by Nick Hollin
‘You think he took it from a hospital?’ Katie asks.
His lips feel as numb as the rest of him as he mumbles the words. ‘From a doctor.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
He realises she’s misunderstood. ‘From under a doctor’s skin.’
Now she turns to look at him, and he feels himself sinking back into the darkness.
‘Who is it?’
‘The man who failed to spot Dad’s cancer.’
Katie turns back towards the skeleton. ‘And what’s the significance of the chocolate icing mark?’
Nathan can feel his fist bunch by his side as it had more than twenty years earlier, just a month before his father’s death. ‘It’s where I split the doctor’s jaw after I realised what he’d done. Or, what he hadn’t done.’
‘The other marks weren’t related to the victim bearing them,’ she says. ‘They were marks on you and me. How can you be certain there’s a genuine victim here, and not just a skeleton stolen from a school or hospital?’
The answer again comes to him far too quickly, as if a message is being transmitted through the darkness from an outside source. It’s cold in the basement, but not as cold as his shivering suggests.
‘Look inside.’
‘What?’
Nathan is staring down at his feet, or what little he can see of them, trying desperately to see nothing other than the faint outline of someone else’s shoes.
‘Look inside the skeleton,’ he says, lowering his head.
It’s the policeman over his shoulder who tells him he’s right with a horrified gasp. Nathan starts to retreat, back towards the stairs, and he can see the other policeman stepping out of the way, giving him far too much room to pass. When he reaches the unsteady banister he grips so hard he feels it almost give way under him. Or perhaps that was his balance; the weakness in his legs; or the sense that everything is shifting again, moving under him like the pile of post in the hall, or spinning like the marks in the dirt, on the wall, on a book, on a body. As he rises towards the door, he reaches out and flicks the switch, filling the room behind him with light. He doesn’t turn back.
Twenty
‘You want one?’ Katie asks, holding out a packet of cigarettes towards Nathan. He doesn’t react. She crumples up the packet and slips them in her pocket, feeling foolish. They’re sitting on the front steps, tucked to one side, allowing the forensics team to move in and out. Any chance of keeping things secret from the neighbours, and therefore from the rest of the world, has gone. The first two murders have already become big news; the media have even snappily named the killer ‘The Cartoonist’.
‘Do you want me to take you somewhere to try and get some sleep?’
‘I must have been asleep all my life,’ he says softly, casting a glance back at the house.
Katie looks at him, knowing she has to find a way to keep him here, for his sake and for hers.
‘I’m going back to Scotland,’ says Nathan, as if reading her mind. ‘I’ll make my own way.’
‘You’d leave before we’ve found your brother?’
He’s staring out at a clear blue sky. ‘What makes you think I want to find him?’
‘What makes you think you have a choice?’ she says, feeling her anger starting to build, remembering the other man she can’t get through to, the other man she couldn’t stop slipping away. ‘He wanted you down here. He wanted you to find out the truth.’
‘And now that I have, I don’t give a fuck what he wants.’
‘So, you’d just walk away? He’s killed three innocent people!’
‘You think the doctor was innocent?’ Nathan snaps back.
‘He didn’t deserve to die. Nor did those two mothers. Jesus, if you’re willing to let him get away with this and carry on killing, then you’re as guilty as he is!’
‘Don’t worry,’ he says, looking away, ‘I won’t be getting away with it.’
‘That is not fucking happening either!’ she says, reaching to take hold of his cuffs, only to remember that she’d insisted on him taking them off before they left the house, not wanting the press to get a shot of him in them.
He moves close, pressing his face up to hers. ‘Unless you arrest me, I’m gone.’
