Unfinished Business

by Heather Atkinson

  “Because it’s bollocks. You’re some freak and I’m calling the police.”

  “Fine, call them,” shrugged Brodie. “Then you can have a nice discussion about your past history. The next thing you know it’ll be round the whole city. Police stations are like colanders, they haemorrhage information.”

  Mark appeared uncertain before his anger surged back. “You’ve done the damage so now you can fuck off.”

  “No can do pal. I want to make sure Sarah’s okay.”

  “Sarah is it now? This all sounds very cosy,” said Mark, eyeing the pair of them furiously. “For your information pal I would never hurt Sarah or my children. The whole thing with my dad was self defence.”

  “Twenty four stab wounds isn’t self defence, it’s a frenzy,” said Brodie.

  “Why don’t you butt out, you’ve done enough damage.”

  When they started to argue Sarah held up her hands. “Shut up both of you. You’re both getting on my nerves. Brodie, I appreciate your concern but I’m fine, so please leave.”

  Mark smirked at Brodie. “Yeah, get lost.”

  “I want you gone too,” she said.

  Mark’s face fell. “We need to talk about this.”

  “Talk? I can’t even bear to look at you. I want you out of the house. Now.”

  “Please Sarah…”

  “Out,” she screamed in his face.

  “Pack a bag pal, you’re out of here,” said Brodie.

  “Are you still fucking here?” he snarled, rounding on him.

  “I’m not leaving until you do, so I know Sarah’s safe.”

  “For God’s sake, will you both listen to me?” cried Mark, turning back to his wife. “I won’t hurt you Sarah, I never could.”

  “If you don’t leave I will call the police and I won’t care who finds out about your sordid past,” she said.

  Brodie folded his arms across his chest. It was his turn to smirk.

  “Fine, but only for one night. I’m taking the day off work tomorrow and me and you are going to talk.”

  “Whatever. Just go.”

  “I’ll pack an overnight bag,” muttered Mark.

  With that he stomped upstairs. Sarah released a breath and leaned back against the wall.

  “You okay hen?” Brodie asked her.

  She gave him a wry look. “What do you think?”

  “Maybe you should start swearing again? It seemed to help before.”

  She managed to raise a weak smile in response.

  “What are you going to do?”

  She shrugged. “No idea.”

  They waited in silence until Mark returned clutching an expensive leather overnight bag, his eyes flicking from his wife to Brodie.

  “I understand you need some space Sarah but I’ll be back in the morning. We really need to talk, for the girls’ sake if not for ours.”

  She just nodded, unable to bring herself to look at him.

  Mark sighed regretfully before turning to Brodie. “I want details of your company.”

  Brodie patted the pockets of his leather jacket before locating the small bundle of cards and thrusting one at him. “MacBride Investigative Services. My business is unfinished business.”

  “That’s his slogan,” said Sarah.

  “That’s right, that’s my slogan and you Mr Creegan are unfinished business.”

  “You are such a tosser,” said Mark, expression turning black.

  “Is that what you said to Daddy?”

  “Bastard,” barked Mark, dropping his bag and lunging at him.

  “Mark, stop it,” exclaimed Sarah.

  Brodie, not seeing him as a threat to himself, leaned back against the wall looking amused.

  His wife’s voice snapped Mark out of it and instead of attacking Brodie he picked up his bag and walked to the door with his head held high.

  When he’d gone Sarah released a relieved sigh. “Right, where’s that bottle of vodka?”

  “Not brandy?” he smiled.

  “Urrgh, not after I threw it all back up when I got home.” She wandered into the living room, Brodie trailing behind her, where a minibar was set up at one side of the room. “Want one?” she said, holding up the bottle.

  “You don’t want me to leave then?”

  “Not until I know Mark’s definitely gone. Do you want a drink or not?”

  “No thanks, not when I’m working.”

  “Suit yourself.” She splashed some vodka into the bottom of a glass, chucked in a couple of ice cubes from a bucket on top of the bar and threw herself onto the sofa. “What?” she frowned when he stared at her.

