by Bo Brennan
“I need to come in.”
His father glared at him and stepped aside. “Are they coming in too?” he said.
“No, just me.”
Colt walked down the hallway of his family home, every square inch of wall space was cluttered with photos chronicling the life of him and his siblings. Modern ones of his nieces and nephews as babies, and smiling happily in school uniforms, peppered the display with pride. It felt like the longest walk of his life.
“Hello Abel, love,” his mum said as he entered the kitchen. “You missed a lovely lunch yesterday.”
Colt stooped to kiss his mother’s cheek and heard the voice of his six year old niece from behind her. “Grandma, why do you always call Uncle Jim that?”
“Because, whether he likes it or not, that’s his name, sweetheart,” she said.
Colt scooped her up and kissed her fine blonde hair. Hugging her tight, he crossed to the patio doors and watched his sister and fifteen year old nephew sharing a cigarette in the garden. Karen stared at him through the glass and made the most of the last drag before stamping it out in their dad’s prized vegetable patch.
“I hear you’ve got a new lady friend,” his mother said, thrusting a book into his hand. “Whenever you want to bring her over for dinner, I’m ready, love. See.”
Colt glanced at the Vegetarian cookbook and placed it on the table. “Mum, could you take the kids into the lounge please,” he said, handing his niece over to her as the patio doors opened. “I need to talk to Karen.”
His mother opened her mouth, went to object – no doubt expecting the usual fireworks when the two of them were in the same room together – but stopped when she caught sight of his father standing in the doorway behind him. Colt ruffled his eldest nephew’s hair as she ushered the two children past him and out of the room.
Karen sat down at the kitchen table and flicked her lighter. “What do you want?”
“I've got some bad news.”
“You are bad news,” Karen said.
There was no easy way to say it, so he gave it to her straight. “It's Lacey, she's dead.”
“What do you mean she's dead?” Colt swallowed hard as she rounded the table and stood in front of him. “She's working with you!”
“I'm sorry,” Colt said. “She was found in her hotel room this morning. We believe she was murdered last night.”
“How could she have been murdered? She phoned me from the hotel bar last night, she was waiting for you,” Karen said, prodding him in the chest.
Colt stood motionless, waiting for the news to sink into Karen's pea sized brain. He'd seen Lacey's body himself, and it still didn't feel real to him. He had no idea how his sister was going to react, but he anticipated it would be ugly and his fault.
“It was him, wasn't it?” His sister’s expression changed from a look of utter bewilderment to one of frenetic fury. “Where were you when this was happening?” she shouted. “Screwing that old slapper from the pub?”
Colt braced himself for the onslaught.
“Answer me,” she screamed, slapping his face.
“That's enough,” Bill Colt said, putting his arms around her.
“Where the fuck were you?” Her screaming brought his horrified mother running from the lounge. She was still lashing out trying to get to Colt, until his mother stepped between them.
“I have to go,” Colt said, backing out of the kitchen.
“You can’t run away from this,” Karen shouted. “You've got blood on your hands. This is all your fault!”
“You go, son, do what you've got to do,” Bill Colt said, extending his arms to hug him. Colt flinched away from his father’s embrace and walked silently to the door, his father following.
“Karen and the kids should stay here,” Colt said, standing on the doorstep. “There's round the clock protection on the house, two high profile units – one on the front, one on the back.”
“It’s my job to protect this family,” his father said, before gesturing to the uniforms. “You lot can stand down, you’re not needed here.”
The uniforms didn’t move. “We’re under the orders of DCI Colt, Sir,” one of them said. “We’re here for the long haul.”
“I’m a Superintendent,” Bill Colt growled, puffing out his chest.
“Not anymore you’re not, I give the orders now. And here’s the first one.” Colt turned to the uniforms, pointed at his father, and said, “Don’t take any shit from him.”
Colt walked to his car, shaking his head as the door slammed closed behind him. He needed to get as far away from here as he could. Everyone close to him was getting picked off one by one, and he had absolutely no idea who he could trust anymore. His head was reeling. For the very first time in his life he felt utterly alone, broken.
If he was the reason for the carnage, would it end if he wasn’t here anymore?
The thought was fleeting. And it wouldn't stop him. If Colt wasn’t here he couldn't protect anyone. He couldn't protect India, and god knows she needed protecting. The rational answer was clear. He knew what he needed to do – find him. And kill him.
Chapter 58
The number of officers stationed around her property had been trebled since she left this morning. The steady hum of the police boat, patrolling the water outside her window, added further to the solemnity in the air. India Kane's rickety little houseboat was probably the safest place in Hampshire right now.
She almost leapt from her skin when the hefty knock of the door came, the white wine in her hand spilled over the edges of the glass and onto the file she was trawling. India wiped up the spillage with her jumper sleeve and gritted her teeth at the interruption. She marked the page with a post-it note and slammed the file shut. If she was going to be the one to get to him first, they’d have to bring their own flasks of fucking tea. She needed to be left alone to find him.
Colt stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, stubble shadowing his jaw and dark circles haunting his eyes. Silently she stepped back and welcomed him inside. He locked the door behind him and leant back against it, hanging his head. AJ Colt looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it was crushing him.
