End of the Line

by Robert Scragg

  There was no such thing as a veiled threat from Milburn. Porter knew he would do exactly that, but he also knew it wouldn’t come to that. Simple fact was that Milburn wasn’t asking their opinion. He’d decided a course of action, and it was more a case of them being in the room while he talked out loud. Porter also knew trying to change his mind at this stage was like arguing with a stubborn toddler. With what he had planned over the next few days as far as Holly’s case was concerned, there was every chance of a run-in of epic proportions anyway. Nothing to be gained in adding fuel to a fire he had zero chance of putting out.

  Milburn’s threat hung heavy for a few seconds, followed up by one of his toothiest we’re all friends here grins.

  ‘Now, unless there’s anything else, I’ve got a speech to write for a charity gala tonight.’

  ‘Nothing from me, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ said Milburn, turning his attention to his laptop, no hint that he expected an answer from Bell. She looked at Porter, one eyebrow raised, and followed him back out to their desks.

  ‘Is he always so charming?’ she asked in a tone that dripped sarcasm.

  ‘Oh, he’s worked hard to get it to that level,’ said Porter.

  ‘Every day must be a joy.’

  ‘You have no idea. Anyway, on to far more exciting things, let’s do a bit of digging on Winter, see if we can’t figure out where he’s holed up.’

  Bell looked at her watch. ‘Could do, or, bearing in mind it’s been a hell of a last twenty-four hours, we could just catch up with him tomorrow and grab a drink instead. Could have murdered one when I was in McTeague’s pub.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ said Porter. ‘We need to—’

  ‘You’re not going to give me the whole “let’s keep this on a professional level” speech, are you? Wouldn’t be too hasty to flatter yourself. A drink’s just a drink.’

  ‘I never … No, what I meant was that we need to find him, and if anyone sees us slinking off to the pub before we do, there’s a good chance the super will spontaneously combust.’

  ‘You blushing, Detective Porter?’ she asked.

  He hadn’t been until she said that, but now she had, he was pretty sure the warm glow in his cheeks wasn’t just good health.

  ‘How about if I told you I know exactly where he’ll be tomorrow at noon?’

  ‘And how the hell would you know that?’

  ‘Good old-fashioned police work,’ she said with a flash of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Well, with a little help from Officer Google.’

  She clicked her phone to life, screen showing the EWP logo at the top. An events page, promising a speech not to be missed from the one and only Damien Winter.

  If he hadn’t been blushing before, he definitely was now.

  ‘So, sure you don’t fancy that drink?’

  He laughed, quick glance around the room, a reflex action, but now one he worried would make it look like he was checking for eavesdroppers.

  Jesus, man, get a grip. She’s only suggesting a drink. One can’t hurt.

  Just the one though. He’d need a clear head for what he had planned tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Even as Evie picked up her phone to make the call, she hated herself for it. She’d known about Holly from the start. Jake wasn’t the best at reading women. She’d made a pretty bold play for him at a colleague’s retirement bash, and he hadn’t seen it coming at all. She’d turned him into a stuttering Hugh Grant spin-off, and thought she’d scared him off for good.

  Patience was the secret sauce. She hadn’t pushed too hard after that. Had let him travel those last few feet himself, to the point where he was ready to give it a go. Give them a go. The revelation about Holly’s case had clipped the edges of her world like a drink-driver. Not enough to cause a crash, but she definitely felt a wobble. These last six months had been pretty much perfect. The fact that he still came across awkward at times, feeling his way back into a relationship, was endearing. Made her want him all the more.

  Now here she sat, wondering where he was. Truth be told, Holly still cast a long shadow. It had been the memory of her, still tugging at Porter’s heart, that had made him hang back as long as he had. Only natural he felt that way, and there was no statute of limitations on grief. All the same, there was still that small seed of doubt that burrowed its way in like a tick, that whispered she would always be a plan B.

  These thoughts that occasionally marauded around her mind weren’t helped by episodes like last night. Nick had said Jake was on his way home. Shouldn’t have taken more than half an hour at that time of day, but it had been coming up on two hours by the time he’d crawled into bed. Evie wasn’t stupid. The nature of the job meant odd hours, best laid plans constantly changing. He’d mumbled something over breakfast though about leaving Nick to it so he could get some shut-eye, but no mention of anything else that had kept him up later. The beauty of them both being on the force was that she understood the demands of the job. The flip side was she was good at what she did, meaning she had a better than average bullshit meter, and there was something pinballing around that head of his that he wasn’t sharing with her.

  She stared at the double blue tick of another read message. Read but not replied to. She tried to put herself in his position. She couldn’t imagine the emotional tailspin he must be going through right now. Self-preservation kicked in, telling her to batten down the hatches. Let this run its course. Let him get his closure, and they could put it all firmly back in the rear-view mirror where it belonged. From what she’d been told, Holly sounded like an incredible woman, but this was her time now. Her chance at happiness.

  Even as she told herself to sit tight, to do nothing, her finger tapped at the screen, calling Emma Styles, instantly cursing herself in case the baby was asleep.

