Unfinished Business (4 page)

“Why are you so angry?”

“I see some shitty things in my line of work.”

“Like my life?”

“Aye.”

“You don’t mince your words, do you?”

“I don’t have time.”

“Must be nice to be so busy.”

“It is.”

She studied him. “Were you a policeman?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way you were talking when you told me about Mark at the restaurant made you sound like one.”

“I was but I left.”

“Why?”

“I was sick of the bad guy always getting away with it.”

“And now you dole out your own brand of justice?”

Brodie thought it would be sensible not to answer that question because she’d hit the nail right on the head. A lot of what he did wasn’t legal, his real business hidden beneath the shiny veneer of his legitimate private investigation service, which was why he got the job done. “Why didn’t you tell Mark about his suspected involvement in the murders?” he said, trying to steer her off the subject.

“I couldn’t face it. I know, I’m a coward.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I let him touch me with those stabby hands.”

Brodie tried not to smile at the term
stabby hands
. “There was a strong element of self defence. The court accepted that, which was why he only served four years.”

Her head snapped up. “You sound like you’re sticking up for him.”

“I am, but only for the murder of his father. The man was a drunken, bullying bastard the world is better off without.”

Sarah lapsed into thoughtful silence, absently sipping her vodka.

“What are his family like?” said Brodie.

“I thought you’d know. You seem to know everything else.”

“I’ve never met them.”

Sarah got up to refill her glass. “They’re fucking weird.” She grinned humourlessly. “I could really get into this swearing thing.”

“Maybe you should extend your repertoire? I’ve only heard you use the one word.”

“Okay, so they’re a bunch of inbred, creepy fart holes. How’s that?”

“Fart holes?”

“I’m a bit drunk and if you knew them you’d agree.”

“Creepy how?”

“Well Maggie - that’s Mark’s mum - she’s the matriarch of the family, lording it over us all. A real Lady Macbeth. All her kids do what she says, her word is law. She’s never liked me, I’m the evil woman who stole her son from her. Come to think of it, there’s something that doesn’t make sense about what Mark said. Maggie’s an iron clad bitch. I can’t see any man getting away with hitting her like his dad was supposed to have done.”

“It was a long time ago. Maybe she was a different woman back then?”

“Maybe,” she said, retaking her seat. “Mark’s twin brother Seth is very unpleasant. He’s got a criminal record you know.” She smiled wanly. “You probably already do.”

Brodie nodded, not wanting to speak for fear of interrupting her flow.

“I used to think he and Mark were the mirror image of each other - one good, one bad. That’s what they are, mirror-image twins.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re identical -  I’m talking spookily identical - but they appear to be reflections of each other. Mark’s hair parts on the right while Seth’s parts on the left. Mark’s right handed and Seth’s left handed.”

“I see. Interesting.”

“Mirror-image twins are quite rare. I used to think it made Mark special. Now it just seems weird, like everything to do with the Creegans.” She got up to refill her empty glass, her gait unsteady.

“You okay?” he said as she wobbled on her way back to the sofa.

“Fine,” she said, falling back into her seat. “I don’t get on with Seth either.”

Brodie was grateful to the alcohol, it was making her very loose-lipped. Now she’d started talking she didn’t seem able to stop.

“He thinks I’m a stuck-up cow and I think he’s a wanker. I don’t even like him coming to the house but he’s Mark’s twin. What can I say?”

“And Lauren, the sister?”

“I feel so sorry for her. She’s a sweet girl. She could have had a good life, she’s really bright, but her twisted family messed her up. She’s been in and out of mental hospitals for years.”

“For what exactly?”

“Depression mainly. She’s tried to kill herself twice and she’s started a few fires. Now I know what Mark did I can understand why she is the way she is. It also explains why they left London.”

“What cover story did they give you?”

“That Bryan - Mark’s dad - died of a heart attack. They couldn’t afford to keep the house so they moved up here and lived with Maggie’s sister Jenny for a while. They inherited her house when she died of cancer three years after they’d moved so they decided to stay in the north. But they really moved here to escape the scandal down south, didn’t they? How did they ever think they were going to keep it a secret forever? It was always going to come back and bite them.”

“One thing I’ve learnt in my line of work is that you can’t run from the past.” He thought of John Lyons, his ex-best friend and ex-police colleague and the biggest treacherous Judas bastard in Scotland. Brodie’s hand unconsciously went to the long thin scar on his left side and anger twisted his damaged insides.

