by Steven Dunne
‘Twenty okay?’ From a shelf Preston pulled down a small box and slapped it into her hand. ‘I was hoping for live rounds,’ she said, encouraging him with a helpless smile.
‘You trying to get me canned?’ he replied in mock censure. ‘Those things cost money. Twenty nine-mills, no more,’ he said, scrabbling in a different box and handing her twenty rounds. He filled in a form attached to a clipboard and gave her the pen to sign.
While Preston locked the ammunition store and turned away to make tea, Caskey headed into the locker room to open her cubicle, extracting a pair of clear goggles and a set of ear defenders. Opening the door wider, she stared lovingly at the picture of the smiling young woman with short blonde hair and flawless skin gazing out across the metropolitan expanse of Paris from a platform of the Eiffel Tower. Her perfect mouth was wide with laughter, sparkling eyes slanting off-camera, aware of the picture being taken.
Caskey smiled as though Georgia was standing beside her, held for a moment by the sheer exhilaration and joy on her lover’s face.
‘We’ll always have Paris,’ she croaked, the emotion catching in her throat. She kissed the tips of her fingers and held them against Georgie’s disembodied face before closing the locker and returning to the range.
Two minutes later, Preston came in with two steaming mugs, dribbling hot tea on to the rubber matting. He placed them on the loading bench and unlocked the adjoining armoury door.
‘The usual?’ he enquired, passing her a Glock from the rack, followed by another form to sign.
Caskey took a large swig of tea in lieu of food, wishing she’d asked for sugar to provide a little energy. She fed ten bullets into a speed loader and moved across to the fourth and last lane, putting the clear protective glasses over her eyes and pulling the ear defenders around her neck. She rammed the clip into her weapon. ‘Ten going in,’ she called.
Preston had moved across to the target lever and was busy slipping on the same eye and ear protection in addition to a high-vis slipover. ‘Make ready,’ he shouted above the noise of the fans circulating fresh air to prevent the inhalation of weapon discharge toxins.
Approaching the firing lane, Caskey manoeuvred the ear defenders into place, stepped up to the hazard tape and spread her feet, raising the gun in both hands.
‘Watch and react,’ called Preston, pulling on the lever.
Caskey rapid-fired her ammunition at the targets, emptying her clip quickly. ‘Clear,’ she shouted after the tenth round. ‘Reloading.’
‘Reloading,’ echoed Preston.
She fed the remaining ten bullets into her speed loader and pushed the clip into place, then went through the same rapid-firing sequence.
‘Shoot complete,’ shouted Preston when she stood at ease. ‘Unload and prove.’ Caskey unloaded the weapon and held out the breech for inspection. ‘You’re clear,’ he confirmed, removing his gear. ‘Ease the springs, love. Line is clear.’
Caskey stepped forward to inspect her target. ‘Think I lost one there, Freddie.’
‘Too eager,’ he replied. ‘That’s your weakness. Take it slower and feel the shot as though the bullet is fired from your brain and down your arm.’
‘I’ll try,’ she smiled, stooping to sweep up her spent cartridges and dropping them into a bin, then returning the gun to Preston.
As she stowed her kit in her locker, she gazed once more at Georgia’s beautiful smile, toying with the idea of taking her home but realising she’d likely spend the whole night just staring at her face. ‘I love you,’ she told her, and with a deep breath locked the door. A moment later, she logged out and bade Preston a cheery farewell.
Brook drew to a halt opposite Reardon Thorogood’s building in Nottingham. It was cloaked in darkness, the ground-floor bays securely shuttered and barred for the night. Mist seeped from the cold ground of the park and hung in the damp air like smoke from a bonfire, illuminated by the ethereal glow of the street lamps. A desultory firework exploded in the distance, purple and green fronds flowering briefly before dying in the sky.
He emptied his flask of lukewarm tea and gazed at the upstairs windows, curtains drawn, no signs of life or light. After draining his drink, he emerged into the sharp November air and stood at the front door, still uncertain whether he should be disturbing Reardon’s fragile peace of mind again.
