CHAPTER 23
Gary Merchant didn’t mind the feeling of the rain pelting down on his skin. It felt good. It felt like he was somehow still himself. His clothes were soaked through – not that it mattered. On the street below, traffic whooshed by – people rushing to get home where it was dry. Up here in the darkness, the lights from all the windows made him all but invisible. Besides, nobody ever really looks up.
He’d managed to walk through the security simply by acting like he was meant to be there. The guard had clocked him and then looked away. It was the beast. Even when Gary was still himself, the beast still was there. Others could sense it. No minimum-wage hospital security guard was going to get in his face. From there, he’d found the door to the roof and made his way up the stairwell. If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that true power meant the normal conventions of society didn’t apply to you. The rules were there only for those willing to obey them.
Only, if he was truthful, he wasn’t himself any more. He could feel it taking him over. He couldn’t control the beast. He’d done things now, things he couldn’t come back from. It had always been part of the deal. He would have to do some bad things, but he didn’t care about any of it – only Cathy. As long as he could save her then his whole sorry life would mean something.
When he’d woken up this morning, back in his human form, he had remembered the night before – when, as the beast, he had hunted rats in the warehouse – and he’d thrown up, repulsed by the memory. Inside, the beast had roared. It did not like to be judged. It had no conscience. It was just the beast and it was getting stronger. Strangely, that had bothered him more than the killing. Maybe it was his training coming through.
The blinds of the room on the fifth floor of the building opposite were open because Cathy liked to look at the view, even when there wasn’t much to see bar other buildings and rain – lots and lots of rain. Gary watched as Tina came into the room carrying one of those magazines full of pop stars and make-up tips that Cathy liked to read. His wife showed it to their little girl, trying to get her interested in it, but she just glanced at it briefly and closed her eyes again. He saw that look on Tina’s face, as another little piece of her heart broke. He had seen that too often. He had sat there opposite, unable to do anything about it.
Not now.
Now he could do something. He had made his deal with the devil. He would do all that Moretti asked and Moretti would save Cathy. Gary knew now, with a cold certainty, that soon he would no longer exist. Soon the beast would take over and Gary’s life, to all intents and purposes, would be gone. He didn’t mind. It was a sacrifice any parent would make in a heartbeat. His little girl would be all right and maybe Tina would know that she hadn’t made a mistake in marrying him after all.
A surge of pain ran through Gary’s body, causing him to crumple to his knees. It was time. The beast had work to do.
CHAPTER 24
Logically, Hannah knew, rain was rain.
She’d been caught in countless storms on several different continents, and the essentials were cast in stone. Laws of nature. It was drops of water falling from the sky at a certain rate. They would be angled in a certain direction due to prevailing winds. They’d be a certain temperature due to … something. There was probably a formula involving atmospheric temperature, humidity, windspeed and other stuff. The point was, rain worked in a certain way. It was definable and measurable.
Not Manchester rain. For a start, predicting it was beyond the capacity of meteorological science. She had been naive enough to believe the weather forecast this morning, which was why she had left the house without an umbrella. The rain also seemed to be falling in every direction at the same time, seeing as no matter which way she turned, it beat against her face.
It also appeared sentient in its malevolence. At least she was wearing a coat. It was still England in March and she hadn’t been that much of a fool. And yet, despite having it fully buttoned up, water had inexplicably found its way inside. It crawled down her neck, up her sleeve, reaching parts of her that raindrops falling from the sky should simply not be able to. This was how Hannah found herself standing at a bus stop, utterly drenched and utterly miserable, staring balefully into the distance, looking for a bus that was seemingly never coming.
And to think, the day had started so well. She had got out of bed that morning full of beans, determined to grab life by the throat. Now she just wanted to crawl back between the sheets and never leave. Simon’s death had been shocking. She had only met the poor guy twice, but he’d been brimming with energy and enthusiasm. It was hard to process the idea that while she’d been tucked up in bed last night, he had been throwing himself off a forty-two-storey building. It didn’t make sense.
She had found a soaking-wet copy of the Evening News on the ground at the bus stop: an improvised temporary shelter that had been cast aside by some lucky sod whose bus had shown up. She tried to read it even as the sodden paper fell apart in her hands.
Simon’s death, added to the suicide that had happened there a couple of weeks before, had led to dark mutters that the Dennard building was cursed. Its owners had issued a statement expressing shock and giving assurances that their security would be stepped up yet again. There was a barely disguised subtext of ‘everybody is getting fired’.
If Simon’s actions were incomprehensible, then arguably Banecroft’s didn’t make a great deal more sense. His automatic assumption that the police were the enemy had been odd. Hannah had been brought up always to respect the police. The ones who had dealt with her after her entirely accidental act of arson against her own house had been very nice about it. Though trying to explain what had happened there had been mortifying. She wondered if Banecroft’s insistence that things were not as they seemed was born out of a sense of guilt. Had he pushed a fragile young man too far? It was impossible to say. After all, nobody can ever really know what is going on in someone else’s mind.