  “You must be feeling pretty low right now.”

  “Me? No, I’m over the fucking moon. My husband stabbed his own father to death and he’s possibly the serial killer who’s going around carving things into women’s skin. I’m delighted,” she said before throwing the contents of the glass down her neck. “Could it be him, really?”

  “Someone thinks so.”

  “I wish you’d tell me who this mysterious someone is.”

  “Sorry. I wouldn’t last five minutes in my line of business if I couldn’t keep a secret.”

  “It might be someone who’s got it in for Mark or both of us.”

  “My client is very concerned for your wellbeing. They’ve nothing against you, quite the opposite actually and you have to admit their information so far has been reliable.”

  “Unfortunately,” Sarah sighed forlornly into her glass. “Just answer me one thing to stop me going out of my mind - do I know your client?”

  “No. It’s all tied up in Mark’s past, or should I say Theo’s, not yours.”

  “For some reason that makes me feel better.” She released a strained laugh. “My husband’s real name is Theo Flynn. It sounds weird but that’s the bit I’m finding most difficult to get my head around. Does that mean my last name and the girls’ names are Flynn too?”

  “No. He changed his surname by Deed Poll, the whole family did, so your married name really is Creegan.”

  “That’s something I suppose. God, this is fucked up. Wow, it feels good to swear. Fuck,” she yelled. “It’s like some sort of primal therapy.”

  “I’m a big fan of expressing anger. I do it regularly.”

  “On other people?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “I see some shitty things in my line of work.”

  “Like my life?”

  “Aye.”

  “You don’t mince your words, do you?”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Must be nice to be so busy.”

  “It is.”

  She studied him. “Were you a policeman?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The way you were talking when you told me about Mark at the restaurant made you sound like one.”

  “I was but I left.”

  “Why?”

  “I was sick of the bad guy always getting away with it.”

  “And now you dole out your own brand of justice?”

  Brodie thought it would be sensible not to answer that question because she’d hit the nail right on the head. A lot of what he did wasn’t legal, his real business hidden beneath the shiny veneer of his legitimate private investigation service, which was why he got the job done. “Why didn’t you tell Mark about his suspected involvement in the murders?” he said, trying to steer her off the subject.

  “I couldn’t face it. I know, I’m a coward.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I let him touch me with those stabby hands.”

  Brodie tried not to smile at the term stabby hands. “There was a strong element of self defence. The court accepted that, which was why he only served four years.”

  Her head snapped up. “You sound like you’re sticking up for him.”

  “I am, but only for the murder of his father. The man was a drunken, bullying bastard the world is better off without.”

  Sarah laps
ed into thoughtful silence, absently sipping her vodka.

  “What are his family like?” said Brodie.

  “I thought you’d know. You seem to know everything else.”

  “I’ve never met them.”

  Sarah got up to refill her glass. “They’re fucking weird.” She grinned humourlessly. “I could really get into this swearing thing.”

  “Maybe you should extend your repertoire? I’ve only heard you use the one word.”

  “Okay, so they’re a bunch of inbred, creepy fart holes. How’s that?”

  “Fart holes?”

  “I’m a bit drunk and if you knew them you’d agree.”

  “Creepy how?”

  “Well Maggie - that’s Mark’s mum - she’s the matriarch of the family, lording it over us all. A real Lady Macbeth. All her kids do what she says, her word is law. She’s never liked me, I’m the evil woman who stole her son from her. Come to think of it, there’s something that doesn’t make sense about what Mark said. Maggie’s an iron clad bitch. I can’t see any man getting away with hitting her like his dad was supposed to have done.”

  “It was a long time ago. Maybe she was a different woman back then?”

  “Maybe,” she said, retaking her seat. “Mark’s twin brother Seth is very unpleasant. He’s got a criminal record you know.” She smiled wanly. “You probably already do.”

  Brodie nodded, not wanting to speak for fear of interrupting her flow.

