Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Marion had all but given up trying to free herself from her restraints. She hung there like a puppet, exhausted. Her nose had started to bleed, leaving a deep red trail down her chin and onto her white dress. She could no longer feel her arms or legs bound tightly by the wooden frames.

  When she swung around, she glimpsed something in the mirrors that she did not recognize. It was as if her body had become the puppet, an angry wretched marionette, controlled by the whims of a madman. The shadow had not spoken for a long while; she did not feel any anticipation for what was next. She did not feel anything. Music filtered through the speakers in the darkness, quietly at first, them becoming clearer. 'Here Comes the Bride' or something that almost passed for the tune.

  Marion had not thought about marriage before, preferring to live in the moment. No one had come into her life that had invoked such deep feelings. Hearing the music now brought out a sudden sadness that she would not ever have the chance to find out for herself what marriage was like. She began to cry, tears and snot combining with the blood from her nose, spreading it even further. It began dripping onto the floor below her.

  She hung there crying, like a carcass in a butcher’s shop, the spirit of the animal crying in the knowledge that its life's blood was dripping onto the floor, the unfeeling butcher sharpening his knives in the background.

  The sound of hard wheels on a concrete floor started to compete with the bridal music. A male came out of the darkness and into the light. Was this the shadow, finally revealing itself to her? Her eyes tried to focus through her tears. She could see a male, around her age, dark hair. He was handsome, dressed in a black suit. The male kept coming closer, the squeak of the wheels continued. Marion was face to face with the male. His eyes were staring and unfocused. His mouth hung open slightly. He was leaning slightly backwards, giving him the appearance of being slightly shocked at what he saw before him.

  Marion found herself getting angry at his reaction to her. Frustration erupted from her lips. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you pathetic shit. What do you want from me"?

  The male continued to stare at nothing and remained motionless. She tried to lash out but the restraints held tight.

  Then the shadow spoke.

  "If only you had the same reaction when you first met all those years ago, we would not be here today. Mother meet father, as if introductions are necessary. You two know each other intimately already. He must have been something in his day mother. Why else would you so willingly submit yourself to him? Well that is all academic now, you did choose him and he chose you. Together you created your own existence in which to live. Till death did you part.

  I've been doing some calculations over the years, and although I'm not that good at maths even I can see that my birthday is only seven months after your marriage, how noble of you mother, not wanting to bring a bastard into the world.

  As you can see father is in no state to present his case, but that is the idea, today is not for him, it is for you. Father has already paid the price for his miserable contribution to the world.

  Today is for you to have your turn. It is for you to put right the wrongs, stand up for yourself and more importantly stand up and protect me. It is something that should come natural to a mother. It is something that is as primal as nature. There should be a natural instinct in anything capable of bearing young.

  That is the problem with the human being, we have an over developed brain, capable of all sorts of variations. Animals have basic instincts, which they will carry out at all costs. You see it ensures the survival of the species.

  Humans have free will, selfishness, fear, anger, sadness. All these things jostle around in our heads, sometimes we cannot control which comes to the fore. Sometimes we do not care.

  Did you care mother? Did you care when he did those things to you. Did you care when he did those things to me.

  I needed protection mother, why did you put up with it for so long".

  The shadow sounded deranged to Marion, she could not comprehend why he thought of her as his mother. Was he asking her or was he telling her when he spoke. She did not know if she was supposed to answer.

  She felt like a little girl, scared and lost. She did not want to get it wrong; she did not want to let this man down. Marion heard the music start again, her body started moving, slow jerky movements, not really in time with the beat. The tune was the same as she heard him whistling when he had taken her. The dance continued as she circled the comatose male in front of her.

  He just continued to stare into nothingness.

  The office was in complete silence, the drama played out in real time on the small screens everyone was intently watching. The initial anticipation of a result reduced to helpless horror, as they realised that they had the wrong man.

  Matthews broke into the silence as he entered the room. "Where the fuck is Bridger?”

  "He's on his way back sir", Grant said. "It appears that Jonas had a hydroponic Cannabis operation in his warehouse. He has left the uniforms in charge of the scene. Becky is bringing Jonas in to the cells".

  "That’s all good and well but he practically assured me that he as good as had Marion back. Mrs. Watson is upstairs watching the same thing as you are. I don't have to tell you how she is feeling".

