Unfinished Business (7 page)

“It’s possible,” he sniffed.

“Mark’s prints were all over the murder weapon. No one else’s.”

“That’s what’s off. He took that knife from the block on the kitchen counter, so it should have been covered in prints. Why didn’t they find Maggie’s or even Bryan’s? Because someone wiped it and why would they do that?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Cass said, “Maggie had just washed it.”

“If she had then she would have had to touch the knife to replace it in the block, but her prints weren’t on it. But still, what if he’s taking the blame for someone else?”

“Wouldn’t he have admitted it to Sarah?”

“The consequences might be too big,” said Brodie. “He’d be done for perverting the course of justice, interfering with a police investigation, a fresh enquiry would be launched, their names would be dragged through the mud again.”

“Only if she let it slip.”

“She might just be angry enough to and she wouldn’t go out of her way to protect the other Creegans. She can’t stand them. On top of that, if Mark didn’t do it then someone else did and telling Sarah might put her in danger.”

“You need to talk to Mark alone.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, wishing he hadn’t wound the man up. He’d never confide in him now but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. “Here’s what I want you to do Cass. Go down to London and speak to the investigating officers in the Bryan Flynn murder case. I don’t want what the police reports say, I want their impressions and gut feelings. Then I want you to come straight here.”

“About time. Why don’t you wait until I get there before tackling Seth?”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“I know but I need you in one piece. You’ve no back-up down there and I don’t like that.”

“I can take him, no worries hen but I’ll make you a promise. I won’t speak to him or Mark until you get here.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen sense.”

“See, I’m not that thick-headed.”

“No, just bull-headed.” With that Cass ended the call and Brodie remained in the garden for another ten minutes enjoying the warmth and the colours while wondering what his next move should be.

When a patient in striped pyjamas came outside, lit a cigarette then proceeded to pull down his pyjama bottoms and stand there with his privates proudly on display Brodie decided it was time to leave. As he walked away two nurses came outside to gently encourage the man to cover himself up again, but he continued to smoke his cigarette with an amused smile playing on his lips, ignoring all their efforts.

As it turned out, Brodie’s next move was decided for him by Sarah Creegan. Just as he returned to his car he received a text message from her informing him that her visit to the police station had been less than useless and they had told her nothing. The fact they hadn’t denied anything rang alarm bells in Brodie’s head. Surely if Mark wasn’t a suspect they would have come straight out with it? He didn’t allow this to sway his judgement either way though, it didn’t prove Mark was guilty, but it didn’t prove he was innocent either.

So he decided to resort to some good old fashioned police work and follow Mark. For this purpose Brodie hired a black Ford Focus for a couple of days. His faithful old Astra would be spotted a mile off.

For his vigil he purchased a pile of sandwiches, flask of coffee and a couple of packets of crisps from the café near his hotel - the cute waitress was absent, to his disappointment. Surveillance could take a long time and he’d learnt long ago to ensure he was fully prepared. What could be a short operation could easily turn into a long one and too many times he’d been stuck in a car starving and dying of thirst. He also had a spare empty bottle in case he needed to answer a call of nature.

Once he was prepared he drove to Creegan Antiques, which was owned by Mark, and parked down the street, sipping his coffee as he watched the shop front. Mark was definitely in there because his Audi was parked outside. Brodie was surprised by the number of people who wanted antiques, there was always someone going in or coming out carrying black plastic bags with the name of the shop emblazoned on the side in italics. But then again, he knew nothing about the antiques business so he wasn’t qualified to comment.

At one o’clock a strange, mincing little man sashayed down the street, his spindly frame encased in a hideous dark pink tartan suit. He wore the pointiest shoes Brodie had ever seen, making him wonder if his toes went all the way to the top. His light brown hair took on a life of its own, flopping about his face independently of the rest of him. He was even wearing a bright puce cravat.

Brodie watched the pink man enter the shop. Five minutes later Mark emerged clutching an expensive leather briefcase. So Mr Pink worked for him.

As Mark got into his car Brodie started the engine and followed him into the city traffic.

It was no surprise when Mark led him back to Sarah’s house but instead of going inside Mark remained in his car, staring up at the house in a pathetic, puppy dog way. It wasn’t clear whether she was in or not, her car wasn’t on the drive but then again it might have been in the garage. There were no signs of life inside the house.

Next Mark drove out of the affluent area and headed towards Salford. The house Maggie and Lauren shared was a hovel in comparison to Mark’s palatial home. It was a rundown council house with a postage stamp for a garden, comprised of a square patch of brown grass with a dead sapling in the middle. Everything about the house was brown - the garden, the exterior, the front door, even the curtains hanging in the living room window. It was a house that made you glad you didn’t live there.

Seth’s car was parked crookedly, half-on, half-off the kerb. The impression it conveyed wasn’t one of someone who couldn’t park properly but of someone who had pulled up in a hurry with a screech of tyres, the handbrake yanked on with a loud creak. It boggled Brodie’s mind that someone’s car could seem angry but that was Seth’s aura, his rage at the world enveloped everything he touched.

Mark disappeared inside the house and Brodie sat back for the wait. It was impossible to see into the house, the windows were too grimy, the interior just a yawning blackness beyond the limp, turd-brown curtains. Mark was probably in there moaning about how hard done by he was, Mr Moneybags with the flash car, the big house, the beautiful wife and kids. Not that Brodie himself could complain, his business was thriving and he was quite wealthy himself but he’d been in his poky two-bedroomed flat for years, kept his battered blue Astra because he saw little point in changing. He was comfortable as he was and, because he was on his own, what was the point in moving to a bigger place? Rattling around in a huge house would only make him feel even more alone.