  ‘Hey, Evie.’ Emma’s voice drifted down the line before she could change her mind and hang up.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Em,’ she said, words she’d prepared in her mind sounding like an insecure teenager. ‘I’m just trying to track Jake down. Don’t suppose Nick’s around to see if he knows where he is?’

  ‘Yep, he’s just in the shower. Hang on, I’ll go ask him.’

  Bump of footsteps, a rustling noise. Muffled words that she couldn’t make out.

  ‘He says Jake was out trying to find Damien Winter, the EWP leader, for a friendly chat.’

  ‘Oh, OK, never mind. I’ll let you—’

  ‘Everything all right? Hannah’s flat out and he takes for ever in the shower, so I don’t mind swapping the peace and quiet for a good gossip,’ Em said. Had Evie’s mood been so transparent in just a few sentences, desperate for someone to offload to?

  A few seconds of silence while she composed her thoughts. ‘I’m just worried about him, Em,’ she said finally. ‘He’s never been one to open up much at the best of times, but this’ – she sighed, searching for the right words – ‘this has really knocked him. More than he’ll admit, well, to me at least. I just … I’m just worried that’s all.’

  ‘It’s OK to be worried for him,’ Emma said. ‘But that doesn’t mean you should worry about the pair of you.’

  ‘What? No, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Take it from me, as someone who’s known him a good few years now. I saw what he was like with Holly. I see what he’s like with you, and I saw what he was like in between. That last version of him wasn’t half as much fun as he is now.’

  Evie let a quiet laugh escape.

  ‘He’s a stubborn one. If he didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t be. He just needs to wrap his head around this and move on. Just give him a little time. It’s only been a few days.’

  Framing it like that, less than forty-eight hours since he was brought a step closer to knowing the truth about Holly’s death, made her worries feel ridiculous. He had lied to her though, about where he was last night. And he was missing in action tonight as well. She opened her mouth to share her suspicions wit
h Emma about last night but stopped herself. Enough. Give the man the benefit of the doubt, she told herself.

  Somewhere in the background, a high-pitched wail, punctuated by pauses.

  ‘Sorry!’ Emma said. ‘I’m being summoned by she who must be obeyed. Let me get her settled and I’ll call you back.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine, honestly. I need to pop out to the shops for a few bits anyway. Go sort Hannah out then enjoy your peace and quiet.’

  The crying grew louder, a door opening. Emma heading into the nursery.

  ‘OK, well, if you change your mind and you need to talk, you know where I am. It’ll all be fine. You’ll be fine.’

  Evie signed off with promises to pop by one night during the week. She hadn’t felt comfortable sharing with Emma about Porter going off somewhere last night, any more than she wanted to share the text he’d sent her a few hours back.

  Another late one. Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll just grab a burger with Nick on the road.

  He wasn’t with Styles. He wasn’t at home. Where the hell was he?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Porter didn’t have a clear plan, truth be told, when it came to Jackson Tyler, except that he needed to apply pressure. He didn’t have the level of intel on Tyler or his gang that he’d usually have access to, and couldn’t get it without leaving breadcrumbs for Pittman or Milburn to follow. Best he could hope for would be the illusion of a net closing in. Make Tyler think giving up a name was his preferred option. What exactly that looked like in practice, he hadn’t yet decided.

  The one drink with Bell turned out to be just that. One pint of Guinness, and she made her excuses before he had to think of a way to ditch her, so he could turn his attentions to the Triple H gang. First stop was the hospital, get the latest on Kamau and see if he’d had any visitors. Porter approached cautiously, pretending to be on his phone as he neared the door, tailgating in behind an old couple, presumably shuffling in for visiting hours.

  He walked past Kamau’s room at first, in case Pittman or any of his team were there. Empty, save for Kamau looking no healthier than yesterday. Eyes closed, rise and fall of the blankets barely noticeable. His skin had a matt look to it, like no one was home, as if his body had shut down all but the essentials while he fought to wake up. Porter huffed out a loud breath, ramming hands deep in pockets, worrying at his bottom lip. If Kamau died, that was no more of a resolution that he had before. Less, if anything.

  ‘Excuse me,’ a polite but firm voice came from behind him. ‘Can I help you?’

  He whirled around to see a nurse staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and impatience, as if she didn’t have enough to do without spotting potential trespassers. Her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it almost gave her a facelift. She wore the navy uniform of a ward sister, white piping around the collar and sleeves.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, not sure what he was actually apologising for. Force of habit. He reached into his pocket, flashing his warrant card, whipping it back out of sight as she squinted to read it.

  ‘I’m with the Met. You’ve probably met my colleague, DI Pittman.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

  Giving his own name could come back to bite him if she mentioned this to Pittman.

  ‘DS Rose,’ he said, making one up on the fly, holding out a hand. ‘Just come to see how our patient is doing. Any developments?’

  She shook her head, lips pursed. ‘Could be days before the swelling goes down enough for us to know for sure the extent of any damage.’

  ‘So, there’s still a chance he’ll not actually wake up?’

  She sighed, a sound that spoke of maintaining a level of compassion despite God knows how many back-to-back shifts.

