Hide and Seek

by Denver Murphy

‘That’s the spirit, Hardy,’ she replied cheerfully, not feeling in the slightest bit guilty for having to go so heavy on him.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ she said to herself smugly, ending the call. It would seem that Brandt had been a very naughty boy after all. She could see how it wasn’t so much fear of the information getting out that had driven him to threaten her, but how it could be twisted to apparently confirm the very thing that had caused him so much upset before. There was no doubt the police would not choose to release the full details of what had gone on in the caravan; it wasn’t in the public interest. As a matter of fact, Brandt might welcome their heavily abridged description of it being sexually motivated. Much as he had sought to do to her, he would feel that this would disprove the notion that he was having issues with his sexuality and that his failure to function properly when in the company of women was driving his desire to kill.

  But even if the public didn’t appreciate the distinction between a sexually motivated attack and a sexual assault, Johnson did. From what Hardy had told her, the physical contact prior to the strangulation had been consensual. Brandt had performed oral sex on the woman, with no signs of struggle. The absence of any pre-ejaculate in her mouth suggested that if she had reciprocated he hadn’t been aroused, backed up by there being no evidence of penetration. Moreover, it wasn’t just his DNA that was found at the crime scene; his fingerprints were present too. He must have used gloves with his first attack in Benidorm, so it made no sense for him to be so reckless with this second one unless the killing itself wasn’t premeditated.

  Johnson laughed at herself for getting so carried away. She was still in detective mode – seeking to uncover the truth. She had to remind herself that it didn’t really matter whether any of it was consensual or not, what did matter was how it could be made to look. She didn’t have to concern herself with proving anything beyond reasonable doubt, all she had to do is make sure she had something juicy enough for her favourite columnist.

  ‘Gail Trevelly,’ came the reply after a few rings. Johnson smiled at the difference between her professionalism and Hardy’s. It would seem that news never slept.

  ‘Hi, Gail, it’s Stella Johnson.’ Her somewhat informal greeting was more than just trying to reignite their prior relationship. Although she didn’t expect Gail to take it as such, she didn’t want to use her title and sound like she was calling on official business, despite the ungodly hour.

  ‘DCI Johnson, what can I do for you?’

  It was fine for her to use it.

  ‘Sorry to call you at this time of night but I thought you might appreciate a story that might be in time for one of the later runs.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I have the perfect follow-up story for the one you ran on Brandt before.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Johnson wasn’t rattled by Trevelly’s apparent lack of enthusiasm. She told her everything she knew about the crime scene, off the record of course, and explained, without bothering to qualify any of her statements in case it made them sound like conjecture, how it proved that Brandt was indeed impotent. She even suggested a headline she believed to be suitable. Having finished her monologue, she sat back and sparked up a cigarette despite the no smoking clause in her tenancy agreement.

  ‘So, Gail, what do you think?’ She waited for the gratitude of a career-defining story to gush forth.

  ‘Look, I appreciate you telling me this, but it all sounds a bit samey.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Well, it’s not really anything I didn’t write before.’

  ‘Bullshit, Gail. What you wrote before was an implication that he might be a limp-dick. This proves it. Plus, what with all the furore surrounding the murders being committed by an ex-copper, it’s bound to sell.’

  ‘DCI Johnson, don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for what you did for me before. The exposure it got me was… well… useful. But the truth is I’m not really into that kind of journalism…’

  ‘Fuck me, you’re not starting to get all holier than thou on me, are you?!’

  ‘…and so, I’ve tried to use my increased profile as a springboard onto better things,’ she continued, as though she had not been interrupted. ‘Like I said, I’m not ungrateful, and I may know some colleagues who might be interested in your story.’

  ‘My story?’

  ‘Well, of course, they would be interested in your theories about Brandt’s motivation, if they were to add to that with you providing… details of your own experience then I’m sure you could come to some form of arrangement.’

  Johnson couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was a far cry from when Gail had virtually begged her to expand on what she had said in the press conference. Now, the jumped-up bitch was not only going to pass on this sure-fire winning story, she was also suggesting she would need to prostitute herself to other journalists with the sordid details of her own attack.

  The long pause that followed wasn’t a ploy by Johnson to get her to speak again. She was fighting with herself not to just tell her to fuck off and, figuratively, slam down the phone. Whatever it takes. Those three words came back to haunt her, but Johnson found some encouragement from them. Given everything she had been through, swallowing her pride and pandering to this woman’s narcissistic tendencies would hardly be too big a cross to bear. However, in the face of such forbearance what could she offer her to make her reconsider?

  ‘What if I could get his ex-wife to give you an exclusive?’

  ‘Ah come now, Detective Chief Inspector, you know that’s not possible.’ The patronising laugh that followed, more than the words themselves, caused Johnson to seethe with anger. Nevertheless, she knew the basis for Trevelly’s flippancy. Mrs Brandt had turned down every request for an interview, including a reported five figure sum from one of the television breakfast shows.

  ‘It is,’ she replied coolly. ‘And all I need from you right now is your assurance that when I arrange it, you will make yourself available.’

  ‘You have it.’ No more sanctimony, just a simple statement delivered with sincerity.

