by Tania Carver
The bright late-September morning sun streamed through the blinds. Still clinging on to the idea of summer, not wanting to relinquish its grip, hand over to autumn in earnest.
Despite not finishing until late the night before, and being completely exhausted when he had finally hit the bed in his flat, Mickey hadn’t slept much. He hardly ever did when he was working a big case, and this one seemed to be developing into just that.
And then there was what he’d seen at the hotel. Those images would take some dislodging in his mind. The body of what had once been a man lay in a heap beside the far wall of the room. Butchered. The only word to describe it. The body sliced into, hacked to pieces, blood everywhere, the room redecorated in arterial sprays and splatters.
‘Someone must have really hated him, whoever he was,’ Mickey had said to Phil, looking from the doorway at the body. The SOCOs hadn’t allowed them anywhere nearer than that. They were going to be a long time with this one. This was, Mickey knew, a forensic worker’s dream.
Phil had kept staring. ‘Yeah. Whoever he was.’
‘Any ID?’
Phil had answered, never taking his eyes off the body. ‘Adam Weaver is the name in the wallet. But he signed in under the name Robin Banks.’
‘What?’ said Mickey. ‘He a Clash fan or something?’
‘Could be, who knows? He’d been booked in for a few days, had bought himself a bit of company last night.’ Phil pointed to the bathroom. ‘That’s who raised the alarm.’
‘Ah,’ Mickey had said, understanding.
‘Apparently,’ said Phil, ‘she was in the bathroom getting changed when there was a knock at the room door. After that she heard him screaming.’
‘And she didn’t look out?’
Phil shook his head. ‘Locked the bathroom door. Hid behind the shower curtain. Didn’t see a thing. Then phoned 999.’
Mickey frowned. ‘She had her phone in there with her?’
A ghost of a smile troubled Phil’s lips. ‘Taking photos for her boyfriend, apparently. Said it was an arrangement they had.’
Mickey’s turn to smile. ‘Classy. So he was here on business, then? Adam Weaver?’
‘What he said. We’ll get it looked into.’
Mickey looked again at the man lying on the floor. There wasn’t much of him left to recognise or make an identification from. But from the sweep of his grey hair, the first thing Mickey thought was, that’s the guy I saw yesterday. Then he shook his head. Seeing him everywhere now.
‘What?’ Phil looked at him. ‘What did you say?’
‘Er … nothing.’ Mickey hadn’t realised he had spoken his thoughts out loud.
Phil kept looking at him. Waiting.
‘Nothing.’
‘You had a thought there, Mickey. Your first response. Your copper’s intuition. What was it?’
Mickey tried to smile, laugh it off. ‘Well, I saw this guy. In the solicitors’ offices first. And I recognised him. Or thought I did. Couldn’t place him. Anyway, I didn’t waste too much time on it, kept going.’
He paused. Phil waited.
‘And then … ’ Mickey sighed. It felt ridiculous saying this aloud. ‘I saw him again. At the building firm. In a car with Balchunas. I asked Balchunas who he was. He got angry. Asked me to leave.’
‘And now he’s here. Dead.’
‘If it’s him.’
Phil looked again at the dead body. ‘D’you believe in coincidence, Mickey? When murder’s involved?’
Mickey didn’t reply. He knew a rhetorical question when he heard one.
Now he dropped the pen. Blinked. He had been slipping away. He took a mouthful of coffee. Two. Looked around the room once more.
The incident room of the Major Incident Squad was filling up. When a big investigation was under way, they moved into the bar. He could imagine, given the press of bodies in the room and the escalation in importance of what they were working on, that they would be in there soon.
They were all here. The Birdies, sitting together as usual. Milhouse, dragged blinking and squinting away from his computer, forced to interact with real people against his will. Anni. Sitting opposite Mickey. She looked up. Smiled. He returned it. Held it for a second too long. Just as she did.
