Like Father, Like Son

by Sarah Masters

  “Thanks,” Matt said to John. “Could you make me a copy of that?”

  “Yep. It’ll only take me a couple of minutes.”

  Matt walked away, toward the door, and Aaron followed him. They stared at each other. Moments like these were few and far between when they worked cases. A second or two to look into each other’s eyes, to take a breather and acknowledge their lives weren’t just about solving crimes. That they had something bigger and better going on, something more important than putting people away. Yet how could he think their love was more important than getting arseholes off the street? More important than getting justice for the family members left behind when their kids, fathers, sons and uncles were cold and buried beneath the unforgiving ground?

  Because he could, that was why. Their love meant more to him than any of it.

  Aaron got his phone out, breaking the spell.

  “I’ll just step outside and call this in. We need some units out there looking.” Aaron left the room, a sad hunch to his shoulders as though he, too, had been thinking along the same lines as Matt.

  Matt sighed.

  Fuck it.

  He switched his thoughts to Mrs. Zeus, now in hospital, wired up to some machine monitoring her heart. The poor woman had had quite a scare, and knowing her son was out there having God knew what done to him probably wasn’t helping matters. How could she calm her heart rate if she was worrying about her kid? She couldn’t, and Matt hoped they found Robby soon so the pair of them could be sent somewhere safe. The woman deserved a bit of peace and quiet after what had happened, a bit of security.

  Aaron returned at the same time John got up from his chair to hand Matt a disc. He thanked the man, and together Matt and Aaron exited the building, apprehension churning Matt’s guts. For the past few days, all he’d been thinking of had been severed fingers and helping Robby. Disturbingly, he hadn’t thought much about Katrina Starky. Why was that? How come his main focus had been elsewhere, even after her body had been discovered? Usually, he’d have pushed the fingertips and the lowly gang member to the back of his mind so he could concentrate on finding a killer. Not this time.

  Maybe because he knew, deep down, who had killed her and why.

  Now he had to find the man responsible for cutting Robby’s fingers off—and ask him why he’d bothered leaving them in public places. What had been the point of that? Was Fox just showing he could walk into whatever establishment he liked, drop a fingertip or two, then walk out again and nothing could be done about it?

  Yes, that was exactly what Matt thought Fox had been up to. A posturing of sorts, maybe letting the police and Starky know he held all the cards. He was the one who was best suited to running The Hardarms. And shit, if Katrina could be murdered without Starky being able to prevent it, what kind of leader did that make him? If Damien could do what he had, it was making a point that Starky wasn’t as on the ball as he’d imagined. That he wasn’t the right man to lead the gang.

  The ins and outs of gang mentality… So many levels of corruption, so many backhanded comments, sly looks, and below-the-belt dealings—and that was just within the gangs. It was a wonder Starky hadn’t thrown the towel in a long time ago. Who the hell needed such a headache, day in, day out?

  Some people crave those headaches. It’s what keeps them buzzing, alive.

  Matt likened it to his own life, his own needs. His job was what got him up every morning. That and Aaron. He smiled at the analogy. Aaron got him up all right. It was just a pity it wasn’t more often. Their work always came first.

  Maybe it was time to change that. Neither of them were getting any younger. A more settled existence was something they’d never discussed at great length, but it was something they needed to consider. They couldn’t run round dragging in criminals forever. There had to come a point when enough was enough.

  Still got a few years left in us yet, though.

  “What are you thinking about?” Aaron asked as they reached the car.

  “Us. Where we’re going, what we’re doing.”

  Aaron winced. “Oh. You’re not about to tell me something I don’t want to hear, are you?”

  Matt smiled. “If you don’t want to hear that I’d quite like your cock up my arse once this case is over—or before that, if possible—I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  Aaron blew out a breath. “You had me worried for a minute there.”

  “Why? No need to worry. You’re stuck with me, you know that.”

