Philip Brennan 02 - The Creeper (31 page)

Fenwick physically recoiled, frantically looked round to see if anyone was watching. ‘Oh no . . . oh no . . .’

‘Oh yes.’

‘But this is . . . this is wrong. If we do this then any evidence we find, any confession we make on the basis of that evidence, is inadmissible in court. It’s tainted. We have to follow compliance . . .’

She turned to him, no longer smiling. ‘D’you want this collar, Ben? Really want this collar?’

‘Yes . . .’

‘Or do you want Phil Brennan to get all the glory? Again?’

Fenwick shook his head. ‘No . . . no . . .’

‘You sure? Maybe I chose the wrong man.’

‘No, no you didn’t. You didn’t . . .’ Fenwick swallowed hard, eyes never leaving the lock pick. ‘No, I want it . . . I want . . .’

She smiled, nodded. Clearly in control. She knew what he wanted.

‘Good,’ she said, and began to pick the lock.

It didn’t take long. She pushed. The door opened.

Fenwick was still nervously looking round.

Rose smiled at him. Reassuringly this time. ‘If anyone asks, we heard a cry and had to break in. Got that?’

He nodded.

‘Sure?’

‘I’m . . .’ He took a deep breath, swallowed hard. ‘We heard a cry. Right. I’m sure.’

‘Good. Then let’s go in.’

Rose stepped inside first. The house was as dark as she remembered it, the curtains still drawn, the light hardly penetrating. Fenwick followed, closing the door quietly behind them. He looked round. Stepped into the centre of the room, head going from side to side. ‘Should I—’

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A dark shape emerged from behind the sofa and, before Fenwick could react, was on him.

Rose turned. Gasped. The figure was all in black, looking like a moving, angry shadow in the darkness. She watched as the figure pulled back its arm and thrust towards Fenwick’s stomach. Fenwick crumpled. And again.

‘Oh God, oh God, I’m bleeding, oh God . . .’ Fenwick staggered, holding his stomach.

‘Ben . . .’ Rose cried out, moved towards him, but the figure turned. She stopped moving, frozen, saw the blade in its hand. She looked at Fenwick who was swaying, now falling to his knees. Heart hammering, she turned and ran for the door.

The figure was on her. Arms holding her tight, pressing round her like the grip of a huge anaconda.

She tried to get her hand inside her pocket, reach for her pepper spray. Her fingers touched but didn’t connect. The figure saw what she was doing, loosened his grip with one arm, knocked her hand away, leaving it stinging from the blow.

Taking advantage of the loosened grip, Rose twisted her body round, trying to pull away.

That was when she saw his face.

‘Oh God . . . oh God . . .’

His mouth opened. Some kind of awful sound emerged.

‘Hahhneee . . . Hahhneee . . .’

He seemed to be saying the same word over and over. She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t want to think about it. Just wanted to escape.

‘Hahhneee . . . Hahhneee . . .’

But it was too late for that. She saw him bring his arm up.

But didn’t feel it come down.

74

‘H
i,’ she said.

‘Hi yourself,’ said Phil. He knew he was grinning like an idiot. Didn’t even try to stop it. ‘How are you?’

‘Been better.’

Silence.

‘Bury St Edmunds,’ he said. ‘Should have guessed.’

‘You did.’

‘Right.’ He looked round the carp park. Saw Fiona Welch walking out of the building. She glared at him. He looked away.

‘I’m . . . sorry.’

He nodded. Then, realising she couldn’t see it, said, ‘That’s OK. How’s Josephina?’

‘She’s fine. We’re . . . we’re both fine.’

‘Good.’

Silence.

‘Look . . . d’you want me to come and get you?’

Silence. Phil could hear the world turning through the phone but not Marina.

‘OK,’ she said eventually.

He exhaled, not realising he had been holding his breath waiting for her answer. ‘Good.’ He looked at his watch. Weighed things in his head. ‘I’ll be right up.’

He heard her gasp. ‘Aren’t you in the middle of a murder inquiry? You can’t just . . . just leave everything and run off.’

‘You did.’

Silence. Phil thought he had lost her again.

‘OK. But we need to talk.’

‘I’ll be right up.’

He hung up, got in the Audi.

‘Yeah,’ he said aloud. ‘They can do without me here for a couple of hours.’

Still smiling, Doves coming out of the stereo, he headed off to Bury St Edmunds.

