by Tania Carver
Marina waited until she heard the shower running before sitting up. She checked the time. Jesus.
She hadn’t slept much either. Every time she had drifted off, Gwilym had been waiting in the darkness, that sneering smile in place, hands outstretched ready to touch her. She had jumped awake every time those dream fingers made contact. They made contact a lot.
She heard Phil coming back into the bedroom, lay down, closed her eyes once more. She stayed that way until he dressed and left. Once she heard the front door go, she sat upright again. Grabbed her phone.
Time had barely moved. Damn.
She was relieved. Or at least she thought she was. Relieved that Phil had to go out, that circumstances had spared her once again from having the conversation. The confrontation.
She sighed. No. She wasn’t relieved. She hadn’t been spared, it had just been postponed. Yet again. She still had to talk to him. And the longer she left it, the harder it became.
After she’d spoken to Anni. Yes, that was when she’d talk to him. Once Anni came back to her with the results, she could talk to Phil. Tell him everything. Let the whole lot tumble out. Await his reaction. Take it from there.
Anni. She checked the time again. Too early to call. And she doubted that Anni would have had time to make any progress. Or to get her friend to make progress for her.
She lay back down again. Knew she would be lying there staring at the wall until the sun came up. Just waiting for the results to come back. A dark, unpleasant ripple ran through her. Waiting to get the results back. That was exactly what it felt like. A pregnancy test. An STD or HIV test. Cancer screening. Something that would have a potentially life-changing impact on her.
Oh God, she thought. STDs, HIV. She would have to be tested for them too…
No. She wasn’t going to just lie there and wait. She had to do something.
She grabbed her phone again. Too early to call, yes. But not too early to text.
She found Anni’s name. Left her a message.
Tell them to get a move on. Please…
67
‘
H
ow do I look?’
‘Wait till you see the other fella.’
Imani smiled politely at the joke. And winced. Smiling made her face ache.
Mike Pierce was sitting next to her. Once the suspect had been pulled to his feet after his Tasering, had had his rights read to him and been bundled away in the back of a van, Pierce hadn’t left her side. He was there when the paramedics turned up, gave them an account of the injuries sustained by both herself and Nadish Khan, waited while she received treatment.
‘Back to base?’ he had said then. ‘You really should go home.’
‘And let the paperwork fairies take over from here? I’d love to.’
He had made sure she and Khan got safely back to Steelhouse Lane. Being in the MIU office in the middle of the night gave it an eerie, half-haunted, time-out-of-joint feel. The right place at the wrong time. As if being there at that hour was disturbing the ghosts.
He brought her a cup of what passed for tea, sat down next to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, putting down the ice pack the paramedic had given her, bringing the cup to her lips.
‘Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t drunk it.’
She smiled. It hurt. ‘Not just for the tea. You and the boys, tonight… thanks.’
He shrugged. ‘No problem. That’s what we do in Community.’
Imani put the cup to her mouth once more, felt the steam warm her face. She looked at Pierce. He had a strong jaw, good profile. Rugged features, but kind eyes.
‘Listen,’ she said, putting the tea down, ‘I was wondering. You’ve been really great tonight and everything, but… I mean, you don’t have to… but I just wondered if you fancied maybe having a drink one night…’
Pierce smiled, eyes momentarily downcast.
He’s married, she thought. Shit. Or he doesn’t date black girls. Racist.
He turned to her. ‘That would be lovely, thank you, but…’
She waited.
‘There’s… a reason I work where I do. Southside. Hurst Street.’
Imani frowned. Then got it. ‘Oh. Right.’
He made a helpless, what-can-you-do gesture, gave a weak smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem. Sorry for asking.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t mind at all. Shy kids get nothing, as my mother used to say.’
‘What have they brought you back here for?’
Imani looked up when she heard the voice. DI Phil Brennan was walking towards them. He stopped when he saw her face.
‘Jesus Christ…’
She tried to smile. ‘That bad, eh?’ She looked up at him.
