‘C
an I have your attention, please.’
Glass stood before the team, knocking on the window of the office behind him to get everyone listening. Mickey and Marina were at the back of the room, having received a text while they were out of the building having coffee. Marina had filled him in on Phil’s phone call. Mickey had sat there. Jaw dropping further with each statement she made. He was so angry, felt so used and betrayed, that he hadn’t wanted to return to the station. Marina had insisted.
‘Let’s see what he has to say,’ she had said. ‘So we know what he’s doing and what we’re dealing with.’ Knowing she was right, Mickey had reluctantly agreed.
Now they stood there while Glass spoke. There was a gleam of triumphalism in his eyes.
‘I’ve received new information,’ he announced to the room, ‘about the abductor of the boy Finn from the hospital. I know where he’s taken him. If we’re in time, we can stop him.’
Marina and Mickey exchanged looks. This wasn’t what they had expected to hear.
‘He’s taken the boy to an abandoned farmhouse out near Wakes Colne on the way to Halstead. He intends to kill him. We have to make sure he doesn’t.
‘An armed response unit have been contacted and are on their way. I will personally be taking charge of this. I will lead the unit. This man is armed and dangerous. We’re taking no chances. Any questions?’
Mickey put his hand up. ‘Where did this information come from?’ Then adding, ‘Sir.’
Glass looked irritated by the question. ‘A confidential informant, DS Philips. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.’
But Mickey kept going. ‘Was it the one I’ve just had in the interview room?’
‘Steady,’ Marina whispered to him.
Glass was clearly annoyed now but couldn’t show it with the whole room watching him. ‘As I said, DS Philips, I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Will there be anybody from here on this team with you?’ Mickey asked. ‘We are MIS after all.’
‘No,’ said Glass. ‘I’m the only one here who is firearm-trained. I’m the logical choice. I also don’t want to give out a location for this farmhouse at the present time, as that information might leak and the abductor could run. And we wouldn’t want that.’ He looked quickly round the room, ready to stifle any more dissent. ‘If there are no further questions, I must prepare. This is going to reflect well on the whole department. A huge morale boost, a great collar. Thank you.’
He walked out from behind the desk, through the room, past Marina and Mickey and swept out of the office. Silence followed his departure.
Marina turned to Mickey. ‘Was that a “once more unto the breach” moment?’
People around her laughed. Mickey didn’t.
‘What was all that about?’ he said to her. ‘Where did he get that information from? Lynn Windsor?’
‘I don’t think it matters,’ said Marina. ‘He’s playing a different game.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got to make a phone call.’
‘Who to?’
‘To your boss. Your proper boss. I think the team need a real briefing. Come on. We can’t stay here.’
She turned and left. Mickey, confused but excited, followed.
T
he Hole in the Wall pub wasn’t one of Mickey’s favourite places to go in Colchester. In fact, it was one of his least favourite.
He associated it with the remnants of the town’s counterculture: indie kids, real-ale drinkers and students. Arty types, attracted by the theatre across the road. All mismatched wooden furniture and vintage leather sofas that you could sink into. That was the trouble. Once you were sunk in there, that was the day gone. And before you knew it, your life. Sitting there with your mates, drinking, arguing about something you’d read in the
Guardian
, dissecting the latest book or film or album, sorting the world out before it was your round. Even as a student he hadn’t enjoyed places like this. They had made him feel uncomfortable. It was the waste. Talking when you could be doing something. But that, he thought, tipping his head back and putting the lager bottle to his lips, was just him.
Despite the alcohol, it wasn’t a social gathering. They had needed somewhere to meet, not too far from the station, just far enough to not be discovered. And the pub was perfect. The last place a clandestine police briefing would be expected to take place in.
Mickey looked round the table. Marina was sitting next to Phil, the pair of them looking a lot friendlier and more content than they had been recently. On the other side of Phil was Don Brennan. The older man looked thrilled to be back in the fray again. Rejuvenated. And enjoying the pint of dark beer that was in front of him. Across the table were two SOCA officers, Fennell and Clemens. Clemens seemed angry, itching to go. Fennell more measured. He, thought Mickey, would be the more approachable of the two. Although the way they sat, backs straight, wearing near-identical suits and ties, they could have been Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses.
It was late afternoon. The pub was in its post-lunchtime lull, before the evening busy spell. Darkness was creeping in through the windows. They had managed to secure the largest table, furthest away from the bar. They went overlooked and unheard. But they kept their voices down just in case.
