Chapter Six
The knock at the door made Brandt instantly freeze. He was in the process of feeding the magazine into his Glock 17 pistol, having been at home a matter of minutes and, following a quick change of clothes, having shoved some items into a small holdall and retrieved the shoebox full of money from under his bed.
His senses were on high alert and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he rammed the clip home before sliding the top back to put a round in the chamber, in the same manner as the man in north London had shown him a few days earlier. Checking the safety was still on, he crept towards the window, wincing as one of the floor boards squeaked under him. He didn’t expect to see a fleet of police cars outside; if nothing else for the fact that, if there was, they wouldn’t be knocking. What Brandt did see, bathed in the harsh white of the security light he had installed many years earlier, was a BMW X5 SUV perched at the end of his drive.
As far as he was aware, he didn’t know anyone with such a vehicle and his instincts were screaming out that it was too much of a coincidence for this to be unrelated to his actions that afternoon.
Another knock, louder and more insistent on this occasion, interrupted Brandt’s attempt to make sense of this. It couldn’t be someone going door to door at this time of night but the urge to remain upstairs in the hope that whoever it was would go away was strong.
‘Jeff it’s me!’ Came the call from below. Brandt started to wonder how this person knew his name when comprehension suddenly dawned.
He didn’t know why Franklin had chosen to visit him but knew it would seem odd if he wasn’t in at this time on a Monday night. Perhaps he had called earlier and was concerned that Brandt hadn’t answered. Given what a state he had got himself into yesterday maybe he had assumed the same of Brandt and took his apparent absence as something having befallen him.
Whatever it was, he wanted to get rid of him quickly, even if a small part of Brandt would enjoy the look on that career hungry prick’s face if the specialist firearms unit came bursting in. ‘Just a moment, Brian, I was on the loo.’ He shouted down, going into the en-suite to flush the toilet for effect. He wedged the Glock into the waistband of his trousers as he had seen done in countless American films, but the object felt so alien there. A quick glance in the full length mirror his wife had spent so long staring into before she left, confirmed that there was a definite bump under his shirt. He considered tucking it into the back instead but that wouldn’t address his concern about it falling out, especially if he ended up sitting down. Instead he tossed it on the bed next to the shoebox and used the duvet to cover up both items.
‘Brian!’ Brandt called cheerfully as he opened the front door, before the expression on Franklin’s face caused him to change his approach. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Do you mind if I come in, Jeff?’
‘No, not at all,’ Brandt said, moving back into the hallway. ‘Can I get you a drink or something?’
‘Er, yeah sure,’ he replied, devoid of any enthusiasm for what was being proposed.
Brandt was concerned. Franklin’s odd behaviour was adding to the suspicions he held about the timing of his unsolicited visit. He moved to the drinks cabinet to buy himself an opportunity to think. Perhaps seeing whether he drank some of the whisky he was pouring would help to confirm whether he was here in some sort of official capacity. Then again, given the state Franklin had got into recently, Brandt doubted this would be the first time he had consumed alcohol whilst on the job.
‘What’s happened to the back of your head?’
Shit! Brandt had cleaned himself up when he got home but it was stupid of him to have let him see the wound. ‘Oh, it’s a little embarrassing really but I tripped over on the platform yesterday. I guess we overdid it a little.’
‘Yeah,’ Franklin gave a small laugh. ‘You should really get it checked out though. Looks nasty.’
‘I guess,’ he replied, instantly grateful that Johnson hadn’t managed to claw his face whilst he had been starting up the car. He walked over and handed Franklin the glass, noting the way he looked at its golden contents with an almost reverential longing. ‘Is there something I can do for you Brian?’
Franklin took a long swig which Brandt appeared to replicate but, much as the heady aroma was appealing, he knew it was imperative he remain sharp. Yet he couldn’t resist licking his lips to make the most of the liquid that had faintly brushed his mouth.