  "Do you want me to go and sit with her", Jo suggested, "I have met with her before and may be able to offer her some comfort".

  Matthews looked at Jo. "Who are you?” he demanded.

  "Jo Williamson, Sir, Sergeant Bridger asked me to help out for a few weeks in his team".

  "Did he just, well he hasn't said anything to me about it......, well lucky for you there’s not much I can do about it at the moment as Sergeant Bridger is not here to confirm it".

  Jo stayed silent, unsure of how to respond.

  "Go up and sit with her then, she's in the office next to mine..., I take it you know where that is, don't you?”

  "Yes sir", Jo said, turning bright red.

  "Well don't just stand there girl, get on with it".

  "Yes sir".

  Bridger's mood had not improved as he practically ran up the stairs to the second floor. The knuckles on his right hand were swelling slightly and he had pulled a muscle in his left shoulder. As he entered the corridor he caught site of Jo going through the door at the other end, he was still looking in that direction when he collided with Matthews coming out the office door. Bridger pushed past him and into the office without a word. He could feel Matthews stare drilling into his back but did not care. He still had a job to do. Marion was still out there and he had wasted enough time on bullshit.

  "Where are we at?” he asked Grant.

  "There's been a development. We have an unknown male in the shot now. He seems to be strapped to some kind of upright gurney. Sam the tech has managed to zoom in a bit and it appears he is still breathing, although he looks fairly out of it".

  Bridger was looking at the monitor and could see Marion dancing around in a strange waltz with her invisible partner. She was circling the male Grant had described, who was not paying any attention to the show. There was a vaguely familiar tune playing in the background.

  "There's also been a bit of dialogue, Mike. It was more of the same about Marion being his mother, and then something about the male being his father. It sounds like he wants Marion to put right some issues he had with his childhood".

  "Could the male in the shot be the one who is holding Marion?” Bridger asked.

  "Not unless he is a ventriloquist who can throw his voice", Sam said. "The feed is live, it hasn't been pre recorded. He is somewhere nearby though, watching everything. I would say he is the one controlling the puppet strings as well, a real one man band".

  "How are we getting on with finding out where that place is", Bridger said, looking directly at Sam.

  Sam looked at the far corner of the room.

  Bridger followed his gaze and saw the two pale geeks from Reve
nge.com working feverishly on a computer. He did not know whether the reek of cannabis he could now smell was coming from them or from his exposure to what was growing in the warehouse.

  "As soon as they know, we will know", Sam said.

  Bridger looked at Grant, the question unspoken. Grant just shrugged his shoulders. "We need all the help we can get", he said.

  "Where was Jo going when I came in?” Bridger asked the room.

  "She's upstairs with Mrs. Watson", Matthews said loudly.

  Bridger looked behind him, he had not realised Matthews was still there, his bulky frame almost obscuring the doorframe.

  "Have you got anything to add, oh gracious leader", Bridger said sarcastically.

  The look of contempt in Matthews’s eyes was unmistakable. "I'll see you in my office Sergeant".

  Bridger turned his back on Matthews and was about to say something.

  "Now", Matthews growled.

  "Yes sir".

  Jo was sitting opposite Mrs. Watson; the computer monitor was glowing on the table beside them. Its ghastly images seared into both of their minds. Neither of them had to look at the screen to know what was going on. Mrs. Watson had been crying, Jo could tell that as soon as she walked into the room. She looked like she was about to say something to her then stopped herself and looked at the floor.

  "Is there anything I can get you Mrs. Watson? I'm here to help you as best I can while we locate Marion".

  "Both Glenn and Gregg promised me that they knew where Marion was and she would be fine", Mrs. Watson said. "Now Glenn has disappeared to god knows where and Gregg is being elusive. It is just like what happened that night, years ago. You can't trust the police, you couldn't then and you can't now".

  Jo guessed that Gregg was inspector Matthews but she had no idea who Glenn was.

  "All I can see of my daughter is what that bloody computer shows me. Don't you people have computer people who can work out where she is"?

  "We have a person working on that right now Mrs. Watson, he is doing the best he can".

  Mrs. Watson just looked at her as if she was something she had stepped in. Jo did not know what to say so looked away. She caught a glimpse of Matthews and Bridger walking into the office next door. Matthews was full of outraged importance, Bridger had the look of a petulant schoolboy.