‘Fine,’ she says, reaching for the cuffs again, certain she’ll have no trouble convincing her bosses that Nathan could have been involved, or was at least aware of what his brother was doing. When she thinks about it, clearly, professionally, she can see that possibility herself. Back in the day she would always make sure to look those she was arresting in the eye, either searching for more evidence that she’d got it right, or conveying through an unblinking stare that justice had and would always win. But when she looks at Nathan, the truth is there, as clear as it has ever been. He’s not acting this time. The pain she’s seeing is very real. How could this be justice, to take the freedom away from the man she has dragged back into this nightmare? And why has she dragged him back? If this is a moment for honesty, then she also has to accept that it wasn’t just work.
‘Okay,’ she says, finally, blinking back the tears. The words she turns to in the end are the very same words she had spoken to her dad: ‘I will let you go.’ They stand in silence, holding each other’s stare, feeling the connection again after more than a year; stronger than ever, perhaps.
The spell is broken by the slamming of a car door. She turns to see that a new vehicle has arrived on the other side of the street; black and shiny and not at all out of place in such a prosperous area.
‘Shit,’ she says, shifting herself and preparing for the verbal onslaught she knows is coming.
The man shoving the gate open at the end of the path ahead of them is tall and broad, with a shock of white hair swept back tight. He’s removed his hat and tucked it under his arm, but the medals and the silver braid and the perfect shine on his shoes tell her he’s rushed from an official engagement. He waits until he’s just a few feet away before he speaks, but she’s felt herself flinch with his every approaching step.
‘No more fucking lies from you!’ he says, pointing at Nathan. ‘This ends right now.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Katie says, surprised that the first blow was aimed at Nathan, and moving across in front of Superintendent Taylor. ‘Do you have any idea what he’s going through?’
‘Do you?’ says the superintendent. ‘I don’t think we know a single thing about this man.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she says, lowering her voice. ‘This is the man whose successes you’ve been taking the credit for, for years.’
Superintendent Taylor leans out to get a view of Nathan, who has slumped down on the steps behind. ‘And why do you think he was always so keen not to take the credit himself? Why do you think he would never allow his name or photo to make it to the papers? Why do you think he always sneaked away from crime scenes, hiding away in the shadows when anyone arrived who might be asking questions?’
Katie believes she knows, but she’s not about to share. ‘Because we’re not all after the celebrity,’ she says, holding her boss’s glare. She’s waiting for the satisfaction of seeing that vein throbbing in his temple, but instead his face splits into a smile.
‘You really don’t know the first thing about this man, do you?’
‘Nathan,’ she says. ‘His name is Nathan.’
‘That much I’ll give you,’ he says. ‘That much he didn’t steal. As for everything else…’ He broadens his stance. ‘I had a bit of time on my journey over here, got some people to do a bit of digging around based on new information that has come to light,’ he gestures towards the house, ‘and I suspect Nathan, here,’ his face twists as he uses the word, ‘is not the man he told us he was when he took on the role. Indeed, he hasn’t been himself for the last twenty years, which, coincidentally or not, is the same number of years ago that Nathan Marks, a highly educated but highly troubled young man, disappeared from the streets of Bristol.’
; She turns to look at Nathan in utter shock, and having to think fast about how much she wants and needs to defend him, her head telling her this could damage her career beyond repair, her heart telling her that that career is as fucked as the rest of her life and there’s only one thing that matters anymore. ‘Fine,’ she says, holding up a hand. ‘So now you know. I didn’t want to say anything for the very same reason that Nathan didn’t, because he wanted to protect his brother from knowing what he did. Because he didn’t want him following a similar path. One,’ she stops and gestures towards Nathan, ‘that has clearly taken its toll.’
The superintendent tips his head back and barks a laugh that echoes off the walls of the buildings around them. ‘You expect me to believe that he didn’t know?’
‘I expect you to prove that he did,’ she says, inching further across and blocking the path to Nathan. ‘And before that, I think we should be trying to find his brother, Christian, to determine if he really is the man behind all this.’
