computer, she could see how this was likely to play out. If things remained as they were, or worse still there was another murder with no immediate lead to the killer, at some point in the next couple of weeks someone would visit Potter in an unofficial capacity and ask him whether he had ever considered taking early retirement. He would baulk at the suggestion and they would tell him that he should perhaps take some time to consider the generosity of the package on offer. The only drawback, they would contend, was that it was time sensitive and he had 24 hours in which to accept, otherwise it would revert to the standard, and much less lucrative terms. Johnson liked to think that Potter would tell them where to stick their early retirement, but he would also know what would happen next if he refused. The man would simply shrug and suggest that he shouldn’t be so hasty and explain that the offer would remain on the table for the time period stated.
The following morning would come a call from someone from the top brass, most likely the person Potter believed himself closest to. They would claim they were phoning in an entirely unofficial capacity and would make all the right noises of understanding whilst he sounded off about what was happening. What they would then do is confide in him that they couldn’t consider themselves a friend if they did not share with them the rumour they had been told. They would couch it suitably vaguely to allow deniability should Potter deci
de to kick up a fuss, but would say there was a concern of improper conduct that was sufficient to see internal affairs interested. He would depart by offering his strong advice, as a friend still of course, that Potter accept the offer made to him the day before.
Johnson had been in the police long enough to know that if internal affairs dug around anywhere for long enough, something would crop up. It wouldn’t matter whether Potter heeded the writing so clearly daubed on the wall – the upshot would be the same. Within a relatively short period of time and either because he had retired or been suspended, pending further investigation, he would no longer be DSI. And the first order of business for the new incumbent would be a reshuffle of the team which would see Johnson marginalised so that the best she could look forward to was the kind of bullshit case Potter had placed her on when she had first returned to the station. If she wanted a generous pay-off, she would have to go hunting for it because they would rather see her wither away somewhere than risk the sort of publicity the news of her departure might bring.
And yet she didn’t find all of this completely depressing. When committing the highly illegal breach of security that saw her share the case files with Brandt, she had tried to convince herself that the ends would justify the means. Her discussion with Potter only confirmed that this was an enormous risk worth taking.
But that was only if Brandt’s help led them to the killer.
– I need you to stop messing around and tell me exactly what you’ve got.
Johnson knew that he was likely to derive great satisfaction from her first message of the day. She didn’t believe he was trying to patronise her but, for whatever reason, Brandt seemed intent on treating her more like a mentee than a partner in this. Rather than tell her what he thought of the evidence she had sent him, he was resorting to questions that were designed to make her think. At the best of times, she had been an awkward student to those who attempted to teach her, always wanting to work at her faster, more furious pace.
Smoke and Mirrors Page 17