by Tania Carver
The grip on his arm relaxed, becoming a gentle guiding hand. Another smile. This was more like the old Sophie. The one he knew. Or thought he did. He allowed himself to be led, sat down next to her.
‘Right,’ she said, as if they were two old friends together. ‘Let’s discuss this properly.’ She took another mouthful of her drink, prepared herself. ‘I’ve left Ryan. I’ve got nowhere to go, nowhere to live, Clayton.’
A shudder passed through him as he realised what she was saying. ‘You’re jokin’.’
‘No I’m not, Clayton.’
Saying his name again, building up repetition, like a sales-person trying to sell him something. That was what she was, he thought. That was what she had been as long as he had known her.
‘No.You can’t…’
She leaned in close to him, the warmth in her voice now spreading to the hand she placed on his thigh. Another smile. If anyone glanced over from the bar they would just assume that they were a courting couple sitting in a private part of the pub, having a close, intense conversation that would end up in bed.
‘I’m staying with you, Clayton.You live alone, you started this.You’ve got no choice.’
He sighed, said nothing.
‘Besides, when Ryan finds out what I’ve done, he won’t be happy, will he? He’ll come after me.’ She moved in closer, her hand snaking round his arm, her thigh against his, slowly moving backwards and forwards. ‘I’ll want protecting. And who better to do that than a big, hunky policeman…’
Clayton felt his head spin, his hands shake, as if his whole body was in a whirlpool and he was being sucked down into some dark vortex. But he felt something else, too. Something that he shouldn’t have been feeling. Because despite her words, her threats, he was getting an erection.
Sophie guessed what was happening, shifted her eyes to his groin. She smiled, snaked her hand gently over it. He gasped.
‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘is that for me?’
He couldn’t reply. She laughed.
‘Well,’ she said, pulling away from him and throwing back the remainder of her drink in one go, ‘now we know where we stand, I think we’d better get going.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Back to your place,’ she said, as if explaining the obvious to a slow child. She patted the bag at the side of the sofa. ‘I brought my stuff.’ Her eyes darted to his groin once more. ‘And I thought you’d want to get there quickly so I can show you my gratitude.’
He stood up, adjusting his overcoat around his erection. He felt terrible, as if he had a virus or food poisoning, shaking like he was going to throw up.
Sophie grabbed her bag, stood up too. She put her arm through his, guided him to the door of the pub. Once outside, she stopped, looked at him.
‘You hungry? I haven’t eaten all day.’ She hugged him again. ‘And I’ll need my strength. Let’s get a bite to eat.’
Food was the last thing on Clayton’s mind. But he knew he had no choice. From the moment he had laid eyes on Sophie in Brotherton’s metal yard and recognised her, he’d known he had no choice. He wondered again what his mother would say.
‘Come on, then,’ she said, and almost skipped along the street.
Clayton allowed himself to be dragged along with her, as eager as a death-row inmate with an imminent appointment in the mercy seat.
58
Marina walked into the living room, looked round.
‘Look familiar?’ Phil was closing the door behind him, coming down the hall. He joined her in the middle of the room.
She kept looking, taking in everything about the man that he had put on show. His books she remembered from before. His CDs likewise. His small collection of DVDs. Mainly old films, Hitchcock, film noir. Despite the lack of feminine touches, it didn’t seem overly masculine, just comfortable; two sofas, and table lamps offering subdued lighting rather than one harsh overhead light. Prints on the wall showed surprising taste, she thought, for a police officer: Rothko, Hopper. But then he was a surprising man. She turned to him, smiled. ‘Just like I last saw it,’ she said.
‘Good job I tidied up this morning.’
Her smile became teasing. ‘You were expecting to bring someone back tonight?’
He opened his mouth to reply and for a second he seemed about to give a serious answer, but then a smile split his face, equally teasing as hers. ‘I’m always expecting to bring someone back.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, you’re pathetic.’ She made to sit down but her attention was drawn to a CD case on the sound system. She crossed, picked it up. Smiled. Elbow.
