A Tapping at My Door: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (The DS Nathan Cody Series) (19 page)

But it’s as if even thinking about it provokes some cosmic prankster into providing him with a definitive reply. Straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were.

The bang of the front door is almost enough to give his mother a heart attack. She leaps out of the chair. Starts to come around the table so that she can intercept her husband in the hallway.

Cody grabs her wrist. Smiles into a face that is creased with more worry lines than her age merits. Tells her it’s okay, that she doesn’t have to keep trying to be the peacemaker. Just let it be.

With a great deal of uncertainty, she sits again. Frankie gives Cody a look that is filled with concern, and again he smiles back.

His father flings open the door into the kitchen and fills the space with his presence. He has always seemed a large, powerful man to Cody. He is obviously no longer as fit as he was, but he still cuts a formidable figure. A cigarette dangles from his lips. He is on the verge of saying something, but then he sees who is at his table and his mouth clamps shut. He stares for a while, as if working out how this has come to pass. The cigarette flares as he sucks air through it, as if he’s lighting it with his own inner burning rage. Then he exhales the smoke through his nostrils like a snorting bull. When he finds his tongue again, it is to address his wife, the previous object of his attention now summarily dismissed. He tells her he will be in the living room, and that he’d like a cup of tea in there. And then he’s gone, without another glance at Cody.

There’s a silence, a coldness, an emptiness. Cody clears his throat and jokes that there’s no place like home, but the awkwardness persists and pervades. Frankie, her eyes downcast, looks mortified and on the edge of tears. Cody’s mother bears an expression filled with a complex mixture of sorrow and shame and anger and regret and a million other fragments of emotion.

Did he expect anything else? No, of course he didn’t. Sometimes, though, there is that tiny nugget of hope. The one that says,
Maybe, just maybe, this time will be different
. It never is. He should consign that nugget to the flames of despondency where it belongs.

It wasn’t always like this. In many ways that makes it even harder to bear. If his father had always been so antagonistic towards him, he could handle the atmosphere better. He would have no other yardstick for comparison – no shiny bright ruler marking off the fullness and happiness of a past relationship.

Cody’s mistake was in joining the police.

He doesn’t know why it should have come as such a shock to his parents. The signs were always there. When he played cops and robbers, he always had to be the cop. His favourite television programmes were the cop shows. His favourite books were crime thrillers. He had toy police cars, police helicopters, police speedboats – mostly bought with his own pocket money. His folks had seemed okay with that; or at least they never made a fuss about it. Perhaps they believed it was best for him to get it out of his system, and that he’d soon grow out of it.

As he got older, he began to understand their true feelings. At least, they were the feelings of his father. Cody has always suspected that his mother’s views are more reasonable, although he knows she would never admit it. He doesn’t know where those opinions originated – his dad was never able to provide a direct or convincing answer to that one when challenged – but they overflowed with hatred and distrust of the boys and girls in blue. Naturally enough, the constant berating and condemnation of the police had a profound influence on the young, impressionable Cody. Naturally enough, he chose to walk in the opposite direction to that so emphatically taken by his elders.

Took him a while, though.

Even as an A-level student considering his future, he chose the path of least resistance. He wanted to keep his parents happy. He wanted their support. He wanted their love. And so he chose to sign up for a university degree in English.

It lasted all of a year.

His heart was never in it. And the fact that he spent most of that year unencumbered by the prejudices of his parents pretty much sealed the deal.

He applied to join the police as soon as he finished the second semester.

Breaking the news to his parents was never going to be easy. He knew that. He prepared himself for a certain amount of disapproval. What he did not expect was to be made a pariah in his own family home.

So this is it. This is what he gets every time. A mother who can’t show her love, and a father who seems to have no love left to show. His trips here are becoming less and less frequent, because what is the point? Each visit leaves him feeling like he’s walked in and told them he’s a rapist or a paedophile. Come to think of it, that might not be so bad in their eyes.

His mother gets up from the table and leaves the room. Seconds later, Cody hears raised voices, then full-on yelling.