There was nothing but concern in his eyes. He knelt down beside her, studied her injuries. ‘Who did that to you? Our suspect?’
‘Yeah. I put my face in the way of his fist. He won’t do it again.’
‘You’re damn right.’ He nodded, still studying the damage. Then noticed that there was someone else there. Looked at him. ‘Phil Brennan.’
‘Mike Pierce. We spoke on the phone.’
They shook. Pierce got Phil up to speed. Phil thanked him, looked again at Imani. ‘What did the paramedics say?’
‘That I was lucky. Nothing broken. Least my nose won’t have to be reset. But I’m going to have a pair of gorgeous black eyes in the morning. We got him. That’s the main thing.’
Phil straightened up, looked round. Nadish Khan was sitting along from her, holding his side. Imani watched as Phil walked over to Khan, sat by him. ‘Same guy?’
‘Came at me with a bar or something in the car park.’ Khan moved, flinched. Screwed his eyes closed in sudden pain. ‘Paramedic reckons I’ve broken a couple of ribs.’
‘Jesus.’ Phil straightened up, looked between the pair of them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to them both. ‘I had no idea this would happen.’
He means it, thought Imani; he really is anxious about us. ‘Might have been a lot worse if Mike hadn’t been there,’ she said.
‘And the response team,’ said Pierce. ‘Can’t take all the credit.’
‘Thank you anyway. All of you.’ He looked again at Imani and Khan. ‘I’m really proud of you both.’
They thanked him. Imani glanced at Khan. He seemed to be genuinely thrilled by the praise.
Phil was about to speak again when Khan’s phone rang. He looked at the display. Whatever he had been feeling after Phil’s praise quickly drained from his face.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to get this.’ He turned away so the rest of them couldn’t hear the conversation.
Imani threw a quizzical glance at Phil, whose features remained impassive.
Khan finished the call, turned back to the group. From the look on his face he had been given some bad, or worryingly unpleasant, news.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Phil.
‘Yeah,’ said Khan, unconvincingly. ‘Fine. I’ve, er… got to go. For a bit. That OK?’
‘Sure,’ said Phil, still concerned. ‘I think the pair of you should go home. You’ve done enough for one night.’
‘Thanks, yeah. Cheers.’
Khan turned, left them. His walk was contradictory, thought Imani. Brisk yet reluctant. Like he had to be somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Phil turned back to her and Pierce. ‘So,’ he said, ‘where’s this guy I’ve got to question?’
68
M
arina didn’t feel like she had been asleep. She must have been, though, because the noise of her phone, sharp, insistent, startled her into wakefulness. She scrabbled for it on the bedside table, found it.
‘Hello?’ Her voice anxious, breathing fast, heart hammering. Anticipating bad news.
‘D’you know what time this is?’
Marina smiled, relaxed slightly. Anni.
She looked at her watch. ‘Just gone six.’
‘Yeah. Just gon
e six. In the morning. Sunday morning. When we should all be sleeping off our hangovers.’
‘That what you’re doing?’
‘I was trying. But this woman keeps texting me in the middle of the night.’
‘Sorry.’
Anni sighed. ‘It’s OK. I know you would do the same for me if things were the other way round.’
‘You know it, sister.’
Anni laughed. ‘That accent was terrible.’
Just hearing Anni’s voice was making Marina feel better. ‘Sorry.’ She sighed.
‘How you feeling?’
‘No better, if I’m honest.’
‘What did Phil say?’
Marina didn’t answer straight away.
‘Marina…’
‘I didn’t tell him, Anni. I tried, I… couldn’t.’
‘Oh God, Marina…’
‘I’m sorry, I did try. But the words wouldn’t come. When he came in last night was the perfect opportunity. And I opened my mouth and… He was exhausted. Just in from doing overtime on a long shift. Should have been his day off. If I’d said something, what if he’d taken it the wrong way?’
Anni said nothing.
‘I’m going to tell him, though. Definitely.’
‘Where is he now? Can’t you do it now?’
