Unfinished Business

by Heather Atkinson

  “If he was confronted by a dead body he’d faint.”

  “Is this just gut instinct?”

  “Yep.”

  Cass nodded thoughtfully. She was a great believer in Brodie’s instinct.

  “I’m not sure where we go from here,” he said. “All I know is that this case is too interesting to let go of yet.”

  “You’re the boss,” replied Cass, draining the last of her orange juice. “Do you want another drink?”

  “Aye, I’ll have another red wine.” Brodie thought he must be the only Scotsman in the world who couldn’t stand whisky. Red wine was his favourite tipple, which had led to no end of ribbing throughout his life, especially at post-work gatherings in the pub with his colleagues when he was a copper. He didn’t mind the odd pint of lager but red wine, particularly a nice rioja, was his favourite. “I’ll get it.”

  “You sit down. I’ll get them in,” she said, getting to her feet and heading for the bar before he could protest.

  Brodie’s heart sank when he saw why she was in such a hurry. A suave, gelled bastard in an expensive suit was sitting at the bar. Brodie pouted when the man invited Cass to sit beside him and they started chatting like old friends.

  “Prick,” Brodie muttered into his wine glass. He’d long ago realised that he and Cass would never be, he’d even accepted the men who suddenly came into her life and then left just as quickly but he could tell this one was a piece of work. Cass was the most astute person he knew except when it came to her own personal life, then it was a case of not being able to see the woods for the trees. This arsehole kept twiddling his left ring finger, as though he was used to a ring being there. When the man caught himself doing it he screwed his hand up into a fist. He was married and he was trying to get Cass in the sack. He couldn’t have that.

  Eventually Cass remembered him and returned with his drink just as a waiter was clearing their plates.

  “Found better company?” he said. “I’m talking to her,” he added when the waiter regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” she smiled.

  No, he thought sulkily.

  “You don’t mind sitting on your own, do you?” she said, already looking back over her shoulder at her paramour.

  “No, I’m a big boy.” If only you’d notice.

  She gave him another smile before hurrying back to the creep. The man frowned at Brodie and said something to Cass he couldn’t quite hear.

  “No, he’s just a friend,” she replied dismissively, making Brodie’s heart sink even further.

  After the waiter had disappeared Brodie took out his phone and played around with it so it didn’t become obvious that he was watching them. The creep reached out to stroke a stray tendril of Cass’s hair back off her face and jealousy surged through Brodie, causing him to mash his finger against his phone, eliciting a loud bleep. How dare he touch her when they’d only been talking for five minutes. Cass didn’t seem to mind. Give the creep his due he was a handsome bastard but it was all surface, nothing underneath. The tosser had his car keys out on the bar, showing the world he drove a Porsche. Brodie’s face lit up with an evil grin and he got to his feet and slipped outside.

  The car park was half-empty and there was only one Porsche there, a wanky little silver thing usually driven by men in the throes of a midlife crisis.

  Brodie called his ex-colleague and friend, Detective Inspector Peter McLaren at Glasgow. When Brodie had become completely disillusioned by the police force after a paedophile had got off some pretty horrific charges because of a technicality he’d come up with the idea to create his specialised business. His best friend for years and colleague, the Judas bastard John Lyons, had agreed to come in on the business with him, feeling the same way. Pete, also keen on the idea, had decided to remain on the force and covertly work on their behalf. He’d also saved Brodie’s life after he’d almost been stabbed to death by the Judas bastard. He’d never forgotten that he owed Pete his life.

  “Pete, it’s me.”

  “Brodie, still on the Creegan case?”

  “Aye I am and it’s getting complicated.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I need you to run a check on a licence plate.”

  “Is it to do with the case?”

  “Not exactly. It’s Cass.”

  There was a heavy sigh on the other end. “Not again. When are you going to get over your sad little crush?”

  “I am over it, I’m only looking out for her.”

  “Yeah, right. You do realise these checks can be traced back to me?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Come on Pete, I’ll buy you a pint.”

  “You’ll buy me more than one.” Another sigh. “Fine but only because I’m very fond of Cass, I’m not feeding your obsession. Give me the number then.”

  Brodie rhymed off the plate and Pete promised to call him back in a few minutes. He returned to the bar, hoping Pete turned something up otherwise he’d have to watch Cass and that creep getting even closer. She’d go upstairs with him, a man completely unworthy of her. She’d come downstairs to breakfast in the morning with a satisfied afterglow - that was if the creep was any good in bed, if not she’d be irritable and frustrated. She’d never see the man again, it would just be the one night but Brodie would be forced to watch their mating dance and he couldn’t bear that.

  When his phone rang he snatched it up. What Pete had to say made him smile. “Nice one, thanks Pete. Aye as soon as I’m back I’ll take you for that bevvy.” He hung up and smirked at the creep sitting at the bar, or rather Jason Buckwell. He wouldn’t be having any sex tonight. Now all he needed was for Cass to disappear for a few minutes.

  After another thirty five minutes of flirting Cass got up to use the bathroom, just as Brodie knew she would. She would want to make sure she was looking her best before going upstairs with the creep.

