Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (37 page)

"Mike, I'm Doctor Mortimer,
you
’
re in
the accident and emergency ward in Dunedin hospital. How are you
feeling?
”

Bridger felt like a truck had run him over
forcing everything in his body into his head.

"I've felt better Doctor".

"You've had a knock to the head. Apparently,
in the confusion you were mistaken for the bad guy.... I thought
that only happened in the movies". The doctor smiled a reassuring
smile.

Bridger
’
s first thought was Daniel to his
distaste. "The bad guy, what's happened to him?"

"You mean Daniel, he came here in the same
ambulance as you, not ideal, but we are running short of
ambulances. It seems the police have needed quite a few tonight.
Overall, though he is in a bad way, he fell from quite a height. It
might be touch and go. We will know more in a little while".

Bridger's mind had revealed more of
what happened. "Marion, is she alright?
”

"The police officer that came in to
sit with Daniel told me that you had saved that missing girl,
she
’
s okay”
the doctor looked into Bridger’s eyes with a pen light. “You've had
a busy day".

"What about the other male, the one in
the suit. I saw Marion stabbing at him, how's he?
”

"He has a few cuts and bruises, a small
puncture wound. He is going to live. We still do not know his name.
He is very traumatized and a little embarrassed so he's not saying
much".

Bridger tried to sit up, but the pain in his
head told him to stay put.

The doctor looked at him. "I think you
had better get some rest. I do not think it
is
too serious, but we would
like to keep you over night to make sure. I would say
it
’
s just a
mild concussion despite the loss of consciousness".

The doctor looked calm and professional in
his crisp white lab coat. He had an air of confidence about him and
Bridger felt a little jealous. "I need to know what's happened,
there are things they don't know about this case. I should be with
my team".

"I'm not sure about the others Mike, but you
should worry more about yourself. You do not look to be in the
picture of health even without your head injury. Are you exercising
regularly, getting enough sleep".

"Not now doctor, I'm not in the mood".

"Very well, but I recommend you talk to
someone, things like these can be very traumatic. I know how you
police officers deal with your stress normally". The doctor gave
him a small knowing smile.

Bridger did not know how to respond so
changed the subject. "Who's with Daniel now,
doctor?
”

"He called himself John something, Maine
maybe, I can't remember, anyway now you’re awake I will send in a
nurse to follow up on your cognitive tests. It is just procedure,
nothing to worry about. You don't even have to study", he added,
smiling.

Bridger tried to smile, but his uneasy mood
would not let him. Why was John Maine here?

The nurse was a small Scottish girl, pretty
and efficient; she had even folded Bridger's clothes and placed
them at the end of the bed. He had to concentrate more than usual
to answer some of the questions she asked because of the thick
accent. Apparently, he had passed with excellence and had received
a radiant smile in reward. As Bridger was watching her leave the
room, the bulky shape of Senior Sergeant John Maine dressed in
civilian clothes, replaced her shapely form.

"Good to see you awake Mike; it sounds like
Ken Moore was a little over exuberant. I told the doctors not to
worry though, because you had a very hard head".

Bridger did not think over exuberance was
necessarily the reason for his sore head. There was no love lost
between him and Ken. "What are you doing here John? I would have
thought you would have been off duty".

"I heard what was going on and everyone else
was tied up so I volunteered to babysit your handy work".

Bridger looked at Maine trying to read
his expression. "How is Daniel?
”

"He's gone Mike; he died about ten minutes
ago. Mrs. Watson refused to see him; she is denying that it was her
son. She is in with Marion now. It's all tears and
forgiveness".

"Shit".

"It's okay Mike, you
’
re covered, and no one
blames you for what happened. They know you would have been
defending yourself".

I am a big boy John, I know what I did
and why. I am comfortable with that. Are you comfortable with the
way things turned out?
”

"What's that supposed to
mean?
”

"There are three people involved in this
mess other than Marion and her mother, Matthews, Gallagher, and
Daniel's father. I think Gallagher has a lot to answer for".
Bridger was watching Maine carefully. "Something happened all those
years ago that needs to be put to rest, we have some of the story
from Daniel, more from Mrs. Watson and a little from Matthews.
That's more than enough to sink Gallagher for his part".

John Maine remained unmoved. His face
betrayed no emotion.

Bridger continued, "I think Matthews and
Gallagher knew Mrs. Watson's first husband, Daniels father. They
covered for him then, and they are covering for him now. What I
don't understand is why".

Maine spoke quietly, looking directly at
Bridger, a neutral expression on his face but his eyes radiated a
hard malevolence. "Some things are best left in the past Mike; it
does no one any good to rake them up. Just remember that your
copybook is not squeaky clean either. If you want to carry on doing
this job then you had better lock that cupboard door to keep your
own skeletons inside. Don’t go rocking the boat, the people who can
keep you balanced may just fall out".

Maine got up to leave. "One more thing Mike,
the fact that Daniel has the same last name as me is a coincidence,
I can't tell you what to think, I don't know what you think you
understand about that, but I am more than comfortable from where I
stand. I have put my entire life into this job and I am bloody good
at it. It's up to you to decide, but whatever you decide just
remember what I said".

Bridger just lay there in silence as Senior
Sergeant John Maine walked out the door. The faint odour of
cigarette smoke lingering in the room.