  Matt tugged his keys out of his pocket then clicked the fob. The doors unlocking sounded indignant, as though the vehicle was saying it didn’t want to perform anymore today. He could relate to that. He didn’t want to perform anymore either. But time was ticking, and if they didn’t get a move on, Damien could do all sorts—and none of it good. Whether Matt wanted to or not, he had a duty to see this through, at least until shift changeover. But did he want to hand this to D.I. Gromwell later, though? All right, the man was a damn good copper, but with Matt and Aaron so close to completion… Nah, Matt would stick around. Do overtime. The case would only be on his mind if he didn’t, spoiling the evening and making sure he didn’t get a wink of sleep when he finally hit the sack.

  “You’ve got that look,” Aaron said, opening the door. “The one that says you’re on a mission and we won’t be going to bed any time before midnight.”

  “You read that right.”

  “So you reckon we’re close enough that overtime will be productive?” Aaron got inside the car.

  Matt did the same. He closed the door and released a massive sigh then grabbed the Werther’s and unwrapped it. After popping it in his mouth, he tucked it into his cheek. “I do.”

  “I knew you’d say that. No idea why I even asked. Still, one day you might surprise me and actually go home when our shift ends. You know, on time, so we can live the other side of our lives.” Aaron smiled sadly. “But I don’t expect miracles. Okay, then. Where are we going now?”

  Aaron slotted the spare key Matt had given him years ago into the ignition. Matt realized he was sitting in the passenger seat again. Quicker for him to leap out of the car if they spotted Fox, although Matt only had a grainy photograph he’d seen once to give him an indication of what Fox looked like. Damien was an elusive bastard, someone Matt had yet to meet face to face.

  Aaron started the engine, and Matt smiled to himself about the fact he wasn’t doing the driving. Funny how Aaron had chosen to do it and just knew how Matt’s mind worked. Better than Matt knew himself.

  No idea what I’d do without him.

  “We should head to Stamford Street and go from there,” Matt said.

  “It’s the most obvious thing to do.”

  Matt was about to give back some sarcastic retort or other but his phone trilled and he brought it out of his pocket to see ‘Station’ on the screen. “Wait a second—don’t drive off yet. The sodding engine always drowns out whoever’s speaking.” He swiped his finger across to accept the call. “Blacksmith.”

  “Important call for you, Guv.” PC Jacobs.

  “Right. Patch it through. Thanks.”

  A bleep sounded, then, “It’s Robby.”

  “Oh, thank God for that.” One type of tension seeped out of Matt, only for another type to take its place. Was Robby by himself? Or was Damien listening in on the call? “Where the hell are you? Are you safe? Are you alone?”

  “I’m all right. Me and Lee are all right.”

  “You and Lee?” Matt swallowed. That didn’t make sense, did it? If Lee was afraid of Fox, why would he have gone with him in the Golf?

  Maybe he was forced.

  But Vasquez didn’t mention him being bundled into the car. He must have got in freely.

  Unless Damien pointed a gun or knife at him.

  Shit.

  “Yeah,” Robby said. “Damien took us to this farmhouse and left us there. We got away. We’re walking back. Coming up to Stamford Street.”

  “Right, we’re on our w
ay there now. Where’s Fox?” Matt raised his hand and made a swirling motion for Aaron to get going.

  The engine flared to life, and Matt gritted his teeth, jabbing a finger in his other ear so he’d be able to listen properly.

  “No idea,” Robby said. “He told Lee he was calling a meeting. A gang meeting, maybe. I don’t know where The Hardarms do that kind of stuff. You’d have to ask Lee.”

  “Hmm. Okay.” The main thing was to get Robby and Lee to safety now. Damien’s whereabouts would be discovered soon enough. “Once you’re in Stamford Street proper, go and stand in the doorway of that empty shop. Think it was a greengrocer’s or something. You know the one?”

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  “Oh, and Robby? Your mum’s okay. Had a bit of a fright but okay all the same.”

  “Thanks. I was just about to ask you.”

  “Now, get yourselves to that doorway. Before I go, are you sure Lee’s on the level?” Matt was uneasy about the kid since he’d done a runner.