It had been all over the news; the press were having a bloody field day. His handling of the case, and his integrity, was being called into question. It wasn't every day one of the country’s top police profilers was murdered by the serial killer they were tracking. The press had yet to make the link that she was a member of the SIO’s family, but they would. They were crawling all over them. When they found out it was a personal vendetta all hell would break loose.
India watched as he covered his face with his hands and cried. She chewed at her cheek, had no idea how to provide the comfort he needed. Tea wouldn’t cut it, but she had plenty of wine. She went to the kitchen and pulled another glass from the cupboard, another bottle from the fridge.
She had no idea what to say either, there were no words that would ever make this better. “Want to talk?” she said softly, holding out a glass to him and watching his shuddering breaths still as his sorrow began to ease.
He sniffed and swiped at his eyes with his jacket sleeve, took the glasses from her hands and placed them both on the table. “I don't want to talk to you, India,” he said. “I want to make love to you.”
India lay in the darkness listening to him gently snoring. The moonlight filtering through the blind striped the smooth skin of his back in alternating slashes of dark and light.
He'd made slow and sombre gentle love to her, left her without a mark or a bruise on her skin. Yet still she felt dirty.
Silently she wiped her eyes, wrapped herself in his discarded shirt and crept from the bed.
When the relentless pounding at the door woke him at 3.55 am, she was gone. Pulling on his trousers Colt headed for the front door and briefly paused outside the bathroom to hear the shower running. Peering through the porthole window, he saw a uniform standing on the deck outside.
> “Sorry to wake you, Sir, but there's been a security breach,” he blurted as soon as Colt opened up. “Surveillance unit alerted us to a suspect launching a boat on the other side of the river. The Marine Unit intercepted it. One male apprehended, Sir,” the uniform said.
“Where is he now?”
“On route to Winchester, Sir.”
“Thanks,” Colt said, closing the door as his mobile started ringing on India's bedroom nightstand. 'Len' flashed on the screen.
“Len, I've just heard,” he said, picking up the call. “Who is it?”
When India appeared in the bedroom wearing just his shirt, he grinned and raised a finger to his lips. Found himself closing his eyes in a conscious attempt to concentrate. “On our way,” he said, ending the call and tossing his phone down on the bed.
“That was Firman,” he said, pulling India to him. “The weirdo waiter's in custody. They picked him up in a rowing boat outside.” He slid his hands up inside the shirt and around her waist, groaning at the lousy timing. “I'm gonna need this back,” he murmured. “You'll have to take it off I'm afraid.”
Chapter 59
Tuesday 21st December
They'd had eyes on him for less than twenty-four hours. Colt had said there was something weird about him, and now India stood behind the one way viewing glass watching Dwyer and Sangrin’s lame attempt at interviewing him.
Colt stood next to her, arms folded, staring through the glass, still furious he wasn’t doing the interview himself. Too close, Veronica had said. India could hear his teeth grinding through the muscles of his clenched jaw, and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. She tutted and frowned at him, but he was so focused on what wasn't happening on the other side of the glass he was oblivious to her irritation.
Firman stood to the other side of her, intermittently huffing and chuffing. It was always frustrating when an interviewee said nothing under questioning, but she was finding being stuck in the small dark room with these two far more irksome than Zane’s continued monotonous silence.
“Let me talk to him,” she said.
“No way,” Firman and Colt said in unison.
“If he's been following me, he’ll fucking talk to me.”
Her tone had both her superiors glowering at her with cocked jaws.
India wound her neck in. “They haven't got a peep out of him in four hours,” she said.
“You can't, you know him,” Veronica interjected from the safety of the corner.
“No I don't. He just served me in a restaurant once,” India said impatiently, before glancing at Colt and correcting herself. “Twice. And until the unit gets back here with his personnel file, we don't even know his surname or where he lives. Let me talk to him.”
Colt’s face filled with horror. “That could be the man that rap –”
India didn't give him a chance to finish. “Don’t patronise me, just let me do my bloody job. The sooner you let me in there, the sooner we can get him on his way, and concentrate on finding Dr Fox’s killer.” When he scrubbed a hand over his head and turned to Firman, she rolled her eyes and growled. “Seriously, look at him – he's a wiry little shit, he couldn't swat a fly.”
Veronica cleared her throat and tapped her watch. “While you're deciding, he needs a break.”
Firman checked his own watch. “And Lacey’s parents will be here shortly,” he said.
Colt cracked his knuckles and pressed the buzzer; Sangrin swaggered to the door. “Stick him back in the cells, Lee. We'll reconvene this afternoon.”
Colt paced Len Firman’s office. At times of stress it was a hereditary male affliction.
He glanced at his watch. Len had only been gone a few minutes, probably wouldn’t even be downstairs yet, but it already felt like hours. Colt was dreading this meeting. Thank god they were coming straight from the airport, he wasn’t sure he could cope with Karen sticking the boot in again. He puffed out his cheeks and loosened his tie. It seemed warmer than usual in the goldfish bowl today, his skin felt clammy.