Sarah watched him cautiously as the darkness closed in around him. “Something wrong?”

He shook himself out of it. “Sorry, lost in my own world there.”

“Obviously. Anyway, what if someone finds out about Mark up here? I don’t think I could cope with everyone knowing he’s a murderer. What about the girls? They’re old enough to understand. They’ll get teased at school, lose friends. It will devastate them.”

“We don’t know if it will come to that yet.”

“What if Mark is The Carver?”

“We don’t know that yet either. Get some rest, things will look better in the morning.”

She snorted into her drink. “You really believe that?”

He shrugged and got to his feet. “Not really. I’ll leave you to it but do try and get some sleep, you’re going to need your strength.”

“Wait,” she called when he made for the door. “Don’t leave me on my own, please.”

“You want me to stay?”

“I’d feel safer. What if Mark comes back? I forgot to take his key off him before he left.”

“Okay, if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay.”

“No funny business mind,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “My bedroom door has a very sturdy lock and a baseball bat behind it.”

“I’ll try to control myself,” he said flatly.

“You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

Brodie was happy. The huge cream leather couch would be much more comfortable than his car. He’d planned on sleeping in it on the street just in case Mark did decide to return.

Sarah went upstairs and returned with two large plump pillows and a cosy duvet.

“Where are the kids?” he asked her. “I don’t want to scare them in the morning.”

“They’re stopping at a friend’s house tonight, thankfully. At least they’re well out of it for one day. I might send them away with my parents tomorrow, I don’t want them around all this, it’s just horrible and if Mark is a killer I’m not sure I want them around him either.” Tears filled her eyes but she wiped them away. “I’ll explain to the school that we’re having problems, hopefully they’ll understand. Night then,” she said, the picture of misery as she walked unsteadily out of the room.

Brodie listened as she slowly tramped upstairs, hoping she didn’t fall, heard the flush of the toilet, the click of a door closing, then silence.

Assured she was in bed he took out his mobile phone and called Cass.

“Hi Boss,” answered a cheery voice.

“What’s that noise?” he said when he heard a curious repetitive banging followed by a whimper.

“Phil Barnes. He keeps insisting his wife’s injuries are from walking into closed doors so I’m just giving him an idea of what that feels like. Shut it ya wee shite, I’m on the phone,” she yelled.

The whimpering stopped.

“I hope you’re talking to Phil,” said Brodie, chuckling.

“Course Boss.”

Cass was Lancashire born and bred, her accent heavy, but she had a deep affection for the Glaswegian dialect and used it to colourful effect. Brodie thought it sounded funny in her broad northern English accent but had never been foolish enough to tell her that.

“Good work,” he said. “There’s a couple of things I need you to do.”

“You are aware I have to sleep some time too?”

“You’ll cope. I want you to dig up as much as you can on the rest of the Creegan clan - Seth, Lauren and Maggie the Matriarch. Look into dead aunt Jenny too and find out what you can about mirror-image twins.”

“What the hell are those?”

“Identical twins but everything on them is opposite - one’s left handed, the other right, one parts his hair on the left, the other on the right, one …”

“Alright, I get it. How’s Sarah Creegan taking the news?”

“Not good. She threw Mark out.”

“Can’t say I blame her.”

“She asked me to stay over, she’s worried he’ll come back while she’s asleep.”

“Oh aye Boss, getting in there already?”

“No I am not. I’m on the couch. Don’t be dirty, I am a professional.”

“You’re also a hound.”

“I’ll ignore that. Now if you could shut up for a second so I can hear myself think.”

There was a thud on the line followed by another whimper. “Shut it,” hissed Cass.

“Jeezo, poor old Phil.”

“There’s nothing poor about this prick. You should see what he’s done to his missus.”

“Listen up before he starts greetin’ again. Something weird’s going on here. Be on standby, I might need you to come down. This is your neck of the woods.”

“I’m from Lancashire, I’m not a Manc. It’s completely different. That’s like saying you can relate to someone from Edinburgh.”

“Alright, I apologise, but you are a northerner, you might get more response from these people than the Jock.”

“If I’m down there it means Christian and Ross are up here unsupervised.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve got the feeling this is going to be big.”

“Sounds great, I can’t wait.”

