“Because I can help.”
“You can help by buggering off back to Jockland.”
“I like Brodie,” said a cheerful Lauren. “Brodie’s his first name, not his last.”
Maggie rolled her eyes and puffed out a cloud of smoke.
“That’s right, it is,” he replied with a smile. “Lots of people don’t realise that, they think it’s my surname. Thanks for remembering.”
Lauren flashed him a huge smile and fluttered her eyelashes, shifting her body towards his. Brodie resisted the urge to recoil. A pyromaniac had a crush on him. Marvellous.
“Are you saying you can get that tight-arsed, blond dwarf bitch to let me see my grandkids?” demanded Maggie.
“What I mean is I can probably help you reconcile Sarah and Mark.”
“Why would I want that? It would be better for us if they got a divorce. She’s never been one of us and this betrayal proves it,” she hissed, smoke streaming through the large gaps between her teeth.
“Because if Mark and Sarah are back together the children will come home and Mark will have some authority in the family again. He’ll say you can see the kids.”
Maggie scowled at him with her mean eyes before nodding. “Alright Mr Brodie, talk then,” she said, easing herself into a brown armchair, oozing smoke from her lips.
“Before I can do anything you need to tell me the truth about your husband’s death.”
The lines in Maggie’s face jumped out when she frowned. “What are you on about?”
“Who really killed Bryan? It certainly wasn’t Mark, or should I say, Theo.”
Pure hate radiated off Maggie as her eyes bored into him.
“Well?” said Brodie when she failed to reply. Not that he needed her to, her reaction said it all. Mark didn’t kill his dad but why had he taken the fall?
“Mark killed him,” she eventually said, forcing her body to relax, sinking back into her armchair. “There’s no doubt.”
“Who’s he protecting Maggie?” Brodie glanced at Lauren. He’d purposefully kept his voice low and gentle so as not to startle her but she seemed perfectly calm, although now she was avoiding his eyes.
“Who was it?” he asked Lauren, his voice a whisper.
She stared down at her hands, picking at the threads of the cuffs of her long black jumper, remaining silent.
“Leave her alone, she’s not well,” said Maggie.
Brodie ignored her. “This is destroying Mark’s life. He’s protected whoever really did it for long enough. If Sarah found out he was innocent she’d take him back, the grandkids would come home and you could see them whenever you liked. Isn’t that what you want?”
“What I want is for you to leave us alone.” Maggie rose majestically from her chair. “If you don’t go away then I’ll call the police and tell them you burst in here and threatened us.” Her voice had dropped so deep it was almost masculine.
Brodie also got to his feet, not wanting to remain in the inferior position. “You’re good at telling the police what you want them to hear, aren’t you Maggie.”
“Get out of my house,” she boomed.
Lauren whimpered and curled in on herself, stuffing herself into a ball on the couch.
“Look what you’ve done,” said Maggie, going to her daughter, arms extended, shocked when Lauren slapped her hands away. She jumped up off the couch, rushed to Brodie and stared him straight in the eye, her mouth opening and closing. For a single, breathtaking second Brodie thought Lauren was going to tell him the truth. Instead she threw her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.
“You got the better of Seth,” she said into his chest. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”
She nestled into him and Brodie held up his hands as though in surrender, to show Maggie he wasn’t touching her daughter. He looked to the matriarch for assistance, but she was gaping at Lauren.
“She hasn’t hugged anyone in years, not since she was a little girl, she hates people touching her.” Maggie’s mean little eyes regarded him derisively. “Why are you so special?”
“Maybe you should stop letting Seth rule the roost,” he retorted.
“He doesn’t. I do.”
Brodie wondered if she was the reason why her kids were the way they were. He wasn’t so sure it could all be put on Bryan Flynn.
It was a relief when his phone went off in his jacket pocket, it gave him an excuse to extricate himself from Lauren, whose arms were still wrapped around him like an iron band.
“Err, I need to get that,” he said.
