by Matt Shaw
Miller told me that Cole invited him round in order to end his life for him. A written agreement between the two stating that Miller gave permission for Cole to take his life on the understanding that Cole got to do whatever he wanted with the body. Some people might say Cole was doing Miller a favour. But the Law wouldn’t see it that way. The Law would throw him in a cell and chuck away the key. Like I said - I’m not entirely sure what to make of him.
I rolled from the bed and onto my feet as Arthur fades from the room. Every part of me aches. Another sure sign of a bad night’s sleep. When I was on the case of Arthur - he was all I could think about. It concerns me how the first thought to pop into my head in the mornings now is that of Cole and who he really is (with regards to his hobbies). It was okay when I was on the Force. It had to get that way; getting into the mindsets of those I was hunting. It shouldn’t be like that now. I should be able to switch off. My old detective game wanting to get involved. I’ll let it. The distraction from my own life might be a blessing. Might help me move on. Might help me get my job back on the Force if I crack this open. Extra points if I bring in both Cole and Miller.
The half drunk bottle of whiskey next to the bed reminds me as to why I wasn’t on the Force. A suspension after they found I had been drinking. A suspension which turned to a dismissal. They won’t take me back all the time I am drinking. No way. Doubt they’ll take me back even if I manage to solve two cases on my own time but it has to be worth a shot if I want to save myself.
I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and lifted it from the bedside cabinet. For a split second I wasn’t sure whether I was going to go with my initial wish which was to throw the bottle at the wall or whether I was going to finish it - my last drink before going sober. One for the road. Of course I can’t waste it. I drank from the bottle knowing that what was left wouldn’t be enough to get me pissed or dull the pain in my wrists and mind. It didn't matter though - couldn’t bring myself to waste it. My head was bubbling away with the possibility of being accepted back onto the Force. Take in two criminals, get two of the fucks off the street and prove to them I’m the man I used to be before Arthur. I’m the man who had a respectable closure rate on my cases. Get out of this fucking apartment too. Go home. Back to where I belong.
I dropped the bottle to the floor once it was drained. It landed with a thud. What was my brain trying to do to me? They’d never take me back. When I was suspended I reacted angrily - spurred on by the liquor flowing through my body. I lashed out and hit the Captain in the face. My fist connected and split his nose open. He fell back. Before he even hit the floor, I was weeping uncontrollably. He had two officers take me home. Two no-names that I didn’t recognise. Sat in the back of the police car full of shame and self-pity. The Captain said the only reason he didn’t press charges was because he knew of what I had been through and that - once upon a time - I had been a good man. I remember dropping to the floor as soon as my front door was closed. His words playing on repeat; I had been a good man, I had been a good man, I had been a good man…What was I now? Was I one of them? Was I one of what was wrong with society?
I never apologised to the Captain. I didn’t even attend my disciplinary. Fired via a damned letter because I was too embarrassed to take it in person. At least I think that was why I didn’t go. Hazy memory. Damned drink. Could have been too drunk to show up. Wouldn’t surprise me.
I should go down the station this morning. I should go in, with my head held high and apologise to the Captain. Once there, I could always ask him the possibility of getting my old job back. They might let me in at entry level. Prove myself to them and they may make me a detective again. Who am I trying to kid? There I go again getting excited at the prospect of returning to work when, really, there is no prospect. I am a nobody now. A piece of scum. And even if the Captain did say I’d be allowed to return to work - I’m knocking on the wrong side of retirement now. Too damned old to go back. Wouldn’t be there long before they forced me back out again, making room for a younger detective to come and take my place.
I stood there quietly cursing myself. Damned brain bouncing back and forwards with thoughts of wanting to die and thoughts of wanting to get back onto the Force knowing full well that I’m not one of the lucky ones who gets to die young and I’ll never be employable again. Probably couldn’t even get a job working in a fucking supermarket now working the damned checkout. The mere thought sent a shiver down my spine. Thank God for Lucy’s life insurance, I thought. Without that I would have been screwed a long time ago.
I walked through to the bathroom. Another cracked mirror. Looked at myself in one of the fragments. A shadow of the former man I once was. Need to clean up my act. Lucy was staring at me from one of the broken segments of the mirror; a haunted look on her face.
“Please let this go. Don’t go back to the group.”
“I have to.”
I need to prove to myself I still have it in me to stop the bad buys - even if there is no financial gain to be earned or medals to be received. I need to know that I’m still one of the good guys.
“Please. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Too late for that,” I smiled at her.
I knew she wasn’t really standing there. I wished she had been. My life would have been completely different. If she were with me, I’d probably be retired from the Force now anyway through choice. Living comfortably at home with my family.
“You need to get out of this apartment. It’s damaging you.”
“It’s where I deserve to be.”
“You need to be at home.”
“This is my home.”