  Jason watched her sashay into the toilets, eyes fixed on her very nice backside, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Brodie wanted to rip that tongue out of his head and stuff it up his nostril. Instead he got to his feet and sauntered over to the bar.

  “Another glass of red please pal,” he said to the barman, who nodded and set about pouring his drink. “Alright?” he nodded at Jason.

  “Yes thank you,” he smoothly replied. “Yourself?”

  “Aye I’m good. Nice hotel.”

  “It certainly is. I’m a regular here,” he said smugly.

  Brodie wondered how Cass could stand the man, he oozed slime. “You here alone?”

  “Yes but hopefully not for much longer,” he smiled into his drink, eyes darting to the door of the ladies’ toilets.

  “Why, is Helen joining you?”

  Brodie said it so casually that it took Jason a moment to process what he’d said. He went rigid and slammed down his drink, face as pale as his crisp white shirt. “What?”

  “Helen was wondering why you’re here chatting up other women instead of at home with her and your three weans.”

  It appeared Jason was about to slide off his stool with shock. “Who are you?”

  “Just a friend giving you a warning. She knows all about what you’ve been getting up to.”

  “That bitch is a honey trap, isn’t she?” he said, furious, nodding in the direction of the toilets.

  “Watch your mouth,” he growled, causing Jason to lean away. “If I were you I’d be more concerned with my wife. Go home before she empties the bank accounts and leaves with your kids.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he cried, leaping to his feet and racing out of the bar.

  “What’s up with him?” said the barman as he placed Brodie’s drink before him.

  “Search me. Put it on room seventeen,” he said cheerfully, motioning to his drink. Number seventeen was the creep’s room, he’d kept the key next to his car keys. Some people really had no idea about security.

  Brodie sat back down at his
table seconds before Cass emerged from the bathroom. He kept his head down, pretending to study his phone, watching from his peripheral vision as she frowned at the empty stool where Jason had been sat then quietly conversed with the barman.

  He looked up when she retook her seat. “Back so soon?” he said, casually putting his phone down on the table. “I thought you were going upstairs with Mr Hair Gel.”

  “He disappeared,” she mumbled into her drink. “Shame, I was looking forward to continuing our conversation.”

  “Yeah, he looked like a real font of wisdom.”

  “I wonder if I said something to offend him? The barman said he ran out of here looking scared…” She trailed off and fixed him with a hard stare. “Brodie, what did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing. I’ve just been sitting here enjoying a wee drink.”

  “That glass is full. You’ve been up to the bar again, haven’t you?”

  “A man’s entitled to get another drink if he wants.”

  “What did you say to Jason?”

  “Nothing.”

  She snatched up his phone. “So if I check your call log there won’t be a recent call to Pete, will there?”

  Brodie decided silence was his best defence, so he didn’t reply.

  “You ran a check on him, didn’t you?” she pressed.

  “Alright, I did,” he relented.

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought there was something wrong with him. He kept playing with his left ring finger, as though he was used to wearing a ring and he’d taken it off.”

  “He’s married?”

  Brodie nodded. “With three kids.”

  “So you warned him off?”

  “I made out his wife knew what he was up to. He’s probably halfway to Leicester by now.”

  Cass looked furious. “Why didn’t you just tell me and let me deal with it?”

  “Why should you have to?”

  “So it would have been better for me to think he didn’t like me and had done a runner the minute my back was turned? Yeah, thanks for that.”

  “Sorry Cass, I was only trying to look out for you.”

  “I don’t need you to look out for me, I can take care of myself.”

  “Where are you going?” he said when she got to her feet.

  “Up to my room before I do something I regret,” she hissed, cheeks flushed pink with anger.

  “Cass…”

  He sighed and slumped back in his chair as she stormed towards the door. Then she hesitated and came back. Brodie prepared himself to be punched. When she leaned over he thought she was going to head butt him instead but she planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  After she’d gone upstairs Brodie finished his drink, a smile on his face.

  He retired to his own room ten minutes after Cass and curled up on the bed with a book. As usual it was a true crime book. Since he was a teenager he’d been fascinated by Glasgow’s grisly history - Archibald Hall, Peter Manuel, Dr Thomas Cream, these killers all intrigued him but it was the mystery of Bible John that really fascinated him. His dad used to tell him the stories, making him into Brodie’s ultimate Boogeyman. His dad had been a police officer so he’d known all the details but he’d only told him because he’d enjoyed scaring him.

  Brodie had read every available piece of literature on the killer by esteemed experts and he’d formed his own theories.

  Three women had been murdered in the nineteen sixties in Glasgow after a night out at the Barrowland Ballroom. All three had been raped, beaten and strangled. Despite the best efforts of the police the killer had never been caught.