  Detective work had always appealed to her, ever since she had first walked into a police station wearing her brand new uniform. The Detectives were always smartly dressed and had a look of confidence about them that the hard working and mostly junior uniform staff were missing. The Detectives all looked to have their lives on track, job prospects sorted. They were like adults and she still felt like a teenager in need of guidance.

  While in uniform she felt she was always rushing from one job to another, never having time to do anything that made a difference. She wanted more from her job; she wanted to be involved in solving the crime she attended.

  She thought about Bridger and about what she had just seen. She was not normally one to form opinions on people so quickly, she preferred to give them a chance to show whom they really were. She was not sure that Detective Sergeant Bridger would fit into that category. She had not met him before last weekend but had seen him about and heard from other people their mixed opinions of him. He certainly seemed pre occupied to her now and she could not recall him not smelling of stale alcohol. It looked as if he was human after all.

  "Are you sure there's nothing I can get you Mrs. Watson?”

  "No thank you Constable. I think I've had enough from the police to last me a lifetime".

  Jo looked at the elderly woman sitting in front of her; she could see that she was upset, the way she kept glancing at the computer. It looked as if she was reassuring herself that Marion was still alive.

  Marion had been dancing for a good ten minutes, if you could call it dancing. Attached to the wooden frame she looked like Pinocchio, a wooden toy manipulated by a child. Movements’ jerky, uncoordinated. That tune playing in the background was vaguely familiar to Jo, something from her childhood. Memories were stirring of her parent’s living room, music playing on the Hi Fi system her father was so proud to own. The name of it was on the tip of her tongue, but yet still elusive. Mrs. Watson was subconsciously humming along with the tune, eyes closed now, lost in her own thoughts. A single tear running down the paper like skin on her cheeks, lined with faint purple veins.

  "Do you know what this tune is Mrs. Watson?” Jo asked.

  Mrs. Watson's eyes opened slowly rose a little and stared right back at Jo. Although they had eye contact, Jo was doubtful Mrs. Watson was actually seeing her. Her eyes had a deep faraway look about them.

  "Mrs. Watson, do you know what this tune is? It might be helpful to us in finding your daughter".

  "I remember this from a long time ago, Constable. It was a time in my past that I thought I would never have to revisit. A song was so popular at the time. It played constantly on the radio, hundreds of times a day. I remember it well. I was so young back then, younger than you are now. I did not know anything of life. I was a naive little girl, a stupid little girl. It is life's greatest tragedy, the fact that we only gain the knowledge and maturity, as we get older. It is too late by then, the choices you make as you grow from child to adult shapes the way you live the rest of your life. I thought I knew it all, I thought I was so grown up. My whole life was ahead of me, but all I could see was what was in front of me at the time".

  Mrs. Watson was shivering and she was holding back more tears as she spoke.

  "I have tried telling Marion that her whole life, she needs to make the right choices. I thought she was going to be okay when she did so well in her first few years at university. Ever since she met that boy, her attitudes have changed though. She is making the same choices I made. It will ruin her".

  Jo looked at the computer monitor thinking that it will not only be her choices shaping her life now. Marion looked in no state to make any choices even if she was able.

  "Are you involved with anyone Constable?”

  "I have a boyfriend Mrs. Watson; we have been seeing each other for a few years".

  "I hope he treats you right, they don't all act the same I'm told. My experience with men has not been so blissful unfortunately".

  Jo wanted to press Mrs. Watson on the name of the tune, in case it was important, but thought better of it. Mrs. Watson looked like she wanted to talk. Maybe it would keep her mind off Marion while they were trying to find her. She moved her chair closure to Mrs. Watson and put a hand on her knee. Surprisingly Mrs. Watson placed a hand on top of hers and gripped it tightly. She started crying, long pitiful sobs. The floodgates opened in the dam that had so long held back her darkest emotions.

  Jo sat there and let her cry.

  Beth was standing outside his house. It was cold; the clouds still hung low in the sky, not letting her feelings escape into the blueness. That is where they belonged, in the sky, not inside her, eating her away from the pit of her bowels. When she was younger she watched the birds, she loved how they were free. She imagined them taking her feelings and flying away to a place where those feelings belonged. There were no birds today.

