by Lauren Algeo
‘I think we should hold off telling him for a little while,’ Brewer said finally. ‘We need to get our heads straight before we dump this on him too.’
‘Agreed,’ Ellen nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was cause anyone else this misery. ‘There might be a quick solution and Mitch never has to know.’
It was wishful thinking but she clung on to it.
‘I’m going to call in sick from work today to plan but I think you should still go to your tutoring appointment,’ Brewer told Ellen.
She barked a laugh. ‘How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on English Literature with this going on in my head!’
‘You said yesterday that this is a crucial time for Tim,’ Brewer shrugged. ‘He’s relying on you for home schooling help and he has exams next week.’
Ellen’s face softened at the mention of her favourite pupil. ‘You’re right – I shouldn’t let him down. I’ll be able to muddle through for a couple of hours. It might help to take my mind off it so more rational thoughts about what we’re going to do can surface.’
Brewer nodded, trying to hide his relief. He’d done an admirable job of staying strong for her overnight but he needed to release his emotions soon or he’d explode. Time alone was what he needed to process the anger and pain he was feeling. The tremors in his hands had been there all morning and he was doing his best to keep them hidden in his lap.
Ellen went upstairs to get showered and dressed, and Brewer tidied away the uneaten breakfast. It was selfish of him to push Ellen to go to work but he was confident that she could keep her composure. She had remarkable inner strength and would be thinking logically for a solution to their hiker problem by the time she came home that afternoon. Brewer called his boss, John, and told him that he wouldn’t be in that day. He gave an excuse of being up all night with food poisoning, which was half true – he had been up for most of the night.
Ellen left half an hour later and Brewer gave her a kiss goodbye and watched her drive off in her black Ford. As soon as she was out of sight, his legs buckled and he sank to his knees by the living room window. Memories of his darkest days came rushing to the forefront of his mind and forced the air from his lungs. He gasped loudly as hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. His deepest fear had come true – a hiker still existed.
He curled up on his side in the foetal position and buried his face into the thick carpet. His heart was thumping painfully and a low whimper escaped his throat. Why had this happened? What had they done to deserve this new nightmare? He lay there, feeling every agonising emotion in acute detail: Fear, pain, confusion, bitterness, sorrow.
Eventually his breakdown petered out; his breathing slowed and his tears dried up. He got shakily to his feet and straightened his black jumper, sniffing pitifully. Thank god Ellen hadn’t been there to witness that. Seeing his epic meltdown would have driven her into a blind panic.
He walked across the room to the drinks cabinet in the corner and took out a bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured himself a large measure, not caring that it was still only morning. The soothing liquid would help calm him down, as it had done so many times before. He took a big gulp of his drink and collapsed onto the sofa.
Now his emotions had been unleashed, he felt clearer. There was indeed a hiker out there, but it was only one. There was no army of them to track down or methods to work their way through until they found something to kill him. It was just one boy. They knew who he was and where he was, and they had the advantage.
Daniel wouldn’t know what he was exactly, only that he was special. He hadn’t had a father to teach him or the back up of the Grand. He thought he was alone and he knew nothing at all about them – that Brewer had spent years trying to kill his kin before successfully ending their reign. They had the element of surprise.
Brewer took another sip of his drink and felt the liquid burning its way to his stomach. The task ahead was challenging but they could do it… he could do it. There was surely a way for him to kill the boy without having to let Ellen get close to him? He didn’t need her shooting abilities any more – he could kill the boy himself.
The easiest method would be an insulin overdose. He didn’t want to risk having to feed the boy crushed Warfarin, or scouring the hospitals for meningitis blood. Rabies was too difficult to get hold of, and so was snake venom – insulin was perfect. He could track some down and inject the boy with enough to kill him. It would be swift and quiet, no one would ever know.
A frown creased Brewer’s brow – how was he going to get away with killing the new Prime Minister’s son? The insulin worked rapidly but he would need to keep the boy somewhere isolated for it to take effect. If anyone realised that the boy was seriously ill, there would be a team of medics called to try and treat him. Brewer had to get him somewhere alone.
If he somehow managed that, what was he going to do with the body afterwards? If anyone caught him then that would be his life over. He’d go to prison for the rest of his days for murdering the PM’s perfect son – a supposed innocent child.
He had to make a plan that would allow him to walk free afterwards with no suspicion, and he had to work out how to get close enough to the boy in the first place. Downing Street wasn’t exactly a residency you could just walk in to… unless he made the decision to sacrifice himself too, for the greater good.
Brewer drained the last of his JD and headed back to the cabinet for a refill. He had some serious thinking to do.
Chapter 5
Jack Connors loosened his tie then leant heavily on the dressing table. He bowed his head, taking shallow breaths, and stared at his hands. They were gripping on to the polished wood so tightly that the tips of his fingers had gone white. He could hear the sound of running water from the adjoining bathroom and knew that Marie would be in the shower for a while yet.
