Hide and Seek

by Denver Murphy

  Brandt’s decision to head east, rather than plunge south into France, had been a deliberate, albeit hastily conceived one. Knowing that the police would at least suspect he had accompanied Franklin, he wanted to mask his true destination by appearing to travel in a different direction. Once he had ditched Franklin and his vehicle, with the assumption being he was continuing on to either Germany or the Netherlands, it should buy him enough time to complete the rest of his journey unimpeded.

  Crossing into Belgium after little more than an hour’s driving gave Brandt the boost to his senses he required. Having used the car’s sat nav to identify a suitable stopping point, he followed the E40’s natural bend southeast in the direction of Brussels. The X5’s fuel gauge was getting low, but the trip computer suggested that it had enough diesel to get them to their destination.

  Half an hour later, they deviated from their course to Belgium’s capital, turning left onto the E17 and swinging around the city of Ghent. Built in the Middle Ages as a port leading to the sea, it had grown much in the same way London had in its early years. The attractive stone buildings visible at its centre, dominated by the Castle of the Counts, were a welcome relief to the blandness of the journey so far. And yet it was the industrial areas that had since been built around it that brought Brandt the most comfort, because it was here he would shortly head, hoping to look like a migrant worker at one of the many factories and industrial plants.

  Brandt knew he was in a positive frame of mind because, much as he disliked football, he found himself impressed by the sight of the Ghelamco Arena that passed on his right. It wasn’t anywhere near as large as The Emirates which he had attended with Franklin just a couple of days before, but the developers had gone to a lot of effort to make this new stadium attractive with its front of mirrored glass. That he had never heard of the team K.A.A. Gent was of little concern as it gradually passed from view. He was nearing his turn off and started to consider the finer details of what was to follow.

  Brandt had observed the odd set of traffic cameras throughout their route, but now off the main roads he was reassured that their progress could not be followed. He had selected the Doonkmeer lake, not just because of its location, but its size meant he should be able to find a secluded spot away from its early summer visitors. He carried on past the main car park which, despite being a weekday, contained a fair number of vehicles whose occupants had either stopped for a picnic or hired one of the various boats or water bikes. The road narrowed as he circumnavigated the lake and, with no further stop off points, he waited until the terrain was sufficiently flat for him to use the SUV’s four-wheel drive capabilities to pull onto the grass. Brandt did not care about the branches of the low hanging trees pinging off the windscreen and scraping the paint on the sides of the car as he made his way to the water’s edge, because the foliage would serve to obscure them from anyone driving past. The going was bumpy but there wasn’t even a flicker of the X5’s traction control’s dashboard light; the recent weather having dried out the mud underneath.

  With the engine switched off, Brandt allowed himself a few moments’ peace before getting out of the car. What a 24 hours it had been and, this time yesterday, as he set off for Nottinghamshire police station, he would never have expected to find himself here. But despite all the drama of what had followed, sat there with the window open to allow the warm breeze to refresh his features and watching the calm water glinting in the sunlight, he felt reasonably satisfied. Much as it irked him that his plan to prove to DCI Johnson that her cruel claims of him being sexually confused were false had failed, it gave him comfort that he still remained at least one step ahead of the authorities. He had wanted to keep on killing until the British people had awoken from their slumber of indifference, but he knew he still had the opportunity to make his previous exploits have more of an impact if he could shock society by it not appearing the work of one man. If he could exert one final pressure on Franklin, he could make the controversy surrounding the involvement of an ex-policeman multiply exponentially.

  ‘Okey dokey, here we go.’ Brandt chuckled to himself, opening the door.

  He laughed again as he opened the boot to observe Franklin cower away both from him and the blinding light. The smell of piss and shit hit him before he even noticed the dark stain on his trousers. Glancing around to check they remained unobserved, he hoisted Franklin up before allowing him to collapse on the ground outside.