He looks at Frankie. There are tears forming in her eyes. His mother’s birthday, and people are crying and screaming at each other. Happy Birthday, Mum.

He tells Frankie he thinks he should go now, and she doesn’t argue the point. She escorts him to the door. Only silence from the living room now. No sign of his mother. His father has won, as he always does.

On the doorstep, Frankie tells him she is sorry, and then she goes back inside. Out here it is starting to rain. Cody turns up his collar and heads back to his car. As he does so, another car pulls up behind his. A white BMW X5. Personalised number plate, but Cody knows who it is. Not many cars like that park in this road.

The man who gets out is taller, broader and more handsome than Cody. At least that’s what Cody thinks. He always did look up to his older brother in that way. Now Warren is considerably richer too. Flash car, flash watch, flash everything. But it’s how he earns his money that’s the problem for Cody. He doesn’t know details – doesn’t
want
to know details – but it’s a career path that’s very much at odds with his own. One day they will clash. That seems inevitable, given what they do. For now, ignorance is bliss. Cody has enough problems with his parents without becoming involved in the arrest and imprisonment of their only other son. Their
only
son, if his father is asked his opinion.

The brothers don’t shake hands, but they exchange pleasantries. Warren eyes up Cody’s rust-bucket of a car. Cody eyes up the massive bouquet that Warren is carrying, along with the bag from Ernest Jones the jeweller’s. They both make excuses about getting out of the rain, and it’s over. Cody is always left wondering on which side of a police cell door he will next see his brother.

He gets into his car, but doesn’t drive away immediately. He keeps an eye on the house.

The front door is yanked open at Warren’s knock, and their father is there. There is fury on his face, and he is clearly ready for a fight, clearly ready to tell the visitor that he can go to hell and never come back.

But then his dad sees who it is at the door, and his countenance changes. A smile on his face that Cody has not seen in a long time. A firm shake of his cherished son’s hand. A pat on the shoulder as he is welcomed in. Laughter. Words.

Cody watches all this through the veil of raindrops on his window.

Then he puts his heart back together and drives away.

24

More married than a wedded couple.

That’s how it often seems to Brian Kearney. Of course, there’s no sex. Not even kissing or fondling. It’s all strictly platonic.

So, yeah, just like a marriage.

‘What are you smiling at?’

Kearney looks at his questioner in the passenger seat. Andrea Whitland is giving him one of her ‘don’t lie, because I know exactly what you’re thinking’ looks.

And she probably does, too. God knows, they spend enough time in each other’s company. Cooped up in this patrol car for hours on end sometimes. Been that way for years. They know each other intimately now. Okay, maybe not intimately, not in the biblical sense, but there’s no way you can work so closely and so long with someone and not get to know pretty much everything there is to know about them.

Kearney knows what Whitland’s favourite sexual position is. He knows what schools she went to, and the name of her first boyfriend. He knows she hates coconut but loves cherries. He knows she’s good at badminton but lousy at poker. He knows she’s allergic to cats and has a butterfly tattoo on her left buttock. He knows she once had a miscarriage. He knows she loves watching
Mamma Mia!
.

Above all, he knows he can trust her and rely on her.

He imagines it’s the same for Whitland. The things he must have told her over the years. Some of them he’s never even told his wife.

But that’s okay. What is said in this car goes no further. That’s why it works between them. They both know the other is always there for them.

‘I was thinking about me missus,’ he says, answering her question.

‘You lying hound,’ says Whitland. ‘You never smile when you’re thinking about Debbie. The only times you mention her are when you’re having a good moan about her.’

‘That’s not true. I’m very fond of my wife, I am. In fact, I’m taking her out on the town in a couple of weeks.’

‘Oh, yeah? What’s that in aid of, then?’

‘Halloween. It’s the only night I can bring her out of the house without getting funny looks from people.’

Whitland slaps him on the bicep. ‘You rotten thing. Just wait till I see Debbie. You’re in for a dog’s life, mate.’

‘Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad. You should see the way she treats that stupid puppy I got her.’

