Nameless Kill (14 page)

Brad looked Brian straight in the eye. He leaned across the table, his breath stinking of alcohol. “Cassy Emerson‌—‌dead. Scott Collins‌—‌murderous psychopath, dead. Stephen Molfer‌—‌shot in the leg. Just about survived.”

Brian’s heart pounded now. His fists tensed inadvertently. “And your point is?”

Brad smiled. Took a final sip of his beer. “You’re out for yourself. Don’t care what happens to those around you. As long as Detective Inspector Brian McDone gets his promotions, it doesn’t matter if a little constable throws herself into the fucking flames to‌—‌”

Brian jolted to his feet. His body was tensed. He heard the pub go quiet around him as he focused on Brad, who flinched back as Brian rose.

“What happened to Cassy, you’ve no fucking idea about, you smart-arsed, booze-reeking piece of shit.”

A few “oohs” and “ahhs” emerged from the punters, but Brian’s mind was so fixated on Brad’s cowering figure to concentrate.

“So don’t pretend you understand. Don’t fucking dare pretend you understand. I‌—‌I know you’re going through shit. But quite frankly, you don’t help yourself. Sitting there with that smug little face. Acting like the world revolves around you. Fucking hell, Brad. I trusted you. I trusted you as my deputy, and you know what? Maybe I did make the wrong call.”

Brad was still. He’d sunk back into his chair. The way his eyes looked up at Brian, like a scared little kid, it was like nothing Brian had seen from him before. It was the truest he’d ever seen Detective Sergeant Richards look in his entire time of knowing him.

“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Brian said. He tossed down a couple of pound coins on the table. “Do what you do best. Drink yourself into another state.”

Brian needed to get out of here. He was boiling hot. His head pounded. His vision was blurred. He needed to get out before he said anything else to Brad‌—‌

“And Brad,” he said, unable to help himself as he stood beside the table, ready to leave the pub. “Don’t ever compare yourself to Cassy Emerson. Cassy Emerson threw herself into those flames to save my life and bring Robert Luther to justice.” He knew he shouldn’t say this. It was confidential. It was the unannounced truth. But he couldn’t help himself, the visions of the flames flickering around his feet in Robert Luther’s office as Cassy rushed to untie him.

“She‌—‌she threw herself into the flames to save me and to bring justice. I didn’t have to ask her to. Maybe you can learn a few lessons from that the next time a prime-fucking-suspect jogs past you.”

He turned away from Brad, who had gone pale, his eyes still wide and honest.

He didn’t look at Brad again as he grabbed the rusty gold handle of the pub door and stepped out of the boozy air into the slightly fresher outdoors.

He didn’t look back at Brad, but he knew he’d be watching him with his empty pint glass in hand, and a small part of Brian regretted his words already.

Chapter Twenty Three

The guilt at lashing out at Brad was getting on Brian’s nerves even when he got back home to Hannah.

“What’s up?” Hannah asked as she looked over at him, tomato-flavoured pasta dangling from her fork. She looked at him with those eyes that could read him better than anybody. Those eyes that Brian knew there was no point lying to because she’d know he was lying, and that would just cause problems between them.

He sighed. Chewed at the rich pasta in his mouth, far too tomatoey, far too sickly-sweet. “It’s Brad. Brad at work, y’know?”

Hannah dug her fork into another few tubes of pasta and slurped them into her mouth. “The one who’s…‌who has his issues?”

“Yeah, him,” Brian said. Just hearing Hannah describe Brad that way made him feel even more guilty for putting him down. “He‌—‌he said a few things today. A few things that…‌Well, I reacted to him and now I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have.”

Hannah groaned as she chewed at the steaming pasta. The speed she was getting through her dish told Brian that she was enjoying it a lot more than he was. It was always how he got when he was working a serious case. And after what had happened with Brad, well. He had too much on his mind. Too much on his mind for a Tuesday evening. Too much on his mind with three more working days left before his holiday.

“Just give him a ring or summat,” Hannah said. A bit of tomato sauce dribbled down onto her chin, which she fast dabbed away with her hand, checking to see if Brian had noticed. “You men. You don’t let arguments linger, so the stereotype goes, right?”

Brian gulped down another mouthful of the stodgy pasta. He filled his mouth with freezing cold water just to try and get rid of the taste. “Right,” he said.

“Anyway, we’ve got the holiday to look forward to. So I hope this case of yours is coming along nicely.”