  “I used to think he and Mark were the mirror image of each other - one good, one bad. That’s what they are, mirror-image twins.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They’re identical - I’m talking spookily identical - but they appear to be reflections of each other. Mark’s hair parts on the right while Seth’s parts on the left. Mark’s right handed and Seth’s left handed.”

  “I see. Interesting.”

  “Mirror-image twins are quite rare. I used to think it made Mark special. Now it just seems weird, like everything to do with the Creegans.” She got up to refill her empty glass, her gait unsteady.

  “You okay?” he said as she wobbled on her way back to the sofa.

  “Fine,” she said, falling back into her seat. “I don’t get on with Seth either.”

  Brodie was grateful to the alcohol, it was making her very loose-lipped. Now she’d started talking she didn’t seem able to stop.

  “He thinks I’m a stuck-up cow and I think he’s a wanker. I don’t even like him coming to the house but he’s Mark’s twin. What can I say?”

  “And Lauren, the sister?”

  “I feel so sorry for her. She’s a sweet girl. She could have had a good life, she’s really bright, but her twisted family messed her up. She’s been in and out of mental hospitals for years.”

  “For what exactly?”

  “Depression mainly. She’s tried to kill herself twice and she’s started a few fires. Now I know what Mark did I can understand why she is the way she is. It also explains why they left London.”

  “What cover story did they give you?”

  “That Bryan - Mark’s dad - died of a heart attack. They couldn’t afford to keep the house so they moved up here and lived with Maggie’s sister Jenny for a while. They inherited her house when she died of cancer three years after they’d moved so they decided to stay in the north. But they really moved here to escape the scandal down south, didn’t they? How did they ever think they were going to keep it a secret forever? It was always going to come back and bite them.”

  “One thing I’ve learnt in my line of work is that you can’t run from the past.” He thought of John Lyons, his ex-best friend and ex-police colleague and the biggest treacherous Judas bastard in Scotland. Brodie’s hand unconsciously went to the long thin scar on his left side and anger twisted his damaged insides.

  Sarah watched him cautiously as the darkness closed in around him. “Something wrong?”

  He shook himself out of it. “Sorry, lost in my own world there.”

  “Obviously. Anyway, what if someone finds out about Mark up here? I don’t think I could cope with everyone knowing he’s a murderer. What about the girls? They’re old enough to understand. They’ll get teased at school, lose friends. It will devastate them.”

  “We don’t know if it will come to that yet.”

  “What if Mark is The Carver?”

  “We don’t know that yet either. Get some rest, things will look better in the morning.”

  She snorted into her drink. “You really believe that?”

  He shrugged and got to his feet. “Not really. I’ll leave you to it but do try and get some sleep, you’re going to need your strength.”

  “Wait,” she called when he made for the door. “Don’t leave me on my own, please.”

  “You want me to stay?”

  “I’d feel safer. What if Mark comes back? I forgot to take his key off him before he left.”

  “Okay, if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay.”

  “No funny business mind,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “My bedroom door has a very sturdy lock and a baseball bat behind it.”

  “I’ll try to control myself,” he said flatly.

  “You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

  Brodie was happy. The huge cream leather couch would be much more comfortable than his car. He’d planned on sleeping in it on the street just in case Mark did decide to return.

  Sarah went upstairs and returned with two large plump pillows and a cosy duvet.

  “Where are the kids?” he asked her. “I don’t want to scare them in the morning.”

  “They’re stopping at a friend’s house tonight, thankfully. At least they’re well out of it for one day. I might send them away with my parents tomorrow, I don’t want them around all this, it’s just horrible and if Mark is a killer I’m not sure I want them around him either.” Tears filled her eyes but she wiped them away. “I’ll explain to the school that we’re having problems, hopefully they’ll understand. Night then,” she said, the picture of misery as she walked unsteadily out of the room.

  Brodie listened as she slowly tramped upstairs, hoping she didn’t fall, heard the flush of the toilet, the click of a door closing, then silence.

  Assured she was in bed he took out his mobile phone and called Cass.

  “Hi Boss,” answered a cheery voice.

  “What’s that noise?” he said when he heard a curious repetitive banging followed by a whimper.

