Dying Eyes (Brian McDone Mysteries)

by Ryan Casey

  Brian waddled across the road and stepped under the shelter in front of the Guild Hall. Buses ploughed through the rain, splashing puddles onto the pavements. “So you think‌–‌”

  “All I know is that she was probably seeing someone else for a while, and he was probably well off.”

  “What makes you think he had money?”

  “He gave her a bracelet. Silver one. I dunno much about jewellery, but it was all right. But she only wore it once. Never told me where it came from. Shrugged it off, and then I didn’t see it again. Just…‌the more you think about things…‌Yeah.” The other end of the line buzzed. “That’s all I know, I swear.”

  The line went dead.

  Brian made his way back to the station. The rain washed away the sweat on his body. Something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t want to believe Danny. His gut told him he was more involved than he’d been letting on to. But the bracelet. And the “seeing someone else”. He’d have to have another think about things. He’d have to bring Danny in and have a proper chat with him.

  Price and Cassy were already waiting for him at the top of the stairs when he reached the station.

  “Nice of you to join us again, fatty.” Price folded his arms. “You’ve got a bit of explaining to do.”

  “Detective Inspector, I‌–‌”

  “It’s all right, McDone,” he said. “Your partner here’s done half the work for your lazy ass. Cassy, brief this fucking dodo, would you?” He turned away and bombed back down the corridor towards the main offices. Cassy was shaking.

  “What’s going on?” Brian asked.

  “A charity car.” Cassy’s shifty eyes met Brian’s.

  “What do you mean, ‘a charity car’?”

  “The man who we brought in at one o’clock. I spoke to him. He saw a bloke leaving Foster Road around one a.m. in a black charity car. That’s just minutes after Nicola Watson’s death.” She pulled a magazine from underneath her arm.

  “I don’t get what you’re getting at,” Brian said, before seeing the car on the front of the magazine.

  “Thank me later.” Cassy walked past Brian and into the main office.

  Brian stared at the picture of Robert Luther stepping out of a BetterLives branded black car on the front of Preston Life magazine.

  Chapter Twelve

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Preston will rise again!”

  The small crowd gathered in Avenham Park cheered. Flashes from the local media’s cameras lit up the grey sky. Robert Luther took a bow after talking up his volunteers and all the good they had done for the city, as well as the increased stature of the city as a result of many of BetterLives’ schemes. People were working again. A sense of community was returning to Preston. BetterLives were the heroes, Robert Luther their poster boy. He sat down as the mayor grinned and spoke of plans for national expansion and growth.

  The police car came to a halt at the top of the hill. Brian and Cassy stepped out of the car without saying a word then walked in the direction of the crowd down the hill.

  “And charities like these make it possible. They make us realise that in hard times, we can achieve. We really can have ‘better lives’!”

  Some kids near the front scoffed and rolled their eyes as the mayor delivered that last line. Brian knew enough about the mayor to know that he was the last person to give a shit about “better lives” or opportunities for people. It just wasn’t in his résumé. He must’ve been rubbing his hands that somebody else was doing all the good work for him. What a dick.

  A few people glanced over at Brian and Cassy as they shuffled their way through the crowd towards the makeshift podium, but the crowd clearly didn’t think anything of it. They just turned back and clapped their hands every time the mayor said the right words.

  “Growth!”

  Applause.

  “Happiness!”

  Applause.

  A security guard held his arm out as Brian made a break for the podium. “Gonna need to see some form of ID, officers.”

  Cassy reached into her pocket and negotiated with the security guard as Brian stared up at the podium. The mayor’s eye caught Brian’s; he stuttered and tried to continue talking. The crowd grew restless.

  “So…‌so as I was saying, I…” The mayor stepped towards the edge of the podium and crouched down. “Detective, is there a problem?”

  The bald security guard stepped aside as Cassy grabbed back her warrant.

  Here we go…

  Brian took a deep breath and climbed onto the podium. He walked towards Robert Luther, who looked around the stage and frowned at all the commotion.