“Our home. Please…”
I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t be in that house anymore. Don’t even know why I kept a hold of it. Should have just sold the fucking thing. Too many bad memories of how I had failed my wife as a husband. Every room hiding bad feelings somewhere within the four walls. Can’t go back.
“I love you,” she said.
I looked at her. All this time, all this pain - still can’t say it back to her. I bent down and splashed some water from the cold tap onto my face. By the time I stood back up and opened my eyes she was gone. Just as she always was.
Not sure why she doesn’t want me going after Cole. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Can prove to people - myself in particular - that I’m still one of the good guys. I’m just treading a darker path at the moment. Need to prove to myself there is a way back. There is a light to be found somewhere. Taking down Cole and exposing him for what he is - that’s my light.
I stripped my clothes off and walked over to the shower. Lost track of the amount of times I’ve fallen asleep fully dressed since my wife’s passing. Need to freshen myself up and make myself feel more human. Can’t very well start to sort my life out and try and turn things around before I set about putting things right. All the time I’m looking like shit, I’m acting like it too. I pulled the shower curtain back and stepped in, closing the curtain behind me. Not sure how I’m going to do this - need to keep the bandages out of the water; doctor’s orders.
I turned the water on and let it cascade down my tired body ignoring the advice given to keep the bandages dry. The wounds had leaked a little due to last night’s driving anyway so I figured I had nothing to lose. The single thought now going through my mind; need to clean myself up. Need to get back on the straight and narrow. Need to prove I am one of the good guys. If not for me then for the memory of my wife.
I ignored her voice in the back of my head telling me - once again - to let it go.
I need to do this.
My path is clear to me now.
II
I was sitting at the small table I had in the corner of the livingroom. A cheap thing I had picked up when I moved into the apartment. It was supposed to be for eating my meals at but I’m pretty sure I haven’t eaten a damned thing sitting here. Most of my meals have been from my lap in front of the television - when it was working -
or simply consisted of a liquid lunch which ruled out the necessity for a table at all.
My wrist was cramping up as I tried to pen a letter on a piece of paper I had in my old work case. It didn’t help that the biro I was using was being temperamental. Kept having to scribble on a second sheet of paper to get the damned thing working properly. It would do another four or five words and then it would get scratchy again, forcing me to do the scribble trick again. Looked everywhere for another pen but of course I didn’t have one. That would have been too easy.
I paused a moment and lowered the pen before I tentatively rubbed my wrist. Hurting like a son of a bitch. The once white bandage indicating it might be prudent to give the wound a check. Pretty sure a stitch has been pulled judging by the colourings.
Was trying to write a letter to my old Captain. Figured it would be easier than going to see him face to face. At least this way he won’t see the state I am - despite the earlier shower. At least this way he may take it seriously. Hardest damned letter I’ve ever had to write. Never been one for apologies. Never usually felt the need for them. If I am to move on, though, I need closure and the apology is a must.
I picked the pen up again and resumed writing, ignoring the throbbing in my wrist. Shame I wasn’t back in the family home. Had a computer there that I could have used even though it seems like a bad option. Hand written is more personal. Hand written shows more thought and care. Any monkey can bang out a string of sentences on a typewriter.
I signed my name and folded the letter in two before stuffing it into an envelope. I sealed it and wrote the Captain’s name on the front of it before adding ‘Private and Confidential’. Not ready to hand it in yet but when I do I don’t want some desk clerk opening it because they feel it’s their job to do so. This is only for the Captain.
“I know what you’re doing,” Lucy said.
Me too. I’m the good guy. I’ve always been the good guy. This is about putting things right and even if I manage to fuck that up like I fucked up most things these past couple of years - at least the letter will go some way to putting things right.
“I told you, just leave it. Walk away from all of this. Even if you can’t go home - sell up, move out of town, start again.”
Her words… Her words? They’re not her words. They haven’t been her words for a long time now. They’re my words pretending to be her. That’s all. Nothing more and nothing less. Regardless - what was said had once been an option I had nearly taken. I had nearly sold up and moved away. Figured I could try and salvage some part of my life. Just didn’t work out that way. Every time I opened my eyes he was there. Every time I looked in a mirror he was behind me. Or Lucy was. Everywhere I went - they were around. I knew it didn’t matter how far I ran - even if I moved to some hot country somewhere - they would always follow. They would always be there to remind me of what I was trying to hide from.
I can’t walk away from this now. My mind is too far gone - caught up in the prospect of being the one who brings this asshole to justice. And Miller too. I want him. The fact the police want to talk to him and he has gone into hiding speaks volumes about his guilt. A woman killer. Along with a child killer - the worst kind of murderer you can come across.