Instead of pressing the buzzer, he made for the patio at the back of the house, rounding the corner in darkness and coming to a halt at the wrought-iron fence barring his way. Looking up to the first-floor platform of the fire escape, he was pleased to see a light on. A second later, the door swung open.
Instinctively he stepped back behind the corner of the building to avoid detection, his eyes trained on the metal platform. A slight figure dressed in shapeless clothing emerged into the cold night air. As on his previous visit, she lit a cigarette and rested what weight she had on the damp rail, looking out across the shadowy park below. A muffled voice from within the apartment spun her around.
‘I’m having a cigarette,’ she called. The muffled voice said something by way of reply. ‘Then let him shoot me,’ retorted Reardon defiantly. ‘What do I care? Call this a life? Get it over with, I say.’ The muffled voice spoke again, but Brook couldn’t make out what was said. Reardon took a huge belt of smoke and flicked the lit cigarette from the platform. It landed near Brook’s feet with a spray of orange. ‘Okay, okay,’ she complained. ‘I’m coming in. Happy now?’
When the door slammed closed, Brook trod on the lit cigarette and returned to the front of the building. He’d barely got round the corner when he heard another door slam somewhere on the street. He held his ground.
A large dog appeared, straining at a leash. Brook wasn’t sure of the breed, but it bore a strong resemblance to the one he’d seen in photographs in the Black Oak Farm files. He was looking at Reardon’s dog, Sargent, a four-year-old Beauceron.
He dipped back behind the corner of the house as a figure followed holding on to the leash, tilting backwards to restrain the eager animal, which pulled powerfully towards the park. The dog walker was taller than Reardon, wearing jeans, boots and a waterproof, hood up against the elements.
Half walking, half jogging, the pair reached the top of the steps and descended in the direction of the park below. A minute later, Brook followed.
At the bottom of the steps, a circular gravel path around the grassy interior hived off left and right. Adjusting his eyes to the gloom, Brook spotted the figure ambling along in the shadow of the trees lining the path, while the dog, off the leash, pelted giddily around on the moonlit turf, relishing its twice-a-day freedom. It seemed unperturbed by the odd explosion of gunpowder as revellers rehearsed for the following night.
To allay suspicion, he took the path in the opposite direction, looking across every now and again to monitor the progress of the hooded figure. As they approached each other at the far end of the circuit, he darted furtive glances at the dog walker’s face. It was impossible to discern features under the pitch-black cloak of night, but when he was five yards from his prey, a rocket exploded overhead and the darkened figure was briefly illuminated.
‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed a familiar voice.
‘Terri,’ said Brook, sounding almost annoyed.
‘Dad!’ she shrieked. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What am I doing? I’m following you.’
‘Following me? Why?’
‘I’m a detective, Terri. This is what I do. And don’t tell me it’s a shock. Reardon must’ve told you about my visit.’
Terri hesitated. The light from the rocket had gone, but Brook saw the hood nod. ‘She told me.’
‘Is this where’ve you been the last few days?’
‘Of course. Helping Reardon, walking the dog, supporting her.’
‘I did wonder why someone claiming to be terrified of her missing brother would drag me out to the fire escape and put herself in full view like that. You were down here in the park and she wanted to
let you know I was in the flat.’ ‘It’s a signal,’ said Terri. ‘You don’t seem surprised to see me.’
‘You heard me mention I was a detective,’ replied Brook. ‘I’ve emptied enough ashtrays to know your shade of lipstick. Not to mention the paper trail you left to Black Oak Farm.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Terri, sombre now. ‘But Reardon was really upset when I phoned her about the letter from that killer in Wakefield Prison. I knew you’d look into it, Dad. I told her all about you, about what a great detective you are and that with you on the case, Ray is as good as behind bars.’
‘You flatter me,’ said Brook, though a part of him was secretly pleased. ‘Now if the dog’s finished its walk, I’d like to get back to the light so I can see your face.’