‘Aw, puppies are so cute.’

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you kept finding wet patches on your bed and poo on your kitchen floor.’

‘You
have
met my husband, haven’t you?’

Kearney laughs. ‘Speaking of which, did you hear about that wino that Carney brought in last night?’

Whitland pulls a face. ‘Ooh, yeah. Disgusting. What the hell was he thinking, carrying a turd around in his pocket?’

‘God knows. Loved to have seen Carney’s face when he found it in the search, though.’

‘Ha! I hope he handed it in at the desk. Might be the fella’s prized possession.’

The radio blares into life: ‘Control to Delta Two.’

Whitland takes the call. ‘Delta Two. Go ahead, Control.’

‘Delta Two, we’ve had a report of a couple of teenaged lads acting suspiciously near the church on Sheil Road. Can you check it out, over?’

‘Will do. On our way.’

Kearney puts his indicator on and waits to do a U-turn to head back towards Sheil Road.

‘First bit of excitement for the night,’ he says.

‘Is that what you call excitement? Telling a couple of kids it’s way past their bedtime?’

‘I’m easily pleased, me.’

‘Hmm. Not according to your Debbie.’

They get to Sheil Road. Many of the houses here have been converted into flats. It’s a busy thoroughfare in the daytime, but fairly quiet at this time of the night. The church is small and low and unremarkable. Set back from the pavement, it is barely noticeable from the street. A low wall surrounding the property is surmounted by vicious-looking spiked metal railings.

Kearney parks outside the main gate and kills the engine.

‘Looks quiet to me. Suppose we’d better check it out, though.’

The two officers get out of the car. Kearney locks it up. Just in case.

They move closer to the gate. Kearney yanks on it to check it’s locked. Then he flicks on his torch and shines it into the church grounds.

‘See anything?’

‘Nope.’

Kearney spends a few more seconds scanning the area, before nodding to Whitland to follow him. He walks to the corner of the block, then moves up the side street, continually shining his torch through the railings. They come across another set of gates, leading to the church car park. Kearney rattles these too, and finds them also locked.

He moves to the left of the church, where an alley separates it from the neighbouring houses. A big black gate guards the entrance to the alley, one of hundreds installed by the council some years ago to cut down on crime and fly-tipping. Back in the time when it still had some money.

‘Gate’s open,’ says Kearney. He winks at Whitland. ‘Fancy coming up this entry with me, darling?’

‘You’re such a romantic. How could a girl refuse?’ She clicks her radio transmitter. ‘Delta Two to Control.’

‘Control.’

‘We’re at the church. Nothing to report. The alley gate has been left unlocked, so we’ll just take a quick butcher’s up there.’

‘Roger that.’

Whitland switches on her own torch, then follows Kearney along the alley. Their beams of light pick out a million sparkling fragments of broken glass. Overstuffed black bin bags dot the landscape like unexploded bombs.

The officers move along. Steadily, stealthily. Watching, listening. To their right is the tall, sheer side wall of the church building itself. Its plain glass windows are enclosed in wire mesh. There is no way into it from here. To their left are the much lower walls protecting the back yards of a row of houses. Set into these walls, stark wooden doors are bolted and padlocked against intruders. A few of the walls are topped by vicious shards of broken glass fixed in cement. Most of the houses beyond are shrouded in darkness. Where lights are still on, curtains are tightly drawn. Nobody wants to know what goes on in these alleys in the dead of night.

They reach a junction. Kearney remembers being here before. They are at one corner of a walled courtyard containing garages. Alleys surround the courtyard on all four sides. The last time Kearney was here, kids had been climbing the scaffolding behind one of the sets of flats. The call-out wasn’t so much to do with the kids as it was to deal with a nutcase resident who had chased them away with a samurai sword.

‘You go round that way,’ says Whitland, ‘and I’ll go up here.’

‘And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,’ says Kearney.

‘I don’t think there’s anyone here, but we’ve got them trapped if we do that.’

Kearney nods. ‘Those little grey cells of yours are working well tonight.’