They’d always gotten on well before. Before he’d got their only child killed. Gloria Fox was a passionate woman and Colt was expecting to be punished. Hopefully Lacey’s father, Tamo – a gentle soul, would step in if things got too out of hand. He certainly couldn’t count on Len to save him. He glanced at his watch again, and all too soon the office door opened.
Gloria Fox’s face was swollen from crying, and Colt hung his head in shame as she came towards him. “I’m so sorry, Gloria,” he said.
She held her arms out to him as tears spilled down her cheeks. Colt closed his eyes and embraced her, suffered the pain of every sob tormenting her body as if it were his own, while Tamo wept quietly in the corner.
“I’ll step down from the case if you want me to,” Colt said softly, and he meant it.
Gloria looked up at him and wiped her eyes. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Colt shook his head and looked down at his feet, unable to say he blamed himself for their loss out loud.
“Our daughter saw you as a brother, and we as a son,” Tamo Fox said. “You cannot abandon her now.”
“You must find him, James,” Gloria said, lifting his chin to look at her. “Promise us you will find him.”
“So we're all agreed then,” a red eyed Colt said staring at Veronica. “India will take a very gentle lead and I'll be a silent passive observer.”
“You need to tread very, very carefully,” Veronica said. “One wrong word and a defence team could shred us in a courtroom. Stick to the strategy.”
India sat back and nodded her flaccid agreement, going with the flow. Their exchanges were too emotional. She had her own interview strategy planned, and it started with getting her arse in that room.
“Trust me, Veronica,” Colt said, “I won’t fuck it up – Lacey’s parents are depending on me.”
Veronica smiled weakly. “I know,” she said.
India watched as Firman beckoned in the officer who was discreetly trying to get his attention through the glass panel of the door. Everyone was tiptoeing around as though royalty had died. Firman rolled his eyes as the officer whispered something in his ear before slipping out of the room again virtually unnoticed.
Colt stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Right, let's get it done.”
“Jim,” Firman said. “Professional Standards are in my office.”
Colt frowned. “What the hell do the rubber heelers want?”
“You,” Firman said, shaking his head.
Colt blew a breath up his face and straightened his tie. “Get Zane back in the interview room and let him sweat alone in there for a bit. Wait downstairs for me. I'll be fifteen minutes.”
India nodded. She doubted very much that he'd get rid of those tossers in fifteen minutes, every time she'd had her arse hauled in she was never out inside of two hours.
Colt walked into the office to find Statler and Waldorf had commandeered Len's desk.
“Sit down, Detective Chief Inspector,” the smarmy bastard with the thin black tie and crazy grey eyebrows said. Colt didn't see much point, he wasn't intending staying long, but he pulled up a chair anyway. He'd play the Muppets game, for the next fifteen minutes at least.
“We'd like to talk to you about the events surrounding the death of Dr Lacey Fox, and in particular your conduct on the evening in question.”
Colt leant back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “Fire away,” he said.
“Where were you that evening?”
“You know where I was,” Colt said. “You've spent the whole day creeping around trying to substantiate whatever bullshit you've been fed.” He looked at his watch. “Get to the point.”
Statler looked to Waldorf, who gave a single nod then turned his laptop around to face Colt. He sat forward and glared at the screen as Miranda Ayres footage of the hotel car park ambush played.
“Where you drunk the evening Dr Fox was killed?” Statler said. “You look red eyed in this foo
tage, were you still drunk that morning, Chief Inspector?”
“Sorry about that. I just couldn't quite muster a smile for the camera,” Colt said. “You'll have to forgive me. You see, I was just leaving the place where my sister-in-law and good friend was mutilated, raped and murdered. What the fuck do you expect me to look like?”
Statler and Waldorf both frowned at him. Waldorf twiddled one side of his snow white moustache and scribbled frantically. Colt took deep breaths in through his nose, out through his mouth; leant back in his seat and clasped his hands casually in his lap.
“What time did you arrive back at the hotel that evening?” Statler said.
“You know what time,” Colt said. “You'll have gone through the CCTV footage from above the entrance door and seen me walking tall, straight, and sober.”
Waldorf resumed his scribbling.
“There could be alcohol in your room . . .” Statler said.
“You know there isn't, you've already checked with the hotel that there's no mini-bar,” Colt said. “And no doubt you had a bloody good poke around my room for a stash of empty bottles while you were there too. What you should be looking at is where did the press get that little titbit of information from? Could that be the person who murdered Dr Fox? Could it be the same person who made a malicious complaint of drink driving against me last week?”
Waldorf briefly glanced up through hooded lids and continued scribbling.
“Are you suggesting someone has a vendetta against you, Chief Inspector?” Statler said flatly.
For fuck’s sake. Colt clenched his jaw. Keep cool. “I think there's a serious possibility considering some sick bastard has been sending me DVDs of every rape and murder he’s committed for the last three years, don’t you?”
“Serious allegations have been made against you, allegations that if proven will result in suspension from duty,” Statler said. “Obviously we will be referring this to the Independent Police Complaints Commission for further investigation.”