“Good. Now finish up with Phil and get researching.”

“Yes Boss.”

Abruptly she hung up and Brodie put away his phone knowing his instructions would be carried out with ruthless efficiency. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Cass needed to do functional things like eat and sleep. When it came to work she was a machine, powering through tasks with phenomenal energy and precision. He’d discovered her himself in a pub in Glasgow three years ago. She was new to the area and they’d got talking. They’d tumbled into bed together that very night. He’d been amazed because, as well as being gorgeous, at twenty seven she’d been fourteen years younger than him. The next morning over breakfast at his place she’d said she needed a job and he needed another employee - his ex-best friend having stabbed him in the back, literally, before fleeing the city. At first he’d envisioned hiring her as a secretary, just someone to deal with phone calls and paperwork so he wouldn’t have to. It had also been a way of keeping her around because he’d really liked her and she’d made it plain that morning after one amazing night together that she wasn’t after a relationship. When an angry husband of a client who had hired Brodie to protect her turned up at the office both he and Brodie had been astonished when Cass had got him into an armlock and thrown him facedown on the desk. Turned out she was big into self defence and martial arts after being violently attacked as a teenager. She’d left her home - a small village in the north of England - and was staying with a friend in Glasgow, wanting to start her life over again following a falling-out with her family. Immediately he’d promoted her and he’d never regretted it. She was the best at what she did as well as hard as nails. However there had been a downside because Cass had very strict morals about not dating her boss so the second he’d employed her he’d become off-limits to her, to his chagrin. She referred to him as
boss
or
bossman
to maintain that barrier between them. But they were also very good friends, there wasn’t anyone Brodie trusted more. In the three years since they’d met he had to admit that his feelings for her hadn’t faded. In fact, the more he got to know her the more he fell for her but he would not risk what they had by making a pass, she was too precious to him.

His other two employees, Christian and Ross, were younger, both in their mid twenties, eager and sometimes reckless with it but they were good boys and got the job done.

He hoped he had to bring Cass down here, he missed her already.

“No, don’t go there,” he muttered to himself, removing his jacket and shoes and lying back on the couch, eyes already closing. He didn’t think Sarah Creegan would sleep so easily.

CHAPTER 4

Sarah shuffled about the lounge, wincing at the daylight streaming in through the chink in the curtains.

“You look rough,” commented Brodie before he’d thought through what he was saying. He’d only just woken up after a deep, satisfying sleep on the luxurious couch.

“Thanks a bloody lot,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She’d failed to remove her make-up from the day before and black eyeliner had smeared around her eyes, making her look like an angry blond panda. Brodie decided not to say anything, he didn’t think it would help.

“I just meant you look hungover, that’s all,” he said. She didn’t look like she’d got much sleep. Her hair was all over the place and dark shadows circled her eyes that hadn’t been caused by the make-up. She looked like someone who’d spent the night tossing and turning.

“I couldn’t sleep, I was too busy trying to work out how to deal with Mark,” she yawned. “Sometimes things seem better in the cold light of day but this just seems sodding worse.”

“Did you come to a decision?”

“No.” She looked down at her fingers, which were twisting themselves together with anxiety. “Want a brew?”

“Aye, that would be lovely thanks,” he replied, pushing himself upright and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee black, no sugar please. Can I use your bathroom, that’s if it’s okay for me to go upstairs now?”

She nodded. “Upstairs, fourth door on the right.”

Fourth door,
thought Brodie.
Flash.

While she shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen he mounted the impressive staircase and eventually found the bathroom, which was the size of his living room. A large round marble bath dominated the room and he gazed at it longingly. Instead he splashed water on his face at the sink and ran his fingers through his hair. At least he looked more refreshed than Sarah.

As he returned to the stairs he quietly opened each door and stuck his head inside. In the master bedroom there was actually a four poster bed, rumpled after Sarah’s dark night of the soul. Two of the rooms were decorated in pinks and lilacs, clearly the girls’ rooms and another seemed to be filled with nothing but antiques, floor to ceiling glass cabinets bursting at the seams with mannequins in period clothing and a weird and wonderful assortment of historical objects. Brodie didn’t know anything about antiques but even he could tell these things added up to a fortune. A burglar’s paradise, that was if the burglar in question was smart enough to get past the state-of-the-art security system. In his experience most of them weren’t.