The mention of the word “holiday” made Brian’s stomach roll a little. Truth was, it was getting that way more every day. The closer the holiday came and the still limited information they knew with regards to the mystery Avenham Park girl…‌Wayne Jenkins, who might not live much longer, and if he did, probably comatose. Fuck. This case was getting on his wick.

And there was the tightness in his chest, too. The tightness in his chest and the dizziness he got when he walked around sometimes.

But he didn’t mention that. Just the stress of the case, that’s all it was.

“Oh Brian, just give Brad a call,” Hannah said, rattling her fork against her pasta bowl. “I’m not having you moping around all night with this weighing down on your shoulders.”

Brian tilted his head either side. He knew he was stuck in the crosshairs now. “I…‌I dunno. I just‌—‌”

“Go on.” Hannah stared at Brian with wide eyes and slid her HTC phone across the table. She tapped on its screen, which was greasy from contact with her makeup. “Go on. Ring him. Now. Right here.”

Brian sighed and lifted up the phone, wiping away the greasy patch so it didn’t leave a splodge of makeup on his face. He keyed in Brad’s number from his phonebook and dialled.

It rang and rang and rang, but nobody answered.

“Nothing,” Brian said. He placed Hannah’s phone back on the table. He wasn’t too surprised at the lack of response, knowing Brad like he did. He looked at the time on his phone. Eight p.m. Probably boozed out of his mind right now. Drunk and dizzy and God-knows-what-else.

“Well you make sure you‌—‌”

Hannah’s voice was interrupted by Brian’s phone vibrating on the table. At first, Brian assumed it must be Brad ringing him back, and his stomach did a little leap.

But then he remembered he’d rang Brad on Hannah’s phone, so it couldn’t be him.

And this number was Unknown.

Brian lifted the phone to his ear. Hit the “Answer” icon. “Hello?”

There was a rustling noise. The sound of voices, of bleeping. But no response.

“Hello? Who is‌—‌”

“McDone? Got some news for you. Brace yerself because it’s good news.”

DCI Marlow. What did he want at this time?

“Marlow, what’s‌—‌”

“It’s that little scrote Wayne Jenkins. I’m sat right outside his hospital ward right now. And guess what?”

There was a delay. Fuck‌—‌Marlow actually wanted Brian to guess.

“I, er, is‌—‌”

“He’s awake. Better condition than anybody thought. Miraculous recovery. Few broken ribs and a bit of concussion.”

Brian’s stomach leapt. He felt a wave of relief wash over him‌—‌a wave of relief that Hannah must’ve seen too as she raised her eyebrows and smiled in response to Brian’s reaction.

“Y’know what this means, don’t you?”

“I…” Brian was still struggling to take this in. It was great news. Wayne was alive and he was awake. “He‌—‌”

“Pull a few strings and Wayne Jenkins will be fit for questioning tomorrow. And we have him right where we want him. Sure you’ll be keen on finding out what he was running away from, ey?”

Brian closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. “Marlow, that’s‌—‌that’s great.”

“Let Richards know, anyway. Can’t for the life of me get ‘old of him.”

“Yeah. I will,” Brian said. “Cheers, Marlow. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Marlow had cut off before Brian even finished.

Hannah smiled. She held her glass of rosé wine just below her lips. “Good news?”

Brian took a deep breath of the tomatoey pasta aroma. With the weight off his shoulders, real headway on Wayne Jenkins made, the food smelled much more appealing and much more delicious. “I think so,” Brian said. He dunked his fork in and plucked out a few pieces of pasta, enjoying the texture now, letting it slip down his throat. “Think I will give Brad another call. Breakthrough in the case.” He paused. Checked for Hannah’s reaction. “You don’t‌—‌Sorry, I know we say no work at home but‌—‌”

“It’s okay,” Hannah said, raising her wine glass and shaking her head. “You get him called. I’m pleased for you. Now you and your boyfriend kiss and make up so we can…‌well. Kiss.”

Brian grinned. He felt a tingling sensation between his legs. “And make up?”

Hannah sipped her wine and licked her red lips. “We’ll see.”

In between his legs still getting hotter and harder, he fumbled for his iPhone and scrolled down to Brad Richards. He’d just give him one more try. One more try to let him know the good news. Didn’t matter if he was pissed or what. At least it would break the ice between them. Wayne Jenkins was alive. Awake. And he knew who the girl on Avenham Park was. He’d run away to protect that secret.

A secret that they were finally, finally going to get to the bottom of tomorrow.

