Unfinished Business (8 page)

“You got the better of Seth,” she said into his chest. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

She nestled into him and Brodie held up his hands as though in surrender, to show Maggie he wasn’t touching her daughter. He looked to the matriarch for assistance, but she was gaping at Lauren.

“She hasn’t hugged anyone in years, not since she was a little girl, she hates people touching her.” Maggie’s mean little eyes regarded him derisively. “Why are you so special?”

“Maybe you should stop letting Seth rule the roost,” he retorted.

“He doesn’t. I do.”

Brodie wondered if
she
was the reason why her kids were the way they were. He wasn’t so sure it could all be put on Bryan Flynn.

It was a relief when his phone went off in his jacket pocket, it gave him an excuse to extricate himself from Lauren, whose arms were still wrapped around him like an iron band.

“Err, I need to get that,” he said.

“Lauren, let the man go,” sighed Maggie, stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray on the brown coffee table and lighting another.

Lauren loosened her grip but kept one arm around his waist as he took out his phone. It was Cass.

“Hi, just give me a minute,” he said awkwardly into the phone.

Lauren smiled up at him. “I really like your accent.”

“Interrupted you at an awkward moment, have I Boss?” Cass’s voice said in his ear.

“It’s not what you think. Just give me a sec.”

He didn’t bother trying to muffle the phone because he wanted Cass to know he was innocent. “It’s my colleague, I have to go,” he told Lauren apologetically.

“Good. You’re not wanted here and don’t come back,” yelled Maggie, pointing at him with her cigarette. “And if you do come back I’ll set Seth on you.”

“If you remember he came off worst the last time we met,” he smiled.

Maggie’s eyes disappeared into the lines again. “He was holding back. You’ve no idea what he’s capable of.”

“Tell me then,” he challenged.

“Get out. Get out right now,” Maggie exploded, shoving him in the chest, but she couldn’t even make him move.

“Alright, I’m leaving but only because I don’t want to upset Lauren.”

“Please don’t go,” said Lauren, gazing up at him with pleading eyes, transforming back into the timid, frightened creature.

“I’m sorry, I have to,” he replied kindly.

Defeated, Lauren retreated to the couch and curled back up into a ball. Maggie appeared confused by her daughter’s behaviour but not overly concerned. She yelled and spat threats at Brodie as he headed for the door but he ignored her, already putting the phone back to his ear.

“Hello Cass.”

A rough hand in his back pushed him out the door, which was then slammed shut behind him. The sound of it being locked followed.

“Who was that bloke yelling at you?” said Cass.

“That was no bloke. That was Ma Creegan.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nope. That’s what comes from chain-smoking.” As he exited the garden he turned to look back at the house and saw Maggie glaring at him from the living room window. Lauren wasn’t visible.

“Who said they loved your accent? Don’t tell me that was Ma Creegan too?”

“No, that was Lauren, the daughter. She’s taken a wee bit of a shine to me since she saw me put Seth in an arm lock,” he said, strolling back to his car.

“Arm lock? What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“It was self defence, he came at me.”

“That’s it, I’m coming up there.”

“Cass, I… what do you mean, coming
up
here?”

“I’m already in London. I’ve just had a meeting with DCI Oliver Barrow who worked on the Bryan Flynn murder.”

“That was fast.”

“I managed to get a flight pretty much straight away.”

“What did he have to say?”

“A lot actually. The Flynn case has niggled him for years.”

“He didn’t think Mark was guilty?”

“At first he did, until he saw how he acted after his arrest. He said the same thing you did, he just didn’t seem like a killer. Nothing tangible, just instinct.”

Brodie had learnt that a copper’s instinct was a very valuable tool. Unfortunately it wasn’t admissible in court. “What did he say about only Mark’s prints being on the knife?”

“No one had touched it after Maggie last washed it. He confronted her as to why her prints weren’t on it and she said she dried it with a tea towel then replaced it back in the block with the tea towel over the handle, so her hand didn’t come into direct contact with it.”

“Damn,” he sighed. “Who did he think really killed Bryan Flynn?”

“Seth. He reckons Mark took the blame because Seth already had convictions for violent assault. He wouldn’t have been able to pull off the self defence story like Mark.”