‘What have you been up to this evening, Jeff?’ The casual way it was delivered, under the pretence of small talk, was almost convincing but Brandt could read the intensity in Franklin’s eyes. But tonight had been messy and he wanted to make as clean a getaway as possible, so he wouldn’t act until he was certain.
‘Ah, you know, this and that.’
‘Like what exactly?’ This was enough for Brandt. It wasn’t so much the shift in tone but Franklin’s need for specificity. It still didn’t make sense though. Even if Franklin had been informed of what had happened to Johnson this evening, and had somehow managed to put two and two together based on the brief conversation they’d had about her in the pub after the Arsenal game yesterday, why come and face him alone? Franklin was a coward; of that Brandt was certain. So desperate was he to do the right thing in the eyes of his superiors that his averseness to risk had ensured he would never be considered for promotion. To come and face down a supposed dangerous killer was so completely out of character to be nonsensical.
‘Well, I’m a little ashamed to say that I have been at the pub again this evening.’ Giving a sheepish smile, he raised the whisky to his lips once more.
‘Oh yeah, which one?’
Stupid fucking question. Franklin wasn’t from round here. ‘The Dog and Duck,’ he replied, making up a name.
‘Oh yeah, good was it?’
A seed of doubt was sown in Brandt’s mind. Franklin was a pathetic specimen, of that he was certain. Perhaps he was just making inane conversation because he was lonely. Brandt’s darkest days, those in which he had fantasised about plunging to his death, had usually started with a crushing hangover. There was no doubt Franklin was going through the same pain he had felt when his wife had left. He could imagine what today had been like because he had been through the same countless times whilst he was still in the force. You know everyone knows you’re struggling with what’s happened to you and so you try to hide it at work. This causes you to drink more when you’re at home in order to either release all that pent-up feeling or to temporarily banish the misery, thus leading you to feeling worse at work which sees you going to even greater lengths to cover up the root of your misery and the resulting drink problem you’ve developed. Eventually it all gets too much, and you start considering the easy way out. The realisation that you are contemplating suicide can come as something of a shock and perhaps Franklin had just reached this point and decided to visit the only person he knew who may understand these feelings. But opening up is hard, certainly Brandt had never done it, so there was a possibility that Franklin was stumbling around trying to find other things to talk about.
‘Yeah it was okay. Usual Monday quiz night.’ The fact was, irrespective of Franklin’s motives, Brandt couldn’t spend all evening chatting shit. He needed to get away and the larger the gap he could get between him and his eventual pursuers, the greater his odds of escape. ‘I hate to rush you Brian but I’m a little tired.’
‘Okay, sure, sure.’ Franklin said, nodding firmly. ‘Look there was something specific I needed to talk to you about. It’s about work…’
‘I understand,’ Brandt replied earnestly. ‘You must have been feeling pretty rough this morning and I know it can be difficult trying to…’
‘No, it’s not that,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Well, it sort of is a bit, but something came through today from Nottingham…’
Brandt’s heart froze in his chest. No more coincidences, no more bullshit thoughts about lonely coppers trying to come to terms wi
th their wives leaving them. This was serious and he needed to get his gun. He needed to get his gun and find out exactly what Franklin was going on about and quickly. He needed to know exactly what Franklin knew and exactly what he had told anyone else. And then he needed to get out of here. Fast.
‘Oh really?’ Brandt asked, casually rising from his chair.
‘Yeah, it’s an image. Look, I’ve got it on my phone. It’s probably nothing but I can’t help but think the similarity is uncanny.’ Franklin reached into his pocket and Brandt slowly walked across towards him. ‘Here, let me show you…’
Now was the best opportunity Brandt was likely to get. He swept past Franklin. ‘Hold on, I need to get my reading glasses.’ He knew it sounded pathetic but anything to buy himself time.