He held his phone to his ear, listening to the dialling tone.

Again, it rang and rang. Again, it went to voicemail.

“Brad, it’s‌—‌it’s Brian. Brian McDone.” His heart pounded. He hated leaving voicemails. Didn’t like the idea of leaving a recorded voice. Once it was done it was set in stone. “Hope you’re alreet. Good news from Marlow‌—‌Wayne’s alive and awake. So we go into the hospital tomorrow and nail this bastard at last.” He lifted a hand, excusing himself to Hannah. “Anyway, I…‌Just give me a bell whenever you want. And er, sorry about‌—‌about before. Didn’t…‌Didn’t mean anythin’. Just the stress.” His cheeks heated up.
Enough, Brian, enough.
“Laters pal.”

Brian put the phone down.

Hannah clapped her hands. “Well done,” she said, grinning with wine-stained teeth. “Bravo for performance. Ticked all the Oscar boxes. Tears. Homosexual content. Wonderful.”

Brian felt his cheeks burning even more. He made a masculine cough and tightened his shoulder muscles. “Yeah, well, he can get back to me now. I’ve done my bit.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Hannah said, sarcasm in her voice. “I’m very, very proud of you.”

She reached over the table. Stroked the back of Brian’s hand with her soft fingers.

“Now how about we go upstairs and get started on dessert?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes over her big brown eyes.

Any tension that Brian felt in his body just minutes ago was gone with the sound of those words and the touch of Hannah’s hand.

Bloody hell. Tonight wasn’t turning out so bad after all.

Brad’s vision was blurry. His stomach ached. He knew he shouldn’t have taken as many as he had but he’d needed to. His head. His arms. His legs. Pain all over. He just wanted to stop the pain. Just wanted to stop the pain for a little while.

He blinked. Stared up at his grey ceiling through his blurry eyes. The hard floor underneath his head was disappearing. The pain in his back was going. The pain in his arms. All going. All going to sleep all okay soon.

He heard a buzzing next to him. His phone. He knew he should answer it but it was okay. No rush. Everything was okay soon. Even though he could taste sick in his mouth and smell it all around him, everything was okay.

As the buzzing of the phone stopped, Brad curled his fingers around the bottle of pills in his hands.

All asleep soon. All asleep.

Chapter Twenty Four

Brian tried calling Brad a few times the following morning but couldn’t for the life of him get hold of him.

He walked down the corridors of the hospital heading to Ward 32. Inside, the place reeked of smoke, which drifted in from the smokers at the door. People walked past with all kinds of problems and ailments, each one of them thinking they’re the very centre of the universe when in fact they’re just another face in the crowd of sick people. An old man with grey hair and narrow cheekbones stumbled down the corridor, linking his wife’s arm. A teenager with a perfectly bald head wandered past, playing about on his phone.

Brian held his breath. Tried not to breathe in too deeply. Didn’t like the idea of sniffing up all their germs. He thought he could taste them lingering on his tongue as it was, but that was probably just the fact that he’d forgotten to brush his teeth.

Wayne Jenkins was in Ward 32. Brian had called in work earlier and asked whether he was okay to go right down there, and Marlow had approved. Brian had tried to call Brad too to let him know, but he really was being a stubborn bastard. Ah well. The grumpy, alchy git could suit himself. Brian had swallowed enough pride by apologising via voicemail to him. He’d been immediate to inform Brad that Wayne Jenkins had not only survived, but was actually awake.

But nothing. Not even so much as a one word reply. Silence.

Brian kept his head down as he reached a turn in the seemingly endless corridor, his knees aching with all the miles he’d walked in this place. He jogged over to an elevator, the door just about ajar, and stuffed himself inside. There was a thin-haired man with a moustache, a fat woman with dark hair in a purple cardigan who reeked of bitter perfume.

“Goin’ up?” the moustached man asked.

Brian nodded and attempted the most convincing smile he could, all the while trying not to hyperventilate next to this fat beast of a woman.

He managed to escape the lift a couple of floors up without so much as an exchanged conversation. Made a pleasant change. Usually, people always seemed to champion him as some kind of small-talk soundboard. They’d never got a person more frigging wrong, in truth.

He kept his head down as he walked along the white tiles of the floor, which clicked underneath his shoes, a noise that was even irritating to Brian. He squinted at the signs above each of the doorways‌‌—‌‌Ward 28, 29…‌32 would just be up here on the left. It should be just‌—‌