  She knew he lived here, she had seen him go inside before, because she had followed him home on many occasions. He did not want her knowing where he lived, but she would know. She needed to know. He was part of her life; she had opened up to him. She deserved to know. She had given herself to him, only him. He had felt so good, he connected with her, understood her, as they lay there on the cheap carpet that lined the floor of his office. They could talk about anything. They had talked about everything. She loved him.

  Then he had started talking about Marion. That bitch. He was obsessed with her.

  There was no answer at the door. She had knocked, banged and kicked, yelling into the frosted glass. The only movement was the distorted reflection staring back at her. She actually liked what she saw, an abstract version of her face.
She stood and stared at it, analyzing every curve and slant. This is what I really look like.

  She could not see through the windows, the shut curtains inside the house blocking the view, but then so were many in that street. Where the fuck is he, she thought, he would be with Marion that much she knew.

  She looked around desperately, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, or her. Then that was silly; he was not likely to be walking along the street with her. Hand in hand, like some star crossed lovers. Was that what she was, his lover. That bitch Marion with her claws all over him. That little story he had fed her about getting even with her just a cover for them to be together.

  "Fuck you Marion", she screamed at the top of her voice. "Fuck you and all your family to. Perfect little Marion, got to have it all don't you".

  She picked up a rock from the garden and hurled it through the glass in the front door. Then she moved out on to the front lawn and threw another one through the front window, and the one beside that. Sitting on the front lawn, she put her head in her hands and started to cry uncontrollably. Across the street a curtain flickered, the person behind it holding a phone to their ear.

  Beth did not notice.

  "I'm beyond helping you now Sergeant", Matthews growled. "You assured me that this Jonas was the only likely suspect. That you would put this whole mess, to bed and we would have Marion back. I am not blind or stupid and neither is Mrs. Watson. Marion is clearly still hanging on a butcher's hook, in god knows where, waiting for a mad man to figure out what fetish he wants to play out next. You’re not thinking clearly, your decisions have let you down again".

  Fuck you Matthews, you fat lazy bastard, Bridger thought. "With respect, when have you ever helped me sir".

  "It's not my fucken job to help you Bridger, you’re not the only person under my supervision. You are supposed to be role model to the younger staff. You have pushed it to far this time; your alcohol dependence has crossed over into your work".

  "I'm not an alcoholic", Bridger snarled.

  "Whatever you want to call it Sergeant, it’s up to you. You are going to have lot of time to think about it. I am putting you on sick leave as of now. Do not expect to be back at work either; I am going to push for a disciplinary hearing. You will be lucky you don't end up handing out parking tickets for the rest of your life".

  Bridger was stunned, things were clearly at a crisis point and all he could see was his problems mincing about in his head in a purplish haze. There was no clear direction, no clear resolution. This fat pompous prick in front of him was not helping either, he thought. He had no other option but to go on the offensive.

  "I don't know what it is about this Marion, sir, but I don't think you have been very forthcoming with help. You wanted me to deal with this as soon as it came in, normally a job for the wooden tops downstairs. Fill in a report and wait to see what happens".

  "It's a bit more than a missing person now though isn't it Sergeant", Matthews growled.

  "That's my point, Sir; it seems that you knew it was going to turn out this way. Get the CIB involved at the first instance, cut out the middle man, less chance of missing something, less chance of a fuck up".

  "If I wanted to avoid a fuck up, Bridger, I wouldn't have got you involved would I", Matthews said through clenched teeth. "As it happens the mother of this missing girl is a friend of Glenn Gallagher and she spoke to him first. He rang me and asked if I would deal with it. Unfortunately you were the only one on duty at the time".

  Bridger looked at Matthews expecting something more.

  "What is it with you and this Gallagher, why jump when he says?”

  "That's all you’re going to get sergeant, now get out of my office".

  "So is that it, the only explanation I'm going to get. Am I still on this case or not?”

  "What do you think Sergeant"?

  Bridger backed out of the office, his anger barely contained. Matthews had not mentioned the beating he had given Jonas so he could not have heard yet. That will not take long though, he thought, as soon as Jonas completes the process downstairs he will make a complaint. He had the injuries plainly displayed on his face. The complaint will have to reported, and then he would really be for the high jump. There was no backing out of this one.

