by Clare Revell
“Sit.” The guard pointed to the chair.
Zander eased his body down. Every muscle he knew about ached, right along with some he didn’t know he had.
The door opened. Even if he hadn’t been told they were police, the two men had cop written all over them. Zander knew DS Painter by reputation only. He’d seen him in church a few times but hadn’t even said as much as hello. DS Philips he’d worked with for several years. He eyed the two officers suspiciously. “Do I need my brief?”
DS Philips dropped a cream folder on the desk. “Only if you want your lawyer here. We’re just looking to tie up a few things.” He frowned as he sat. “What happened to your face?”
“Same thing that happened to the rest of me,” Zander deadpanned. “Cell mate doesn’t like dirty cops. I offered to wash but it made no difference.”
“Did you report it?” DS Philips asked.
“Screws don’t like us either.” Zander tapped his fingers on the table. “Isabel came by for a visit this morning.”
“Did she?” DS Painter spoke for the first time.
Zander nodded. “She doesn’t look well. You should give her a call.”
DS Philips angled his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ll do that.” He opened the file and pulled out several photos, laying them on the table. “I want you to look at these.”
Zander sighed, rolling his eyes. He would lean back, but he hurt too much for that. “Do I have a choice?”
“Just look at them.”
Zander scowled. “OK, keep your hair on.” He glanced down at the photographs, frowning harder. Then he shoved them all together, making sure one was face upwards on top of the pile. “You know what? I think I’d like my brief here after all. So you go arrange that and I’ll look at all the photos you want.” He turned to the guard. “I’d like to go now.”
DS Philips put the pictures back into the folder. “We can’t help if you lawyer up.”
“You can’t help me anyway. The Guv’s the one who put me in here.” He pushed upright and moved around the table, lashing out at DS Painter, fist connecting with the officer’s cheek with a resounding thud.
Agony seared through Zander’s cracked ribs as someone restrained him, yanking his hands behind his back. An involuntary groan escaped, and he tried to bend over to ease the pain.
DS Painter rose, rubbing his cheek. “I’m fine. And no I don’t want to press charges.”
The guard dragged Zander back down the hallways to his cell and pushed him inside. He’d barely had time to catch his breath, when another guard appeared. “Get up. Room search.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve only just got back in here.”
“Exactly. Three visitors, thus room search.”
“OK, OK. I know the drill.” Zander rose and shuffled to the door. He stood uncomfortably as the two officers tossed the room as they’d done daily since he arrived.
The guard looked over at him. “You got a new cell mate.”
“I’d rather be in solitary,” Zander muttered.
“No such luck.”
“Don’t do luck,” he retorted.
“Maybe you should. OK, it’s clear. In.”
Zander shuffled back into the cell. “Can I have a hand making the bed?” He watched the guards leave. “No? OK, said the little red hen. I’ll do it myself.” Grunting with effort and ignoring the pain, he shoved the mattress back onto the bottom bunk. Tossing a sheet on the bed, he lay down.
A different guard came in. “Zander, your girlfriend left this for you.” He tossed a book onto Zander’s chest. “And this is Billy. He’s your new cell mate. Be nice to him.”
Zander glanced at the doorway half expecting to see some huge, beefy bloke standing there. Instead a wimpy kid of about nineteen cowered, a terrified expression etched on his face. Zander pointed to the bunk above him. “That one’s yours.”
“Be nice, Zander,” the guard muttered.
“All I said was…” Zander rolled his eyes. “Forget it.”
“Wha—what you in for?” Billy’s voice trembled. Must be the bloke’s first time locked up.
“Didn’t you hear?” The guard sneered at the kid. “Zander’s the Slayer. I’d watch your step if I were you.”
The door slammed shut, leaving a terrified Billy staring at Zander as if he had three heads.
~*~
Isabel studied CS Clydesdale over the top of her glass of apple juice. Still in two minds about accepting the lunch invitation, she knew she couldn’t keep putting him off. Plus, she’d never tried Nepalese food before. She’d eaten in the English part of the two-story restaurant many a time. “So?” she asked. “What were the results?”
CS Clydesdale gazed at her. “I’m your father,” he said.
There was no smile, no bells ringing or angels singing, just a cold calm announcement. It seemed anticlimactic. And she felt—nothing. She’d hoped to have felt something at least, but there was nothing. Isabel swallowed a mouthful of juice then set the glass down. She didn’t know what to say. An “OK,” or “I see,” didn’t seem to cover the situation. And neither did a “yay.”
“How was Zander?” CS Clydesdale asked. “At least I’m assuming you were at the prison to visit him.”
Grateful for the change of subject, she went with it. “He got in a fight by the looks of it. He collapsed as I left. I’m still waiting to hear how he is. I told the guard I was his partner and he assumed I meant girlfriend and took my details.” Her phone rang. “Sorry. I ought to take this. Hello?”
“This is Fred Withers from HMP Headley Cross. Just to let you know that Zander is back in his cell. Doc thinks he’s cracked a rib. He’ll keep an eye on him.” The call ended.
“Zander will be OK,” Isabel said as she put the phone away.
“Good. How are you? How’s work?”