75

S
uzanne heard more tearing, more creaking.

‘What’s happening?’ she said. ‘What are you doing now?’

‘Just . . . a bit . . . more . . .’

Julie had been working away. Suzanne didn’t know exactly what at, just that she said there was a way out and she was trying to do it. The tearing noise was the same as the one she had heard when she was let out of the box earlier. Suzanne was terrified. If their captors came back when she was trying to escape, she didn’t know what they would do to her. Didn’t even want to think about it. Didn’t dare.

‘I can see . . . daylight. It’s day outside.’

Suzanne felt her heart beating faster. That forbidden emotion, hope, welling up inside her. Daylight. And Julie nearly out. And once Julie was out, she could help Suzanne out and then they would both be free. She found herself smiling uncontrollably at the thought.

The noise stopped. Suzanne could hear her own breathing once more, feel her heart beating so fast it threatened to leave her body. She almost didn’t dare speak. Almost.

‘What’s . . . what are you doing now?’

Silence.

‘Julie? You there?’

‘I’m here.’

Relief flooded through Suzanne.

‘I’ve got the bottom of the box open. I don’t think they closed it properly when they let us out. It’s a bit . . . bit tight, but . . . if I can just, just . . . wriggle down . . .’

Suzanne listened, heart in her mouth. ‘Keep talking, Julie. Keep telling me what’s happening . . .’

More tearing and creaking.

Then silence.

‘Julie . . .’

Suzanne heard a sigh.

‘I’ve done it.’ She laughed, disbelieving. ‘Suzanne, I’ve done it . . .’

‘Brilliant! Yes!’

‘Yeah, now all I’ve got to do is . . .’

And then she screamed. Julie screamed, loud and long and hard.

Suzanne’s eyes were wide, staring. ‘Julie . . .’ She tried to block the noise, cover her ears with her hands but couldn’t manage it. So she had no choice but to listen.

‘No, Julie . . .’

The screaming died away.

Silence.

‘Julie . . . Julie . . .’

Nothing.

‘Julie . . .’

No response.

‘Oh God, oh God . . .’

Suzanne started sobbing. Hope. That bastard emotion hope. Suzanne kept sobbing.

Feared she would never stop.

PART FOUR

76

B
rasserie Gerard was a French restaurant on the corner of Lower Baxter Street and Abbeygate Street in the old English town of Bury St Edmunds. Sunny, airy and light inside, it had a courtyard-like quality where a spring or summer’s lunchtime meal could easily slip into a leisurely afternoon of French hors d’oeuvres, good company and plenty of wine. How Phil wished he could be doing that right now. He imagined Marina felt the same.

They sat opposite each other, more distance between them than just the restaurant table. Both eyeing each other nervously, trying to smile, not sure whether to touch or not touch. Two tightrope walkers trying to keep their balance.

This is ridiculous, thought Phil. I should be at work, on the case. I shouldn’t be here, pulling a domestic. Then he looked at Marina, her perfect, dark features, her beautiful face, and their daughter lying asleep in her buggy at the side of the table, arms up, perfectly contented. And he knew why he had come.

‘You’re looking well,’ he said.

‘I look about as good as you do.’ Marina managed a smile, concern in her eyes. ‘But it’s nice of you to say so.’

She did look well, he thought. Yes, there was fear and worry etched in all her features but she still looked good. She always looked good to Phil.

Marina looked away, down at her menu. Wavering, her balance going. She sighed. ‘This is a bad idea. Maybe we should do this later.’

Phil kept his eyes on her. ‘Marina, if we don’t do this now, there may not be a later.’

She sighed once more, looked down at the table. The waitress chose that moment to arrive. Phil was about to wave her away but Marina was already ordering herself sea bass with a spinach and tomato salad. He quickly scanned the menu, ordered the first thing his eye rested on, the duck. And a large bottle of water. The waitress disappeared once more, leaving them alone with their silence.

Phil waited.

‘There’s . . . something between us,’ Marina said eventually. ‘Or, rather, someone.’

Phil forced an intake of breath to his body, steeled himself. He had imagined everything he could think of on the drive up, everything awful that Marina could possibly want to say to him, in the hope that whatever it was he would be prepared for and it wouldn’t feel so bad. Her finding someone else was the worst thing he came up with. And no amount of preparation made hearing those words any easier.

Phil just nodded, waited. Kept nodding.

The waitress brought the water. The bottle stood there on the table, untouched.