Suicide, Christ. The very thought of it made him feel nauseous. The last sixteen hours had been a blur. He could barely remember the meeting he’d been sitting in before one of the aides had come rushing in to tell them Davenport was in trouble. He’d been in the very next room to where it had happened. How could he have done that with people who cared about him so close by? Connors had been one of the first people into the study.
He closed his eyes as another wave of nausea washed over him. All that blood. Davenport had been staring lifelessly into the distance and he’d known instantly that he was dead. Someone had tried to resuscitate him but it was pointless. No one could have survived those injuries… surely no one could have inflicted them on themself in the first place?
It had been absolute chaos in the study, with hysterical people tripping over each other. The police had arrived in record time to clear the scene. They wanted to question everyone and help to contain the news. Connors had tried to pay attention as they’d quizzed him but he was numb with shock. He’d only spoken to Davenport half an hour before. The man had been a bit stressed about a TV interview although that wasn’t enough of a reason to do what he did. He had a wife and children, for god’s sake. Responsibilities. Why would he do that?
Connors had realised that people were looking to him for guidance and instructions. What were they going to do? Who should tell the family? How were they going to inform the general public? Manage the media? As Deputy Prime Minister, the burden had fallen to him.
He’d taken control of the situation on autopilot, pushing aside his shock and grief until there was a more convenient time to deal with it. The police would keep the story under wraps until the family had been told and an emergency press conference would be arranged. There was no suspicion of anything other than suicide. Davenport had been alone in a locked room and clearly inflicted the wounds himself.
Connors fought down the bile as he pictured the blood stained cheese cutter that had been found on the carpet beside Davenport’s body. The blade was so small and blunt – it was hard to believe that anyone could have coped with the pain unless they’d been really determined to end their life.
Picking up the rest of the shattered pieces was just as hard. He’d barely had time to talk to Marie or Daniel before the emergency press conference. News of the Prime Minister’s death was beginning to be leaked and he had to announce it first. They would keep the cause a secret for as long as they could, but people deserved to at least know that he’d died.
Marie had insisted on being there with him, and Daniel. The boy should really have been in bed but Connors didn’t have the strength to fight. Poor Daniel had looked so shocked by the whole thing; it would help to see his father attempt to calm the hysteria and panic.
Having them by his side during the conference was the only thing that got him through it. He was proud of himself for appearing strong under all the pressure. No one knew that inside he was hurting and terrified. Somehow his voice didn’t tremble as he spoke and his eyes didn’t cry the tears that were threatening to spill out. He hoped he’d done enough to placate people.
Last night he’d barely slept. He and Marie had spent most of the dark hours clinging onto each other and talking through the tragedy. She wanted to be there for Sara but it was so hard when they had no reason for Davenport’s death. She didn’t know what to say to comfort her friend.
They’d asked the press to respect the family’s privacy and let them grieve but there were bound to be some reporters who ignored that. Marie was going with them to Sara’s parents’ house that afternoon and she was praying that there would be no press clamouring to get photos of them.
Connors had spent the majority of the morning in emergency meetings and conference calls. Members of their party, financial backers, foreign ministers – they all wanted reassurance. He had officially succeeded Davenport as the Prime Minister and they needed to know that he was capable and loyal. It had been a gruelling few hours and he was relieved for the brief respite to shower and change at his home.
No one yet knew how Davenport had really died. He’d kept it vague when he spoke to anyone – a ‘sudden death’ and that the post mortem would ‘tell them more’ was all he said. There was only so long it could stay a secret and he hadn’t figured out how to spin the suicide yet. He had no doubt that it would come out later that day – there had been too many witnesses in that study. People were shocked and they would confess to a loved one, who would in turn confide in someone else. A member of staff might happen to leak it to a reporter. Whispers and rumours would spread like wildfire over social media.
He would have to address it before the evening news to pre-empt the next storm. Perhaps he could say that the PM had a history of depression and encourage people to speak to charities if they were suffering in the same way. Would people be more sympathetic to a mental health issue? There was nothing else he could really say. What possible reason had driven Davenport to kill himself in such a horrific manner?
Anger was one of the conflicting emotions fighting its way to the front of his mind. How could Davenport have been so selfish? Had he not given a second thought to the impact this would have on his family? His children were only young – his son was fourteen and his daughter was twelve – this shattered their lives. They were old enough to know that their father had deliberately left them in such a shocking way. They would doubt his love for them.
Connors couldn’t seem to muster any sympathy. Even if it had been an undiagnosed mental health issue and Davenport hadn’t been in his right mind, suicide was never the answer. Sure, he’d locked himself in his study but he hadn’t considered the people who would find his body in that awful, bloodied state. Doing this had affected so many people. He couldn’t have taken an overdose of pills; he had to slit his wrists and throat in a brutal fashion.