Phil tried to shrug. ‘Good album.’
‘Course it is, Mojo man.’ She nodded, put it down again. Sat down on the sofa, her mood suddenly changing. She sighed; her smile disappeared.
Phil looked at her, concerned. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah,’ said automatically. Then another sigh. ‘No. Sometimes when you see what we’ve seen today… I just… Why do they do it, Phil?’
‘You’re the psychologist, you tell me.’
Her hands clasped and unclasped. ‘I said something to you once.You probably don’t remember.’
‘Try me.’
‘When we were out. That first time. You asked why I became a psychologist. I said it was to understand my father. I lied. It was to understand me. I also said that all psychologists are just looking for a way home. That’s not strictly true either. It’s not just psychologists, it’s all of us. Everyone. We’re all looking for a way home.’ She lifted her head, fixed him directly. ‘Even you.’
He didn’t contradict her. He said nothing.
She continued. ‘We all want to be safe, to find some place in the world, in our heads, our hearts, where we can be understood and that we can understand. Where we can belong.’
Phil nodded, saying nothing.
‘Then I think of what we saw today. And what we have to do to catch them. What’s their idea of home? Where’s their head and their heart at? I’ve got to understand them. That’s my job. I have to look into my head and my heart and find parallels. That’s what I have to do.’
‘And the abyss looks into you and all that; that’s the job.’
‘I know.’
He turned to her. ‘Look, Marina. You’re the best I’ve worked with.You know you are.You’ll manage.’ He looked at his hands. They were shaking. Then back to her eyes.
She smiled. ‘This isn’t doubt, Phil. It’s just… I can ascribe reasons for aberrant behaviour. I can examine chains of cause and effect. But we’ll never understand, will we? We’ll never truly know what makes a monster. Or what makes someone do monstrous things.’
‘You always said we create our own monsters.’
‘And we do. But…’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose what I mean is, that’s all for tomorrow. Tonight I just want to be somewhere… safe.’
They looked at each other, eyes locking once more. Phil moved towards her. Marina seemed to be moving to him but she stopped herself.
‘You let me down, Phil. That’s why I couldn’t see you again.’
Phil stopped moving, sat back.
‘You let me down and I could have been killed.’
‘I…’ This was it, he thought. The chance to tell her everything he had wanted to say, to speak aloud all those speeches and conversations he had rehearsed in his head over the months. To explain where he was and why he was needed. Because Lisa King’s body had just been discovered. Because I had to track down a killer. And I couldn’t let you know because you had your phone switched off. And everything else. On and on. But he didn’t. Instead all he said was, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t just that. It was… I knew. I had a choice to make. And if I chose you, then that was what it was going to be like. I might never feel safe again. And I wasn’t sure I could handle that.’
He said nothing.
‘I said I wanted to be somewhere safe tonight,’ she said. ‘So I can put myself in the mind of a monster t
omorrow. And safe… didn’t mean home for me. It meant you. Even though you let me down. Even though… I was scared. What d’you think of that?’
‘It was Lisa King,’ he said. ‘The start of this case. Her body had just been discovered. I phoned you.’
‘I know.’
‘Lots of times.’
‘I know.’
He sighed. ‘I didn’t know what would happen… no one could know…’
She said nothing, looked at his face, scrutinised his eyes, reading them as if looking for any trace of a lie, an untruth, a hesitation. Found nothing but pain in his voice, his features. Sincerity and honesty.
‘I’ll never let you down again. Ever.’
She smiled. ‘You’d better not.’
They kissed.
They were hungry for each other, wanted to consume each other.
They had started on the sofa, kissing. Breathing hot, warm, wet breath into each other’s mouths. Tongues twining. Phil ran his hands over Marina’s face, neck, down over her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Marina put her hands round Phil’s neck. Stroking, touching, experiencing the sensation of the other’s skin beneath their fingertips, reacquainting themselves, confirming that they were both real, that this was actually happening once more.