Marina looked away from Phil, down at the table. ‘It’s Tony.’

Tony. Marina’s ex-partner. Bludgeoned nearly to death by a killer Phil and Marina had been hunting. Just before Marina had a chance to tell him she was leaving him. So that was it, he thought.

Phil blinked, startled. ‘Tony?’

‘Tony. I . . .’ Another sigh. ‘I . . . he’s just lying there. And I keep . . .’ Her fingers began working on the napkin. ‘I just . . . I have to make a decision, Phil. He’s lying there on that life-support system and they want me to make a decision. They want me to turn it off.’

Phil’s voice was quiet, calm. ‘Is this why you ran away from me?’

She nodded, fingers now shredding the napkin.

‘But . . . surely we could have worked this out together . . .’

Marina looked up, directly at him, eye to eye. Hers were red-rimmed, wet, only the public place holding back full on tears. ‘No. I have to do it. It’s my decision. D’you understand? ’

‘You tell me,’ he said.

‘I can’t do it,’ she said. ‘I just can’t bring myself to switch off that life-support system, to, to . . . acknowledge he’s dead, really, finally dead, once and for all.’

Phil leaned forward. ‘D’you think there’s a chance he could come back? Is that it?’

She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, determined not to let any tears fall. She shook her head. ‘No. No, that’s not it. At least I don’t think so, no . . .’ She shook her head once more. ‘It’s the guilt. It’s . . . it’s . . .’ Her voice dropped. ‘Crippling me.’

And that was just how her voice sounded, he thought. Twisted, crippled. ‘The decision?’

She shook her head once more. ‘Not just . . . no. It’s . . . eating me away, gnawing inside me . . . the guilt. I can’t . . . can’t move forward, can’t . . . enjoy . . . myself, my life, or allow myself to enjoy life, until I make that decision. Until I let him go.’ Her head dropped once more, shoulders heaved, like she was bearing a huge weight. She kept her gaze on the table. ‘And I can’t let him go . . .’

Phil said nothing, taking in her words. He picked up the bottle of water, unscrewed it, poured it into the two glasses.

Neither drank.

Phil kept looking at her. When he spoke his voice was still calm and controlled, the opposite of the emotions raging inside him. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘What about this. If Tony hadn’t . . . if he wasn’t where he is now, if he had never been attacked, if he was still . . . I don’t know, with us . . . what would you do?’

She frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘Just that. What would you do? What would you be doing?’

‘I’d . . .’ She sighed, shook her head, looked away once more.

‘You were going to leave him, Marina. Tell him you didn’t love him any more and leave him. Weren’t you?’

She nodded, head still bowed.

‘For me?’ He made it a question.

She nodded once more.

‘Why?’ His voice was even quieter, calmer. The kind he used in interviews, the one that made people open up to him, trust him.

‘Because . . . I love you . . .’

He risked a small smile. ‘That it? That’s all?’

She shook her head once more, looked up. ‘No. Because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I’ve never loved anyone like I loved you. Because I’d never met anyone like you.’

‘Who was so like you, you mean.’

She nodded. ‘And because I was pregnant with your child.’

‘Our child.’

‘Our child. And you’re the love of my life.’ She turned away, words choked off by sobs.

Phil waited until she had composed herself. ‘Tony knew you’d leave him, Marina. He was older than you. He was your teacher, what you needed at that stage in your life. He knew you weren’t going to stay with him forever. That you’d go eventually. He expected it. Might not have welcomed it or been looking forward to it, but he expected it.’

Marina wiped her eyes, her nose, with the crumpled and torn paper napkin, her head still bowed. Phil reached across the table, took her hands in his.

‘Isn’t that the problem?’ he said. ‘The fact that you never got to say that to him? That you never gave that relationship closure?’

She pulled her hands away. ‘It’s not just that,’ she said, sniffing. ‘He’s in a coma because of me.’ She looked up, directly at him. Her eyes raw with emotion. ‘And you too, Phil.’

‘How?’

‘Because if we had never met, if I’d never come to work with you, if none of that had happened, Tony would still be alive.’

‘And you’d still be unhappy.’ He leaned forward again. Reached out for her hands once more. Held them tight. ‘I understand you, Marina. That’s not arrogance on my part. I understand you because you understand me. More than anyone I’ve ever met. I know your mind because it’s like my mind. I know what’s in it. I know the damage in there.’