Choked dipb-4

by Tania Carver

  He reached round, grabbed the hand that was holding the gun, hooked his other arm round her neck.

  Marina put Josephina down. The girl didn’t wanted to be parted from her mother, complained. ‘Just for a second, darling. Mummy’s got something to do.’

  Josephina did as she was told.

  Marina stepped forward. Sandro twisted Amy’s hand, making her drop the gun. His other arm gripped her even tighter round the neck.

  ‘What do we do with her?’ he asked.

  ‘Franks should be here soon. We’ll leave her for him.’

  Amy squirmed and wriggled against Sandro’s grip. Marina stared at her.

  ‘I’m a mother. A very angry mother. You stole my daughter. You tried to kill me and my family. You killed someone I loved.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Amy, gasping and struggling. ‘Michael … ’

  ‘But you stole my daughter.’

  Amy managed to get free of Sandro’s grip. She looked to the door, thinking of making a run for it, but Marina and Sandro were blocking her way. Instead she backed away from them, tripped and lost her footing.

  Marina put out an arm to catch her but missed. Amy fell backwards through the trapdoor into the water below. She tried to reach the side, pull herself out, but Marina stood over her. Looked down at her.

  Then slammed the trapdoor shut.

  120

  ‘You can’t leave her like that,’ said Sandro.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because she’ll die. You’ll kill her.’

  Hammering came from the trapdoor behind them. Marina seemed to be ignoring it. Sandro couldn’t.

  Marina shrugged, picked up Josephina once more. ‘So?’

  Sandro looked from the trapdoor to his sister. ‘You’ll have the law down on you. You’ll be done for murder. Is that what you want for your daughter? A criminal for a mother? You’re not your father’s daughter, Marina. You’re better than that.’

  Something changed in Marina’s features. The anger, the rage drained out of her. She sighed. ‘I’m too tired to open it. I’m taking my daughter home. You do it if you want to.’ She turned and left the room.

  Sandro stared at the trapdoor.

  121

  Dawn was breaking. The room was getting lighter. Phil Brennan opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to orientate himself, remember where he was. Hospital. Then he remembered what had happened. And his heart became heavy as lead.

  He tried to move his arms, his legs. Flex them, test that they still worked. They did.

  His door opened. Light from the corridor flooded in, making silhouettes of the figures in the doorway.

  He squinted at them, wondered who it was.

  Then realised.

  Marina was walking towards the bed, their daughter in her arms. The lead in his heart began to dissipate. He smiled. Marina came nearer. She looked terrible. Hair all over the place, clothing dirtied and torn. Josephina the same.

  But to Phil, they had never looked more beautiful.

  Marina sat on the side of the bed. Leaned in, stroked his face. Josephina hugged him.

  ‘Hey,’ Marina said.

  ‘Hey yourself.’

  Up close, Marina looked like she was on the verge of breaking down. He placed his wired and tubed hand on top of hers.

  ‘We’re here,’ she said. ‘Sorry it took so long … ’

  Then the tears started.

  From all three of them.

  EPILOGUE

  ASCENSION

  122

  There was Don, in uniform. Alone. Young, unbending, standing stiffly for the camera, unsmiling for fear of not being taken seriously. A man on a mission, with something to prove.

  Then out of uniform, with his mates. All wearing the same ensemble of wide-lapelled jackets in shades of brown or oversized checks, huge-collared shirts and kipper ties, sporting the same overlong hair and Elvis sideburns, showing the same cocky smiles and glinting eyes. Thief takers and dandies, gods among men. Plenty of laughter at that.

  Then him and Eileen. In a garden, at a barbecue, eating chicken legs, drinking beer. Looking happy. With everything ahead of them.

  Eileen choked at that one. Recovered quickly.

  Then the two of them with Phil as a small child. Hard to decide which of them looked happiest.

  Then others, all variations on the same theme, all showing different aspects of the same man. Admirable aspects, strong, lovable. Over and over in a continuous loop.

  A celebration of Don Brennan. His life in pictures.

  And words. All around the room, sitting at tables, standing at the bar, stories were being told and retold, anecdotes shared. People laughing together, fighting off the darkness.

  Marina looked round. Her heart heavy with grief but lightened by the fact that she had known the man, that he had been an important part of her life.

  The service had been at the crematorium. Humanist. The speaker had come to see them days ago, asked about Don, his character, his likes and dislikes, any stories they wanted her to tell, any they wanted to avoid. Marina and Phil had done most of the talking, Eileen still too emotional.

  The speaker had been excellent. Others had been asked to contribute. One of Don’s old colleagues had got up to say something. A big ex-copper, broken-nosed and red-faced, heavier than when he was in the job but still carrying himself with authority, had made his way to the podium, started to tell an anecdote about Don, stumbled over his words, burst into tears. Had to be led away.

  Then it was Phil’s turn.

  Marina had told him he didn’t have to do it if he didn’t want to. If he didn’t feel up to it. Or if he needed help getting to the lectern and back, she would assist. He refused all offers. He felt it was something he had to do alone and unaided.

  It was over a week since Easter, since she had walked into his hospital room and held him and held him and held him. And never wanted to let him go.