  “Same as me. Wants out. He has information for you, about Starky.”

  Matt punched the air. “Brilliant. Won’t be long, we’re almost there.” He cut the call. Turned to Aaron. “Starky’s ours. Finally.”

  “How so?” Aaron asked, speeding up a bit.

  “Lee Livingstone’s willing to cooperate. I don’t think he wanted to be in The Hardarm’s—Robby says the kid wants out. I suspect Katrina got him roped into joining. Or maybe Starky insisted on it. You know what he’s like, what with his other family members working for him. All of them are in on it, whether it’s gang related or in the building business.”

  “Christ, Lee could be giving us a fair bit of information, then.” Aaron swerved into Stamford Street.

  “He could. Let’s just hope there’s evidence to back it all up.”

  Aaron pulled up alongside the empty greengrocers and Matt looked through the car window. Robby and Lee peered out at him from the darkened doorway, and Matt jerked his head for them to get in. They ran forward, volleying themselves onto the back seat.

  “Get down,” Matt advised. “We don’t know who the hell’s watching.”

  The lads did as he’d asked, and Aaron peeled away from the curb.

  “Lee, where do The Hardarms have their meetings?” Matt asked.

  “In one of those warehouses by the storage place,” Lee said.

  Matt called it in then said to the lads, “Save your stories for when we get to the station. Just make sure you stay hidden.”

  “Thanks for this,” Robby said. “Thought we were goners, didn’t we, Lee?”

  “Yeah.”

  Matt wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he thought Robby’s statement had been staged and Lee’s answer too shaky. Maybe Matt’s perception of Lee was skewed, but he didn’t trust the little fucker. And he wouldn’t. Not until he started talking, telling them all the things they wanted to hear. Names, dates, where bodies were buried. Christ, there was potentially a shedload of work coming their way, excavating sites, sifting through evidence…

  The Seychelles holiday seemed to melt from his future.

  “I’ve got to say this before I forget,” Lee said.

  Matt sighed. Him saying to save it for the station clearly hadn’t gone into Lee’s skull. “Go on.”

  “The reason Damien cut off Robby’s fingers was because he said Robby had too many fingers in too many pies. He said he’d skip the hand and go straight for his feet next, because Robby was getting too big for his boots or something.”

  “Fucking hell,” Robby breathed. “You didn’t tell me that!”

  “Yeah, he’s a nasty sort, but you know that,” Lee said. “And get this. The length of each finger was meant to signify how deep the finger was in a certain pie. And him leaving them where he left them… Each place was special to him, he said. Somewhere he went with his girlfriend.”

  “With Katrina, you mean,” Robby said.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know that at the time.”

  The lads lapsed into silence, and Matt grimaced. What sort of warped bloke were they dealing with here? Demented—Damien had to be to think it was all right to chop fingers off in the first place. Fox wasn’t right in the damn head.

  Him and many others.

  And wasn’t that the truth.

  His phone rang. He reached into his pocket to retrieve it and take the call.

  “Someone on the line for you, Guv,” PC Vasquez said. “Ringing in with information. Said they wouldn’t speak to anyone but you.”

  Matt sighed. Probably some crackpot. Maybe even Vera What’s-Her-name. “Fob them off with someone else for me, will you?”

  “Tried that, sir. He’s having none of it. You might want to give him your ear on this one. Says he has information about the fingers.”

  Matt’s gut rolled over. This case hadn’t been made public. Whoever the caller was… “All right. Put him through.”

  “Right oh, sir.”

  The line went dead, then a man said, “Warehouse three, half an hour.”

  “Who am I speaking to, please?” Matt asked.

  “You’ll find out when you get there,” the man said.

  “That could be anywhere. Be more specific.” Matt wasn’t into the cloak-and-dagger scenario. Either people were straight up or he wasn’t interested. No game playing on his watch if he could prevent it.

  “You’d fare better to just do as I say,” the man said. “You know damn well which warehouse I mean. And come alone.”

  The call was cut, leaving silence blaring in Matt’s ear.