“Lauren, let the man go,” sighed Maggie, stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray on the brown coffee table and lighting another.
Lauren loosened her grip but kept one arm around his waist as he took out his phone. It was Cass.
“Hi, just give me a minute,” he said awkwardly into the phone.
Lauren smiled up at him. “I really like your accent.”
“Interrupted you at an awkward moment, have I Boss?” Cass’s voice said in his ear.
“It’s not what you think. Just give me a sec.”
He didn’t bother trying to muffle the phone because he wanted Cass to know he was innocent. “It’s my colleague, I have to go,” he told Lauren apologetically.
“Good. You’re not wanted here and don’t come back,” yelled Maggie, pointing at him with her cigarette. “And if you do come back I’ll set Seth on you.”
“If you remember he came off worst the last time we met,” he smiled.
Maggie’s eyes disappeared into the lines again. “He was holding back. You’ve no idea what he’s capable of.”
“Tell me then,” he challenged.
“Get out. Get out right now,” Maggie exploded, shoving him in the chest, but she couldn’t even make him move.
“Alright, I’m leaving but only because I don’t want to upset Lauren.”
“Please don’t go,” said Lauren, gazing up at him with pleading eyes, transforming back into the timid, frightened creature.
“I’m sorry, I have to,” he replied kindly.
Defeated, Lauren retreated to the couch and curled back up into a ball. Maggie appeared confused by her daughter’s behaviour but not overly concerned. She yelled and spat threats at Brodie as he headed for the door but he ignored her, already putting the phone back to his ear.
“Hello Cass.”
A rough hand in his back pushed him out the door, which was then slammed shut behind him. The sound of it being locked followed.
“Who was that bloke yelling at you?” said Cass.
“That was no bloke. That was Ma Creegan.”
“You’re joking?”
“Nope. That’s what comes from chain-smoking.” As he exited the garden he turned to look back at the house and saw Maggie glaring at him from the living room window. Lauren wasn’t visible.
“Who said they loved your accent? Don’t tell me that was Ma Creegan too?”
“No, that was Lauren, the daughter. She’s taken a wee bit of a shine to me since she saw me put Seth in an arm lock,” he said, strolling back to his car.
“Arm lock? What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“It was self defence, he came at me.”
“That’s it, I’m coming up there.”
“Cass, I… what do you mean, coming up here?”
“I’m already in London. I’ve just had a meeting with DCI Oliver Barrow who worked on the Bryan Flynn murder.”
“That was fast.”
“I managed to get a flight pretty much straight away.”
“What did he have to say?”
“A lot actually. The Flynn case has niggled him for years.”
“He didn’t think Mark was guilty?”
“At first he did, until he saw how he acted after his arrest. He said the same thing you did, he just didn’t seem like a killer. Nothing tangible, just instinct.”
Brodie had learnt that a copper’s instinct was a very valuable
tool. Unfortunately it wasn’t admissible in court. “What did he say about only Mark’s prints being on the knife?”
“No one had touched it after Maggie last washed it. He confronted her as to why her prints weren’t on it and she said she dried it with a tea towel then replaced it back in the block with the tea towel over the handle, so her hand didn’t come into direct contact with it.”
“Damn,” he sighed. “Who did he think really killed Bryan Flynn?”
“Seth. He reckons Mark took the blame because Seth already had convictions for violent assault. He wouldn’t have been able to pull off the self defence story like Mark.”
“So Mark goes down to protect his twin. It explains why there’s so much animosity between them. Seth owes Mark and he’s the type of man who doesn’t like owing anyone,” he said, getting back into his car.
“I’ve got ex-Detective Inspector Greenacre to talk to who headed up the case. He’s retired to the Lake District. Want to come?”
“Sounds good,” he said, pleased at the prospect of seeing her again.
“My flight lands in Manchester in two hours. Pick me up from the airport and we can drive straight there together.”
Even better. “Will do.” He couldn’t believe how fast this woman worked. If she was determined to get something done then by God she got it done and in record time with maximum efficiency. “See you soon.”