‘No, wait Jeff!’ He called, following. ‘You need to stay down here!’ Whether it was the speed with which he was ascending the stairs that was causing alarm, Brandt didn’t know, but he could hear Franklin just behind him. Any thoughts of the various aches and pains he had suffered that evening were gone; just the desperate need to reach his bedroom and get the gun. He felt a hand brush his heel in an attempt to trip him, but the contact wasn’t sufficient, and he made it to the top knowing nothing could stop him covering the short distance across the landing to his bedroom. He flung back the duvet and grabbed the gun, swinging it immediately round to face Franklin.
But Franklin wasn’t there.
A moment of confusion stunned Brandt before a dreadful realisation hit him.
‘No, no!’ he shouted, charging back towards the stairs. The front door was still closed, and he was sure he would have heard it if it had just been slammed shut. A loud thud from the back of the house revealed Franklin’s whereabouts and Brandt followed the sound through the hallway and into the kitchen. He found Franklin there yanking on the French doors before trying again to smash his way out and into the garden.
Brandt switched on the light causing Franklin to instantly turn around. The look of sheer terror was almost comic. As he stared down at the mobile phone still in his hand, Brandt could see the faint glimmer of hope flash across his face. His thumb was already poised to dial 999 when Brandt flicked the safety off his Glock 17.
‘If you don’t drop that right now, I’m going to shoot you in the fucking face!’
That it fell to the floor without a moment’s hesitation told Brandt all he needed to know about Franklin’s likely compliance in what was to come.
‘Right, let’s have a little sit down again, shall we?’
If it wasn’t for the gun in Brandt’s hand, now resting casually on the arm of his chair, and the silent tears streaming down Franklin’s face, anyone who hadn’t observed the past two minutes would have assumed they were still involved in their earlier conversation.
With his heart rate gradually returning to normal, Brandt was feeling remarkably calm. Better, in fact, than earlier when the confusion and suspicion had been swirling round his mind. He would be better still once he had established from Franklin exactly what the situation was.
‘Okay, Brian, time is tight so I’m going to ask you some simple questions. You are going to provide some straightforward answers to these simple questions otherwise I am going to shoot out your knee caps.’ For good measure Brandt waggled the gun in the direction of Franklin’s legs. ‘But a quick word of warning before we start. If I even suspect you aren’t telling me the truth, or are trying to hold something back, I’m going to shoot you in the stomach and I will sit here drinking the rest of my whisky whilst watching you bleed out. Clear?’
A resigned nod indicated Franklin was ready.
‘Question one: does anyone else know you are here?’
‘No.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘A photo came through of you on CCTV.’
This made lots of questions occur to Brandt but, for now, he just needed to stick to the important ones. ‘But why are you here?’
‘I wasn’t sure it was you and er…’
‘Go on…’ Brandt could see there was something else to Franklin’s answer, but he was struggling to phrase it.
‘Well I, er, missed it. I had gone home to get some sleep and then I was called, and I had to…’
‘Woah there!’ he interrupted, holding up his free hand. ‘I get it. Something about you being an incompetent prick.’ He smirked at the hurt in Franklin’s eyes. ‘Does anyone know the person in the photo is me?’ Already his mind was starting to wonder if this was the reason why Johnson had given him that look when he first arrived.
‘Well, er, no, I don’t think so. It’s pretty grainy and I think it’s only because we’re friends that I was able…’
Brandt let out a loud and cruel laugh. ‘Friends!? You dumb cunt! We’re not friends. I just needed you, so I could get some information.’ The look of confusion on Franklin’s face came as a surprise. ‘Don’t you know where I’ve been this evening?’
He slowly shook his head. ‘I was told there had been another attack in Nottingham, but…’
‘You could say that. Thanks to you I visited a certain DCI Stella Johnson.’ His voice was dripping with glee.
‘But I don’t know… how could I have...?’
‘You really don’t remember do you? After I got you legless in the pub yesterday, I used your indiscretion to get what I needed. I had hoped for more, but you gave me just enough.’ He sat back enjoying a fresh wave of horror cross Franklin’s face. ‘One could say you are responsible for what happened,’ he sniggered, ramming the point home.