“I’m suspended.” She picked at a fingernail. “But seeing as how you’re the officer in charge, you’d know that.”
“I’m not here as your senior officer, Isabel.” His tone changed. “Yes, I run the nick, but that isn’t what this is about.”
“Then you already know what DI Holmes will say tomorrow. I don’t suppose you’ll give me a clue?”
Her boss, perhaps in father mode now, shook his head. He glanced at the server as the meals arrived. “Thank you.” He turned his attention back to Isabel. “This conversation is long overdue.”
Isabel said grace in her head, and then picked up her fork.
“So how are you really?” he asked. “About you and I, that is.”
“Confused. I’m honestly not sure how I should feel, never mind anything else. I mean, I don’t want to say the wrong thing and drive you away again.”
CS Clydesdale shook his head. “You couldn’t.”
“Thing is, this will change everything. The blokes at work will go back to treating me like a pariah. Not because I’m a woman this time, but because I’m the Chief Super’s daughter.”
“I thought the woman issue had been dealt with.”
Isabel took a small bite. Her stomach jerked as she swallowed. She really didn’t like what was on her plate, but wouldn’t be rude and not eat, especially as she wasn’t paying. “It is. The Guv cracked down on it and it’s been a non-event ever since. But this? This is way more than that.”
“A word of advice, if you’ll permit an old man to offer one.” CS Clydesdale winked. “Don’t worry about what everyone else does or doesn’t think. The only people this affects are you and me. Now, I’m not expecting to waltz back into your life after twenty-four years and take over. I’d like to play some part, but how big a part is up to you. And if you decide that any kind of a relationship is best kept professional, then I shall honour that and you can keep calling me ‘sir’.”
That would be one less thing to worry about. But what if the man had a family and they didn’t want her to be a part of it. She had to know. “Are you married?”
“Yes.” He held out his phone, scrolling throug
h several family photographs. “Her name is Cynthia. We’ve been married ten years, live in a nice, detached house in Upper Tidmarsh. We have two children. Reuben is six, Michael is three, the new baby is due next month, and we have a cat called Kiki who thinks she owns the place.”
“Wow…” Isabel’s heart swelled and skipped a beat. “I…”
“It’s a lot to take in, huh?” He smiled.
“Yeah.” Her fingers twitched as she gave up any pretence at eating. “I’ve gone from just me to a whole family in a heartbeat. Does she know about me?”
He nodded his head. “Yes. She’d like to meet you when you’re ready. She said to tell you she doesn’t expect you to call her mum simply because she’s your stepmother. Oh, and to assure you that she’s not the wicked kind.”
Isabel smiled. “Glad to hear it. Honestly, it’s hard to take in. I grew up thinking you’d abandoned us and didn’t want me. All that’s been turned on its head.”
CS Clydesdale put his fork down. “If I’d known about you, I’d have found you. Taken you out of the care system and brought you up myself. I’m not perfect, I admit that. And I know I can’t make up for all those lost years. Nothing can.” He nodded to her hardly touched plate. “Not hungry?”
She didn’t answer, not sure what to say.
“Don’t like it?”
“Not really. Sorry.”
“No worries.” He shot her another wink. “Nor do I. How about we go up the road and get burgers and chips instead?”
“I’d like that. You know this is a bit like the prodigal son story.”
He rose and put his jacket on. “How so?”
Isabel grabbed her bag. “You’re all alone, struggling to make ends meet, no friends, everyone hates you, and you’re just trying to get through the day. Then you hear your name and you look and see someone running towards you, arms wide to catch you, someone you haven’t seen in years and you’re not alone anymore.”
Chief Superintendent Clydesdale grunted, not seeming enamoured with the story.
She followed the man downstairs to the cash desk. Her father. Dad. The word revolved in her mind, getting louder and louder. She wanted that. The same thing that most people took for granted—a parent, a family. But at the same time, she didn’t want to leap in and risk losing it all. “Sir…”
He turned. “Isabel, we’re off duty. I’d like for you to call me Dad, but if you can’t then my given name is Ashton. Given the family connection, no one will object to that.”
Dad. Ashton. She tried both names out for size in her head before deciding. “I’d like to call you Ashton for now, off duty, that is. If that’s OK.”
“It’s more than OK.” He held the door open for her. “So, chips?”
“Sounds good.”
“Maybe you’d like to come to us for lunch on Sunday after church?”
Isabel hesitated. “I’m looking after Zander’s grandfather. I don’t like leaving him alone all day if I can avoid it.”
“Then bring him along. The more the merrier.”
She smiled. “Thanks. That would be good.”
As they walked down the street, she tried to shove aside the unsettling feeling. This was what she’d always wanted, wasn’t it? Then why didn’t it feel right?
2
Zander glanced up as daylight crept into the cell through the barred window, just after 4:00 AM. The kid, Billy, had sobbed most of the night. Now he was silent, but Zander doubted he was asleep. “Are you OK?” he asked.
There was no answer, but the springs under the mattress above him creaked.
“You know, you don’t want to believe half of what they say about me.”
The springs squeaked again, and the mattress moved.