Every time he saw her – which was just about every day – the word that came into his head was ‘nearly’. They had nearly gone out together. Nearly gone for a drink. Or dinner. Or the cinema. They had nearly kissed. They had nearly gone to bed together. Nearly. Always nearly. There was definitely an attraction there. No question. And it was reciprocated, too. But neither one of them would make the final move towards the other. As if something – fear of rejection, fear of losing friendship, fear of losing mutual respect if it went wrong, he couldn’t say what exactly – was holding them back.
Maybe it was all of those things. Maybe none, something he didn’t even realise. Whatever, it had kept their relationship as just good friends. Who smiled at each other and held it for too long.
Then Glass entered. Took his place before the group, plonking a heavy-looking file down on the desk, digging into his briefcase for something to supplement it. No banter, no chat, just business. All business, as usual.
And then Phil arrived. With Marina. Mickey frowned. The pair of them entered together but couldn’t have looked further apart. They sat down next to each other but still managed to maintain a distance.
Lovers’ tiff, thought Mickey, risking a glance at Anni. From the expression on her face, she had picked up on it too. That was the trouble with having relationships with people at work, he thought sadly: if they went wrong, the fallout was awful.
Another glance at Anni. From the way she looked at him briefly, then away, it seemed like she was having similar thoughts.
‘Right, good morning, everyone,’ said Glass. Getting attention just with his voice.
Everyone looked at him, waited.
Mickey took a mouthful of coffee. Another. Blinked. Felt the caffeine jolt through his body.
‘We ready? Let’s start.’
Another quick glance at Anni, who was staring straight ahead, eyes on Glass. Mickey did the same.
He was ready.
44
‘OK,’ said Glass, ‘I think the first thing I should say is that we are now dealing with two ongoing major crimes, and we will be investigating them simultaneously.’
Phil said nothing. Just waited his turn to speak. Before Glass arrived, Phil had always led the briefings. He wasn’t the most senior officer in the team, but as a reactive DI, his role was the most hands-on. Glass had changed that. He had stated, brooking no argument, that he should be the one to host the briefings. Even when he didn’t know directly what they were about.
‘Phil here,’ said Glass, pointing.
Phil looked up as his name was mentioned.
‘Detective Inspector Phil Brennan will be running both investigations.’ He looked at Phil, made a rising gesture with his hand, as if he was a stage illusionist performing an act of levitation. Phil rose, walked to the front.
He tried to push last night’s nightmare out of his mind. Keep his recent fears securely locked up. Concentrate on his team, on the job he had to do. Work through it, don’t give in to it.
He looked at the assembled faces, his gaze falling on Marina. The concern in her eyes for him, the worry. The love. He felt a thudding of shame from within his chest, pangs of guilt at the way he was treating her. Something was going wrong within him. Very wrong. He didn’t know what. And the one person who could help him … he couldn’t tell her. Because he didn’t know how to tell her. Because he didn’t understand it himself.
He knew what she must suspect. What she must think of him. And he had to do something about it. Before those feelings crystallised. Before she pulled away from him the way he had from her.
Before they fell apart.
Concentrate on the team, he thought once more. On the job. On the work before him. The rest will have to wait.
&
nbsp; ‘OK,’ Phil said, eyes scanning those before him, ‘as you’re well aware, last night there was a murder at the Halstead Manor Hotel. The photos are here if you’d like to see them and you haven’t had any breakfast. But I wouldn’t advise it unless you need to. Because someone did a very thorough and brutal job on the victim.’
Adrian Wren frowned, spoke.
‘Halstead Manor … Isn’t that the place that used to have that commune in it?’
‘Years ago,’ said Glass. ‘I was on the team investigating that. One of my first jobs as a uniform. I remember it well. But I doubt that’s relevant.’
Adrian nodded, as if a bet had been confirmed. Phil waited, made sure there was nothing else from Glass. Continued.
‘The victim’s name was Adam Weaver. However, he was signed in to the hotel as Robin Banks.’
A ripple of laughter.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Phil. ‘Adam Weaver was a businessman, living in Lithuania. We don’t know what he was over here for, but we’re in the process of investigating. We do know that he was on the board of the company who own the hotel.’