  Turning around he caught a glimpse of Jo and Mrs. Watson in the next office. Mrs. Watson was in tears, but she was talking. Jo was studiously taking notes and offering comfort. The image of Marion was glowing behind the pair causing them to cast shadows on the floor. The image reminded Bridger of the shadow puppets he saw as a boy, shadow shapes created by all sorts of objects, manipulated to tell a story.

  Usually it would be a fairytale involving good triumphing over evil. The shadows he saw now did not portray the image sitting on the chairs in front of the computer monitor. Jo's shadow was cowering under Mrs. Watson's shadow. Mrs. Watson's shadow was shaking and moving about like a demented witch, an ugly sister reprimanding a meek sibling, a tormentor, tormenting the tormented. Bridger stood by the door and listened to what Mrs. Watson was saying. She was speaking very quietly and her voice was shaky with sorrow.

  "I was so young; you must understand that, he was my first boyfriend. He was my first for many things. We told each other we were in love, whatever that is to a silly young girl. He paid me a lot of attention in the beginning, pursued me you could say. I guess that is quite flattering somehow, having a male show me attention. He was so suave in his flashy uniform, a real heart breaker, and he wanted me. My father was a cold man you see, he found it hard to show his emotions. He was not abusive or anything, but he had a quiet menace about him, something I grew up fearing. So when I found out I was pregnant to this boy, I begged him to marry me as quickly as possible so I would not have to face my father’s scorn, or the sanctimonious looks from the neighbors’. Life was difficult for young unmarried pregnant woman in those days. Children were labeled bastards and the mothers subjected to a lifetime of hardships. They had only just introduced the domestic purposes benefit but I would still have been too young to get it by a year. We were married on this day, a lifetime ago. I remember it was cold, my mother was complaining about it; my father was quiet, which was his way. They both knew about the pregnancy by then. He was a handsome boy; he looked so dashing in his black suit. I remember looking at him as the priest was speaking. I was so scared, but when he looked back at me and smiled, I thought at that moment that everything would be alright".

  Mrs. Watson looked up and saw Bridger standing in the doorway; she looked away but did not continue to speak. Instead, she hugged herself tightly and started to rock slowly back and forth. Jo looked over at Bridger, realizing that Mrs. Watson needed privacy if she was going to continue she stood and went over to him.

  "Sergeant I think she feels more comfortable if it’s just me in the room", Jo whispered. "I think she needs to open up about something. If anything it will help keep her mind off what's happening with her daughter while you go find her".

  Bridger looked back at Jo, her trusting innocent face. She had no idea of the state of play, all she saw was his rank and trusted in that completely.

  I wish I had your confidence, he thought to himself. I feel like a pathetic mess of a man now.

  "Just keep doing what you’re doing", Bridger said. "If anything it will keep her mind off Marion for a while until we have better news. It's all we can do".

  The only thing I can think of doing, he thought grimly, as he walked away.

  Marion did not know how long she had been dancing for his pleasure. It seemed like an eternity, but what was time to her now, it was nothing but a distraction until the final act. Her body was weak with hunger and exhaustion; she had no control over her movements. The music kept playing repeatedly, as she circled around the light. She could not place the tune and she found to her surprise that it was making her angry. She hated not knowing something. The tune was sitting in the back of her mind with a name attached but she could quite make it out, however har
d she tried.

  The man tied up in front of her, the one he called father, had not moved or said anything since emerging into the light. She watched him closely every time she passed by, she had seen his eyes following her, those eyes, so deep and lost. They were empty, no glimmer of hope was visible in the darkness of the pupil, and the spark of life had retreated into his head, out of view from the outside world. She passed by again and she saw them move ever so slightly, just the eyes. Like a clowns head you threw balls in at a sideshow. They were following her movements. It was enough for her to believe she was not alone in this; another soul was here, living in torment alongside her.

  Maybe they were both dead; then this must be the anteroom passed through on the way to the gates of hell. It made sense; no god would put anyone through this before reaching the salvation of heaven.

  Desperately she searched her memories for the times she had done something in her life that would lead her on this path if she died. She could not think of anything hateful she had done to attract the devils attention. She was not religious, not really. She had been to Sunday school as a child but never paid any attention to the lessons, but everybody knew the teachings of heaven and hell, religious or not.

  Maybe that was it; she was not a believer, so that left her off the list of protected persons. Leaving her exposed to the reaches of hell.

  The music faded out to silence.