Zander swung his legs off the bottom bunk and sat on the edge of the bed. He ached even more this morning, and not just because of the uncomfortable bed. “If you want to talk, I don’t bite. We can talk about whatever you want.”
“You killed nine women,” Billy said from above him. “Why should I talk to you?”
“They haven’t proved it,” Zander said. “It’s just talk.”
“Papers say there’s enough evidence to hang you. Dad says that’s too good for the likes of you.” Billy sniffled. “He won’t want naught to do with me neither anymore.”
“That’s why we have trial by jury and not the press,” Zander replied. “The cops don’t tell the reporters everything. They always leave a detail or two out so they know when they’ve caught the right bloke.”
“And have they?”
“No.”
Billy peered over the edge of the bunk. “You would say that.”
“True.” Zander had to agree with that. “What are you in here for, anyway?”
“Mugging an old lady for her pension money. Only it weren’t me. My mate did it. He scarpered and left me there to get caught.”
Zander patted the bunk beside him. “Did you tell the cops that?”
“Tried.” Billy jumped down and slumped onto the bunk next to Zander. “But me mate denied it like and, well, here I am.”
“Some mate. Sounds like you should ditch him and get some new ones.”
Billy shrugged. “Cops reckon they have CCTV to prove it were me.”
“Well, if there is footage and it wasn’t you, they’ll let you go.”
“It’s my third offence.” The kid wrung his hands. “I got caught shoplifting twice.”
“But if this wasn’t you, then you’re still on two strikes. Right? You can turn this around. How old are you? Eighteen, nineteen?”
“Eighteen.”
“Then it’s not too late. Get an apprenticeship doing something you enjoy.”
“I like cooking. Mum says I have a talent, but Dad says that’s for sissies.”
Zander sighed. “Everyone needs food. You could join the army or navy and do catering there. That should please your dad as you’ll be serving the country and doing what you want at the same time. And it’ll look good on your record. Court might even see their way to removing your juvenile offenses.”
“You reckon?” A glimmer of hope shone in Billy’s eyes.
He paused. “Call your brief, tell him what you just told me, and ask him to talk to DI Holmes. He’s good police. He’ll look into your case thoroughly. Mention my name. He’s a friend.”
“Thanks, I will.” He nodded to the Bible. “That yours?”
Zander followed his gaze. “Yeah, my…girlfriend brought it in for me.” As strange as it was thinking of Isabel in those terms, that’s what the screws now believed, so best he keep up the story. “Are you a believer?”
Billy snorted. “No. God won’t want anything to do with me either. Never even been to church.” He paused. “Always wondered what the big deal was though.”
“Would you like me to tell you?” Zander asked.
“Sure. Beat’s not being able to sleep.”
Zander reached for the Bible. “And I meant what I said about a new set of mates.”
Billy stared at him. “Might try for the army catering corps. If your cop mate can get me charges dropped. When can I ring?”
“About eight,” Zander said. “Gives us time to look at this properly first.”
~*~
Isabel arrived at work just before nine, knowing everyone would be in the briefing room. She slid into the empty squad room and flopped into her chair. Zander’s desk was a mess, obviously being used by someone who wasn’t a neat freak like her partner. Letting out a deep sigh, Isabel’s gaze landed on her in-tray. No surprises there then. It was piled high and overflowing with coloured sheets of paper and letters.
Her hand reached for it when the door opened and the rest of the chattering squad entered the room.
A tall man with short, combed back black hair made a beeline for her, then plumped into the chair at Zander’s desk. He looked as if he’d stepped straight off a nineteen-twenty period drama. His piercing gaze swallowed her whole. “You must be DC York.” His clipped to
ne was vaguely familiar and matched his outdated look. “I’m DS Painter.”
“Yeah.” Isabel shook the offered hand.
“Isabel, good, you’re here.” DI Holmes had, once again, been in stealth mode and appeared as if from nowhere. “My office.”
Isabel stood. “Yes, Guv.” She followed him to his glass panelled office on the far side of the squad room.
“Shut the door.”
Her heart in her shoes, she did so. He only ever wanted the door shut when he was about to dress someone down or yell. Holding her breath, she stood in front of his desk.
“Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Please.” Somewhat relieved, Isabel eased into the chair. He never offered coffee if he planned to shout.
DI Holmes busied himself at the tray on the far side of the office. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you at church the past couple of weeks.”
“I’ve been there.” She shifted on the seat. “I sat at the back, didn’t hang around long once the service finished.”
“How about at home? You’re back at Zander’s place, I understand.”
She nodded. “I’m caring for his grandfather.”
DI Holmes carried the cups across and held one out to her. “I thought he was staying with the sister.”
Isabel took the cup. “Thank you. They fell out, so it made sense for him to move in with me for the time being. He’s not so cantankerous once you get to know him.”
He eased into his chair. “And what about you, personally?”
Isabel hesitated for a long time before answering. She finally opted for the predictable. “I’m fine, sir.” She paused at the frown that crossed her boss’s face. She’d better be brutally honest with him. “OK. I’m bored, frustrated, and still don’t believe the Slayer is Zander.”
“Speaking of Zander, I had a phone call just after eight from his cellmate’s lawyer.”
“Oh?”