‘He’s back at the office. Got called in. Has to question a suspect.’
‘Right. So when?’
‘When you get the lab results back. When I’ve got something concrete to take to him. So he’ll know it’s not just me being hysterical or making excuses for shagging some bloke when I was pissed.’
‘Marina, he won’t think you’re being hysterical. You know that. And he definitely won’t think you’ve shagged some bloke when you were pissed. He knows you better than that. And you know it too.’
‘Thank you,’ said Marina.
‘No problem.’
‘So… look, I hate to sound like I’m obsessed or anything, but…’
‘When will the results be in?’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Am I that transparent?’
‘No. Like I said, I would be doing exactly the same as you if I was in your position. I’d be in a state too.’
‘Yeah. Every woman would.’ She paused, waited. ‘So. The results…?’
‘It’s Sunday. Nobody works on a Sunday.’
‘Nobody’s supposed to be working on this at all.’
‘I know. Look, I spoke to my guy. Told him it was urgent, on the hush-hush, all of that. He said he understood and that he’d get back to me as quickly as possible.’
‘When will that be? Today?’
‘Marina…’
‘Sorry. But I’m, you know. Anxious. Everything’s on hold. Phil. Work. My life. Until I hear back from you.’ She sighed. ‘Look, I know I’m being demanding and unreasonable, but…’ she felt tears well up, ‘I’m falling apart here…’
There were no words from the other end of the phone, just the sound of movement. Marina heard a door close, the atmosphere change. When Anni spoke again, her voice was echoing.
‘OK. That’s better.’
‘Where… What happened?’
‘I’m in the bathroom. Thought it best that Mickey didn’t hear any more.’
‘He’s there?’
Anni laughed. ‘He’s always here. Can’t get rid of the bastard. Bless him.’
Marina gave a small laugh too. It quickly died.
‘Listen,’ said Anni, ‘I’ll get in touch with my contact at the lab again. Ask him if he can go in today, see what he can do.’
‘Thank you.’ Marina felt relief wash over her. Or a certain amount. It was a start.
‘But this is a really big favour. I want you to know that. Not that you’re not worth it, but…’ Anni sighed. ‘He’s an old boyfriend. I think I may have to make it up in some way.’
‘Oh.’ Her words sank in. ‘Oh. I’m sorry, Anni.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll buy dinner, peck on the cheek. That should do him. I just thought it best that Mickey didn’t hear me say that.’
‘Quite.’
‘I’ll see if I can get him to do it today.’
‘Thank you. I really… I can’t tell you how much…’ Marina felt herself welling up once more.
‘Hey. Don’t worry. We’ll get the bastard. I won’t let him get away with what he did to you. You can be sure of that.’
The tears came. ‘Thank you, thank you, Anni…’
‘Right. Now stop that. You’ve got a little girl to look after. Think of her.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Stop thanking me. I’m your mate. Just try and forget about it until I call.’
They made their goodbyes; Anni hung up.
Marina put the phone back on the bedside table. Stared at the ceiling.
69
P
hil entered the interview room. The young man at the other side of the table looked up. He was affecting boredom, ennui, but Phil knew that something hissed and fizzed behind his eyes. The machine seemed to be running smoothly. But somewhere the circuits were shorting out. He was wearing a short sleeved T-shirt and jeans.
‘No jacket?’ said Phil. ‘Cold outside.’
‘Didn’t have time to get it when I was pulled in here.’ His voice laced with sarcasm.
Phil sat down opposite him. Put the manila folder he had been carrying on the table. Introduced himself. ‘And you are?’
‘Martin Trotter.’ The man spoke his name slowly and clearly, a hint of sarcasm remaining.
Phil checked a piece of paper in front of him. ‘You live in Ladywood, by the reservoir…’ He read down. ‘You work in marketing. Oh. You’re unemployed.’
Trotter bristled. ‘Between jobs at the moment.’
‘Know why you’re here?’