The remaining doors revealed nothing but bland guest rooms, holding no interest for him whatsoever, so he returned downstairs before Sarah realised what he was up to.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” commented Brodie as he strolled into the kitchen.

“Only the best for Mark,” she said peevishly. “After being poor when he was growing up he likes to surround himself with expensive things.”

Brodie took in her streaked hair, manicured nails and silk dressing gown and wondered if that included her.

They took their coffee through to the lounge and sat on opposing couches.

“Thanks for staying over by the way, I felt much safer,” she said.

“No problem.”

“I know you’ve got your suspicions about Mark but just wait until you meet the rest of the clan, especially Seth.”

Before he could question her further about that statement there was a crunch of gravel and Sarah was on her feet, slopping coffee onto the cream carpet, eyes fixed on the window.

“It’s Mark, he’s here.” The panic of last night had gone. Now she just sounded tired and hollowed-out.

“Want me to leave you to it?” said Brodie.

“I don’t know. Could you hang about and see what sort of mood he’s in?”

Brodie nodded.

Sarah watched Mark approach the front door, her eyes big and wary. Brodie felt sorry for her. A husband should be the man a wife can trust the most, be a protector to her. That had been taken from Sarah and replaced with fear and doubt.

The second he was through the door Mark tried to take her in his arms but she stepped out of reach.

“I missed you last night,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides.

She didn’t return the sentiment. “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“I suppose we must, if only for the kids. You’d better come through,” she said, heading back towards the living room.

“Thank you,” he said, following her like an eager child. He was furious to see Brodie standing in
his
hallway clutching one of
his
coffee mugs. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you stay over last night?”

Brodie took a sip of the excellent coffee before replying, “I did because Sarah was afraid of her own husband coming home.”

“I told you she’s nothing to fear from me,” he yelled. When Sarah jumped he turned to her, his expression gentle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, he just winds me up.”

“The kitchen’s through there. Why don’t you stab him to death?” she retorted.

Mark’s lips pinched into an almost invisible line, eyes full of hurt.

There was an awkward silence, Sarah shuffling, clearly regretting her words.

“Brodie, thanks for your time but you can leave us to it,” she said.

He glanced at Mark, who was staring sadly at the carpet. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Alright but I’ll just be outside in my car. Shout if you need me.”

“I will,” she said solemnly.

Brodie glanced once more at Mark, who was slumped with defeat, a far cry from a homicidal maniac.

He left, quietly closing the door behind him. Outside the morning was mild and cheerful. It was the height of summer and already warm. The street was just starting to wake up. A smartly dressed woman coming out of a house on the opposite side of the road gave him a snooty look as she walked down her drive with a tiny hairless dog on a lead. He just stared back until she looked away. He was not in the mood for stuck-up tossers, even though he was aware he was a rumpled mess.

He climbed into his car and looked back at the Creegan house but he couldn’t see inside because the blinds were still drawn. With nothing else to do he decided to call Cass.

“What have you got?” he said the moment she answered the phone.

“I’m sleeping like you told me to,” was her curt reply.

“Oh, sorry.”

“You really need some lessons in etiquette,” she yawned. “Who makes phone calls at six in the morning?”

Brodie glanced at the dashboard clock and grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t realise it was so early. Anyway, you’re one to talk about etiquette when only a few hours ago you were slamming a man’s head into a door.”

“Technically I was slamming the door into his head and the prick deserved it. Actually I did a bit more research into mirror-image twins before I fell asleep. Apparently the egg splits later than in the case of identical twins, so it has already developed a right side and a left side. Did you know there have been cases where one twin has their internal organs on the usual side and the other has them on the opposite side? But that’s really rare.”

“Interesting.”

“It is. I found it quite fascinating. Do you know which one’s right-handed?”

“Mark is, like any good wanker,” he muttered.

“You’re right-handed.”

“Alright, it was a crap joke. I spent the night on a couch, okay?”

“That’s no excuse Boss. Your jokes are always crap.”

“Isn’t insulting my joke-telling skills a sackable offence?”

“Not unless you want the arsed sued off you.”

“Good point. Are you on standby to come down here?”

“My bag’s packed and I’m just waiting for your word oh Lord and Master.”

“Cheeky beggar.” He’d picked up some of her lingo too. “Let me know when you’ve done the background check into the rest of the Creegan Clan.”