  “Robert Luther,” Brian said, standing above him. The crowd’s chattering came to a sudden silence, but the journalists’ cameras did not.

  Luther stared from Cassy to Brian. “Detectives? Is there…‌what’s wrong?”

  Brian smiled and waved at the security guard. “I think we should take a trip down to the station, just to go over a few things, shouldn’t we? Oh, and I suggest you follow us without kicking up a fuss. Wouldn’t want to draw any more attention to you now, would we?”

  Luther, struggling to speak, blinked rapidly. After a few moments of hesitation, he walked down the steps with the officers, his head lowered. The crowd wasn’t holding back from whispering now. Old women in posh coats and bulgy eyes leaned in to one another to gossip. The cameras kept their focus on Robert Luther as he followed the police officers up the hill towards the police car. The mayor looked on, open-mouthed.

  The press was already beginning to gather outside the police station as the police car arrived.

  “Mr. Luther, what is this about?” one of the journalists asked, bustling his way to the front of the crowd and knocking a notepad to the floor.

  Another journalist scrapped with his colleagues and prodded a digital voice recorder towards Robert Luther’s mouth. “Is this about the Nicola Watson case?”

  Luther didn’t say a word.

  Brian and Cassy escorted Luther to the interview rooms and shut the door, then turned the blinds down as passing officers peeked in. Cassy stood by the door, watching and waiting. Brian was well aware that what they were doing was not technically by the book, so they’d have to keep their wits about them and act fast.

  Brian sat opposite Robert Luther and scrutinized his body language. Subdued. Submissive. Silent.

  “Mr. Luther, I hope you’ll excuse our little intervention back there…”

  “Do you realise what you’ve just done to me?”

  Brian turned to an empty page of his diary and pretended to spot something of significance before looking back at Luther. “I don’t believe so, Robert. Elaborate, please.”

  “That stunt you pulled. You could’ve destroyed me. All the work we’ve done. I don’t care what you think I’ve done or why you think I’m here, but you can’t just go doing things like that. At least call me, or cooperate with me. I told you I was willing to aid the investigation, so‌–‌”

  Brian slammed the magazine cutting of the BetterLives car onto the table. “Cooperate with me about this picture, Robert.”

  “Without legal assistance? Why should I? I have absolutely no reason to be here or to answer any of your questions in these barbaric and downright insulting circumstances.”

  Brian stared deeply into Robert’s blue eyes. Technically, he had no right to be doing this. He had to hurry. He had to get as much out of him as he could whilst Robert was backed into a corner. It was the best way to get anyone, by surprise. Robert Luther had to know something. It was his car, so he had to be involved.

  Luther sighed as he scanned the picture. “Well…‌it’s me getting out of a BetterLives car. What more do you want me to say? Do you want me to comment on the substance of the magazine paper? The type of camera the shot was taken with?”

  “You can start by telling me how often you drive this car, Mr. Luther.”

  Robert shook his head. “Why should I? I…‌Well, ev
ery now and then, when we’re spreading the good word. But why does it…‌Is this to do with the case?”

  “Which case, Mr. Luther?” Brian asked.

  “The…‌Nicola Watson. Our employee. Has something happened?”

  “McDone, you’d better hurry.” Cassy, standing by the door, grew more agitated. He ignored her and glared at Robert Luther.

  “Your car was seen down by Foster Road on the night of Nicola Watson’s murder. Did you head out for a little drive that evening, Robert? Stretch your legs?”

  Robert’s mouth dangled open. He snapped it shut and licked his lips.

  “McDone, seriously‌–‌Price does not look happy.”

  “Shut it, Cassy. Just for one second, shut it.” He took a deep breath and turned to Luther. “So did you?”

  Robert leaned back and folded his arms. “Detective Sergeant, you’ve got this all wrong. If you’d done your research, you’d learn that we have five BetterLives branded cars, and I wasn’t in any of them that night.”