Brodie hung up, a smile on his face that he promptly wiped away. She was his colleague and friend, nothing more.
He returned to his crappy hotel to pack an overnight bag, he didn’t know how long this trip would take, then he called Sarah to let her know he’d be out of the area for the rest of the day. She didn’t sound too pleased about that but until she started paying him to be a bodyguard he would continue to do what he had to in order to get the case resolved. Besides, he was almost one hundred percent certain she was safe from Mark. She said she’d invite a friend to stay the night. He wondered if that friend was male or female. Was poor Mark being replaced already? No, she didn’t seem the type to pull that one. But then again, who knew?
CHAPTER 7
At the airport Brodie tried to look cool and casual as he waited for Cass to emerge from the arrivals lounge. Finally she appeared, sandwiched inside a bunch of rowdy cockneys who were all talking loudly and blatantly ogling her backside. Cass had no idea how attractive she was. She wasn’t beautiful in that tacky, Hollywood way with big cheekbones and huge white teeth. Hers was more subtle. She always dressed practically in jeans or trousers - today it was black trousers for a more professional look with a short sleeved dark red button up blouse, tailored to follow her slim contours. Her pride and joy - her chocolate brown hair - was very long, plunging down to her waist. When she was working it was pulled back out of the way in a ponytail. It was the first thing Brodie had noticed about her and he’d never forget the feel of it sliding across his naked chest as her lips had made their way down his body. Today she wore the bare minimum of make-up - eyeliner and a slash of dark red lipstick to match the shirt. Her black ankle length boots, highly polished as always, click-clacked as she walked. To complete the look she carried a light black jacket and a flight bag hung from her shoulder. The effect was understated, casual but somehow only enhanced her natural beauty. Her face was a delicate oval and her eyes dark brown and big and soft. Those eyes made people think she was a pushover. That was usually their downfall.
“Pillocks,” was the first word she said to him as she glared at the cockneys filing past them towards the exit. “There’s a football match on, Man United versus Arsenal and those low foreheaded, knuckle-dragging, carpet carrying primates are going to watch it, as they kept telling the whole plane. I mean, who gives a shit?”
“Hello Cass, nice to see you too,” he smiled.
“Sorry,” she sighed. “Thank God it was only a fifty minute flight.”
“Do you want something to eat before we set off for the Lakes?”
“No, let’s just get there. At least there won’t be any risk of us running into that bunch of apes up there.”
Brodie resisted the urge to grin like an idiot as they headed outside to his car. He was happy.
Cass was delighted he’d hired the Ford Focus, she was always getting at him for keeping his old rust bucket of a car.
On the drive to the Lake District, Cass explained about ex-Detective Inspector Andrew Greenacre. “Barrow told me the Bryan Flynn case brought Greenacre’s career to a halt. By all accounts he was a good copper and on track to promotion but he refused to believe Theo Flynn was responsible for killing his dad, despite his confession. There was a lot of media attention on the case. The Flynn’s were already quite infamous in the area because of Seth and Lauren’s antics and patricide always generates a lot of media interest. The possibility that Bryan was The Camden Carver only juiced up the story even more. When Greenacre started to question the evidence he was told to shut up, they had their man but Greenacre thought Theo was covering for someone else.”
“Who?”
“Not sure. He accused all three members of the family at different stages in the investigation. This is just what I got from Barrow.”
“What was his take on it?”
“That Theo Flynn was innocent but he was just a lowly detective constable at the time so no one paid much attention to what he said. Besides, he was after promotion himself but Greenacre wouldn’t be silenced.”
“Did Barrow describe the scene to you when he arrived?”
“Yep, he remembered all the gory details. All five members of the household were present when he arrived. They were gathered in the front room of the house, well, the ones who were alive anyway. Lauren was in hysterics and Maggie was trying to calm her down and move anything flammable out of reach at the same time. Seth was shouting abuse at the police officers and Theo was almost catatonic, sat in a chair covered in blood. Bryan Flynn was face up on the kitchen floor riddled with stab wounds. A chair at the dining table had been overturned and a vase of flowers knocked off the windowsill. Other than that there were no signs of a struggle, which is funny because Theo claimed he was being beaten up by his dad when he snapped and killed him.”