There’s no laugh this time. ‘We? Why the hell would I keep you on this case? I would have retired you a long time ago if it hadn’t been for your father.’ For the first time Superintendent Taylor stumbles over his words, readjusting his hat under his arm and noisily clearing his throat before continuing. ‘And then there was the whole fuck-up with Mark Brooks and you rolling around on the floor where his wife had been murdered.’ He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes off a grimace. ‘I had to phone him personally to ask forgiveness for the unforgiveable.’ He looks up at the house, drawing in a deep breath. ‘Finally, there’s this. Evidence, as if any were needed, that you’re far too trusting. No, DI Rhodes, you’re the last person in the world I want working on this.’
‘Want has got nothing to do with it,’ says Katie. She’d been losing energy – thinking through the possible reasons for yet another deception from Nathan, wondering what happened to a poor homeless man twenty years ago, doubting her own assessment of more recent events – but the mention of her dad has given her impetus, and the burning desire to see this through to the end, no matter the cost.
‘You know full well that you need me and Nathan, otherwise you are going to be paying your respects to many more families and looking even more incompetent to the press.’ She slows to wave a finger at his full dress uniform, guessing where he’s just been. ‘And summoned many more times to explain your failures to your superiors.’
The vein is throbbing on his temple now, more fiercely than she’s ever seen it before, but in his eyes she can see an equally fierce intelligence weighing up the truth in what she’s just said.
‘But his own brother—’
‘Is a wanted man,’ she cuts him off. ‘And who better to find him?’
‘Which is why we need to take Nathan in for questioning again. I’ve half a mind to—’
‘Arrest him, and I walk away,’ she says. ‘From this. From everything.’
‘Were you not listening just a minute ago? You’re hardly irreplaceable now.’
‘Together,’ she says, taking a step towards Nathan, who remains seated behind her, not joining in the conversation but clearly listening. ‘Together: that’s exactly what we are. And I’ll make you a promise. If we don’t get you a result in…’ She looks up at the sky as if searching for a figure, but she already has one in mind. ‘Two days. If we don’t have a killer behind bars in two days, then you can take me off the case. In fact, you can have the very thing you’ve been craving these last six months – you can have my resignation.’
He stands motionless, weighing up the offer, no doubt remembering all the times this past year that he’s called her into his office and told her to shut the door. But he’ll also be remembering the years before, when she and Nathan had delivered, time and again. She knows how badly he’s wanted that back, almost as badly as she has herself, and although it’s far too late for Nathan, he might just take the risk for her.
Through gritted teeth he eventually speaks. ‘DS Peters takes the lead, you advise and that’s all, and you keep him,’ he jabs a finger over her shoulder, ‘by your side at all times. One step out of line and he’s behind bars. If I find out he knew what his brother was doing, if I find he was involved in any way, if I find you had the slightest inkling…’ A flash of doubt crosses the superintendent’s face, and Katie fears she’s about to have the offer withdrawn, so she shoots a quick look down to the end of the street where the press is gathering behind a line of officers. Following her gaze, the Super suddenly rises and the doubt is replaced by an expression of calm, even if the words that accompany his departure are anything but. ‘You find your fucking brother, Nathan Radley!’
Katie stands and watches him go, her lips shaping a new surname for a man she had thought she knew. Although now that she’s heard the surname, she realises she’s seen it before, just a few minutes earlier, on the acceptance letter to RADA hanging high on the wall in his bedroom. Somehow she’d managed to shut out that fact, to be blind to its significance, just as she’s been blind to so many things about this man. She wants to spin round and confront Nathan Radley, but she’s certain she’ll only be wasting her time. Which is why she’s so surprised when she hears him speak: a single word delivered with feeling.
‘Thanks.’
She can’t decide what to say in response. She wants to ask him the extent of his lie and demand that he tell her everything. She wants to take him by the throat and squeeze the information out of him, to hear all the apologies she believes she deserves. But she doesn’t speak, and she doesn’t move; she stares at the man she had, up until a year ago, trusted more than any other.
‘Just this case,’ he says, eyes wide and unblinking. ‘That’s all that matters.’