‘You missed me then.’
‘Of course I missed you,’ said Brook. ‘Running off like that. It wasn’t right. I’ve been worried sick. Especially finding out you’d packed in your job and left your flat. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m sorry,’ sighed Terri. ‘But I knew you’d worry and I didn’t want that.’ She called the dog, which bounded towards her and sniffed excitedly at her hands. She fixed the lead on to its collar and they mounted the steps. ‘I had to come, Dad. Reardon’s in danger. She needs me.’
‘From what I just heard, it sounds like she’s coming to terms with her situation and wants to move on.’
‘You heard our conversation?’
‘Some of it.’
‘Being a detective gives you permission to eavesdrop on people, does it?’
‘Pretty much,’ nodded Brook, unabashed.
Terri pursed her lips in disapproval, then softened. ‘I suppose you’ve every right after what I did. At least you’re not angry.’
‘Just because I’m not shouting and shaking my fist doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Terri, you broke the law.’
‘I had to,’ she insisted. ‘We needed to know how close you are to catching Ray.’
‘Well now you know. He’s missing and presumed to be in mainland Europe.’
‘Spain.’
‘That was the last sighting, though it was unconfirmed.’
‘So you can’t be certain?’
At the top of the steps, the street lamps threw their pale radiance across their faces.
‘Nothing is certain.’ Brook threw out his arms and the dog bounded up to sniff for doggy treats. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’
‘You are angry,’ said Terri.
‘I think I’ve a right. You hack into confidential files using my password, then leave without a word, knowing full well I wouldn’t rest until I’d found you. All to get me to help your friend, I assume.’
Terri lowered her head. ‘Dad, I had to do something. When I saw that letter …’
‘That letter was from a borderline lunatic and serial killer. I should’ve thrown it away.’
‘But you didn’t, and now you’re interested, aren’t you?’ Brook didn’t deny it. ‘If you could solve the case and find her brother … Reardon’s been beside herself. She’s had no information about what happened to him, nothing since the trial.’
‘What information does she need? Her brother conspired to kill her and her parents for money. She was lucky to escape with her life.’
‘She doesn’t feel lucky,’ replied Terri. ‘Not when she doesn’t know where Ray is. That other detective …’
‘DI Ford.’
‘Right. He never once briefed her about the search or what was going on.’
‘There should be a Family Liaison Officer involved at least.’
‘Well she never hears from them.’
‘What about DS Caskey?’
‘Not a word,’ said Terri.
‘They probably had no information to give her. Ray did a thorough job of disappearing, you know.’
‘Which is why I had to do what I did. I’m sorry, but Reardon needed me.’
‘Did she put you up to it?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ said Terri defiantly. ‘It was all my idea. Reardon just wants to forget it ever happened.’
‘Then why don’t you respect her wishes?’
‘Because she just says that to stop me worrying. She’s scared stiff and too proud to ask for help.’
‘Or maybe she genuinely wants to try and live a normal life instead of hiding herself away.’
‘She said you’d tried to talk her round.’
‘And I meant every word. Shutting yourself away from the world is no life. I’ve tried it.’
‘But she’s in danger.’
‘You don’t know that,’ insisted Brook. ‘Ray could be on the other side of the world by now – or dead for all you know.’
‘Or he could be here, watching and waiting for his chance.’
‘She can’t live the rest of her life on that premise.’
‘Then find out, Dad, so we can be sure.’
‘There’s no evidence he’s even in this country, Terri.’
‘Is that so? Well, something happened six months ago, when I was still in Manchester.’
‘Six months ago?’
Terri hesitated. ‘She phoned me. From the hospital.’
‘What happened?’
‘Reardon was trying to come to terms with things – like you said she should. So one afternoon, she plucked up the courage to go out in the car.’
‘Reardon has a car?’
‘Not any more.’
‘What happened?’
‘The brakes failed and she crashed into a wall, damaged her hip. She was lucky she wasn’t killed.’
‘The brakes can fail if the car hasn’t been used for a while.’