Phil made introductions, looked round the table. ‘You’ll be wondering why I’ve gathered you all here,’ he said, smiling grimly. The smile dropped. ‘Everyone’s been brought up to speed. Everyone knows what’s happening. It looks like this is the MIS team, not what’s going on over in Southway.’
No one argued.
‘Now we know the shipment’s coming in tonight. But there’s been an added complication. Mickey?’
‘Glass won’t be there,’ he said. ‘He’s just announced that he’s found the whereabouts of the Gardener, and he’s leading a firearms team against him.’
‘And he has to do that tonight?’ said Clemens.
‘It’s a smokescreen,’ said Marina. ‘Something to divert attention away from his shipment arriving at Harwich. He establishes an alibi for himself and makes a high-profile arrest at the same time.’
And we miss out on him,’ said Fennell.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Phil. ‘You’ve still got his DNA all over Donna Warren’s house. As well as Donna’s first-hand testimony. You can get him that way. Plus the other Elders might want to roll over on him for a bit of leniency.’
Clemens shrugged. ‘Possible. But we would have preferred a clean arrest.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Phil. ‘But it’ll still stick this way. He won’t be able to wriggle out.
‘And speaking of the raid,’ he added, looking at the two SOCA officers, ‘I won’t be able to take an active part in it due to my suspension, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Clemens. ‘We didn’t invite you.’
‘He means,’ said Fennell, sugaring Clemens’ words, ‘that we haven’t made provision for you.’
‘No,’ said Phil, ‘but I think it’s time you got us locals involved, don’t you?’
‘What did you have in mind?’ said Fennell.
Phil pointed to Mickey. ‘The finest detective sergeant in the county. Mickey Philips. Take him with you.’
‘Well,’ said Clemens, ‘we don’t—’
‘I insist,’ said Phil.
The two SOCA men looked at him, then at each other.
‘It’s time to play nicely,’ said Phil.
Fennell nodded. ‘You’re right.’
‘Good,’ said Phil. ‘Give the Super a ring in Chelmsford, tell him what’s happening. Don’t worry. He won’t tell Glass. Not if he wants his career to continue.’
‘Right,’ said Fennell. He turned to Mickey. ‘We’ve got a firearms unit coming up from London. They’re on the way now.’
‘OK,’ said Mickey. ‘Let’s go and join them.’
‘Which is all fine,’ said Marina, ‘but it still doesn’t tell us where Glass is going to be. Where the farmhouse is. Or the Gardener. We don’t know any of that.’
Phil thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I think I know someone who could tell us.’
‘Who?’ said Clemens.
‘Remember I told you about that tramp? Paul?’
‘The one you thought might be Paul Clunn,’ said Fennell.
‘That’s him. If anyone knows where the Gardener is, and the farmhouse, it’ll be him. In his own addled way.’
‘And you know where he is?’ asked Marina.
‘I do. Want to come along?’
She did.
Phil smiled. ‘Better bring your boots.’
‘What about me?’ said Don.
Phil looked at him. Mickey was aware of something passing between them. He wasn’t sure what, though: he got the impression it could have been a father-and-son moment, or the sense of a baton being passed.
‘Could you look after Donna and the boy?’ asked Phil.
Don nodded. ‘I’ll call Eileen. Tell her we’ve got more coming round for dinner.’
‘Thanks, Don.’
Don nodded. Looked away.
And in that gesture, that sad, defeated, redundant gesture, Mickey saw his own future. He was sure that Phil saw his too.
‘Right.’ Fennell looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’
Phil looked at Marina. ‘So had we. Good luck, everyone. We’ll need it.’
L
ynn Windsor took a sip from her glass, looked out over the balcony.
It was dark now. She could see the lights along the other side of the river, the stream of car headlights heading away from the town centre. Beyond that she could see up the hill to the town centre. It should have been a beautiful sight. After all, she had paid enough for it. But she couldn’t enjoy it. Not tonight. She couldn’t enjoy anything tonight.
Another sip from the glass, larger this time.
Michael Fenton had been strange with her when he had driven her home. Distracted. Distant. But with a sadness to the distance. On the few occasions he had looked at her, it was with downcast, almost tearful eyes. She hadn’t been able to hold his gaze either. They both knew without saying it that what would happen next wasn’t going to be good.
He had let her out, driven quickly away. Started to say something, then stopped himself.
So she had come inside. Got changed, had a shower. Ignored the white wine in the fridge, gone straight to whisky.