Phil was aware of Glass leaning forward, listening more intently to his words.
‘And there’s something else,’ Phil continued. He looked to his DS. ‘Mickey?’
Mickey cleared his throat. ‘Yeah,’ he said, not standing up but turning to address the rest of the group. ‘Adam Weaver. I think I saw this man yesterday. At the offices of Fenton Associates, the solicitors’ practice just beside the house where we found the kid in the cage. And then again later, at the building contractors. He was in a car with Karolis Balchunas, guy who runs the company.’
Anni looked up. ‘So the two things are related?’
Phil became aware of Glass scrutinising him. He ignored him.
‘We don’t know,’ said Phil. ‘But we’ve had a look into Mr Balchunas and he’s Lithuanian too. So are most of the staff he employs.’
Glass cleared his throat. ‘So a businessman living in Lithuania is murdered while visiting another Lithuanian businessman living here. How is that related to the boy in the cellar?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Phil. ‘But we’ll find out if it is.’
‘Looking at it logically,’ said Glass, ‘it sounds like a business rival waiting until Weaver’s out of the country to do the dirty deed, somewhere he can’t be investigated. I’m sure he had rivals in Lithuania. Like the Wild West over there.’
‘You might be right, sir,’ said Phil, clearly irritated at the interruption, ‘and we’ll be looking into it. That’s one avenue. The other is that it’s connected with what we discovered yesterday.’
Glass shrugged.
‘We’re keeping an open mind.’ Phil looked again at his DS. ‘Thanks, Mickey.’
Mickey nodded, making eye contact as he did so.
Phil knew what that look meant. Mickey was grateful to him for not mentioning the fact that he had recognised Weaver from somewhere else. That was an angle that the two of them had agreed Mickey should work on his own. If it panned out, great. Another lead. If it didn’t, well these things happened in police work.
‘Could it have been a professional hit?’ asked Anni.
‘Well,’ said Phil, ‘I have to say, there didn’t seem to be anything professional about it. It was one of the most horrific murders I’ve ever seen. Ferocious. You usually see something like that only if it’s personal. So we don’t know yet. Not until we have more information.’
‘What about leads? Clues?’ Adrian this time.
‘Nothing much,’ said Jane Gosling. ‘But someone answering the description of the tramp we pulled in yesterday was seen in the area.’
‘What?’ Phil looked at the assembled faces. ‘I thought he was still being questioned. On whose say-so was he released?’
Glass leaned forward. ‘On mine.’
Phil looked puzzled and a little angry. ‘Why?’
Glass held up his hands. ‘Did you think he was our murderer?’
‘No, but—’
‘Exactly. So I let him go.’
‘But he could have seen something. Could have known something.’
‘There was nothing more he could tell us,’ said Glass. ‘He was questioned thoroughly. I’m sure everyone who spoke to him agrees that whoever got that boy into the cellar was younger and fitter than the tramp. And more capable of planning. Our chap wasn’t even capable of being a fully functioning human being. And certainly not strong enough.’
‘Couldn’t he have been on drugs?’ said Mickey.
‘Almost certainly,’ said Glass.
‘Well you never know,’ continued Mickey, backing up his boss, ‘once they get something inside them … ’
Glass was clearly irritated at being questioned. ‘I let him go. It was my decision and I stand by it. We move on.’
‘And now,’ said Phil, ‘he turns up at a hotel where one of the guests is murdered.’
Glass’s voice was rising. ‘If it was the same man, Detective Inspector.’
‘Let’s follow it up. See if it was.’
Glass said nothing. But the silence made it clear what he thought of Phil’s words. Phil waited for another interruption, but none came.
‘Please continue, Detective Inspector.’
Phil continued.
‘So that’s where we are with it. We’re looking at Weaver’s life. Looking for enemies, both here and abroad. Friends also. We’re now following up on sightings of the tramp, too. We’re not letting anything go.’
‘Thank you,’ said Glass. He stood up, ready to take over.