  “Phil Barnes. He keeps insisting his wife’s injuries are from walking into closed doors so I’m just giving him an idea of what that feels like. Shut it ya wee shite, I’m on the phone,” she yelled.

  The whimpering stopped.

  “I hope you’re talking to Phil,” said Brodie, chuckling.

  “Course Boss.”

  Cass was Lancashire born and bred, her accent heavy, but she had a deep affection for the Glaswegian dialect and used it to colourful effect. Brodie thought it sounded funny in her broad northern English accent but had never been foolish enough to tell her that.

  “Good work,” he said. “There’s a couple of things I need you to do.”

  “You are aware I have to sleep some time too?”

  “You’ll cope. I want you to dig up as much as you can on the rest of the Creegan clan - Seth, Lauren and Maggie the Matriarch. Look into dead aunt Jenny too and find out what you can about mirror-image twins.”

  “What the hell are those?”

  “Identical twins but everything on them is opposite - one’s left handed, the other right, one parts his hair on the left, the other on the right, one …”

  “Alright, I get it. How’s Sarah Creegan taking the news?”

  “Not good. She threw Mark out.”

  “Can’t say I blame her.”

  “She asked me to stay over, she’s worried he’ll come back while she’s asleep.”

  “Oh aye Boss, getting in there already?”

  “No I
am not. I’m on the couch. Don’t be dirty, I am a professional.”

  “You’re also a hound.”

  “I’ll ignore that. Now if you could shut up for a second so I can hear myself think.”

  There was a thud on the line followed by another whimper. “Shut it,” hissed Cass.

  “Jeezo, poor old Phil.”

  “There’s nothing poor about this prick. You should see what he’s done to his missus.”

  “Listen up before he starts greetin’ again. Something weird’s going on here. Be on standby, I might need you to come down. This is your neck of the woods.”

  “I’m from Lancashire, I’m not a Manc. It’s completely different. That’s like saying you can relate to someone from Edinburgh.”

  “Alright, I apologise, but you are a northerner, you might get more response from these people than the Jock.”

  “If I’m down there it means Christian and Ross are up here unsupervised.”

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve got the feeling this is going to be big.”

  “Sounds great, I can’t wait.”

  “Good. Now finish up with Phil and get researching.”

  “Yes Boss.”

  Abruptly she hung up and Brodie put away his phone knowing his instructions would be carried out with ruthless efficiency. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Cass needed to do functional things like eat and sleep. When it came to work she was a machine, powering through tasks with phenomenal energy and precision. He’d discovered her himself in a pub in Glasgow three years ago. She was new to the area and they’d got talking. They’d tumbled into bed together that very night. He’d been amazed because, as well as being gorgeous, at twenty seven she’d been fourteen years younger than him. The next morning over breakfast at his place she’d said she needed a job and he needed another employee - his ex-best friend having stabbed him in the back, literally, before fleeing the city. At first he’d envisioned hiring her as a secretary, just someone to deal with phone calls and paperwork so he wouldn’t have to. It had also been a way of keeping her around because he’d really liked her and she’d made it plain that morning after one amazing night together that she wasn’t after a relationship. When an angry husband of a client who had hired Brodie to protect her turned up at the office both he and Brodie had been astonished when Cass had got him into an armlock and thrown him facedown on the desk. Turned out she was big into self defence and martial arts after being violently attacked as a teenager. She’d left her home - a small village in the north of England - and was staying with a friend in Glasgow, wanting to start her life over again following a falling-out with her family. Immediately he’d promoted her and he’d never regretted it. She was the best at what she did as well as hard as nails. However there had been a downside because Cass had very strict morals about not dating her boss so the second he’d employed her he’d become off-limits to her, to his chagrin. She referred to him as boss or bossman to maintain that barrier between them. But they were also very good friends, there wasn’t anyone Brodie trusted more. In the three years since they’d met he had to admit that his feelings for her hadn’t faded. In fact, the more he got to know her the more he fell for her but he would not risk what they had by making a pass, she was too precious to him.