“So Mark goes down to protect his twin. It explains why there’s so much animosity between them. Seth owes Mark and he’s the type of man who doesn’t like owing anyone,” he said, getting back into his car.

“I’ve got ex-Detective Inspector Greenacre to talk to who headed up the case. He’s retired to the Lake District. Want to come?”

“Sounds good,” he said, pleased at the prospect of seeing her again.

“My flight lands in Manchester in two hours. Pick me up from the airport and we can drive straight there together.”

Even better. “Will do.” He couldn’t believe how fast this woman worked. If she was determined to get something done then by God she got it done and in record time with maximum efficiency. “See you soon.”

Brodie hung up, a smile on his face that he promptly wiped away. She was his colleague and friend, nothing more.

He returned to his crappy hotel to pack an overnight bag, he didn’t know how long this trip would take, then he called Sarah to let her know he’d be out of the area for the rest of the day. She didn’t sound too pleased about that but until she started paying him to be a bodyguard he would continue to do what he had to in order to get the case resolved. Besides, he was almost one hundred percent certain she was safe from Mark. She said she’d invite a friend to stay the night. He wondered if that friend was male or female. Was poor Mark being replaced already? No, she didn’t seem the type to pull that one. But then again, who knew?

CHAPTER 7

At the airport Brodie tried to look cool and casual as he waited for Cass to emerge from the arrivals lounge. Finally she appeared, sandwiched inside a bunch of rowdy cockneys who were all talking loudly and blatantly ogling her backside. Cass had no idea how attractive she was. She wasn’t beautiful in that tacky, Hollywood way with big cheekbones and huge white teeth. Hers was more subtle. She always dressed practically in jeans or trousers - today it was black trousers for a more professional look with a short sleeved dark red button up blouse, tailored to follow her slim contours. Her pride and joy - her chocolate brown hair - was very long, plunging down to her waist. When she was working it was pulled back out of the way in a ponytail. It was the first thing Brodie had noticed about her and he’d never forget the feel of it sliding across his naked chest as her lips had made their way down his body. Today she wore the bare minimum of make-up - eyeliner and a slash of dark red lipstick to match the shirt. Her black ankle length boots, highly polished as always, click-clacked as she walked. To complete the look she carried a light black jacket and a flight bag hung from her shoulder. The effect was understated, casual but somehow only enhanced her natural beauty. Her face was a delicate oval and her eyes dark brown and big and soft. Those eyes made people think she was a pushover. That was usually their downfall.

“Pillocks,” was the first word she said to him as she glared at the cockneys filing past them towards the exit. “There’s a football match on, Man United versus Arsenal and those low foreheaded, knuckle-dragging, carpet carrying primates are going to watch it, as they kept telling the whole plane. I mean, who gives a shit?”

“Hello Cass, nice to see you too,” he smiled.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “Thank God it was only a fifty minute flight.”

“Do you want something to eat before we set off for the Lakes?”

“No, let’s just get there. At least there won’t be any risk of us running into that bunch of apes up there.”

Brodie resisted the urge to grin like an idiot as they headed outside to his car. He was happy.

Cass was delighted he’d hired the Ford Focus, she was always getting at him for keeping his old rust bucket of a car.

On the drive to the Lake District, Cass explained about ex-Detective Inspector Andrew Greenacre. “Barrow told me the Bryan Flynn case brought Greenacre’s career to a halt. By all accounts he was a good copper and on track to promotion but he refused to believe Theo Flynn was responsible for killing his dad, despite his confession. There was a lot of media attention on the case. The Flynn’s were already quite infamous in the area because of Seth and Lauren’s antics and patricide always generates a lot of media interest. The possibility that Bryan was The Camden Carver only juiced up the story even more. When Greenacre started to question the evidence he was told to shut up, they had their man but Greenacre thought Theo was covering for someone else.”

“Who?”

“Not sure. He accused all three members of the family at different stages in the investigation. This is just what I got from Barrow.”

“What was his take on it?”

“That Theo Flynn was innocent but he was just a lowly detective constable at the time so no one paid much attention to what he said. Besides, he was after promotion himself but Greenacre wouldn’t be silenced.”

“Did Barrow describe the scene to you when he arrived?”

