by Matt Hilton
At some point the depthless void began to take on shape and hues, and then she was standing at the apex of a tall tower. It bore no relation to the structure on which she’d cornered Erick Swain, but it was one and the same. This was more like a crumbling castle tower, with large, weathered sandstone blocks and Kerry stood in rain flattening her unruly auburn hair to her skull. She checked to her right for her mother, and spotted Siobhan reading a brass plaque screwed to a wooden trestle. Her mother wasn’t reading the historical notes, she sought clues where Sally had gone. Kerry also looked for her sister, but in her heart there was a sense that Sally would never be found. Realisation took hold of her gut and gave it a sharp twist. She looked away from the past.
Erick Swain leered at her across the tower’s flat roof. The crenellations either side of him were reminiscent of huge slab-like teeth. He stalked towards her, and though she matched each step backwards, he gained with astonishing speed until he loomed over her. Her perspective was that of an eight-year-old child, and he full grown. He bent to study her, his single earring twinkling under the same errant spark that flashed a highlight on an eyetooth. In this dark fantasy, Swain’s hair was shaggier, his beard fuller, and his features not wholly his own.
‘You’re the Fell Man,’ Kerry wheezed in a child’s voice.
‘I fell because you made me.’
Swain reached for her, and from his wrist drooped a rigid cuff.
Kerry backed away, looking for her mother to save her.
Siobhan was gone.
‘Now it’s your turn to fall, bitch!’
Swain lurched, and in desperation Kerry grasped at the dangling cuff, and twisted it with fingers so soft they split on the metal. Swain barked in laughter, yanked his arm up, and still holding on, tiny Kerry Darke was plucked out of her wellington boots and flipped between two crenellations.
She fell headfirst towards a pavement dotted with chewing gum and bird shit. Way below her she spotted her adult self standing under pelting rain, having turned away from a murdered girl hidden beneath a white forensic tent. Elder Kerry fisted her hands at her sides while cameras flashed, and then as was the manner of illogical dreams, Kerry was within her older body, looking out through older eyes as Funky ducked beneath a string of barrier tape...and the girl was gone.
‘Boss? Detective Inspector!’
The sharp voice brought her to a halt, and she turned round, and found DS Danny Korba eyeing her from beneath a frown.
She glanced towards the entrance of Larkhall Park, and then blinked her confusion at Korba.
He held up a flat white box, and raised the lid almost reverently. ‘Just what the doctor ordered, eh?’
She didn’t want to look, but something compelled her against her will.
The steaming contents were red and mushy, with tufts of wavy hair and a silver earring. Within the mess a lupine mouth split wide. ‘What’s wrong with you, bitch? Don’t you want any pavement pizza?’
Repulsed, Kerry cringed away, but Korba pursued her, shoving the box at her. ‘Go on, boss. You know you want a slice.’
Kerry screeched and backhanded the pizza box away. But Korba came on, pushing it under her nose. She averted her face, snatched for the box and…
…Kerry grabbed her mobile phone off the bedside cabinet and dragged it towards her. It was plugged into the wall. Still partly snared in the nightmare, she fought with the cord before the connector yanked loose and she fell back on the bed. The room had fallen dark while she’d slept; the only light was from the phone’s glowing screen. It cast moving shadows on the walls, sending a shudder of revulsion through her. If the caller was DS Korba telling her she wanted a slice of pizza she’d go insane!
It wasn’t Korba.
‘Kerry? It’s me. Can you let me in?’
‘Wh-who?’
‘It’s me. Adam. Who’d you think?’
Her ears felt stuffed with cotton wool, and the sandman must have fly-tipped a dump truck full of aggregate under her eyelids. ‘Uh, I was sleeping,’ she croaked. ‘Where’s your key?’
‘In my hand, but I still can’t get in past the security chain.’
‘Sorry, uh, the chain’s on?’
‘I’d be in there with you instead of on my phone if it wasn’t.’