Everybody has something on somebody, he
thought. Maybe that is how humans survive. He looked around the now
empty ward. A wave of loneliness washed over him, he needed a
drink. He needed to see Laura.

He closed his eyes in search of the
beach.

He was walking, the cold night air
chilling him as he breathed deeply. He was lonely, lonelier than he
had ever been. He was finding it hard to connect within himself;
alcohol was coursing through his veins. The bottom of the last
bottle the last burden he could bear. All thoughts of rectifying
the situation buried as he walked past the liquor shop and
continued into the dark night, advertising hordes showing the
headline banners going unnoticed.
-High-powered CEO resigns as links found to ongoing
investigation into long serving police officer-.

She had made it clear that she did not want
to see him. He had not seen her. He wanted to see her. He did not
know where to start. He carried on walking, shadows playing out
ghoulishly in front of him as he passed the streetlights one by
one. No one was looking his way, those people did not care, eyes
focused on their own affairs. Some things never change.

The street lights became less, the sound of
the sea grew with every step. He loved the sound and the smell. It
cleansed the soul. Cold wind was gusting around him, chilling his
skin, protected only by the threads of a thin cotton shirt. The
darkness became absolute.

He sat at on the damp ground, crossing his
legs, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks 100
feet below him. He began to cry.

"What's the matter?
”
A female voice came out of
the darkness, concern evident.

"I have no soul". His voice cracked.

"Why are you here?
”
The voice showed soft
concern.

"To make amends for things I have done,
things I should have done, because there is no other way".

He drew in a cold breath.

"Why are you here?
”
he asked the
voice.

"I don't know…, I have hurt someone’
the voice replied.”It was out of my control, but I still hurt him
and I cannot get that time out of my head. I needed space to
think
…
,
work through my options
…
. Are you going to jump?
” her voice slightly fearful
now.

He stood and faced the voice on the
darkness, thought about reaching out and touching it, then thought
better of it. Instead he spoke.

"You know I have done a lot of things
in my life that I'm not proud of, some can never be undone. I have
hurt those closest to me. I still have the memory of what I have
done; it
is
in my head and will not ever go away. A bit like
you".

Silence...

"You know I recently read something
written by a young girl, something she had written just to prove
she was here once. That she mattered in a small
way
….
That
what she was doing was best for her, no one else
…
. What she wrote put many
things in perspective. She was truly a tormented
soul
….
I
guess I came here to find out whether the answer to her angst was
the right one".

"How will you know?
”
the voice said.

He did not reply, looking into the shadow,
he hoped for a glimpse of the kind face behind the voice. Not
seeing anything in the darkness, he took a step forward, out into
the black abyss and towards the watery turmoil below.

Bridger was sitting in the dark office,
alone. It had been a week since they recovered Marion, a week since
he had sent Daniel to his death outside the old Woodhaugh Hotel. It
had been a week since he had seen his wife outside the Cafe. It had
been almost a week since he had his last drink.

After his discharge from the hospital he
returned to an empty house, Bridger had found himself at a loss; he
had no idea where he went from there. John Maine's words were
festering in his head. He was beholden to men of no character; he
was beholden to his own frailty of emotion.

He had looked in the cupboard for his
solace; he almost found it in the half-empty bottle of Jamesons.
Catching his reflection in the glass as he poured, the image had
distorted in front of his eyes, it turned into something ugly,
something that looked just like the puppet bride, strung up in an
abstract image of hell. That was something he never wanted to see
again. He had hurled the glass against the wall and smashed the
image into a thousand pieces.

Placing the bottle back in the cupboard, he
had closed the door. When he looked at the smooth texture of the
wood, he could not see any image there. As long as the door stays
shut, the image stays locked away.

He had not opened the door since.

Matthews had started a closed
investigation into John Maine; his involvement in the hostage drama
kept under wraps. The official line was 'Historical abuse of power
complaints'. He had suppressed
the exact details.
Matthews had then tied Gallagher into it. Whatever Gallagher had on
him must have been of no use in the end. Alternatively, Matthews
just did not care anymore.

It is funny what perspective things take
when death and all his angels come to visit, he thought.

No one had said anything about Jonas
Clifton, he had let it lie, but he knew he would have to face that
skeleton one day.

The phone started ringing in the darkness.
Bridger looked at it with disinterest.

It continued to ring.

He picked up the receiver.

"Mike, its Gillian", her voice was slightly
shaky, "John Maine has just thrown himself off Lawyers head".

"Shit".

"That's not all, Marion Watson is
downstairs
…
She was there when it happened".

"I'll be right down". He placed the receiver
on the cradle and looked into the darkness of the room.

Taking a deep breath Bridger stood up and
stretched his back.

When it all came down to it, you had one of
two options, make the best of what you have, face your past, make
amends and move on, or run away and join the circus.

John Maine had not done either.

Walking out into the hall, he hoped that
Marion would choose the right option. He would find out either
way...

ῼ

Connect with the Author:
www.facebook.com/HumanFrailtyCrimeNovel

For a sneak preview of the next ‘Mike
Bridger novel’,
Wasted Lives
by Mark Bredenbeck
Turn the
page…

Wasted L
ives

A Detective Mike Bridger novel