  Johnson ended the call at that point. She was still outraged but chief among her emotions was the anxiety at how she was going to deliver on her promise. Just getting his ex-wife to confirm on the phone that Brandt didn’t speak any foreign languages had been tricky enough. Exhausted and in desperate need of sleep as Johnson was, she would need to think very carefully how she was going to approach this in the morning.

  Chapter Thirty

  Johnson hadn’t dared phoning ahead and made the substantial drive down to Brandt’s ex-wife in the knowledge she may find that she had gone out. A small cowardly part of her hoped it would be the case, but she knew that without the newspaper article she was otherwise out of ideas.

  Pulling up at the address she’d had the foresight of noting down when she had snuck into the police station the night she looked for her phone number, Johnson was pleasantly surprised to see a lack of press camped outside. For whilst exposure was the whole point of her visit, she felt she could well do without her face being splashed all over the papers. She wanted Brandt to know who was behind this but wished for the connection to be a little subtler. However, the downside of there being no media attention there was it confirmed Gail Trevelly’s claim that his ex-wife would be a tough nut to crack. If they even had the slightest inclination that she might relent and give them a story, they would be outside hounding her every move.

  Johnson approached the front door of the modest but well-presented property with the decision that she would gain entry by implying she was there on police business. She would make it sufficiently vague so that it was deniable should a complaint be made, but strong enough that Brandt’s ex-wife would feel compelled to invite her inside.

  Having rung the doorbell, she cleared her throat and waited. Through the frosted glass she eventually saw a shadow of someone silhouetted against the light from the back windows and avoided pressing the buzzer again for fear o
f appearing antagonistic. But her patience soon ran out and she started knocking instead. With that prompting another glimpse of movement, but it failing to result in someone approaching the door, Johnson was left with little choice unless she was prepared to walk away.

  ‘Mrs Brandt!’ she called. Shit, I should have checked whether she had changed her name following the divorce. ‘It’s DCI Johnson. Please can you open the door, so I can speak with you?’

  ‘Go away!’ The shout that came from within was more pleading than it was commanding.

  ‘Please, Mrs Brandt. I really need to talk to you.’

  There was a slow movement towards her and then a long pause at the door as though she was having second thoughts whether to open it. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I think it’s better if we discuss this inside.’ Although Mrs Brandt was closer, Johnson had deliberately raised her voice in the hope that concerns for her privacy may prompt her into ushering her in.

  As the door swung open, she could see the recognition on her face even before she spoke. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Johnson eased her foot into the door before responding. She had got this far and wasn’t going to let this woman change her mind and ruin the plan. ‘Mrs Brandt, could I possibly come inside?’

  ‘Call me Susan,’ she said, but her cold delivery suggested that requesting the use of her first name was not in order to appear friendly.

  ‘I’m Stella,’ Johnson replied holding out her hand and watching Susan reluctantly take it. This was a good sign: she might be unwelcome, but the woman’s manners suggested she may well hear her out.

  Guiding her through into the sitting room, Susan indicated that she would like Johnson to sit in the armchair while she took her position on a fairly new black leather sofa. ‘I would offer you a drink, but I doubt you’ll be staying long.’

  ‘I don’t wish to take up too much of your time,’ she replied, in an effort to preserve whatever cordiality had been established.

  ‘I know what he did,’ Susan said flatly. ‘To you, I mean.’

  The bluntness of her words came as a shock and Johnson could feel her cheeks start to flush. She couldn’t think of an appropriate response and waited for her to continue.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  In other circumstances Johnson would have admired how that bold opening statement had created a situation where she could no longer avoid the question that had already been asked a couple of times. However, Susan’s vacant expression suggested that she wasn’t playing a game, rather just speaking her mind.

  ‘Susan, I need your help.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve told the police all I know. I guess they must believe I’m holding something back if they sent you round.’

  ‘Why is that?’ She couldn’t help but ask the question.

  ‘I guess the idea is that if I came face to face with one of his… his victims, it might shock me or something.’

  This wasn’t going how she had expected, and Susan was acting very differently to how she’d behaved when she had phoned her to establish whether Brandt spoke any foreign languages. She had been awkward, almost to the point of unhelpfulness, but here she just seemed resigned; empty. Johnson knew she could exploit her current mood to extract information, but she would need there to be more emotion if she were to get her to agree to talking to Gail Trevelly.

  ‘Do you smoke, Susan?’ She already knew the answer; the way she was fiddling with her fingers was a giveaway that they wanted to do something else. The room didn’t smell of tobacco but her going into the back garden to light up would explain the movement she saw through the door earlier.

  ‘I do. So what?’ Defensiveness mixed with a hint of confusion. Not where Johnson needed her to be yet, but anything was better than her cold delivery so far.

  ‘I was wondering whether I could offer you a cigarette. I know I could do with one.’

  After a few moments she could see Susan considering her proposition. Johnson knew that she could often appear aloof and, whilst that sometimes proved advantageous, in this situation she believed it helpful to seem more normal. It was easy to tell by her earlier answer that Susan’s bravado was disguising her discomfort with her habit, and she wondered whether Brandt had disapproved of her smoking. It certainly seemed to be the norm these days and Johnson hoped that admitting her own addiction would help to form a bond.