Pressure increased, bodies pressed closer together. Fingers became more confident, more probing. Passion, need became urgent. Breathing came in harder, shorter gasps. Hands roved, explored, found buttons and zips, began undoing.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ Marina said, her words gasped, whispered.
They pulled apart reluctantly, not wanting to separate but wanting to take it to the next level. Phil stood, Marina came with him. Hands, mouths still locked. They stumble-walked up the stairs.
Into the bedroom. Phil turned on the bedside light.
‘No,’ Marina said. ‘Keep it dark.’
‘I want to see you… look at you…’ His hands were on her again, finding clasps, zips. Uncovering her shoulders, his mouth tracing down her neck, kissing her bared skin. Marina gasped. His hands moved further, pushing her top from her body. She helped him, responded. Pulled out his shirt, began unbuttoning. He shrugged it off, was naked to the waist. She did likewise with her top.
Phil smiled, lifted one bra strap, then the other, easing them down her arms, unclasping it from behind. He looked at her, drank in her nakedness in the half-shadowed room.
He smiled. ‘You’re beautiful.’
She smiled in response, then began unbuckling his belt. Remaining clothes and footwear were stripped in a blur. Naked, they held each other, feeling the sensation of each other’s body through their own skin. Kissed once more, then pulled apart. Phil took Marina in once more: the shape of her breasts, the colour of her nipples, the way she had trimmed her pubic hair, her soft thighs. Her belly perhaps curved more than he remembered it. It didn’t matter. She did the same for him: his broad shoulders, lightly haired chest, strong thighs, his penis, hard for her. She smiled.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said once more.
‘So are you.’
Time froze. It was a moment both had fervently wanted but neither had believed would ever happen again. It felt so right, so comfortable. But beyond the passion, they were both terrified. It was more than just sex. They both knew that. It was a line. Once it was crossed, neither could retreat back over it.
‘I love you.’ The words were out of Phil’s mouth before he could stop them.
‘I know. Don’t let me down.’
‘I won’t.’
The line had been crossed.
They moved to the bed.
Together.
59
Marina heard voices. Strong, opinionated voices. Her eyes jolted open and for a few seconds she didn’t know where she was. Then, as a lost piece of jigsaw completes a whole picture, she remembered. Phil’s bed. The radio alarm clock had just gone off, Radio Four’s Today waking her up. Her eyes closed again. She smiled.
They had made love another three times, eventually drifting off to sleep some time in the early hours. It had been beyond what she remembered, beyond what she had imagined: intense and sacred at times, hot and filthy at others. But always physically and emotionally satisfying. She had drifted off to sleep with Phil’s arms encircling her. She had felt safe. Coming back to Phil’s house had been the right decision.
Now she lay there, letting the voices from the radio wash over her. It was familiar, the same show she woke up to at home.
Home.
She thought about Tony. She had phoned him as they left the crime scene, telling him she wouldn’t be back, giving him an excuse about pulling an all-nighter to work on the latest murder. He had been his usual understanding, reasonable self, asked her if there was anything she wanted, anything he could do to help. She had felt guilt at those words. But not because she wanted to be with him. Just because he was so good to her. Like a father should have been. She thought of the cottage in Wivenhoe. Not warm and comforting, just hot and enclosing. Maybe it was time to leave home.
She turned over, stretched out her arm, expecting to feel Phil. Nothing. His side of the bed empty. Opening her eyes once more, she sat up, looked around. Just in time to see the door open and Phil enter carrying two mugs of coffee – freshly brewed, from the smell. He crossed to the bed, placed one on the table at her side, one on his own, took off his dressing gown and slid, naked, back under the sheets with her.
‘Thought you’d gone to work without me,’ she said, smiling.
‘As if I’d do that,’ he said. He took a mouthful of coffee.