  Brian paused. His heart thumped faster as Price’s footsteps grew closer. “Five cars? Who drives them?”

  “Well, whoever’s on the rota that evening. Look, if I can help put you in the direction of someone in our department, or if you’re suspecting someone, or…‌Ah. I see what this is about now. You think it’s me? You think I have some…‌You think I’m involved in this in some way?”

  Brian gritted his teeth. “How can I see that rota?”

  The door swung open. Cassy lowered her head as Price barged through. His face was redder than Brian had ever seen it, as if he was on the verge of bursting. He walked over to Luther and shook his hand before whispering something in his ear. Then he turned back to Brian.

  “A little chat. My office. Now.”

  Luther straightened his tie as Brian reluctantly followed Price towards his office. He‌–‌and the rest of the department, judging by the way they avoided eye contact with him‌–‌could tell it wasn’t good news.

  When Price was angry, he wasn’t afraid to let people know about it. When he was furious, he’d give people the silent treatment. The tension would build in the air to a point where the guilty party just had to say something.

  And then the grilling would commence.

  Price poured himself a glass of Diet Coke and swished it around his mouth before looking up at Brian.

  “Detective Inspector, I‌–‌”

  “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at, Brian?”

  Brian stared at the floor, hands behind his back. “I thought you wanted me to investigate the Robert Luther lead?”

  Price almost choked on his Diet Coke and reached for a tissue in which to spit. “I said to investigate the fucking lead, not go storming into a charity speech like something off BBC-fucking-Four. Not to mention gatecrashing a public event like that without an official arrest warrant. And you wonder why the police department gets such a bloody bad rep these days?”

  Foolishness settled in his gut. Maybe he had been a bit hasty.

  “Detective Inspector, with the facts we knew at the time, with regards to the vehicle and‌–‌”

  “You didn’t know jack bloody shit, son!” He almost knocked over his half-empty can. “You saw a bloody picture of Robert Luther getting out of a bloody black car in a magazine, and you assume it’s the murder vehicle?”

  McDone cleared his throat again. “You said it was a BetterLives car.”

  Price slapped a blown-up photograph of a black car, barely visible in the dim glow of the street lamp, onto the table.

  “That’s the only shot we have of a black car on CCTV, just minutes before Nicola Watson’s supposed death. What’s that look like to you?”

  McDone studied the picture. “The black BetterLives car, from the magazine‌–‌”

  “Wrong‌–‌there’s no fucking BetterLives logo in sight, McDone.” He shoved the magazine cutting of the BetterLives car next to the CCTV photo. “The logo is on the left-hand side of this magazine photo. See any logo on this car? Didn’t think so. The smack-head from Foster got it wrong, didn’t he?”

  McDone slumped back in his chair. All his energy drained out of his body, Price feasting on it like a hungry lion.

  “You’d better bloody sulk. First you go gallivanting off on a personal call when we’re about to chat to an eyewitness, then you go dragging DS Emerson down and breaking the rules at a bloody major media event. Do you have any idea what the press are gonna say about us? They’re gonna absolutely destroy us. Nice job, McDone. Nice job.”

  He’d just tried to do the right thing. He’d just tried to get this thing done with, for his family.

  “I can only say I’m sorry for my misjudgment, Detective Inspector, and can assure you it won’t happen again. What would you like me to do next?” He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the words. He’d been kicked off cases before. He knew what the buildup felt like. Price eyeing him up, contemplating his fate.

  “Go home. Get your feet up. Have a fucking bath. You’re on a thin line, Brian. A very, very thin line. Don’t make me get the Chief Superintendent involved. Then get yourself back in work tomorrow and back down to Foster Road. And properly investigating. I mean properly. None of this hunch bullshit, and all of it by the book, you understand? There must be about fifty zillion pimps and prozzie rings down there that you’ve neglected to investigate so far.”

  McDone let out a small sigh of relief at remaining on the case. He thought he smelt something. Probably himself. Two beads of sweat dribbled down the side of his chubby neck. His damp shirt clung to his chest.