And now she stood in her towelling bathrobe, drinking, watching. All those other people. In their cars, on the streets, the trains, in their own homes. All those ordinary lives. Those brief lives.
At one time she would have called them boring. Living life blindfolded, she would have said. Unable to experience everything, do everything. Limited, bound by convention. By fear. Lynn hadn’t been like that. She had prided herself on not being like that. She had wanted to experience everything, push herself to the extreme. She wanted to control, dominate. She wanted power, too. Had been brought up that way. Not just to feel superior, but to
be
superior.
She was her mother’s daughter in every respect.
And look where it had got her.
Her hand trembled as it held the glass. She took another sip. Made it a mouthful. Felt the liquid burn as it travelled down inside her.
It was no more than she deserved.
What she had done, the things she had been responsible for, the lives she had ruined, ended … Not her personally. Never her personally. But she had been there, in the background, pulling the strings. Dominating. Powerful.
Tears sprang into her eyes then. She looked down once more at the town. Thought of all the lives she had controlled, had taken. They could have still been here. They could have been like the people down there. Living their small, unimaginative lives. Beautiful lives, the kind she would never live.
Lynn thought of Mickey Philips. Of last night. He had given her a glimpse of another life. A better life. Happier. There had been a connection there, a real connection. And she had let it go. She’d had to. He would never have understood. Then she thought of that afternoon in the interview room. And how he had nearly reached her. A little bit more time … and that would have been that.
She might as well have done. Told him what he wanted. She knew what was going to happen now. Knew she couldn’t go back. She was tainted. No use. Just had to accept it.
Another mouthful. Her glass was empty. She reached down, tipped more in from the bottle. Replaced it on the deck. Heard a noise from behind her. She didn’t turn round.
‘I let myself in,’ a familiar voice said.
He joined her on the balcony. She turned. Saw Glass’s features looking out over the town. Another mouthful. It burned.
Neither of them spoke. For her, it was the silence of resignation. For him, she knew it must be the silence of anticipation.
‘I know what you’re here to do,’ she said, taking another mouthful, vision swimming from all the whisky.
He sighed. ‘This could have ended so differently, you know.’
‘I know.’ Another mouthful. Bigger this time.
‘I had high hopes for you. Such high hopes … ’ He stroked her shoulder.
She had felt his touch so many times before. Never tired of it. Now, she just wanted to fall into his embrace, sleep it all away.
She took another mouthful. The glass was empty. She refilled it.
‘Careful,’ he said, ‘you don’t want to drink it all. Lucky I brought you another.’
He placed an identical bottle next to the first one. Same brand, same size. She noticed he was wearing latex gloves.
‘And here,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He took out a brown plastic bottle, rattled it. ‘Something to help you sleep.’
She took the bottle from him. Nodded.
‘I’ll wait while you do it,’ he said.
‘I thought you might.’ Her mouth was dry despite all the liquid she had been pouring down it. She twisted the top off the bottle, shook out a few pills. Took them one at a time, swallowing them down with a mouthful of whisky.
He watched her all the while.
The pills went down easily. So easily.
‘And another handful,’ he said.
She did as she was told. The amount of whisky getting larger with each pill.
Her tears were falling freely now. She could hardly see the town, between the blur of salt water in her eyes and the alcohol affecting her vision. And now the pills. Could hardly see anything at all.
Her sobs became vocal. He shushed her. Not unkindly; tenderly. Like a lover would. She tried to be as quiet as she could.
Soon the pill bottle was empty. She let it drop on the deck.
‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Won’t be long now.’
‘Will you … will you wait with me … ’
He looked at his watch. Back to her. She thought she saw a flash of irritation in his eyes. Blinked. It was gone.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’
He stood next to her, watching.
She began to feel tired. Her head spinning. She closed her eyes.
‘Take another drink,’ his voice said.
She did so.
‘Good girl.’
She closed her eyes once more. The town was slipping away. The balcony. The flat. Him. It was suddenly an effort to stand up. So she sat down. She heard glass breaking. Didn’t have the energy to find out what it was, where it was. She just wanted to rest.
Then it was too hard to sit. She needed to lie down. She did so. Heard his voice.
‘I’ll see myself out.’
From the other end of a long, dark tunnel. Didn’t have the strength, the words to answer him with. Let him go.
Tired. So tired. Sleep. She wanted sleep. It would be so peaceful.
So …
Lynn Windsor fell asleep.