‘She’s not an idiot, Dad. She’d had it serviced the week before. It was tampered with.’
‘Cars are machines, Terri. Machines fail – especially when people don’t use them properly.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’
Brook sighed. ‘Where’s the car now?’
‘She had it fixed and sold it.’
‘Police involved?’
‘She said she got a reference for the insurance. Will you check it out?’
Brook hesitated. ‘If I get time. What did she say about it?’
‘She claimed it was an accident, but she only said that so I wouldn’t worry. Deep down she thinks Ray tampered with it.’
Brook sighed. ‘Terri, you must realise, Ray can no longer profit from killing his sister.’
‘What if it’s not about the money?’
‘Haven’t you read the files you stole?’ replied Brook sternly. ‘The whole case is about the money. And now Ray Thorogood is a fugitive, wanted for murder. Reardon could drop dead this minute and he still wouldn’t inherit. All he’s got left is his liberty, and trying to kill Reardon puts that at risk.’
‘So you think he’s out of the country?’
‘All the evidence suggests it. Not one sighting puts him in Britain.’
‘Which proves precisely nothing.’
‘His car was found at the airport,’ pointed out Brook. ‘You have to stop worrying, let Reardon move on.’ He sighed before adding softly, ‘And so should you.’
‘I have moved on, Dad, I’m looking out for my friend.’
‘Then concentrate on helping her get well.’
‘Get well?’ repeated Terri, incredulous.
‘Reardon is damaged, Terri,’ said Brook, becoming impatient. ‘Traumatised.’ And before he could stop himself, ‘And she’s not the only one.’
A look of shock transformed Terri’s face before her countenance set hard against her father and she stomped away, yanking at the dog’s leash.
Brook closed his eyes in self-recrimination and set off after her. ‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I know you’ve had a bad time …’
She turned at the door, her face awash with tears. ‘A bad time?’ she screamed. ‘My fucking stepfather abused me.’
Brook flinched at her rage but saw h
is chance. ‘Yes, he did, and you’re scarred, Terri. I wish it hadn’t happened. But it did, and I can’t change that. And the abuse was all the worse because of the lie he nurtured that you’d given consent where none could be given. You were a minor and he was a criminal.’ Now the shame came, and he looked down, panting with emotion. ‘If I’d been there, I would have killed the bastard with my bare hands. But I wasn’t, and I can’t change that either. I can only give you the advice that I was given when I had my breakdown. Get help before it’s too late, because until you sit down with a professional and talk it all through, you’re not going to get better, that I guarantee.’
‘Reardon’s helping me,’ she sobbed.
‘No she isn’t,’ growled Brook. ‘I know she’s your friend, but she’s got her own demons. You must see that you are her crutch, Terri, and limping along together isn’t getting help, it’s just company on the way down. Talk to a professional, I’m begging you. And get Reardon to do the same.’
The front door opened, Brook and Terri turning at the noise. Reardon stood there barefoot, in her shapeless jogging bottoms and baggy sweatshirt.
‘I heard shouting.’
‘You remember my daughter Terri,’ said Brook sarcastically. ‘Manchester University? American literature?’
Reardon flushed and Terri turned coldly back to Brook. ‘Thank you for your analysis, Dad. I’m sure it’s sound. Only you got one thing wrong. Reardon isn’t my friend, she’s my lover, and has been for a while.’ She grabbed Reardon roughly by the neck and pulled her mouth to hers, planting a long and passionate kiss on her shocked lips. A few seconds later, Reardon’s surprised expression gave way to reciprocal passion, and the pair absorbed themselves in their embrace while the dog jumped excitedly up at them.
When they finally broke free, Terri threw a final malevolent glance in Brook’s direction and disappeared into the house, stomping up the stairs.
Reardon grinned sheepishly. ‘Well this is awkward.’
‘I’m used to it.’
‘I’m sorry you had to find out like that. She did want to tell you.’
Brook took a deep breath. ‘That she’s a lesbian? I’m not sure she knows what she is.’