‘’Cos your lot pulled me in. I’ve done nothing. I was attacked.’ He rubbed the back of his neck where the Taser had hit him. ‘Defended myself.’
‘D’you want a solicitor?’
‘Not now,’ Trotter said. ‘Later. When I sue your fucking arses off.’ He laughed, sat back, arms folded.
Phil, relieved, ignored the comment. ‘Arm,’ he said.
Trotter frowned. ‘What?’
‘I want to see your arm.’
Trotter stretched out his right arm. Phil took a photo from the manila folder, checked the image of the tattoo against the one on Trotter’s forearm. A good match. He put the photo away, sat back.
Trotter retracted his arm, looked puzzled. ‘Happy now?’ he said.
‘Ecstatic. Right.’ He looked up, straight at Trotter. Face professionally blank. ‘What were you doing in the cinema?’
Trotter gave a snort, tightened his arms round his chest. ‘What d’you think?’
Phil didn’t reply.
Trotter leaned forward. ‘Fucking.’ He said it with relish, like a little boy challenging his parents with a naughty word. He sat back, pleased with himself, clearly thinking he had the upper hand. Phil kept eye contact with him as he asked the next question.
‘Where’d you get the tattoo, Martin?’ His voice light yet authoritative.
Trotter’s attitude changed. His cockiness slipped as a shade passed over his features. ‘Why d’you want to know?’ His voice suddenly cagey, hollow. ‘D’you want one or something?’ Aiming for bravado. Missing.
Phil resisted the urge to smile. Contented himself with doing it inwardly. He had made a hit. ‘Don’t see many like that,’ he said.
‘You should move in more exciting circles, then.’ Something passed across Trotter’s face. He immediately regretted his words but didn’t want his regret to show.
Phil knew he was on to something now. Coppers in interviews are like lions bringing down wildebeest, his ex-DCI Gary Franks had once said. Any weakness, you just pounce on it. Go in for the kill.
‘Really? What kind of circles are those, Martin?’
Trotter said nothing.
‘Come on, Martin. If your life’s more exciti
ng than mine, tell me about it.’
Trotter flinched, but he still said nothing. Phil decided to change his line of questioning. ‘What’s so special about that design?’ he asked. ‘Just looks like a twisted cage.’
Trotter gave another snort. ‘Shows what you know,’ he said, trying to regain the upper hand once more.
‘Really?’ said Phil, eyes wide in mock-ignorance. ‘What is it then?’
Trotter looked smug. He lifted up his arm, admired the design. ‘A DNA double helix. The symbol of life itself.’ He shook his head, gave another snort of laughter. ‘Twisted cage…’
‘I want to see it again,’ said Phil.
Trotter’s skin was cold to the touch. Phil angled the desk lamp over the tattoo. Examined it closely. He looked up.
‘This isn’t real.’
Trotter looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Never said it was.’
‘Just temporary. Printed, not inked.’
‘So?’
‘Can’t afford a proper one?’
Trotter stared at him. ‘Fuck you.’
Phil leaned across the table. ‘How do you know Glenn McGowan?’
Trotter stared at him, his brows knitted, his features puzzled. ‘Who?’
Phil continued. ‘Glenn McGowan. You might know him better as Amanda.’ He took some photos from the folder, displayed them in front of Trotter.
Trotter inclined his head forward, studied them. It didn’t take long. His head snapped back, eyes on Phil once more. ‘Her. Yeah, I know her.’
‘He, or she, was murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ A light came on in Trotter’s eyes. ‘Is that the one they’re talking about on the TV?’ He smiled. ‘A TV on the TV.’ He laughed.
‘Hilarious,’ said Phil. ‘So where did you know her from?’
‘The —’ He started to speak, stopped. His lips coming down fast, abruptly cutting off the words.
‘Where?’ Phil’s voice calm, inquisitorial.
Trotter put his head back. His eyes were hooded, unreadable. He shrugged. ‘Here and there. Around. Bars and that. Clubs.’ His eyes slid away once more.