She had no recollection of securing the door chain. But then, she’d little recollection of much since leaving the nick…even her nightmare was retreating to some hidden corner of her mind. She swung her feet over the edge of the mattress, and her toes found her discarded shoes. She didn’t bother getting into them, just nudged them aside. She pushed up, and stood swaying in almost pitch darkness. The bedroom had blackout curtains, a necessity for those whose shift-patterns were as erratic as theirs. She tripped towards the door on remote control, and on the landing flicked on a light. She screwed her face against the glare, and told Adam she was on her way down. She fumbled her way down with one hand on the banister, the phone held to her ear with the other, updating Adam with her progress. ‘Almost there…I’ll just be a sec.’
The stairs were situated in the front hallway. Adam could hear her without the benefit of his phone. The front door was open the few inches to the extent of its chain, and he’d ended his call the moment she’d left the bedroom and switched on the landing light. She had to close the door first to disengage the chain. He shoved inside, almost in frustration. But then Kerry grew aware of the slashing rain outside and thought those who’d predicted an Indian summer should instead have forecast a monsoon. Adam shook himself like a dog, and beads of moisture flew from his shaved head. His spectacle lenses were misted over. He pulled them off, and blinked at her.
‘Jesus Christ, Kerry!’
For a moment she grew defensive. Having to wait to be let in was no big deal. But then he leaned towards her and wrapped a big arm around her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. She was still suffering a sense of dislocation, and was as rigid as a plank. He released her slowly. ‘I acted like a dickhead last night,’ he told her. ‘I saw what that bastard tried to do to you on video and…’
‘You weren’t to know.’ Kerry’s tone was desultory.
Adam studied the graze on her forehead. Now it had had time to bruise, and the scrapes to scab, it probably looked worse than it had in the early hours of the morning. There was another swelling under her right eye that hadn’t been apparent earlier.
‘That bastard,’ Adam growled. ‘It’s a good job he’s dead or I swear to you, I’d rip his head off!’
His oath was pointless. But at least it held misguided sentiment. Kerry leaned into him, returned the hug, patting his back. Adam closed the door and followed her to the living room.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell.
‘I haven’t had time to clean,’ she said.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, ‘we’ll sort it tomorrow. I’ve got the day off.’
‘I’m working.’ She slumped into the easy chair.
‘I thought you were on suspension.’
‘That was before everyone learned the truth. You weren’t the only one too quick to judge me.’
Adam spread his arms. ‘I wasn’t judging you, I was trying to be supportive. I still am.’
‘So where have you been?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. You left for work in the early hours, it’s what now?’ She glanced at their wall clock. ‘It’s after eleven at night. Where’ve you been, because you certainly haven’t been here supporting me.’ She sniffed the air, for the scent of beer or perfume — there was neither — and she caught herself before making an unfounded accusation.
‘Overtime. I had to pull a few extra hours to cover a staff shortage. You know how it is.’
‘I thought that maybe you were avoiding me.’
He said nothing, and his silence was damning.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Rocking forward she cupped her face in her hands. ‘I don’t blame you, Adam,’ she mumbled between her fingers. �
�I was a bitch. Let’s just put last night behind us, huh?’
‘You’ve been back at work?’
‘I had to face the music with Porter, and besides, I couldn’t put off visiting Mr Ghedi any longer. Even if I hadn’t been reinstated I would have gone to see him, to pay my respects. It wasn’t easy an easy visit.’
‘He was angry with you?’
‘No. That’s the thing. He was quite the opposite. He acted a little…I don’t know. Strange. Well, some of the stuff he said was strange.’
‘You should have let me know where you were going.’
‘Why? Would it have made a difference?’
‘Well, no, I suppose not. But at least I wouldn’t have worried so much about you.’
She stared at him until he visibly squirmed.
‘You made it clear you don’t think I’m fit for police work,’ she reminded him. ‘I’d have thought you’d be more worried knowing I’d gone back to work.’