  ‘Brian, I’m going to untie you now,’ he said slowly and deliberately as though talking to a child. ‘Don’t forget that I still have a gun in case you think about trying to make a run for it.’ He started with the gag first, keen to gauge Franklin’s reaction. When nothing was said he continued to cut the bonds securing his hands. Although he had tied them loosely he could see the abrasions from where he must have struggled in an attempt to free himself. ‘You can get up now,’ he said, helping him gain his feet.

  ‘Where… where are we?’ Franklin asked, still blinking against the rays from the sun.

  ‘Do you like it? I said that we were going on holiday, didn’t I?’

  ‘What now?’ He stared directly at Brandt despite the fear that was evident in his features.

  ‘I think we had better sit down,’ he replied, enjoying the look of recognition these words brought, so typically a precursor to bad news. Brandt hadn’t planned any of this conversation but was enjoying the impact of his improvisation. He led him to the driver’s seat and closed the door after him. Rather than keep the gun trained on him as he rounded the bonnet to the passenger side, he waved the key instead in a mocking gesture that demonstrated his inability to escape.

  Sitting down with an audible sigh, Brandt turned to face him. ‘Would you mind opening all the windows, I think we could do with a little more ventilation considering you have… well, you know... I then want you to put your hands on the wheel and keep them there until I tell you differently.’ Franklin did as he was told, all the while staring forwards. Brandt once again saw the marks on his wrists but shrugged knowing there was nothing he could do about them now, hoping that with a little time and water they should fade.

  ‘Well, let’s cut to the chase, Brian. You’re going to die now but not before you get the chance to say goodbye.’

  Franklin’s head snapped across to face him, but whether his look of surprise came from the revelation that he was about to be killed or the confusing statement that followed, Brandt couldn’t tell. Instead, he gave him a look that he hoped seemed kind and gently nodded his head. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so, but I want you to know that I wish it could have worked out differently. You’ve been a good friend,’ he lied.

  ‘If you just let me go…’ Franklin pleaded. ‘I’ll tell them… I’ll tell them…’

  ‘Tell them what?’ Brandt asked patiently. When Franklin was unable to reply he continued: ‘You see that’s the point. Believe me, if I could think of some way of this panning out differently, I would, but this is the only way.’

  ‘They’ll still catch you,’ he said flatly, a look of resignation now etched on his face.

  ‘Well you’re going to help me with that. You’re going to write a farewell note and I am going to dictate its contents.’

  ‘Why the fuck would I do that?!’ Franklin spat, a little bit of defiance emerging to dilute some of the despair.

  ‘Well, a number of reasons,’ Brandt replied evenly. ‘The first I suppose is what does it matter to you given you’ll be dead and all. I don’t know whether you are a religious man, Brian, but either way it works out the same. If you do believe in an afterlife, then God or whoever will know the truth and still admit you through the pearly gates. If you’re an atheist like me then what does it matter how people think you died, you’ll just be… well, er, dead.’

  Franklin opened his mouth to respond but a raised finger shushed him. ‘That was just the first reason. The second is a bit more straightforward. As I said you’re about to die; I’m sorry but there really is no movement on tha
t, I’m afraid. You may probably have guessed but I want it to look like suicide. Now here’s the thing about suicide: people tend to want to go in the most painless way possible. And I want that for you, Brian, I really do, but if you won’t play ball and refuse to make it seem like you’ve taken your own life, then I’ll be forced to make it more… well, how shall I put it – difficult.’

  Again, the mouth opened and again Brandt signalled that he didn’t want to be interrupted. ‘Look, let me save you the details but, suffice to say, it would be slow and painful.’ He paused to allow Franklin’s imagination to consider what he might do. ‘But before you make your decision, there is one last thing. I hate to bring it up, truly, but there is also the matter of your family.’ Brandt couldn’t stifle the smile that greeted Franklin’s look of horror. ‘I understand that you may be thinking they’re safe now, what with us being in another country and everything, but there is something you should consider. If you’re right with what you said before about the police catching me, and you won’t allow me the opportunity to make a clean getaway, then what’s to stop me going out in a blaze of glory starting with your wife and kids? Bit of a hassle getting all the way back there but, then again, who would be looking out for me re-entering the country?’