‘Is she… is she dead?’
‘Who knows?!’ Brandt shrugged, hiding the irritation he felt at being reminded he hadn’t completed the job properly. ‘I left her naked in the road, so your guess is as good as mine.’ Long moments passed as he sat there thinking. ‘Okay then, it’s safe to assume no one else knows it’s me,’ he continued, more to himself this time. ‘But then again, it won’t take long now until the connection is made.’
He rose and gestured with an upwards motion of the gun that Franklin was to do the same. He remained on the sofa.
‘What… what are you going to do to me?’
Brandt laughed again. ‘I’m not going to do anything to you. As you said, we’re old friends,’ he mocked. ‘We’re just going on a little drive, that’s all.’
‘What? Where?’
‘Now, now,’ he shushed him. ‘First things first, we need to retrieve your phone and switch it off. Then we need to head upstairs and collect the rest of my things. Oh, and there are a couple of items I have to get from the shed. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, do I, of what will happen if you try anything?’
* * *
A few minutes later they were in the BMW X5, Franklin at the wheel and Brandt sat diagonally behind him resting the gun in his gloved hands on his lap. Brandt had been happy to find that the rear windows were tinted. All the same, he was anxious now to get moving. His unexpected, and initially unwelcome, visitor had solved the problem of how to make his getaway, but until they were clear from his street he wouldn’t feel at all comfortable.
‘Off we go now, let’s take it nice and steady.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Your place of course,’ he said casually, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. When the anticipated reaction of surprise didn’t follow, Brandt repositioned himself, so he had a clearer line of fire. Franklin might be a pussy, but he was a devious bugger and he took his lack of a response as him plotting something. He didn’t know what it was, but he had expected, once the shock of the situation wore off, that Franklin wouldn’t remain quite as biddable as he had been whilst they had sat in the living room.
They remained in silence for most of the journey, save for the few questions Brandt asked in order to find out more about the origin of the CCTV image. Although he was frustrated that someone had managed to find the needle in the haystack, it was with a source of pride he noted that it had not come from an
y specific mistake on his part. Once satisfied that Franklin had no further information of value, he settled back to contemplate the details of his improvised strategy. That it also left Franklin to his own thoughts wasn’t too much of a worry because, as soon as this stop-off was complete, he could proceed to the next part of his plan without concern.
‘Just pull up outside and switch the lights off,’ Brandt instructed when they arrived at Franklin’s house. ‘Nice place you’ve got there.’
He wasn’t kidding. The large detached property was set back from the road and surrounded by neatly manicured hedges, save for the wrought iron gates that blocked the entrance to the gravel drive.
‘Tell you what, when we’re underway again you can tell me how someone on the same salary as me managed to bag himself such a decent pad.’
‘We’re going out again?’ The surprise in his voice was evident. Brandt smirked at the implication that his plan had been to hide out indefinitely at a police officer’s house.
‘Even better than that, we’re going on holiday,’ he replied breezily. ‘And what does everyone need when they go on holiday?’
‘Erm, a suitcase?’
Brandt burst out laughing at the unintended humour. ‘No Brian, they need their passport. Although if you’re a good boy I will let you pack your Speedos.’ He allowed his tone to immediately fall flat before continuing. ‘As keen as I am for us to have a good time let me just remind you, I have killed many people before tonight and I won’t hesitate for one moment…’
‘Okay, okay!’
Brandt decided to let the interruption slide given the desperation contained within those two words. ‘Just because you don’t see the gun doesn’t mean it’s not about to blow your brains out. Final question before we get out: are we going to find anyone else in the house?’
‘No.’
‘Because you know what will happen to them…’
‘No… I mean yes.’
‘No wife deciding she can’t live without you and come home? No children missing their Daddy and making a surprise visit?’
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