“Yep, he remembered all the gory details. All five members of the household were present when he arrived. They were gathered in the front room of the house, well, the ones who were alive anyway. Lauren was in hysterics and Maggie was trying to calm her down and move anything flammable out of reach at the same time. Seth was shouting abuse at the police officers and Theo was almost catatonic, sat in a chair covered in blood. Bryan Flynn was face up on the kitchen floor riddled with stab wounds. A chair at the dining table had been overturned and a vase of flowers knocked off the windowsill. Other than that there were no signs of a struggle, which is funny because Theo claimed he was being beaten up by his dad when he snapped and killed him.”

“Did Mark, I mean Theo, have any injuries?”

“They couldn’t tell until all the blood had been cleaned off him. There was a lot of it. Apparently he had a black eye, a couple of bruises, that was it.”

“So not badly beaten up then?”

“No, not at all. One knife from the block in the kitchen was sticking out of Bryan’s chest. The butcher’s knife. Post mortem report said it was the seventh blow that killed him, straight into his heart, but Theo went right on stabbing him long after he’d died.”

“Rage, hatred, fear,” said Brodie as they hit the M6 leading away from Manchester.

“A lot of it,” she added.

“Had anyone else visited the house that day?”

“No. Bryan Flynn didn’t take kindly to visitors. Neither did the rest of the family for that matter, apparently they’re not what you’d call sociable.”

“I’ve already experienced the Creegan hospitality,” he grimaced.

“I’m looking forward to meeting them,” said Cass. “A whole family of psychos, they’re quite rare.”

“Not as rare as you’d think,” he replied grimly.

Cass cringed as she recalled that Brodie’s brother was in a secure psychiatric hospital after doing something horrific and his sister had been in and out of prison most of her life. “Sorry Brodie.”

“It’s alright Cass. You’re the only person in the world who never needs to apologise to me.” He was feeling especially soft towards her because she’d used his first name.

Cass settled back in her seat, pleased.

Two hours later they arrived at the village of Hawkshead in the Lake District, which was all cobbled paths and picturesque cottages. 

After grabbing a quick bite to eat in a cute little tearoom they drove to Bobbin Cottage. If it hadn’t been for the sign protruding from the bushes they would have missed it.

“This is gorgeous,” beamed Cass. “It looks like something out of a Beatrix Potter story. I used to love those books when I was a kid.”

“That’s ironic because she lived around here somewhere.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of those facts that’s permanently lodged in my brain and I’ve no idea where it came from.”

The cottage was detached, cosy and cutesy, barely visible because of the flowers surrounding it. Typically Lakeland it was composed of grey stone. Hardy, steadfast.

They pushed open the wooden gate, an arch of roses passing overhead as they stepped into the garden, which put the flowers at Dr Prosser’s hospital to shame.

“They’ve even got a wishing well,” cooed Cass, pointing to an impressive wooden specimen in the centre of the lawn.

“I wouldn’t have thought this was your thing at all,” he said.

“Not yet. One day maybe, when I retire,” she said longingly.

Brodie shuffled uncomfortably as they rang the front door bell, a loud buzzing surrounding them. The roses were hoaching with bees.

“Shit,” he exclaimed when one large specimen, laden down with pollen, floated lazily past his nose.

“Don’t tell me you’re frightened of bees,” sniggered Cass.

“No,” he sniffed. “It’s wasps I don’t like, they’re just dicks….oh hello.”

Cass repressed a smile as the front door opened and Brodie hastily rearranged his features into a less angry expression.

“Hello, my name’s Cass Carlisle,” she said, stepping forward. “This is my employer, Brodie MacBride. We arranged to speak to your husband today at four.”

The woman before them was tiny with frail, liver-spotted hands. Her hair was pure white and fluffed out around her face like cotton wool. Her features were small and delicate and Brodie surmised she had probably been a looker in her day.

“Come on in, he’s waiting for you,” she replied in a strong cockney accent that was at odds with her appearance.

They followed her inside the cottage, which was obviously very old with its exposed beams and stone walls. It had been furnished with comfort and practicality in mind with large, sturdy furniture. Fresh cut flowers from the garden were everywhere, vases adorning every available surface and the windows were wide open, letting in a gentle summer breeze.

“Your visitors are here dear,” Mrs Greenacre called to the man sitting in a chair by the window, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on his face. Greenacre was in his mid seventies but he looked tall and strong, military almost. He’d probably never slouched in his life. A grey moustache completed the sergeant major look but this man had never been in the army. He’d served in the police force for over thirty years before being put out to pasture.