There was a big yawn followed by, “will do,” and the line went dead.

Brodie smiled at his phone before hanging up. His manners were rubbing off on her.

All seemed quiet at the Creegan house for about an hour until the front door opened and Mark emerged clutching a small suitcase and wearing a black look.

Brodie hopped out of the car, stretched and smiled. “Leaving so soon?”

Mark dropped the suitcase and stormed up to him. “This is all your fucking fault you nosy, interfering Jock wanker.”

“That’s racist Mr Creegan.”

“You smug bastard. Someone needs to bring you down a peg or two,” he said, thrusting his face into Brodie’s.

“Please Mr Creegan, you’re just embarrassing yourself. I wouldn’t recommend it,” he added when Mark drew back his fist.

Mark found himself on his knees, his right arm twisted up his back. “Get off me,” he yelled, cheeks pink with fury and embarrassment.

“I tried to warn you.” It was then Brodie spotted Sarah at her front door, mouth falling open at the scene. “Your wife’s watching,” he told Mark. “What do you think this display is going to do to convince her you’re not violent?”

He released Mark, who shot to his feet and whipped round. “Sarah, I…”

But she stepped back inside and slammed the door shut.

“Shit,” he sighed.

“Give her some space,” said Brodie, not letting his guard down in case Mark decided to attack again.

However he hardly heard him, lost in thoughts of his wife. Dejectedly he retrieved his suitcase then tramped to his car. He threw the case into the boot and backed the car out onto the road. He didn’t even look Brodie’s way as he drove off.

Brodie returned to the house and walked straight inside without knocking. He felt that would be acceptable now.

“Sarah, are you alright?” he called, finding her sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, staring into her mug of now-cold coffee.

“I told him it’s best if he gives me some space for a few days,” she replied without looking up.

“Did he get rough?”

“No. He never has.” Finally she looked up at him. “He went for you though.”

“It was nothing, he’s just hurt and frustrated. It can get to the best of us.”

She nodded and hauled herself to her feet. “I’m going for a lie down, try and get myself together before I have to pick the girls up from their friend’s house.”

“Okay. You’ve got my number. Call me if you need me.”

“Where are you going?” When he appeared surprised by the desperation in her voice she added, “sorry, it’s just that you’re the only person I’ve got to talk to about this.”

“Are you going to tell the rest of your family?”

“Not yet, not until I know what I’m going to do.”

“That’s probably wise. Work out how you feel about it first then you’ll be able to deal with other people’s reactions.”

“That’s good advice. So, you’re really leaving?”

“Sorry, I need to get to my hotel and shower and change and make some calls.”

“You’ve booked a hotel and I kept you here last night? I’m so sorry Brodie, I didn’t realise. You must think me so rude.”

“I’ve spent nights in worse places, believe me. Mark drove off, I think he’ll respect your wishes about staying away. You’ve still got my number?”

She nodded.

“Call me anytime, for anything. I’ll be back later.”

“Okay. I’ll lock up behind you,” she said, following him to the front door. “I took Mark’s key off him this time so he won’t be able to sneak in but I might have the locks changed, just so I feel extra safe.”

“Good idea. Try and get some rest. It’ll do you good.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said in a way that indicated it was hopeless.

Starving hungry, Brodie returned to his hotel. Cass had been fibbing when she’d said she’d booked him into a luxurious establishment. The bed was small and lumpy with a duvet cover that looked to have been there since the first world war. The faded red carpet was worn and spotted with dubious stains and the furniture chipped and sagging. Just to add to the depression the sink sprayed the front of his jeans with water, making him swear.

On the bright side the shower was a belter and he stood beneath its hot spray for a full twenty minutes. As he lathered up his body he felt the scar beneath his fingertips running down his left side, originating from the larger scar on his back, a parting gift from the Judas bastard John Lyons. The man he’d thought was his best friend had used their new business - which was supposed to help people - to make a drug deal with the McVay’s, the most powerful criminal family in Glasgow, a bunch of vicious psychopaths with absolutely no moral compass. Brodie had found out but before he could confront his ‘friend’ the bastard had ambushed him with two McVay heavies, stabbed him and left him for dead. That betrayal still stuck in his throat and made him furious, his empty stomach churning with bile. Brodie released a growl and slammed his fist against the tiles. One day he’d find that bastard.