  “Anything I need to be aware of?” Aaron asked.

  Matt nodded. “Let’s drop these two off first then I’ll fill you in.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Robby sat beside Lee in some office or other. They’d be safe here, in the police station, with coppers all around them. No way could Damien or Starky get to them now. Robby was itching for Blacksmith and Thax Man to come back so he could listen to what Lee had to say to them. Then again, they’d probably interview Lee on his own, so Robby wouldn’t find out jack shit. A huge part of him wanted to know everything Lee knew, just as a reminder in Robby’s future of what could happened to him if he stuck around here. If he became Starky’s right-hand. In times of doubt—and he reckoned there’d be a few, even though gang life wasn’t what he truly wanted—the things Lee knew would serve to keep Robby on the right track.

  Cardboard sandwich boxes with rectangular plastic windows sat on the desk in front of them. The one Robby had eaten, the label proclaiming it to be ‘just ham’, had turned into a ball of dough in his stomach. Or it might have been a knot of apprehension. It was still there, that worry, the one that told him he shouldn’t be in a police station, shouldn’t have turned his back on the gang. Weird how easily they’d infiltrated his mind, convincing him that gang loyalty was best. He supposed it was a case of retraining his brain, learning to accept a new way of thinking.

  Gang life was bad. The life he was heading to was good.

  “Still sodding starving,” Lee said, scowling as though he thought it was the police’s duty to serve him steak and chips instead. “One sandwich and a cake is never enough. I usually have two rounds of sandwiches, know what I mean?”

  Normally, Robby would agree with him, but he was buggered if he could eat anything else just yet. That was why he’d left the Danish pastry in its transparent plastic package. “Eat that if you want.” He indicated the cake by dipping his head.

  “Oh, cheers.”

  Lee tucked in.

  Robby sipped some water from a bottle, mainly to push the rising bile down but also to dampen his dry mouth and throat. He acknowledged fear was wreaking havoc inside him. His heart rate was romping along too fast, and he needed to steer his thoughts elsewhere, away from what would happen if the police went back on their promise and didn’t get him and Ma to safety after all. To put it bluntly, if the coppers turfed him out of here, he was fucked. Dead and buried.

&nbs
p; “Nice, them cakes,” Lee said after he’d scoffed the last mouthful, flicking a finger at the open packaging. It whizzed across the desk then off, landing on the floor. Flakes of pastry and a couple of currants settled on the budget gray carpet. He shrugged and laughed. “Oops. Something for the cleaners to do when they arrive.”

  Robby frowned. Got up. It hurt his hands to be doing it, but he kneeled and picked up the food with his remaining fingers and thumbs. What Lee had done was plain bad manners, and his way of thinking wasn’t right. Robby’s ma was a cleaner, had been all her life, and it upset him to know that other people might see her in the same way Lee did. Someone beneath others. As far as Robby was concerned, his ma had queenly status and deserved to be treated accordingly.

  Again, he reminded himself that he hadn’t treated her that way. If he could feel guiltier, he would. He thought about her scrubbing other people’s loos for a living. Shit, he wished she hadn’t had to do that. But a job was a job, she’d always told him, no matter how lowly others might view it. If it was a good, decent, honest day’s graft, and it put food on the table and paid the rent, that was what mattered.

  Instead of giving Lee what for, he said, “My dad used to like these cakes.”

  Why did I say that?

  He rose and walked back to the desk, where he collected the rest of the rubbish then dropped it in the bin beside the door. He returned to his seat, dying to put his feet up but not daring to. Not in a cop shop. Some rozzer or other could walk in and catch him doing it. Maybe tell him off, giving him one of those stares he was sure they were taught when they first joined the force.

  “Do you ever think about him—your dad?” Lee asked.

  “Not much if I can help it.” And that was the truth. Remembering what that bastard had done to Ma wasn’t something he liked revisiting. To have had his father there one minute then gone the next, running off with some tart… As a kid he hadn’t been able to process it very well, and as an adult he’d never managed it too well, either. It was one of those things he thought he might never get over.