  He had been discharged from the hospital and was at home convalescing, on sick leave from work. His injuries hadn’t been as severe as had first been thought. He would be up and about, walking more or less unaided, in a few days. He had turned down the offer of a wheelchair and only reluctantly accepted a crutch. He was determined to get better. And he had been determined to speak at Don’s funeral.

  He had squeezed Marina’s hand before getting up and she had looked into his eyes. Haunted and damaged, almost mirrors of her own. But eyes she loved. Eyes she never tired of looking into, where she found everything she hoped for being returned to her.

  He had smiled, got slowly to his feet and, the crutch in his left hand, made his way to the lectern.

  He spoke without notes. From his heart, his soul. He told everyone there that, in case they didn’t know, he had been adopted by Don and Eileen. He wasn’t their biological son. And they weren’t his biological parents. They were more than that. So much more.

  He had gone on to talk of what Don had meant to him. How he owed his career, his attitude, everything he had to him. And how he would miss him. God, how he would miss him.

  There was more. But Marina couldn’t remember it. She had been crying too much.

  When he had finished, Phil had walked back to her side. Alone. Unaided.

  And in that moment, she knew everything was going to be all right.

  123

  Marina had barely let Josephina out of her sight. Even in the hospital when they wanted to check her over she had insisted on being with her. She wouldn’t be parted for one second. And Josephina, clinging to her, felt exactly that same way.

  Once they had returned home, there had been a week of sleepless nights. Josephina not wanting to close her eyes in case the scary woman was there. Marina had done everything she could to reassure the child, and she had gradually started to sleep. But the nights then became punctuated by nightmares, with Josephina waking up crying and screaming. They had moved her bed into their bedroom to have her near to them. Eventually they had just let her into their bed.<
br />
  She hadn’t let go of Lady. Marina had tried to take the toy off her, wash it at least, but Josephina wouldn’t let her. So there it had stayed. Filthy dirty, ragged, but loved.

  And that was OK.

  One night after getting Josephina into bed, Marina and Phil had sat in their living room, trying to lead normal lives once more. Pretend they were ordinary again. Sharing a bottle of wine.

  ‘Only to be expected,’ Phil had said, ‘after what she’s been through.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Marina had replied.

  ‘Is she going to be … you know. Scarred by this for life.’

  Marina had shrugged. ‘I hope not. You and I had much more traumatic childhoods and we did all right.’

  ‘We were lucky, though,’ said Phil. ‘We found ways out.’

  ‘True. We’ll just have to make sure that Josephina doesn’t need luck. Children are resilient and they can forget things. But trauma like this can do massive damage. Massive. Even if she buries it deep in her subconscious, under all the other layers of memory she’ll acquire. There’ll be some trace memory of it, some emotional unease.’

  ‘Should we be worried about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see. All we can do is be there for her. Make her feel safe. Loved. Yes, take her to a specialist if we need to, if things get worse and she needs professional help. But for now, let’s just see how it goes. Let’s help her to get over it.’

  Phil said nothing.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Marina. ‘We’re alive. That’s the main thing. If we’re alive there’s always hope.’

  ‘And human beings forget things,’ said Phil. ‘Memories fade. Pain fades. It’s how we can carry on. All of us.’

  She looked across at him. Wondered if the words hadn’t just been about their daughter but his father as well.

  They had sat in silence.

  124

  In the upstairs room of the King’s Head, amidst the noise of the mourners and celebrants, with Don’s pictures on the wall behind them, Phil and Marina stood like a small island. The calm at the eye of the storm.

  Franks looked over at them, nodded. But didn’t come any closer. Marina wasn’t surprised.

  Franks had been furious with Marina for what she had done that night in Wrabness. He had called her into his office the next day, didn’t invite her to sit. He clearly wanted to stay sitting himself but was too angry so stood up, faced her over the desk top.

  ‘What the bloody hell did you think you were playing at? That was a police operation and you are one of this team. You were given a direct instruction and you ignored it.’

  Marina stood up to him. ‘And it was a good job I did. If I’d waited for you to get there, my daughter might well have been dead.’

  Franks’s mouth had twisted but he hadn’t given her a reply. ‘We were right behind you. And not only did you interfere with a police operation, you left a murder scene. One dead, two seriously injured.’

  ‘I had my daughter to take care of. And as you said, you and the team were on the way.’

  Franks didn’t seem to have been spoken to like this before. He didn’t know quite how to respond. Anger and sympathy vied for prominence in his features. He sighed. ‘Yes. I understand. I realise you were under a lot of strain, with what you’ve had to go through in the last few days. But it doesn’t alter the fact that you’re part of this team. And there’s a chain of command. This is the Major Incident Squad, not some cowboy outfit. If you can’t understand that and be part of it, then perhaps it’s best you’re not here.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ He stopped talking, stared at her, surprised at her answer. ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the last couple of days. Maybe it’s time I had a change.’

  Franks fell silent for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘Right. Spend some time at home. With your daughter.’

  ‘Yes. And go back into private practice. Or consultancy. Or academia. Somewhere where my talents will be more appreciated.’