“Hello Sir. I’m Cass Carlisle, we spoke on the phone. This is my associate, Brodie MacBride.”

Greenacre got to his feet with surprising sprightliness and held out a large hand for them both to shake.

“Thanks for agreeing to this meeting,” said Brodie.

“Ms Carlisle told me this was about the Flynns so my curiosity was piqued.” He motioned to two steadfast armchairs. “Please take a seat.”

“Would you like a drink?” offered Mrs Greenacre.

After putting in their orders for tea Mrs Greenacre disappeared into the kitchen and the three of them settled back to begin their talk.

“So, what’s happened to rake all this up again?” opened Andrew.

“Mark Creegan AKA Theo Flynn married and moved on with his life,” said Brodie. “His wife has just found out about his past. We’re working on her behalf.” His policy was never to tell anyone the full story. They always gave their interviewees half-truths whenever they could. They didn’t like anyone to know the full story except themselves and their client.

“She wants all the details?”

“She and Mark have two young daughters. She needs to know he’s not a danger to herself or them.”

“Understandable. Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know, for them.”

“Thank you Sir,” said Brodie respectfully. He might have left the force but he still had enormous admiration for those who worked in it. It was a tough job. “We’ve read the reports but we’d really like to know your thoughts and feelings on the case.”

“You mean the stuff that wasn’t in the case file?”

“Exactly. Cass here has already spoken to DCI Barrow and he told her you were certain Mark - I mean Theo - wasn’t responsible for killing Bryan Flynn.”

“He was right, not that he wanted to listen to me,” grumbled Greenacre. “None of them did.”

“What made you think Theo was innocent?” Brodie settled on referring to Mark as Theo because that was the name Greenacre knew him by and he didn’t want to confuse the issue.

“The boy was soft, he kept bursting into tears. I’ve seen a lot of crocodile tears in my time but these were genuine.”

“Maybe he was in shock?” suggested Cass.

“He was but it wasn’t just that. In interview when we showed him the photos of his dad’s body he threw up all over the floor. You know any frenzied killers who throw up at the sight of their own handiwork?”

Brodie had to own that he didn’t.

“That was just one of many things, which were all small. There was nothing definitive that told me he was innocent, just insignificant little moments that added up to one thing - Theo Flynn wasn’t capable of murder. I could tell you every one of those things but you’d just think they were stupid, like my colleagues did,” he said bitterly.

“I’ve met Theo Flynn,” said Brodie. “One of my first thoughts was that he couldn’t have killed anyone, he’s not the type. As I told my colleague here the word that springs to mind with regards to Theo Flynn is buffoon.”

Greenacre smiled but there was no humour in it. “I know exactly what you mean. I don’t know what sort of man he’s become but he was a clumsy, inept boy. Not stupid, no, quite the opposite actually, but no common sense. Bryan Flynn was a monster of a man, huge and solid. Theo was tall but he was gangly. Don’t get me wrong Mr Brodie…”

Brodie sighed inwardly but didn’t interrupt.

“…I’ve seen the most unlikely killers in my time. I’ve met a tiny little woman who slit her two hundred and fifty pound husband’s throat, a ten year old who battered a sixteen year old to death and a little old lady with a fetish for poisoning wealthy old men. Everyone, no matter who they are, is capable of murder. But if Theo Flynn had decided to kill his dad he wouldn’t have done it like that. He would have waited until he was asleep and smothered him. Something nice and quiet when the victim was at their most vulnerable, he would never have taken him on at full strength in the middle of an argument, he was far too afraid of him.”

“Perhaps he reached breaking point?” said Cass. “If he was being attacked and panicked…”

“You sound just like Barrow,” snorted Greenacre. He leaned forward in his seat, eyes hardening. “I spent a lot of time with Theo Flynn, much more than my colleagues. He is not a killer. Another odd thing, the pathologist said the stab wounds on Bryan’s body had been done by both a left hand and a right.”

“Surely that proves Mark wasn’t the killer?” said Brodie. “He’s right-handed and Seth’s left-handed.”

“The seventh blow, which was the killer blow, was committed by someone right-handed but Mark said he’s ambidextrous.”