‘I’m not quite finished,’ said Phil.
Glass sat down again, reluctantly.
‘I realise that we’re operating two cases simultaneously. I also know that usually they would both be upgraded, given a proper operating budget. Of course, in these straitened times, that might not be possible.’ He looked at Glass, who made no response. ‘Well, bearing that in mind, I’ve asked an old friend of mine to join us. A retired detective who’s put in a fair few years’ service. We’ve been trying to get him back to go over cold cases for ages, and he’s agreed to give us a hand working on these two.’
Phil looked at the double doors.
‘Don Brennan.’
On cue, Don entered.
And Glass’s agitation increased massively.
45
Phil noticed Glass’s response straight away. Don didn’t. He just walked into the room, smiled and nodded, found an empty chair, sat down.
‘Thanks, Don,’ said Phil, smiling. ‘Good to see you.’
‘Thanks for asking me.’
Phil was surprised. As soon as Don had entered the room, the years seemed to have fallen away from him. He was no longer Phil’s adoptive father and Josephina’s grandad, but a police officer again. Even his walk was different. Stronger. More purposeful.
And then there was the effect he had had on Glass. Out of character. Maybe Glass didn’t like Phil exercising his authority. Well, tough. Phil had already cleared it with him, mentioned Don by name. Glass had given the go-ahead. Perhaps he hadn’t been expecting such a public announcement.
Phil put it to the back of his mind, continued.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Anni. The boy?’
‘Yeah. Right.’ Anni stood up. Addressed the room. ‘Well I think we’re in this for the long haul.’ She looked down at her notes, looked up again. ‘There’s a child psychologist been brought in.’ She hesitated, looked at Marina. ‘Perhaps Marina could tell you the technicalities better than me.’
‘We’ll hear your impressions first, Detective Constable Hepburn,’ said Glass. ‘We can come to the technicalities later.’
Anni paused, looked apologetically at Marina, who shrugged, gave her a small smile. Anni, bolstered by this, continued. ‘As I said, there’s been a child psychologist brought in by Dr Ubha. Marina talked to the boy first, though.’
She raised her eyebrows, giving Marina a signal to speak. Phil knew what
his DC was doing. A subtle dig at the DCI. With Anni’s gesture and Mickey backing him earlier, he felt a small swell of pride in his team.
‘Yes,’ said Marina, not standing, ‘I tried to talk to him. Very traumatised. In a very, very bad way. He’s been down there, or somewhere similar, for a long time. And from the way he was talking, I don’t think he was alone.’
Silence in the room. Marina continued.
‘He kept talking about his mother. Worried about her. Wanted to see her.’
‘Natural in a boy who’s been taken away,’ said Glass, interrupting.
Marina didn’t look at him, kept going. ‘True, but I got the impression they had been imprisoned together.’
‘We’ve checked missing persons lists,’ said Jane from the back. ‘Nothing. No one matching the boy’s description. Started on children’s homes, social services, nothing so far.’
‘He’s going to be in hospital for a while,’ said Anni. ‘He’s very weak. They’re working with him. Hopefully he’ll be able to tell us something, give us something to go on. And we’ve got some of his medical results back too.’ She sighed. ‘He’s malnourished to virtually Third World levels, and is a potential breeding ground for so many infections. The hospital have pumped him full of antibiotics. Wherever he’s come from, it’s left him in a hell of a state.’
Phil could tell, from the softness in her voice, that the boy had got to her. He wasn’t surprised. Seeing a child in that state would do the same thing to anyone with a spark of humanity.
‘We’ve also got back preliminary DNA results on him,’ Anni said. ‘No match. On anything. Not even a close match. It’s like he just … doesn’t exist. But since we don’t know who he is or why he was there, we have to assume that he matters to someone. We’re keeping a twenty-four-hour watch on his room.’
‘Thanks, Anni.’
‘There is one more thing.’ She took out a photo, placed it before her. ‘This was on his foot. Some kind of scar. Looks like a brand.’