  “Thanks for the second chance, Detective Inspector. I won’t let you down again.”

  “No, you won’t,” Price said smugly. “Final straw, McDone. No more messing up. Keep your private life well away from this place. I don’t want a repeat of last time. I like you, contrary to what you might think. Don’t fuck that up.”

  McDone nodded. A smile crept across his face as he left the office. Price actually liked people?

  Outside of the room, Robert Luther put on his coat and chatted with Michael Walters, the short, balding assistant Brian met when he’d visited BetterLives. Walters did a double take at McDone then walked towards him.

  Here we go. He didn’t need to deal with another dickhead today.

  “DS McDone.” Walters held out his hand as he balanced his jacket over his arm. “Michael Walters. We met the other day‌–‌”

  “Yeah, I remember.” McDone grabbed Walters’ hand and shook it. It flopped like a limp, lifeless fish.

  “I expect a full and frank apology from the police in tomorrow’s papers for their smear campaign towards Robert Luther and BetterLives. We want to help with the investigation. Don’t abuse that trust.”

  “Just doing my job.” McDone held his smile and waited for Walters to speak again.

  Walters pulled his hand away and turned back towards his boss. He sauntered back down the corridor. “Good luck with the investigation, Officer. We’ve got a media storm to tame.”

  Walters patted Luther on his back and led him out into the roars of the press. At least the press had something to talk about for the day.

  “Shall we grab a drink?”

  Cassy stood behind him. She buttoned up her red checkered jacket and slipped her bag over her shoulder.

  McDone smiled. “A date with a lovely lady like yourself? Who am I to refuse?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The beer’s stale, dull taste kissed Brian’s lips. God, he hated beer.

  “I’ve not been in here for ages,” Cassy said, edging forward on her barstool.

  “I’ve not been in a pub for ages,” Brian said, taking a swig of beer. The pub was pretty empty for late afternoon. The chubby, baldheaded bartender was already wiping down the surfaces, as if he wasn’t expecting much business. A couple of scraggy looking locals whispered to one another in the corner of the room, half-pints in hand. “If you want to see the recession, go to the pub
,” DC Kelly had told him. He wasn’t sure what he meant at the time, but now he thought he understood.

  Cassy frowned. “You aren’t trying to tell me you’re not a drinker anymore, are you, Brian?”

  Brian looked down at his shaking hand. Play it cool. “I’m just a drinker of finer spirits these days. The kind I can enjoy in better company.” He poked a thumb into his chest theatrically.

  Cassy fixed her gaze on Brian. He moved in his seat, trying not to make eye contact with her. Was she still looking? Why did people do that?

  “What’s going on with you, man?”

  It felt strange, hearing those words. It had been a long time since anyone had tried to do anything other than brush his problems under the carpet. Did she know? Did she suspect something? He scratched at his arm automatically.

  “Just this case. We’ve been rushing ‘round for what‌–‌two days? Already it’s doing my nut in. Feel like we’ve got absolutely nowhere.” He took a larger gulp of his pint and focused on the door. His cheeks tingled.

  “No, I’m not talking about the job.” Cassy smiled as she dangled her pint below her mouth. “At home. What’s going on?”

  Brian shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

  “Brian. You were off sick from September to December. You turn up smelling of booze every single day. What’s going on?”

  Brian almost took another sip of his pint, but sighed and placed the glass down. At least the booze smell trick was working. “Just Vanessa. My wife. Well, ex. I’m trying to, y’know, do the right thing for her and my boy.”

  “And what do you think is the right thing for her and your boy?”

  His hands weren’t shaking anymore, just lightly tingling. Brian folded his arms and looked away again. He was like an oyster, closing off from the world. It wasn’t often he got asked about these things. “I just want to get the divorce sorted and to prove to her that I’m fit to see my boy again. I just miss him.”

  Cassy took a small sip of her drink and diverted her gaze towards the bar. “Y’know I have a son?”