And yet, if you looked at it in a certain way, maybe Banecroft did have a point: the triple-locked bike, the peculiar location in which the body was found, and the absence of Simon’s camera, which Grace had said she hadn’t seen him without for months. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking, but it at least gave the impression of it not being quite as open-and-shut as it first appeared. None of that changed the biggest fact of all, though: Hannah had been informed by DS Wilkerson that they had CCTV footage that showed conclusively Simon entering the building and walking up all of those flights of stairs entirely alone. That was hard to argue with.
A Ford Granada pulled in to the bus stop and its passenger-side window began to lower. Oh God, not again. A man had done the same thing earlier. Trying to be helpful, Hannah had leaned in to explain that she didn’t know the area and would be of no help with directions. The man had avoided eye contact as he’d spoken to his own steering wheel.
‘Are you working?’ he’d asked.
Odd question, she’d thought.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Ehm … I’m a journalist.’
He had slammed the car into gear and driven off so quickly that Hannah had barely managed to pull back her foot to stop it from getting run over. It was only as she watched the car’s brake lights flare in the distance that she realized what the conversation had been about. She wouldn’t have thought it possible to feel even more miserable, but there it was. Grim.
This time Hannah looked off into the distance and ignored the window as it whirred down. She’d have to find another bus stop, one that was less – well, whatever you could call this.
‘Would you like a lift?’
Hannah took a step further back and kept her gaze firmly fixed on the horizon, which was remaining stubbornly bus-less.
‘Ms Willis?’
Hannah ignored that too, for a couple of seconds. Truth be told, she had been Mrs Drinkwater for so long that Willis didn’t instantly register as being her name. When it did, s
he lowered her head tentatively to see DI Sturgess leaning over and looking at her from the driver’s seat.
‘Oh God,’ said Hannah. ‘Sorry. I thought you were …’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Would you like a lift?’
Hannah felt drops of rain fall off her head as she shook it. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Look, it’s chucking it down cats and dogs. C’mon, I’ll drop you home.’
‘I see,’ said Hannah, stepping forward to look in the window. ‘And you just happened to be passing, did you?’
‘No. No, I wasn’t. I’ve just come back from seeing Simon Brush’s mother and I was about to swing by your office on the off-chance you might still be there. I was hoping you’d be more reasonable than your boss.’
‘Well, at least you’re honest.’ Hannah had to shout over the rain, which, against all probability, appeared to be getting heavier. ‘How was she? Simon’s mother?’
Sturgess shrugged. ‘Bad. I mean, when are they not in this situation? Her husband died several years ago, so it was just the two of them.’
Hannah shut her eyes. ‘Oh God.’
‘Yes. She’s not a massive fan of your paper, I’m afraid.’
Hannah wasn’t sure what to say to that. Luckily she was saved from trying by the sight of the 46 bus rounding the corner in the distance. She pointed at it. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. You’re blocking the bus stop, Inspector.’
He glanced in his mirror and nodded. ‘OK, if you’re sure.’
He pulled away and Hannah stuck out her thumb. Two minutes later, she was still there with her thumb out as the number 46 bus, packed with commuters, went by. It didn’t even bother to slow down. Instead, it hit a rather large puddle as it sped past, sending up a thick spray of water to drench any bit of her that by some miracle was still dry.
Everyone has a breaking point – Hannah had just reached hers. She screamed after the bus, a formless expulsion of rage, pain and frustration that could probably keep a Master’s course in psychology busy for a whole semester. When she finally ran out of air, she kicked the bus stop, which only had the effect of sending pain shooting through her foot. She put her hands around the metal post and summoned all her strength in an effort to pull it out of the ground. The thing was infuriatingly sturdy.
She looked up when a car horn honked loudly. Only then did she notice DI Sturgess’s car, pulled up exactly where it had been before. Hannah’s whole body sagged, her humiliation complete.
He wound down the window again. ‘It would appear your bus did not stop.’
‘No kidding.’
‘Would you like a lift?’
She closed her eyes again. It felt somehow disloyal, in ways she couldn’t express coherently.
‘If it helps,’ said Sturgess, ‘we could say I’m arresting you for attempting to vandalize a bus stop?’
‘Super,’ said Hannah, moving across and opening the passenger door. ‘Just what I need: something else to add to my ever-growing rap sheet.’
He hurriedly tossed the folders that were occupying the passenger seat into the back as she got in. Her feet crunched on the collection of empty Diet Coke cans that occupied the footwell.
‘Oh, sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Just drive.’ Hannah caught herself. ‘I mean … Sorry. Hell of a day. Thank you for, y’know …’
‘Not a problem. You should probably tell me where you live?’
She did. Sturgess turned the car’s heater to high and pulled out into traffic.
Hannah caught a quick look at herself in the visor mirror and winced. The phrase ‘drowned rat’ came to mind.
‘So …’ said Sturgess, after a couple of minutes during which Hannah had tried to do what she could to look less like she’d been hauled ashore in a net. ‘How are you enjoying Manchester?’
‘Well,’ said Hannah, suddenly aware of the Mancunian twang to his accent. ‘It’s very … different.’
‘I see. Where did you live before?’
‘London, on and off, and Dubai.’