She continues to look at him and she knows that he’s right. She holds out a hand, waiting till his skinny fingers grip hers and she can drag him to his feet.
‘You give me everything you’ve got,’ she says, no question, no doubt. ‘For the next day and a half.’
‘I promise.’
‘Do you have any idea where Christian might be now?’
He shakes his head as DS Peters appears behind her, looking nervous at interrupting, while slipping his mobile into his pocket.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘But I thought you ought to know.’ The tone is a familiar one; it’s the way he’d spoken to her on the phone back at the very beginning when he’d been scared to share the news of another murder. And she’s certain that’s what he’s come to share now.
‘Another mother?’ she asks, picturing the photos and Tate’s little shoes.
‘No,’ says DS Peters. He glances over at Nathan and, lightly taking Katie’s arm, tries to pull her away.
‘He’s with me,’ she says, resisting. ‘You can tell us, whatever it is.’
‘Is he dead?’ says Nathan, before shaking his head, dismissing the possibility.
‘It’s the doll,’ says DS Peters. ‘The headless one from the Brooks’ house you asked me to have checked.’
‘Go on.’
He breathes out slowly, glancing over at the press in the distance as if they might be able to hear. ‘We have photos,’ he says. ‘We have proof that it wasn’t there on the day of the murder. Nor was it there when the team went back yesterday morning. Which means—’
‘The killer has been back,’ says Katie, turning quickly to Nathan, reminding herself with a brief but powerful sense of relief that he was with her for the whole of the day.
‘Yes,’ says DS Peters. ‘But there’s more. Something forensics discovered stuffed inside the doll that…’ He opens his mouth then closes it again. He still has his hand on her arm and she’s still resisting, but now she places her hand on top of his, trying to calm him, fearing that the old detective is looking faint.
‘Blood?’ she asks.
‘A piece of skin.’
‘Whose?’ she asks, trying to piece things together. ‘The victim in there?’ She gestures towards the house. To her right, she’s aware of Nat
han rising from the steps. Then her eyes move to his hands, where one hand is pulling against the other, dragging the ring finger back.
‘No!’ she says, turning back to DS Peters. But she can see from the twist of his face that it’s true.
Twenty-One
Katie parks the car around the corner as arranged and waits for the PC to appear. Further up the road she can see a car she suspects belongs to a journalist and, as she pops open the door and climbs out, she thinks she can make out the flash of sunlight reflecting on a lens. She closes the door behind her and nods as the PC approaches. She only vaguely recognises him, but he clearly knows her.
‘He’s not going anywhere,’ she says, flicking her eyes across at the car. It’s less an instruction than a statement of fact. Nathan hasn’t moved for the whole of the twenty minutes it took to drive over, and there’s no sign he’s about to now.
‘I won’t be long,’ she says, moving away, not looking back to check but certain the PC will remain outside the car.
Fifty yards up the road, she comes to the address she’d been given. She’d known in advance that it wouldn’t be a big house, but seeing the tiny bungalow very nearly breaks her heart. As does the sight of Mark Brooks appearing at the door. He couldn’t have known she was coming, so he must have been standing by the window staring out into the street. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the last time they met.
‘Is he with you?’ he shouts. ‘Is that bastard here?’
She holds up a hand to slow him, all the time aware of that blasted camera lens in the distance.
‘Let’s go inside,’ she says, firmly. ‘We need to talk.’
The house is even smaller than it had looked from the outside, with a narrow hallway leading down to a small conservatory that the builder’s son might have constructed himself. Everything about the place screams ageing parents: the faded pictures on the wall; the ornaments carefully arranged on a table; the umbrella stand; the pale brown wallpaper. The exception is the small pile of shoes in the corner, one of which has escaped to the middle of the floor. It’s bright pink with Velcro fastenings, and it reminds her in an instant of Tate’s shoe alongside the squashed toy tractor. It also reminds her why she’s here.