  The dancing stopped abruptly leaving her swaying back and forth.

  "I think you two have had enough time to get reacquainted, it’s time we moved on. Father I hope you liked the way mother danced.

  From what I remember, you never saw that side of her. Although I only remember the later years, the years when mother used to dance alone in the room, hugging herself and humming the tune.

  What went on when I was too young to remember I guess I will never know. If I asked you, it would be all lies anyway. How can it be anything but lies coming from you, mother? It is not as if it was any different than I remember. Nothing can end up as it did without a beginning.

  You chose him knowing deep down that he was going to be the death of you. His lack of self-control must have been evident even to you. No one can hide their true selves for long when you know each other intimately.

  What I do not understand mother, is that you chose him for me as well, knowing what he was like.

  You made that decision for me. I had no choice. You put me in harm’s way.

  It is your turn to protect me now mother. You will see to that won't you"?

  Jo went and sat back down. "Take your time Mrs. Watson, anything you tell us could be very helpful". Mrs. Watson looked back at Jo; she had a faraway look in her eyes.

  "I didn't know what he was like, not really. We had only been seeing each other for a few months. You could not live with anyone before marriage in those days. It was not the 'done' thing. We had nowhere to go... to... well, when we wanted to be intimate. I always thought that my first time would be special. It turned out to be a short, uncomfortable, passionless thing in the back of his smelly old car, parked at the top of signal hill. Not very romantic, I know, but enough to create a life. It was not until after we were married and living together, that he let his true feelings show. He was not earning a lot of money, they were not paid as well as you are these days, he had only really just started his job. We lived in a small house in the Leith Valley. It was always cold in the winter, the sun never showed its face".

  Mrs. Watson shivered with the memory

  "He liked a drink, and it was what he did best. He always had money for the drink. We were really just getting to know each other when the baby arrived. He was not violent at first. It was more what he said to me that hurt. He thought I had got pregnant on purpose just to trap him. He was happy enough to be screwing me in the back of his car, but he still said that I took the decision about the course of his life from him. After the baby arrived, he spent more and more time at the pub, I hardly ever saw him. I found myself trapped in the house; I was too scared to take the baby out into the cold. My parents were no use; my father had practically disowned me. He forbade my mother to visit me. I had few friends, and even less when the baby arrived. I felt very isolated and alone. I was only just coping with things. It was as if he owned me. I was his possession to do with what he wanted. I was an absolute mess".

  Jo looked at Mrs. Watson, trying to compare the person sitting in front of her to the person she was describing. She looked so normal, it is funny the secrets people hide on the inside. I guess you could never know what went on in anybody’s head, she thought.

  You could live with someone day in and day out, but unless you had the ability to read minds, you would never really know a person.

  Gillian Holler was in a foul mood, apart from the fact that her face looked like a blueberry muffin with the black eye; she had been in court all morning giving evidence in a drink driving case. The defendant, a middle-aged bank executive had employed a very expensive lawyer to argue that Gillian had not provided him with the proper disclosure. The argument was irrelevant in her eyes, as the lack of disclosure related to forms that had nothing to do with the fact that she had stopped the defendant driving his expensive car at twice the legal speed limit and almost twice the legal drink drive limit. The fact that he was the most obnoxious person she had ever met on the night in question was not a factor either. The thing she hated most out of the whole thing was, after the judge had ruled not guilty on technical grounds, the defendant had smiled and winked at her while she sat in court, open mouthed at the stupidity of a system that allowed such decisions.

  She had returned to the police station in search of a soothing cup of tea and quiet corner to lick her wounds. She had only just put the water in the kettle when Steve came into the meal room and told her that they had an urgent job to attend.

  Steve was driving at a crazy speed; he had already had a few near misses as he barreled through intersections against the red signals. He always seemed to think that the lights and sirens would stop any other motorist in their tracks; leaving the way clear for their speeding patrol car to speed towards whatever emergency required their presence. Gillian flinched as she heard the screeching of brakes to her left. Another car travelling through a green light had little time to react as they flashed through another intersection.

  "Bloody hell that was close", Steve said. "Useless bloody drivers, can't they see we're in a hurry here".

  Gillian's knuckles were white against the handles on the passenger door, her left foot making useless attempts to apply an imaginary brake.

  "Bloody well slow down will you Steve; it sounds like the girl has stopped throwing rocks. We actually want to get there don't we"?