‘Oh right,’ said Sturgess. ‘Yeah, that’d be a big change all right. What made you decide to move up here after—’
Sturgess stopped abruptly, aware he’d put his foot in it.
‘After I accidentally burned down my own house while trying to get my melodramatic revenge on my cheating bastard of a husband?’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. You’re one of the few people on the planet he didn’t sleep with.’ She glanced across at him. ‘I mean, I’m making a big assumption there.’
‘No,’ said Sturgess. ‘He’s definitely not my type.’
‘OK.’
Hannah looked out the window, watching a few brave souls trying to hurry through the downpour.
‘Oh God, sorry,’ said Sturgess. ‘I didn’t mean to sound homophobic. I meant your husband wasn’t my type because he was a City boy, not …’
‘It’s all right,’ Hannah said with a smirk. ‘I knew what you meant.’
Sturgess’s steely countenance slipped and he looked embarrassed. It was a good look on him.
‘I’m tenth generation Manc,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a hereditary chip on both shoulders.’
‘So is that why you joined the police? Hoping for a shot at locking up some fat cats?’
‘If it was, I’d be sorely disappointed. Our system is set up to only really catch the—’
Hannah’s coughing fit interrupted him. Great, now she might be getting sick too.
‘That doesn’t sound too good. Do you need a drink?’
Without looking, Sturgess reached into the back seat and held out a can of Diet Coke to her.
‘No, thanks. I’m OK.’ She looked down at the empty cans that crunched beneath her feet. ‘Bit of a fan of Diet Coke, I see?’
He placed the can in the drink holder in the central column. ‘Yeah, you could say that. I’ve got some painkillers too, if they’re any good to you?’
He flipped open the compartment in the middle of the console and Hannah was greeted with a mini pharmacy’s worth of tablets.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I get some killer migraines.’
‘You’ve got half the drugs in Manchester in there.’
‘Yeah. Luckily I know a couple of guys on the drug squad. They sort me out.’
Her eyes widened.
He pulled up at a set of traffic lights and glanced across at her. ‘That was a joke.’
‘Right.’
Their eyes met and she smiled awkwardly. Oh God, were they flirting now? The man had arrested her a few hours previously. She looked out the window again: a woman was dragging a wheeled shopping bag with one hand and a kid in a parka with the other. The child was jumping in puddles happily, the only person in a several-mile radius who seemed to be enjoying their life.
‘So,’ said Sturgess, ‘your boss seems to be quite the character.’
‘Seamless segue,’ said Hannah.
‘I’m not known for my subtlety.’
‘Good, because if that was considered a real strength of yours, then you’d be in big trouble.’
Sturgess pulled a left turn into the estate where Maggie’s house was situated.
‘Why do you think he’s so convinced that Simon Brush didn’t commit suicide?’
‘I don’t know that he is. I think he was more annoyed that the police immediately assumed that he had.’
Sturgess sounded offended. ‘For the record, that is not the approach I am taking, and this is my investigation.’
‘Right. Good to know.’
‘What does your boss think happened?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that.’
‘I tried. It didn’t go terribly well.’
He pulled up outside Maggie’s house and turned off the engine.
‘Well, you could always try again. Maybe give him his gun back – that might win him over.’
Sturge
ss pulled a face.
‘Thanks for the lift – I appreciate it. Sorry about soaking your car.’
‘It’s fine.’
She gave him a tight smile and went to open her door.
‘I met him, you know.’
Hannah turned. ‘Who? Banecroft?’
‘No. Simon. Yesterday, at the scene of an unexplained death down in Castlefield. I probably could’ve been nicer to him.’
Hannah lowered her voice. ‘You weren’t to know.’
Sturgess gave a brief nod. ‘He was … He said he worked for you – the paper, I mean. He had a fairly wild theory about the death. He claimed he’d got a witness. Someone who had seen a …’
Sturgess looked away again.
‘A what?’
‘Stupid as it sounds, he said they’d seen a “creature”.’
‘Right. What sort of creature?’
‘I mean, it’s nonsense, obviously.’
Hannah nodded. ‘OK.’
‘Only, well, whoever that witness is, maybe they know something – about the other death, or Simon’s. I need to know what he was working on.’
Hannah sighed. ‘Look, honestly – he really didn’t work for the paper and I don’t think anyone had any idea what he was up to.’
‘Fair enough.’ Sturgess pulled a card from the inside pocket of his suit and scribbled something on the back of it. ‘Here’s my card. My personal mobile number is on the back. You think of anything, day or night, you ring me.’
Hannah took it and looked at it. ‘Right.’
She tucked it into her coat pocket and turned to go again.
She was half out of the car when Sturgess spoke again. ‘Do you believe in it?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘All the, y’know, the stuff in your paper. The supernatural stuff.’ He said the word ‘supernatural’ like he expected it to be met with derision.
‘Well,’ said Hannah, ‘I don’t know. I mean, bits of it, maybe. To be honest, I’ve worked there three days. I’ve never really thought about this stuff.’
‘Right. Yeah.’
‘Do you?’
The Stranger Times Page 17