“Did Mark, I mean Theo, have any injuries?”
“They couldn’t tell until all the blood had been cleaned off him. There was a lot of it. Apparently he had a black eye, a couple of bruises, that was it.”
“So not badly beaten up then?”
“No, not at all. One knife from the block in the kitchen was sticking out of Bryan’s chest. The butcher’s knife. Post mortem report said it was the seventh blow that killed him, straight into his heart, but Theo went right on stabbing him long after he’d died.”
“Rage, hatred, fear,” said Brodie as they hit the M6 leading away from Manchester.
“A lot of it,” she added.
“Had anyone else visited the house that day?”
“No. Bryan Flynn didn’t take kindly to visitors. Neither did the rest of the family for that matter, apparently they’re not what you’d call sociable.”
“I’ve already experienced the Creegan hospitality,” he grimaced.
“I’m looking forward to meeting them,” said Cass. “A whole family of psychos, they’re quite rare.”
“Not as rare as you’d think,” he replied grimly.
Cass cringed as she recalled that Brodie’s brother was in a secure psychiatric hospital after doing something horrific and his sister had been in and out of prison most of her life. “Sorry Brodie.”
“It’s alright Cass. You’re the only person in the world who never needs to apologise to me.” He was feeling especially soft towards her because she’d used his first name.
Cass settled back in her seat, pleased.
Two hours later they arrived at the village of Hawkshead in the Lake District, which was all cobbled paths and picturesque cottages.
After grabbing a quick bite to eat in a cute little tearoom they drove to Bobbin Cottage. If it h
adn’t been for the sign protruding from the bushes they would have missed it.
“This is gorgeous,” beamed Cass. “It looks like something out of a Beatrix Potter story. I used to love those books when I was a kid.”
“That’s ironic because she lived around here somewhere.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “It’s one of those facts that’s permanently lodged in my brain and I’ve no idea where it came from.”
The cottage was detached, cosy and cutesy, barely visible because of the flowers surrounding it. Typically Lakeland it was composed of grey stone. Hardy, steadfast.
They pushed open the wooden gate, an arch of roses passing overhead as they stepped into the garden, which put the flowers at Dr Prosser’s hospital to shame.
“They’ve even got a wishing well,” cooed Cass, pointing to an impressive wooden specimen in the centre of the lawn.
“I wouldn’t have thought this was your thing at all,” he said.
“Not yet. One day maybe, when I retire,” she said longingly.
Brodie shuffled uncomfortably as they rang the front door bell, a loud buzzing surrounding them. The roses were hoaching with bees.
“Shit,” he exclaimed when one large specimen, laden down with pollen, floated lazily past his nose.
“Don’t tell me you’re frightened of bees,” sniggered Cass.
“No,” he sniffed. “It’s wasps I don’t like, they’re just dicks….oh hello.”
Cass repressed a smile as the front door opened and Brodie hastily rearranged his features into a less angry expression.
“Hello, my name’s Cass Carlisle,” she said, stepping forward. “This is my employer, Brodie MacBride. We arranged to speak to your husband today at four.”
The woman before them was tiny with frail, liver-spotted hands. Her hair was pure white and fluffed out around her face like cotton wool. Her features were small and delicate and Brodie surmised she had probably been a looker in her day.
“Come on in, he’s waiting for you,” she replied in a strong cockney accent that was at odds with her appearance.
They followed her inside the cottage, which was obviously very old with its exposed beams and stone walls. It had been furnished with comfort and practicality in mind with large, sturdy furniture. Fresh cut flowers from the garden were everywhere, vases adorning every available surface and the windows were wide open, letting in a gentle summer breeze.
Unfinished Business Page 9