  Franks reddened, tried to say something consoling, but she was no longer listening.

  And that had been the end of that.

  125

  Sandro had visited Marina and Phil a few nights earlier. Gone to their home and been welcomed in. Well that makes a change, he had thought. Hell of a change. He had even sat with Phil, drank a beer. Talked. He wasn’t a bad bloke, Sandro had decided. For a copper.

  But when Marina pulled him aside into the kitchen to have a word in private, he knew what she was about to say.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘Well as can be expected. You?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He sighed. Ran his hand over his head. ‘Mental.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Marina said.

  Sandro nodded. He knew what she was talking about.

  ‘I shouldn’t have left you to make that choice. Open the trapdoor or not. It should never have happened.’

  Sandro shrugged, aimed for nonchalance. Missed. ‘I couldn’t leave her,’ he said. ‘Just walk out of that house and leave her to die.’ He sighed. ‘I couldn’t.’

  Marina nodded.

  ‘It was a crazy night.’ Sandro thought for a while, head down. Then looked up, directly at Marina. ‘I’ve been thinkin’ about this, though. A lot. What happened with the Golem, that was a fight, yeah? Proper kill-or-be-killed fight.’

  ‘What you did was self-defence.’

  ‘Yeah. But leaving that madwoman there, even after everything she’d done, that would have made you just as bad. And me.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Mum again,’ said Marina. ‘What she did for us. A mother will do anything, Sandro, anything — everything — to protect her children. Our mother put herself, her own body, in the way of blows meant for us. All I could see was Josephina. All I wanted to do was … neutralise the threat to her as best I could.’

  ‘And I let her out.’

  ‘She was no threat then. Not really. But you were the one with compassion.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Maybe I don’t take after Dad after all.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t.’

  He smiled. ‘Maybe there’s hope for me yet.’

  Marina returned the smile. ‘Maybe.’

  They fell into a resigned silence. Still, like a ceasefire after a war.

  ‘He’s not a bad bloke either,’ said Sandro, gesturing to the living room. ‘For a copper.’

  ‘What about your other trouble?’ said Marina. ‘The money you owed?’

  A smile crept across Sandro’s features. He kept his eyes averted from his sister. ‘Fine. Everything’s fine there. No worries.’

  ‘Sandro … ’

  ‘It’s fine, I said. Fine.’

  Marina knew she would get nothing more from him, let it drop. ‘Look after yourself. You know where I am if you need me.’

  He knew.

  ‘And Sandro … thank you. Really. Thank you. I couldn’t have … ’

  He hugged her. They didn’t speak.

  Both choked.

  126

  ‘You ready to go?’ said Mickey.

  Anni picked up her glass. ‘Just finish this.’

  ‘If we don’t get out now, we’ll be here all night.’ He looked round the room. Officers and ex-officers were settling in for the duration. Lubricated by alcohol and camaraderie, old war stories were being trotted out again, anecdotes given a polish and put on display once more.

  She looked up at him. Smiled.

  He loved that smile. Hoped he never tired of seeing it. Or that she never tired of directing it at him.

  They had spent the last few days dealing with the paperwork fallout from the case. Wrapping it up as tight as they could for the CPS. Michael Sloane was looking at serious prison time. He had his allies, his supporters, all wealthy, putting money before morality. And he could afford the best legal defence, but even with all that, it was looking like he would go d
own for a long time. There was too much against him. Mickey and Anni doubted he would have as many allies if that happened.

  Mickey had heard that Sloane had contemplated entering a plea of insanity. If he did that, he might end up with no prison time but he would probably be looking at life in a secure hospital. And he would probably lose access to his fortune. Either way, he would die behind bars.

  His sister was definitely insane. Her fate would be relatively straightforward.

  ‘And the half-brother gets the lot,’ Anni had said.

  ‘Could be,’ Mickey had replied. ‘He’d better get himself some good advisers, though. Otherwise he’ll be picked dry.’

  The Golem, as they had found out he was called, had been taken to hospital. A combination of severe wounds and a lethal drug cocktail had left him near death. They sincerely hoped he pulled through. There were a lot of murders to pin on him.

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Anni.

  Mickey had shrugged. ‘Just some East European hired muscle. Nobody special.’

  And that had been that. Apart from a call Mickey had received from Jessie James.

  ‘How are you?’ he had asked.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she had replied. ‘Arm’s in a cast, itches like hell. But other than that, not too bad.’

  ‘Snap,’ Mickey had said. ‘That iron bar to the shoulder left me with my arm strapped up.’

  ‘Twins,’ she said.

  ‘How’s everything there?’

  ‘OK.’ Her voice guarded when she said it. ‘Having a bit of time off. Taking long walks along the beach at Aldeburgh. Doing a lot of thinking.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘Near-death experiences do that to people.’

  ‘You sound like you know what you’re talking about.’

  He gave a small laugh. ‘Dangerous profession, this.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She told him about Helen Hibbert, the other woman in the container. ‘Put in a claim against the police.Suing for negligence, mental anguish and anything else this ambulance chaser she’s employed can think of.’