‘I thought you wanted to put last night behind us?’ Adam took off his jacket. Underneath he’d pulled a sweater on top of his uniform shirt. He began dragging it off too. Only partly done, he stopped, and stared back at her. ‘You want the truth, Kerry? I do think you need to get out of the job. Now, I’m not being an arsehole. I know from my own job the kind of demands you’re under. The death of that woman and kid has hit you hard, and visiting the grieving father wouldn’t have helped. I don’t care what kind of face you’ve put on for everyone else; I know that you’re hurting. Especially about the girl getting killed.’
She shook her head.
‘You aren’t fooling me.’ Adam snatched off the sweater, bundled it in his fists, then threw it down on top of the bedding on the settee. He pushed on his glasses, rough but determined to give her a magnified stink-eye. ‘I heard you crying in the bathroom last night. Crying over Sally. That little girl’s death has brought everything back that you’ve kept pent up about your sister.’
‘Sometimes I wish I’d never told you about Sally going missing.’ Kerry struggled up from the easy chair. Adam lunged at her. He caught her shoulders and held her, off balance. If he let go she’d fall on her backside.
‘Well it’s a bloody good job you did, isn’t it? Otherwise I’d have no idea why you were jumping at shadows and speaking to yourself again.’
‘What are you talking about? I don’t…’
‘It’s getting worse, Kerry.’ Now all anger had leeched from Adam, and in its place was genuine concern. ‘It’s your bloody job; it’s doing you no good.’ He shook her to force his point. ‘You’re losing the friggin’ plot, love.’
‘To hell with you.’ Digging in her bare feet, Kerry twisted sideways, tried to escape. Adam held on. She yanked out of his grasp and headed for the stairs. He paced after her, not finished yet. He caught her at the bottom step, grabbed her wrist. And she swung for him, her features twisted into a knot.
‘Don’t!’ he snapped.
Her slap had fallen short by less than a few centimetres. She withdrew her hand but kept it poised.
‘Get off me, then!’
‘Kerry, for God’s sake! Look at the way you’re acting. Do you think you’re being rational?’
‘Let go of me, Adam.’ She turned over her hand, using an escape technique taught in self-defence classes. Adam only tightened his grip.
‘You need to take some time off,’ he instructed. ‘You have to put some distance between you and this case. Jesus, Kerry, I’m only saying it for your own good.’
‘I’ve a case to solve,’ she snapped, thinking of her oath to Suleymaan Ghedi. She worked her wrist more forcefully. He let go. She didn’t run up the stairs, but faced him. She hadn’t the energy to maintain anger. ‘I’m only tired, Adam. I haven’t slept well in days. I managed a couple hours just now but even then…’
‘You dreamed about Sally,’ he finished for her. ‘You’re obsessed with finding her and — what did you call that nutter? — the friggin’ Fell Man? That’s my bloody point, Kerry. Taking on a case involving a dead girl isn’t helping your mental health.’
‘I’m not mentally ill.’
His head gave a tiny jerk to one side.
‘And you’re not equipped to diagnose me,’ she went on. ‘So don’t even try.’
‘You’re right. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I am your partner. I know when you’re not yourself.’
‘If you know me so well, you should know when to shut the hell up. Jesus, Adam!’ She threw up her hands in defeat. ‘I’m going back to bed. You do whatever you want to do.’
‘You should eat something,’ he countered. ‘You look as weak as water; I bet your blood sugar is low. I can call out for a take away? Chinese? Indian? Or we could order a—’
‘Don’t say pizza,’ Kerry groaned as she plodded upstairs. ‘Just please don’t.’
16
‘So what do you reckon, boss? Minty fresh or what?’
Kerry nudged DS Korba away. She was in the driving seat, and he was supposed to be seated in the passenger side. He’d leaned across to breath in her face. ‘Ehm, you do understand the definition of personal space, right?’
‘I understand it, don’t necessarily mean I care.’
Kerry wiped a spot or two of saliva off her cheek. ‘You can say that again.’
‘Want one?’ Korba rattled a box of Tic Tac breath mints.
‘No. I’ll pass, thanks.’
He rattled them under her nose. ‘Go on. You know you want one.’