  A few minutes later Franklin was shaking his head. He had only written the opening line to his suicide note but had stopped when Brandt dictated the next sentence. ‘I can’t…’

  ‘I get it, Brian, I really do,’ Brandt said, trying to sound calm and patient despite how he was feeling. The truth was, much that he hadn’t expected it to be easy, he was anxious to be done and away. More than anything, he’d had enough of this pathetic wretch and, although he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of pulling the trigger himself, he wanted to see him dead. ‘It must be hard for you balancing your hard-earned reputation against the safety of your family, knowing that whatever fond memories they have of you will be tarnished by what you must write. Perhaps it would be better for them to die instead, in the belief that you remained a good, decent man.’

  ‘No,’ he responded, simply but firmly, the pen touching the paper once more. And, even though there was worse to follow, he didn’t hesitate until he had finished writing everything he was told.

  ‘Good chap and, if it’s any consolation to you, should I be caught, I’ll be sure to tell everyone the truth,’ Brandt said, injecting false sincerity into his voice, and slipping the note inside the clear plastic cover of the car’s instruction manual. Closing it back inside the glovebox he took a deep breath. ‘Now here’s how we’re going to do this: I’m going to move into the back seat directly behind you. In my right hand I will be holding a knife to your throat and, with my left, I am going to pass you the gun. You’re going to hold it under your chin like this.’ Brandt showed Franklin exactly where he wanted him to place the muzzle. ‘If I even sense that you are thinking about doing anything else with the gun then I will cut your throat, dump you in the lake and head straight back to Calais. Clear?’

  ‘Fucking coward!’

  Rather than Brandt give credit to Franklin for not even hesitating to pull the trigger once he had finished his countdown a couple of minutes later, he was repulsed by his lack of fight. Brandt didn’t have any children, but he was sure that if someone threatened to kill his wife if he didn’t feign his own suicide, he would only be too pleased to sacrifice the bitch.

  With a sigh he got out of the back of the car and approached the lake to wash his arms, having had the foresight to roll up his sleeves before he reached round to Franklin. The gun shot had been alarmingly loud, causing birds in nearby trees to take flight. Brandt had made some makeshift ear plugs in anticipation of the explosion in the confined space of the X5, but he didn’t think anyone who heard it on the faraway shore would believe it anything more than a farmer clearing his field of vermin.

  Relieved that he would be pulling on his gloves for one final time, he went back to the X5 and opened the driver’s door. He only glanced at the mess of Franklin’s head as he reached across him to insert the key. Brandt was initially perplexed by his subsequent prod of the starter button failing to ignite the engine, but then remembered that it would only fire when the brake pedal was depressed. Although he managed to move Franklin’s leg into the correct position, he couldn’t get it to apply enough pressure, so, whilst mumbling a string of expletives under his breath, he kicked it away and pressed down with his own. With the starter button now able to do its job, he moved the gear selector into drive and released the electric handbrake. The car crept forward under its own torque and Brandt moved himself out of the way to watch it crawl slowly towards the lake. The angle of the bank was shallow, but its steady progress soon had its front wheels submerged. As the bonnet went beneath the water Brandt heard the clatter of the diesel engine take on a different note as the air box struggled to provide it with the oxygen needed to spark the fuel. After a couple more feet there was a sucking noise as it drew water into the pistons and died. Fortunately, the level was high enough to flood the windows and the car continued to slide into the lake, with the added weight now conspiring to drag it down further.

  Brandt cursed himself for not having opened the sunroof to allow the last of the air to escape, but he felt confident that the top of the car would only be visible to anyone who was close by and, being black, only if they were looking directly at it. Besides, Brandt wanted the vehicle along with its contents to be found, just not before he had managed to put as much distance between him and them as possible.

  Satisfied that there was no more that could be done, he glanced at his watch and slung his bag over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure how far it was to the outskirts of the city, but he was convinced that a steady pace should see him there long before nightfall.