  ‘I’ll tell you the same as I told his brother, he’s suffered massive head trauma and—’

  ‘Wait, sorry, you said his brother?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, frowning like he’d just asked if the earth was round.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just about half an hour before you showed up. Why?’

  ‘We haven’t been able to find any family to contact for him. Did he show you any form of ID?’

  ‘We don’t usually ask to see visitors’ passports or driver’s licences, Detective,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  ‘Did he say when he’d be back?’

  ‘Didn’t say much to be honest. I did ask if there was anybody else that would be coming, to let them know about limits on visitors, but he said there was nobody. Mum and Dad passed a while back it seems.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  She shrugged. ‘Like an older version of him,’ she said, gesturing at Henry Kamau, ‘except without the bandages.’

  ‘In the last half hour you said?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes, just that it would have been useful to speak to him that’s all.’

  ‘Would you like me to call you if he comes back?’

  Porter would love nothing more, but if he left his number, that was one more inch of noose to hang himself with if anyone caught wind he was sticking his nose in.

  ‘That’s OK, we’ll manage to get hold of him I’m sure.’

  A germ of an idea took hold, grew into something he could use. He made his excuses and headed back out towards the front entrance. The security office was set back from reception. He tried the door. Locked. Three quick knocks, then stepped back and waited. When it opened a few seconds later, the face that peered out reminded Porter of Penfold from Danger Mouse. Lenses that must be half an inch thick. One ropey strand of hair flopped over the top of an otherwise bald head, more of a tassel than a hairdo. Porter’s chin was level with the guy’s head, so the glasses were staring straight up at him.

  ‘Help you?’ said Penfold, in a snappy impatient voice that suggested he had better things to do.

  Porter got a reaction when he showed his warrant card, again careful to not leave it hanging out there too long, using the same made-up name. A thought flashed through his mind as he explained what he needed. Here he was, a police officer guilty of impersonating a police officer. Hadn’t occurred to him in the moment he gave a different name to the ward sister, but he’d slid one foot over a line. What side he was left on remained to be seen.

  Ten minutes and a hasty trip through CCTV footage later, Porter watched as the man who claimed to be Henry’s brother left the ward, exited out into the car park and got into a dark-coloured car. Ford Focus maybe? Penfold came through for Porter in a big way, when he dropped in that the car park worked on a number plate recognition scheme instead of paper tickets. Porter scribbled down the plate, thanked the man and left the office, keen to run a check on the plate.

  The way out was through a double-wide set of revolving doors, and he was halfway through revising his order of priorities. Track down the brother first, see what he had to say. Could even be a member of Triple H himself for all Porter knew. Build what intel he could, then make his next move against Tyler. He almost walked out without noticing. One of those blink-and-you-miss-it moments. Turned just in time to see the flash of colour on the man walking in the opposite direction. Correction: two men. Young, white, matching haircuts like they’d got a two-for-one deal, short back and sides. The colour wasn’t the clothing. The tattoo on the arm of the closest one, three overlapping capital Hs, blood red.

  He felt the instant spike of adrenaline hit. Should he call for backup? He would have to explain his presence as well, but that would be a small price to pay. It boiled down to simple logistics though. If they were here for Kamau, it would all be over before the first car arrived.

  Not as if Penfold would be much use either. Porter gave them a five count to clear the door, then looped back around inside. Just him then.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Porter slipped his jacket off, scrunching one hand around the middle and carrying it down by his side. Popped an extra button
on his shirt. People often said you could tell a copper a mile off. He didn’t believe that applied to him, but the more like a tired relative on his way to visiting he looked like, the better.

  The two men in front of him sharked off left, towards the lifts. Porter kept his head down, looking at his phone and veered right, towards the stairwell. He knew his way to the ward from the previous two visits. No sense chancing it by stepping into a lift with them, even if they didn’t know who he was. What if Tyler had told his men to be on the lookout for an angry copper, given a description? Hell, all he’d have to do would be to google his name to get a picture thanks to a few of the high-profile cases he’d worked on. The crazy notion that they could be here for him flickered to life. That they could have followed him here on Tyler’s orders.

  Porter took the stairs two at a time, pausing for a moment on the third-floor landing to suck in a few deep breaths, steadying himself. The lifts were at the far end of the corridor as he peered through the glass pane set in the door. A muffled ping as it slid open. They’d have to walk past the entrance to the stairwell to get to the ward, which from memory was another twenty feet or so in the other direction. He stepped to one side, pressing his back against the wall, pulling his phone out again, partly for show, partly with 999 on screen ready to dial.

  The drag of soles on the hard rubber floors as they strode past the door. He counted to five before daring to nudge the door open a centimetre. Just enough to hear one of them arguing with a voice coming through the intercom. Sounded like the same sister he’d spoken to, and they’d missed visiting hours by minutes. Unfortunately for them, sounded like she was a stickler for the rules.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said, and Porter pictured her with the same crossed arms and determined set to her expression. ‘Hours are on the wall beside you.’

  ‘He’s my brother, i’n’t he,’ said the one closest to the speaker.