  If Steve took any insult from her comments, he did not show it.

  "Sorry Gill, it’s a priority one job, that’s why we have lights and sirens isn't it".

  Gill was about to argue the point, but realised they had arrived at the scene when Steve suddenly stood hard on the brakes and pulled over to the curb.

  "Darling we're home", he said, smiling to himself at his attempt at humor.

  Thank god for that, Gillian thought.

  Getting out of the car into the cold, she tried pulling her jacket tight around her neck. The stab proof vest she was wearing making the task all but impossible. The temperature in this part of town always seemed to be a few degrees colder than other areas.

  Steve was on the other side of the car rubbing his hands together but still wearing short sleeves under his vest, the tails of a tattoo peeking from underneath, mottled with Goosebumps.

  "Right where's she at then", he said, looking about.

  Gillian looked towards the house and saw the damage to the windows, large shards of glass were scattered on the concrete path below. The sound of breaking glass at the rear of the property answered Steve’s question. She could hear a hysterical female voice screaming, "Daniel, I know you’re in there, you and that bitch. I am going to break ever
y part of this house until you come out and see me. Let me in you prick. I love you Daniel, do you hear me. I love you".

  "Steve you go that way and I'll go this way", she said, pointing to the side of the house.

  Gillian made her way cautiously down the side of the house. A window shattered above her, showering her in glass. Brushing the glass from her hair, she felt a sharp pain in her hand. Bringing her hand down and opening her palm, she saw the warm blood oozing out of a cut about an inch long. Looking up she saw a familiar face advancing towards her. The face was gaunt and tear streaked the person behind it agitated and lost. Her eyes were almost vacant.

  "Beth, what the hell is going on", Gillian demanded.

  Beth stopped still and stared at her strangely. Gillian realised she was staring at the blood dripping from her hand. She opened her palm towards her. Beth recoiled slightly at the sight. She raised her arm towards Gillian and pointed a weak finger at her injury.

  "Did he do that to you?” she asked.

  "No Beth, I cut myself on some glass. Did you break that window?”

  "I have to get in there, I need to see him. He did not answer the door; I know he has her in there with him. I cannot let her have him. Can you ask him to come out? You can make him, you’re the police".

  Steve had come up behind Beth and looked at Gillian, he pointed to the blood on her hand and pointed at Beth, mouthing the words, did she do it. Beth had sensed the movement behind her and backed up against the wall. "Get away from me, I haven't done anything. He has, he is the one. Just leave me alone". She slid down the wall and sat hunched over hugging her legs. "He's the one, he's the one", she started to repeat quietly to herself.

  "Isn't that Beth?” Steve asked Gillian.

  "Déjà vu", Gillian said as she crouched down beside her.

  "Beth", she said quietly, "What’s happening. Did you break the windows? Whose house is this?”

  Beth did not answer, just carried on repeating, "He's the one".

  "Well Beth, I'm arresting you for criminal damage to these windows", Gillian said, as she took Beth under the arms and stood her up.

  "She's having another episode", Steve said, waving his hands in front of her vacant eyes and clicking his fingers.

  "Steve, that's not helping. See if anyone is inside, it might be able to help us with why Beth has broken all these windows if we know who it is. If there is no one home, talk to a neighbor and find out who lives here. I'll take Beth to the car and see if she will calm down a bit".

  "Rather you than me", he said.

  This girl has some real issues, Gillian was thinking. Beth was sitting next to her in the back of the car just staring straight ahead. Eyes dead still, her breath was short and rapid. Gillian had no luck in getting Beth to say anything. She had just succeeded in frustrating herself in the process, her earlier bad mood not helping much. Gillian jumped as Steve opened the door and slumped into the seat.

  "No one’s home, I talked to the neighbor across the road and she was not much help. All she could tell me was that he was a middle-aged man, lived alone and possibly worked at the university. I think she is the one who called us but she did not let on. I could not get inside the house but I could see into most of the broken windows. It was strange; there were no pictures on the walls. I could not see any personal effects either. Who lives like that?"

  "Well Beth seems to know who it is", Gillian said. "Trouble is she's not talking again. I think we should contact the mental health crisis team to come and asses her. Maybe they can get her to talk".

  "Sounds like a plan", Steve said, starting the car.