Arthur fitted into both categories.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NATHAN COLE
In the Open
I
I woke in my own bed. No police sirens. No cuffs. Just me and the silence I had grown accustomed to. Didn’t sleep all the way through the night but I knew I wouldn’t. I could’t help but keep thinking about Mr. Andrews and what sort of game he was playing. I knew I should have thrown in the towel there and then. I knew it was over and that I should make my escape but I couldn’t help but wonder as to how it would play out. Besides, everything I had was here, I had nowhere to go.
I’d tossed and turned all night trying to decide what to do. It was about five am when I decided the best thing I could do was to carry on as usual. If he had anything on me, really had anything, then I am sure he would have been round already. He doesn’t have anything on me yet. Just a suspicion. A suspicion I would help to confirm if I suddenly packed up shop and disappeared.
I climbed from the bed and walked over to the bedroom window. I knew there was nothing outside that shouldn’t have been there before I looked but - even so - I couldn’t help but to check. It was a beautiful day out there, the sun was shining and the skies were blue with not a cloud in sight.
I liked feeling the sun’s rays upon my face. It feels as though mother is looking down upon me, reminding me that she is up there and keeping watch. I looked up, squinting, and smiled back.
II
I had got to the community hall extra early. I didn’t drive directly into the car park though. I drove up and down the road a couple of times, looking in with each pass. There were a few cars dotted around but none of them had any signs of being police cars. Even the unmarked cars had tell-tale signs that they were used by the police - usually extra lights in the headlamps or lights hanging down in the back window ready to start flashing in case of an emergency. But these cars seemed to have no such ‘extras’. I pulled into the car park and drove straight into the space closest to the hall’s entrance. I don’t usually park so close. I usually just abandon the car in the first available space I come to. But if I need to make a sudden exit during the evening - today I want the car to be closer.
I turned the engine off and just sat there a moment checking out the side windows and into the rear-view mirror to see behind me. No police cars flooding into the car park to block me in, no one seemingly around watching me. Nothing. I started to relax. They’re definitely not coming to me. Not yet anyway. Just as I had thought earlier this morning when I couldn’t sleep - he’s either trying to get evidence on me or he is looking for me due to darker reasons of his own. He did - after all - slash his own wrists. Maybe he wants his own appointment with me? I dismissed the idea. Can’t do that.
I climbed from the car and entered the hall. Sooner I get in there, sooner I can set up the chairs and get the urns switched on. Anyway, no point in sitting around outside. The hall was empty. No surprise there considering the group doesn’t get going for another hour and a half yet. I started walking around the hall, putting the chairs out ready for my guests, when the door opened. I looked up and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Mr. Andrews standing there.
“You’re early,” I said. I didn’t stop putting the chairs out. To my surprise he came over and started to help me. He looked different from yesterday. More official. More ‘police-like’. I immediately felt more uncomfortable.
“Keen.”
A man of few words.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to see you again after yesterday. Thought you were looking for a different kind of therapy.”
“I am.”
“And yet you’re here again.”
“Think you’re the one to offer it.”
I knew he was aware of what I offered to members of this group. Why did he insist on the games? Why couldn’t he just say it? What was he playing at?
“Told you yesterday. I don’t see people on an individual basis. Only as part of this group. Protects us all, you see. And, like I explained, I think it is good meeting people in a similar situation. Immediately makes it easier to talk to someone.”
He put another chair down and stopped. He looked me straight in the eye. I felt him judging me, weighing up what sort of character I was. I stared back.
“Mr. Miller told me you offer people such as me a way out.”
“Not sure I follow,” I said, still not sure what to make of all of this.
“People who want to die but are too afraid to take their own lives. He told me you help them. For a price.”
“A price? Do I look like a rich man?”
“Not money.”
“Not money? Then what?”
“A letter stating their desire to be killed by you, a letter giving you their blessing.”
“You’re crazy,” I still wasn’t ready to admit anything. I didn’t trust him. At least this confirmed everything he knew about me though.
“No. You are.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “You have urges that only the dead can satisfy. The condition of you helping them out is that you get to do as you please to them once they’re dead.”
I stopped what I was doing and sat in one of the plastic seats. He sat in one opposite me.
“Well if this is true,” I eventually asked, “why aren’t you arresting me?”
He looked surprised that I knew he was a police officer.
“I know who you are.”
“You know who I am?” he asked. “You don’t.”
“You’re a police officer.”
“I was.”
“Not anymore?”
“Not anymore. If you knew me, like you say you do, you would know why. More to the point, you would know why I am here.”
“You’re here because someone told you about these supposed things that I do. You’re here because you have no proof, only someone’s word for it. You’re here to try and get a confession. I confess to it and next thing I know the door is getting kicked in and I’m getting arrested.”
“Told you, not an officer. Detective even. Not a detective. That’s what I was. Before. A detective.”
“Like I said yesterday - I only see people in this group. I don’t see anyone outside of it. And your friend - Tim Miller - he’s the one you should be focusing your attention on. He is the one you should be looking to take down. The man killed his ex-girlfriend.”