Connors finally straightened up and stared at his reflection in the mirror on the dressing table. There were dark circles under his blue eyes and his face was pale. He hadn’t had time to shave that morning and a hint of stubble darkened his jaw. He would need to sort himself out before the next press conference was set.
God, how on earth was he going to announce to the world that the Prime Minister had killed himself?
Daniel watched through the crack in the doorway. He could pick up all the confused thoughts that had his father’s mind in turmoil but he couldn’t connect to any of the emotions. All Davenport’s death had caused him was pleasure. He’d been elated by the releasing itself and the aftermath was even better. The panic and mass hysteria, the tears and anguish, the anger and bewilderment, it was euphoric to him. Each mind he delved in to sent delicious tingles through his small body.
They’d even let him attend the press conference the night before. His mother had thought he was trembling with nerves and grief but in reality, it was pleasure. It had taken all his resolve to keep composed under the media’s watchful eye and his face had remained in a neutral expression. People would have believed he was in shock.
To distract himself, he’d focussed on helping his father through his ordeal. He’d whispered calming words and taken hold of his mind a little to keep his voice steady and his emotions in check. It was important that he appear strong. He rarely took control of father (the man was sensitive to the intrusion in his head), but through so many intense feelings last night he hadn’t noticed.
On the few occasions in the past when Daniel had tried to take the reins of father’s mind, Connors had sensed that something wasn’t right and parts of his memory had shut down, as though there was an automatic security system. It was far easier for Daniel to administer some simple persuasion. He could pick up his top-line thoughts undetected and whisper some encouragements or suggestions. His father trusted what he thought was his own internal voice – Daniel could pass as a younger version of himself.
Connors was intelligent and sharp, and Daniel hadn’t had to do much to drive him towards the powerful position he was now in – the ambition had already been there. Daniel had just massaged his ego somewhat. Other people were easy to manipulate to help his father reach his full potential. Daniel stifled a snigger as he thought again of Davenport’s releasing.
Influencing his mother was simple. Her mind was softer and full of adoration for him. She’d suffered some heartbreak in the past, with a couple of miscarriages and the loss of her parents, so she was more open to him. He always got his way with her. A few choice words and she was quick to allow him to spend a lot of time with his father.
He got to meet other politicians and powerful figures, ones with very intriguing minds. She let him be home schooled at his request too, which suited him perfectly. Other children were nothing but a nuisance to him. He considered them far inferior to himself, with their games, playtime and limited knowledge. He didn’t want to spend any more time with them than was absolutely necessary to maintain his façade of normality.
It was a relief that Davenport was gone so he didn’t have to socialise with his two bratty kids any more. Their parents thought he was good friends with the son, Thomas, but Daniel despised him. The boy was a few years older and only interested in computer games and girls; he was mind-numbingly annoying. His thoughts were boring to ransack and Daniel was exhausted from the effort of pretending to be friends. Now poor little Tommy would be moving far, far away with no more daddy dearest. The snigger threatened to escape again and Daniel covered his mouth with his hand.
In the bedroom, his father was taking off his tie and jacket to get changed for an afternoon of more drama. Daniel had no real feeli
ngs for him but it would be nice to be able to visit a mind that wasn’t about to fall apart. He concentrated on entering his father’s head and began to whisper calming words. He needed him ready for what lay ahead of them.
Chapter 6
‘No, that won’t work,’ Ellen shook her head. ‘There’s no plausible cold case that you could use that would mean you had to speak to Connors alone. His security team would wonder why you were investigating such a high profile case by yourself, and as an ex-detective. Surely something involving the PM would warrant a current detective?’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Brewer sighed.
He’d thought his idea had been a good one – using his past in the force to get in to see Connors. It was still the best plan they had so far.
Ellen had arrived home from her tutoring at 2pm and they’d had a quick lunch of soup and sandwiches before settling down to work, although neither of them had eaten much. Brewer hadn’t mentioned his meltdown or need of Jack Daniels at 9am to Ellen. By the time she’d got back, he had been sitting at the dining room table with various newspapers spread out in front of him. He’d bought them from the village shop and nodded sympathetically when a couple of locals had mentioned the Prime Minister’s tragic death.
The news was splashed across most of the front pages but none of them held any real details – most publications had gone on press before there was time to dissect the late announcement from Connors last night. Tomorrow’s papers would hold far more news on Davenport and Connors. There would be interviews and tributes, and ponderings about the future of the Labour party.
Brewer had been forced to turn to the internet to get the latest details. It felt strange to be hunting through news websites for signs of a hiker, as he had done so many years ago. There were plenty of pictures of Daniel online and even a couple of YouTube videos with him lurking in the background. He always had the same serious expression on his face and was often staring intently at his father.