  The three women had all been menstruating at the time of their deaths, their sanitary towels left either near the body or neatly tucked under the armpit. Brodie thought the odds of this being a coincidence were high, therefore he was certain this was the key to the murders. It used to be thought, many years ago, that women menstruated as punishment for the sin of Eve after she ate the forbidden apple in the garden of Eden. The killer was nicknamed Bible John because he quoted scripture, as witnessed by the sister of one of the victims. If he was zealously religious in the old school fire and brimstone sort of way it was possible he shared this belief. What if he thought he was on some divine mission to punish women for the sin of Eve? What better place for such a predator to hunt than the Barrowlands, which was popular with married people wanting a bit of extra-marital fun. The clientele required anonymity and the drink always flowed, so any potential witnesses were either too drunk to notice anything or never came forward for fear of their partners finding out what they were up to.

  But how could the killer have known the women were menstruating? Brodie had thought about this a lot. He’d had a male friend once who could always sense when a woman was on her period. He’d said he could smell it. Brodie had always thought he was just weird, even though he was often right. If he had this ability then so must other men. He was well aware it was a long shot, in fact a couple of Bible John experts he’d contacted had even ridiculed his ideas, but he thought his theory an interesting one.

  Even though he’d read this information so many times already Brodie still read it again, just as interested as he was the first time. Sometimes his hobby made him feel guilty. This man’s disgusting crimes had devastated three families, taken mothers from their children but that only made him even more determined to get to the bottom of it.

  There was a school of thought that the notorious serial killer Peter Tobin was Bible John but DNA taken from semen left behind on one of the victim’s clothes had been negative. Did that mean he was innocent? Did that semen belong to the killer or had the sample been contaminated? One thing that made him sceptical about the Peter Tobin theory was that witnesses had said Bible John had been well-spoken and very good looking. There was no way Tobin could be classed as either of those things.

  Like all mysteries he supposed there would be a sense of anti-climax if the case was ever solved but he hoped the shitebag was caught one day, if he was still alive. Brodie’s sense of injustice raged at the prospect of a serial murderer getting off scot-free while the victims’ families were given a life sentence.

  So the cycle went on. It was still happening. The Carver had already claimed four lives. Most frustratingly, Brodie was certain Seth Creegan was responsible. The question was, how did he prove it?

  The next morning all seemed to have been forgiven because Cass was her usual chatty self at breakfast and the incident the previous night was never mentioned. She wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

  Jason the creep was absent from the restaurant and his Porsche wasn’t in the car park. Brodie smiled inwardly at the thought of him driving through the night to get back to an oblivious wife wondering what he was playing at. It would serve him right if he returned home to find she’d got someone else in the marital bed.

  “Back to Manchester Boss?” said Cass after they’d settled the bill and returned to the car.

  “Soon. We’re taking a little detour first.” He’d asked the receptionist for directions to Hill Top, Beatrix Potter’s house. He’d been right, it was in Hawkshead.

  “It’s lovely,” said Cass as they stopped at the gate, staring at the seventeenth century farmhouse, the garden bursting with flowers. When she looked at him Brodie was able to feel the force of her gaze, even though it was hidden behind sunglasses. “Is this your way of apologising for last night?”

  “I already said sorry for that. I just thought you might like it.”

  “Who would have thought Brodie MacBride was really a softie deep down.”

  “Only for you hen,” he smiled.

  On their return to Manchester, Cass was very eager to meet the Creegans. Their first port of call was Sarah.

  “Where have you been?” she cried the second she opened the door to them. “Mark has been contacting me non-stop.” She frowned at Cass. “Who are you?”

  “This is Cass Carlisle, she works for me. I
brought her here to help,” explained Brodie.

  “Come in,” she said, dismissing Cass and turning her attention back to Brodie.

  “Did your friend stay the night?” he asked as they followed her through to the lounge.

  “Yes, I got Carol next door to stay with me but she had to go back to work and now I’m all alone. You said you were here to look out for me.”

  “I am Sarah.”

  “You left me alone last night and someone tried to get into the house.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “At first I thought it was Mark. I had the locks changed as well as the code for the alarm. To be sure I rang his hotel room and he picked up. So if it wasn’t him who was prowling around my house?”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Just a shape in the dark. It was a man though, it was too big to be a woman.”

  “Seth?”

  “Probably. He’s psycho enough to do something like that. You need to sort him out.”

  “How exactly?”

  “I don’t know, just make him leave me alone. I’ll pay you, I’ve got plenty of money. Just get him off my back,” she screeched.

  “Calm down,” he said, taking her gently by the shoulders. “We’ll speak to him if that’s what you want but you’ve no proof it was him.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know but I’ll find out and make them stop.”

  Sarah dragged her fingers through her hair, her fringe flopping into her eyes. “God this is driving me crazy.”

  “Have you spoken to Mark?”

  “Not yet. He’s called but I can’t bring myself to talk to him, I still don’t know what I’m going to say. I’m torn between getting a divorce and just taking him back. I miss him,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

  “I’ll find Seth and have a word. Cass will stay here with you.”

  When Cass’s head snapped round he gave her a look urging her not to argue.

  “I’d really feel better if you’d stay with me,” said Sarah. “No offence to you, Cass is it? But you’d be no match for Seth.”

  “Yes she would,” said Brodie. “You’re safe with her. I’ll be as quick as I can.” He gave Sarah’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Trust me.”