She took a sip. Lovely. Milk, no sugar. Just as she liked it. She replaced it. ‘You remembered how I take it.’
He frowned. ‘Why should I forget?’
Warmth spread inside her at his words. He had always been a good listener. ‘Why should you?’
The smile lingered on his face as he turned and looked at her. His eyes began to travel down her body.
‘We haven’t got time,’ she said.
He gave a mock sigh. ‘I know.’
A thought struck her. ‘Should we go in to work together or separately?’
‘Nobody else’s business.’ He placed the mug on the bedside table, lay back. ‘Does it bother you, what people might say?’
‘Does it bother you?’
‘Did last time. The gossip. What people were thinking, what assumptions they were making.’
‘And now?’
He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps for the investigation. If anyone tries to use this as an excuse for us not getting results, it would bother me. But other than that, no, I don’t care.’
She snuggled in to him. ‘Good.’
They lay there in silence for a while, both sleep-and-sexhungover, comfortable in each other’s silence.
‘So,’ he said eventually, ‘what happens next?’
‘I’m going to leave him,’ Marina said. The words, said aloud, surprised her. Like an idea made real by speaking it. She hadn’t known that that was what she was planning until she said it.
‘For… for me?’
Silence once more. Then, from Marina, ‘Let’s see.’
Phil nodded. Said nothing. Eventually looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’ He threw back the duvet, got out of bed. Found his dressing gown once more. ‘You want the shower first?’
‘No, I’m okay.You go.’
He started to walk to the door, turned before he reached it. ‘I… look. I meant what I said. Last night. I won’t let you down.’
‘Good.’
‘Right.’
And he left the bedroom.
Marina reached for her coffee, took another mouthful. Replaced it. Sighed. She heard the sound of the shower. She stroked her stomach, felt the baby moving inside her. Thought of other conversations she had to have with Phil.
She finished her coffee, then got out of bed. It would all have to wait until later.
She had a monster to catch.
60
‘ Phil? Call for you.’
Phil looked up from his desk, where he was gathering notes and photos together, preparing for the morning briefing. Adrian was holding up the handset on his desk, motioning to him. Phil mouthed the words, ‘Who is it?’ Adrian mouthed back, ‘Solicitor.’
Phil picked up the receiver, transferred the call. ‘Detective Inspector Phil Brennan,’ he said.
‘Good morning, Detective Inspector,’ a female voice said. ‘You’re CIO on the dead babies inquiry?’
Phil said he was.
‘Linda Curran of Hanson, Warnock and Gallagher.’ She paused as if he should know them. He certainly did. He had dealt with them, and Linda Curran, before. Many times.
‘Hello, Linda, how can I help you?’
‘I’m representing Ryan Brotherton, Detective Inspector, and I’m informing you that my client has instructed me to sue Essex Police, and in particular your department.’
Phil’s features hardened. His grasp on the receiver tightened. ‘Is that right?’ he said.
‘Indeed it is,’ Linda Curran said. From the tone of her voice, she took no particular joy in the message; she was merely doing her job.
‘Oh come on, Linda,’ he said. ‘That’s ridiculous. What is it? Harassment? How does he work that one out? We’re charging him with attempted murder.’
There was the rustle of paper down the phone. ‘Harassment, wrongful arrest, deprived of basic human rights whilst in custody, loss of earnings and emotional distress. ’
‘Okay,’ said Phil, ‘let’s go through these. Can I do that? Or will it prejudice the case?’
‘Feel free.’
‘Okay. Harassment. Brotherton’s name came up several times in a murder inquiry. We went to see him at work, and when he attacked my DS, we brought him in for questioning. He was never arrested.’
‘He attacked your…? You allege he attacked your DS?’
‘Dropped a ton of metal on him. Or would have done if he hadn’t got out of the way in time. No “allege” about it. Didn’t he mention it?’
Silence. Linda Curran clearly hadn’t been informed of the circumstances. ‘And that’s the attempted murder?’