  Chapter Twelve

  Johnson dreaded three things, so she decided to do them all on the same day. She started by entering her house for the first time since that fateful evening, having checked out of the hotel early due to now being thoroughly sick of the buffet breakfast. It had been the longest week of her life, with nothing to do except trying, and failing, to come to terms with what had happened. After a couple of days, and with her physical injuries having remarkably reduced to little more than aches and pains, she had phoned Potter with her intention to return to work. Despite his attempted assurances, Brandt had seemingly disappeared, and she wanted to get involved in the hunt. Potter had been reluctant to share anything with her and it was from another colleague that she heard about the mysterious link with DSI Franklin. His car had been tracked into Belgium but from there the trail had gone cold. His fleeing suggested he at least had knowledge of Brandt’s crimes, and it transpired that they had even spent the whole day together before he attacked her in Nottingham. However, it also seemed they may have gone their separate ways, with Franklin trying to make it out of the country before his connection with Brandt was discovered.

  But Potter had denied her request to come back to work, stating that she would need to pass both a physical and a psychological examination. He flatly refused to entertain the idea of this happening before McNeil was buried so Johnson, much to his consternation, had booked it for an hour after he would be laid to rest.

  There was nothing in her street that gave a clue to the events that had taken place there. Her red Audi TTRS was still parked outside the house and McNeil’s blue Ford Fiesta must have either been towed away or taken by a relative. If the funeral wasn’t going to be bad enough, the idea of meeting his family made Johnson sick to her stomach. Much as she wanted one final opportunity to say goodbye to McNeil, she planned on maintaining as low a profile as possible. However, she knew there was little chance of being able to do so, especially with the papers using stills from the press conferences to plaster her all over their front covers. Fortunately, McNeil’s image had remained outside of the public domain but there were bound to be reporters at the church.

  She guessed the absence of anyone outside her house was in the b
elief that she wouldn’t be allowed to return there whilst Brandt was on the loose. The fact of the matter was that she intended putting it on the market immediately and had already used some of the time she’d spent kicking her heels in the hotel finding herself a place to rent in the meantime. She had planned on taking her own car from here but decided it would be easier to just have the taxi wait, especially as she hadn’t yet picked up a parking permit for her new flat. The driver seemed only too pleased to stay, safe in the knowledge that every minute Johnson spent inside would add to the overall fare. She rushed up to the front door, concerned that one of her neighbours might come out and try to talk to her. Observing the fresh paint where the repairs had been made, she pulled out the new keys the locksmith had delivered to her.

  Johnson’s first impression inside was that it no longer smelled like her house. She had never before given consideration to the team of people whose job it was to clean up crime scenes once the forensics had finished their work, but the chemicals used by them indicated a thorough job. The flooring literally sparkled in the morning sunshine and, had it not been for the marks on the wall where the blood had been scrubbed off, she could almost believe she had imagined the whole thing. The sitting room appeared to be as she had left it, save for the cushions on the sofa being arranged differently to normal, and the telephone had been placed back on its charger. She could see the crack on the plastic at the top of it, presumably the result of the impact following her hurling the device in an effort to get back to McNeil as quickly as possible.

  Much as Potter had done an admirable job of collecting essentials for her stay at the hotel, she would need to brave returning to the scene of McNeil’s death if she were going to find clothing appropriate for the funeral. She took the stairs slowly, remembering the sickening thud of McNeil falling down them. At the time she hadn’t realised he had been fatally wounded in the process, with that only becoming apparent when he had somehow made it back up to her with Brandt’s knife sticking out of his chest. His decision to sacrifice any chance of his own survival so that she could free herself, seemed all the more wrong as she observed her bedroom. Only the faded stain on the carpet where he had bled out indicated what had happened there. Her wrought iron bed, which she had been tied naked to, now appeared as normal, with just the bare mattress sitting on it, presumably with the sheet and duvet taken away for further forensic testing.