His words sent a flutter of panic through her: yesterday’s nightmare was still in her memory. Brash humour was a good antidote to fear. ‘Put them away, Danny, or you’ll be minty fresh at the other end when I shove them up your—’
Korba barked in laughter before she’d finished the threat of involuntary enema. He stowed the breath mints in an inside pocket as Kerry parked outside the late Erick Swain’s house. She wasn’t looking forward to speaking with Hettie. It was one thing controlling an official interview at a police station, entirely different when on hostile ground. A brand new red Nissan Skyline was parked at kerbside: the same car used to collect Hettie from the nick. Danny’s attention swept over it as if he was perusing a naked lady. ‘Looks like we might not get Hettie all to ourselves.’
Despite being the girlfriend of a notorious criminal, Hettie Winters was also a human being. She was grieving the loss of her lover, and must contend with the arrangements for his funeral and internment once his body was released. At a time like this, it wasn’t unusual to find she’d lean on others close to Erick. The car was probably owned by one of his lieutenants. ‘Put it through PNC,’ she said.
While he called through the details, she studied the house. The venetian blinds at the windows of all but one bedroom were closed. Weak daylight reflected off the window, but Kerry was certain there was movement in the bedroom. Hettie, she thought.
‘No reports on the Skyline,’ Korba said. ‘It’s registered to Zane McManus. We both know who that is.’
McManus was a known associate of Swain. Korba beat her to the punch asking the control room about him. ‘No markers or outstanding warrants,’ he announced. It was a shame. Arresting him for another crime would’ve allowed them to press him for information on the drive-by shooting. ‘But what’s he doing here? Do you think he could’ve been Swain’s driver?’
‘Him and about two dozen others.’ Swain’s gang numbered around thirty key players, and twice as many again if you counted the drug dealers and pimps Swain allegedly supplied with their wares. ‘When I’m speaking with Hettie, why don’t you get McManus to one side and see what you can squeeze out of him?’
Her gaze flicked up to the bedroom window again.
There was a face beyond the glass. It was indistinct, partially mottled by the daylight slanting inside through the open slats. All she could define was a few locks of wavy hair, a silver earring and the edge of a mouth that buckled up in a sneer. Erick Swain’s face loomed into clarity.
‘Jesus Chris
t!’
She almost kicked her way into the car’s back seat.
Korba’s head bounced off the ceiling, one hand gripping his heart. ‘What the hell, boss? Are you tryin’ to give me a heart attack or something?’
Gasping, Kerry craned for a better view. There was no face at the window. She blinked in open-mouthed apology at Korba. ‘Sorry, for a second there I thought…’
‘Thought what?’ Korba checked back and forth, expecting an ambush. They were after all in Injun Territory, and less popular than the 7th Cavalry. ‘What the bloody hell did you see?’
‘Nothing.’ How could she admit to seeing a ghost without sounding totally insane? Korba was more friend than colleague to her, but even he might question her fitness for the job if she admitted to seeing Erick Swain. She drew a hand across her mouth, and then quickly waved off his concern. ‘Forget it. I didn’t see a thing.’
Korba looked at her as if she’d grown two heads.
‘Kerry?’
‘Really. Forget about it, Danny. I just thought I spotted someone at the window. But it was only the shadows moving on the glass.’
He studied the bedroom window. The day had brightened a little, and it only reflected the sky. He chose not to immediately comment.
She waited him out.
But he was a stubborn sod.
‘OK! For a second, I thought I saw Erick Swain in his bedroom.’ She laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. ‘But that’s impossible, right?’
He shrugged, and, surprisingly, paraphrased Shakespeare: ‘Nothing’s impossible. There are more things in heaven and earth, Kerry, than I’ve ever dreamed of.’
‘So you do think there could be such things as ghosts?’
‘It pays to be open-minded,’ he said, then added a wink and a caveat, ‘as long as ain’t so open your blooming brain falls out. I choose not to think Swain’s ghost’s hanging around. God help us, I saw bugger all and I still came close to crapping my pants.’