Mark was in there for forty minutes. He and Seth exited the house together, talking seriously and rather heatedly, but they didn’t appear to be angry at each other. They hesitated at the gate, continuing the conversation then parted ways not unfriendly but not friendly either, especially not for twins, which was supposed to be the tightest of all bonds. They didn’t seem to be close at all.

Brodie looked from Mark getting into his car to Seth walking to his, then to the house. Which to choose? Mark was probably only going back to the shop or to sit outside his own house for a good brood but Seth could be going anywhere. However wasn’t this the ideal time to talk to Maggie and Lauren, while both brothers were out of the way? He doubted the women of the family would say anything against the men. Seth was the one who interested him the most but fortunately he didn’t need to follow him thanks to the tracking device he’d slipped into his pocket when he’d had him in an armlock.

He sunk down in his seat as Mark drove by but he paid him no attention, he looked lost in his own world. Seth had already driven off in the opposite direction way too fast. Once both cars had disappeared from view he got out of his own car and jogged across the street to the brown house. He knocked on the door, which was opened by Maggie.

“What do you want?” she frowned, cold eyes disappearing into the lines of her face.

“To talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. You’ve ruined my family. It’s your fault I can’t see my grandkids anymore.” She followed this up with a harsh, barking cough that silenced any more protests.

Brodie fought the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust. All the government had to do to stop kids from smoking was to parade this woman through the schools.
Look children, if you smoke you will end up looking like this.
It would put them right off.

Lauren appeared in the doorway behind her. “Brodie,” she said, gently pushing her mother aside, who was still in the grip of a coughing fit. “Come on in.”

“Thank you,” he replied, surprised.

Inside the house was dark and just as brown as the exterior. He surmised they’d been going for a contemporary chocolate-brown look but instead of combining it with a lighter colour they’d just gone ahead and painted everything the one colour and bought furniture to match, consequently the house felt oppressive. He did note that everything was fresh and new, as though a colour blind version of Changing Rooms had just exited. The carpet was thick and plush, the sofas rigid from lack of use. An enormous flat screen TV dominated one entire wall. It didn’t exactly fit in with the exterior.

Lauren steered him to the rigid couch. “Would you like some tea or coffee?” she offered.

Great, more brown
. “No thanks.”

“Okay,” she chirpily replied.

She sat next to him on the couch with her legs crossed, grinning inanely at him. She looked so cheerful, a big contrast to their last meeting.

“Err, I wondered if I could talk to you both about Sarah and Mark,” he began.

“Why should we tell you anything after what you’ve done?” barked Maggie, looming over him and sparking up another cigarette, clenching it between her manky teeth.

“Because I can help.”

“You can help by buggering off back to Jockland.”

“I like Brodie,” said a cheerful Lauren. “Brodie’s his first name, not his last.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and puffed out a cloud of smoke.

“That’s right, it is,” he replied with a smile. “Lots of people don’t realise that, they think it’s my surname. Thanks for remembering.”

Lauren flashed him a huge smile and fluttered her eyelashes, shifting her body towards his. Brodie resisted the urge to recoil. A pyromaniac had a crush on him. Marvellous.

“Are you saying you can get that tight-arsed, blond dwarf bitch to let me see my grandkids?” demanded Maggie.

“What I mean is I can probably help you reconcile Sarah and Mark.”

“Why would I want that? It would be better for us if they got a divorce. She’s never been one of us and this betrayal proves it,” she hissed, smoke streaming through the large gaps between her teeth.

“Because if Mark and Sarah are back together the children will come home and Mark will have some authority in the family again. He’ll say you can see the kids.”

Maggie scowled at him with her mean eyes before nodding. “Alright Mr Brodie, talk then,” she said, easing herself into a brown armchair, oozing smoke from her lips.

“Before I can do anything you need to tell me the truth about your husband’s death.”

The lines in Maggie’s face jumped out when she frowned. “What are you on about?”

“Who really killed Bryan? It certainly wasn’t Mark, or should I say, Theo.”

Pure hate radiated off Maggie as her eyes bored into him.

“Well?” said Brodie when she failed to reply. Not that he needed her to, her reaction said it all. Mark didn’t kill his dad but why had he taken the fall?

“Mark killed him,” she eventually said, forcing her body to relax, sinking back into her armchair. “There’s no doubt.”

“Who’s he protecting Maggie?” Brodie glanced at Lauren. He’d purposefully kept his voice low and gentle so as not to startle her but she seemed perfectly calm, although now she was avoiding his eyes.

“Who was it?” he asked Lauren, his voice a whisper.

She stared down at her hands, picking at the threads of the cuffs of her long black jumper, remaining silent.

“Leave her alone, she’s not well,” said Maggie.

Brodie ignored her. “This is destroying Mark’s life. He’s protected whoever really did it for long enough. If Sarah found out he was innocent she’d take him back, the grandkids would come home and you could see them whenever you liked. Isn’t that what you want?”

“What I want is for you to leave us alone.” Maggie rose majestically from her chair. “If you don’t go away then I’ll call the police and tell them you burst in here and threatened us.” Her voice had dropped so deep it was almost masculine.

Brodie also got to his feet, not wanting to remain in the inferior position. “You’re good at telling the police what you want them to hear, aren’t you Maggie.”

“Get out of my house,” she boomed.

Lauren whimpered and curled in on herself, stuffing herself into a ball on the couch.

“Look what you’ve done,” said Maggie, going to her daughter, arms extended, shocked when Lauren slapped her hands away. She jumped up off the couch, rushed to Brodie and stared him straight in the eye, her mouth opening and closing. For a single, breathtaking second Brodie thought Lauren was going to tell him the truth. Instead she threw her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.