  ‘We’ll need to go into the garden,’ Susan replied, her tone implied mere tolerance of the suggestion, something subsequently undermined by the long, satisfied drag she took when they were both sat on the cheap plastic furniture either side of the overflowing ashtray perched on the low wall dividing the patio from the lawn.

  Johnson waited whilst they both concentrated on the pleasurable act of smoking.

  ‘Do you know why he attacked me?’ she asked eventually, noting how her words caused Susan to sit up straight.

  ‘No! Like I told them, I haven’t even seen Jeff for three years now.’

  Jeff. Hearing his first name used was peculiar. It made him sound almost human. Perhaps he had been when married. ‘Why did you leave him?’

  ‘I told them that too.’

  ‘I mean, I want to know why you really left him.’ Johnson hadn’t seen any of the interviews, much less knew what had been said, but from her experience, even under extreme circumstances, people were reluctant to talk about their personal feelings. What came out was usually a sanitised, almost perfunctory statement of things that had happened rather than why they had occurred.

  ‘He wasn’t the man I married anymore.’

  Johnson took another drag to imply she found the answer acceptable. It wasn’t anywhere near good enough, but she had to take this softly to avoid causing Susan to shut down. ‘What was your reaction when you found out what he had done?’

  ‘I was shocked of course! Why, what do you think I am?’

  Johnson ignored the challenge. ‘Were you surprised?’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Did you think that there must have been some sort of a mistake. That somehow the police had suspected the wrong person?’ Johnson waited patiently whilst Susan continued to smoke; her hand now shaking to the extent that she almost missed her lips.

  ‘No,’ she replied quietly.

  ‘Why did you leave him, Susan?’ she repeated with a firmness in her voice this time.

  ‘I was scared.’

  ‘Of him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he ever hurt you?’ Johnson believed she knew the answer but needed to hear what would come next.

  ‘No. But I knew he had become dangerous.’

  Johnson concentrated on the remains of her cigarette, knowing that the groundwork had been sufficiently laid and she wouldn’t need to ask anything more for Susan to explain what she meant.

  ‘He lost himself; what was inside, you know? I used to think he was feeling guilty about us not being able to have children. It wasn’t his fault, but I know he believed it was. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted children too, but it stopped being about that… In the end I wanted a baby just to bring him back.’ She sighed. ‘I guess I didn’t help. The more I tried to get pregnant the more pressure it piled on him.’

  In that moment Johnson knew, despite everything Brandt had done, his ex-wife still loved him. She expected to feel revulsion at yet another abused woman somehow thinking it was her own fault, but all she felt was pity. ‘Used to think?’ she asked, referring back to something Susan had said that she had almost failed to spot.

  ‘Well, in the beginning, he used to bury himself in his work. He’d come home late and find any excuse to get back to the office. And then he just stopped. He started working normal hours, even when there was a big case on. Not that he talked to me anymore about the investigations; I used to have to watch the local news to get any sort of clue what he was up to. It was as though he didn’t care anymore. He’d loved his job. That dedication, that need to do good with his life, was a big reason w
hy I fell for him. He then started talking about retirement when his earliest opportunity was still a few years off. The way he spoke about it was like a prisoner looking forward to his release date.’ She paused to light a fresh cigarette. ‘He was hollow. Empty. I tried to fill him back up with love again, but he wouldn’t have it, he would barely go near me. Unless he was drunk, and it was only then I saw that there were two possible outcomes. Either the emptiness inside would end up killing him or he would look to fill it up with something else. Something… bad.’

  Johnson felt pain at this woman’s anguish. She wanted to hug her and say it was okay. She needed to tell her, before she said it herself, that she wasn’t responsible for what he went on to do; that not being surprised by it didn’t mean she could have predicted it, much less prevented it. But what she was here to do was more important than either of their feelings, and if she were going to achieve it, she needed Susan to continue down this dark road. Whatever it takes.

  ‘Something bad?’

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be anything like that!’ Susan shouted.

  But? Johnson thought to herself.

  ‘But I knew it would be bad. I said it was like he didn’t care anymore. That was wrong; it was worse. It was as though he hadn’t just given up on us, he had given up on everything. It was like the world was too broken for it to be fixed and his belief in that was what had made him empty inside.’

  ‘Do you think he is punishing people for this now?’

  She could see Susan was deep in thought, with minute changes to her facial expression as she fully considered the question. ‘I’ve thought about little else than why he’s doing it,’ she said eventually. ‘But the truth is I just don’t know. Ten years ago, I would have said he didn’t have a bad bone in his body, and I can’t help but wonder whether he, in some fucked up way, thinks he is doing the right thing.’

  Time to bring this back rather than allow her more opportunity to somehow find a justification for his actions. The look of shame that followed Johnson’s next question confirmed that was exactly what Susan had been doing: ‘Do you know why he attacked me?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Because I got to him. I couldn’t find him, so I provoked him.’ Now was not the time to share that it had gone so differently to how she had anticipated.