Philip Brennan 03-Cage of Bones

by Tania Carver

  ‘No,’ called Mickey, ‘don’t—’

  As Fenton fell, he reached up for something to steady himself. Found the soaking wet electrical cable running along the ceiling. He pulled, it detached itself and he slipped back, taking it with him as he went.

  ‘No … ’

  Mickey stepped back. Well away from Fenton now.

  The cable, worn and uninsulated, hit the pools of water in the container. Fenton, holding on to it, screamed.

  Mickey couldn’t watch.

  He turned away, the stench of burning flesh and singeing hair in his nostrils. Heard the wire sparking and humming.

  He ran for the stairs.

  Wanting to put as much distance between himself and Fenton – and the Garden – as possible.

  131

  ‘Come on,’ said Phil, ‘let’s … let’s get you out of here … ’

  With Marina supporting him, he crossed to the cage. He was still carrying the blade he had used on the Gardener. Now he dropped it, began untying the binding, opening the door. Finn just stared at him, eyes wide. Phil smiled. It was an effort.

  ‘Told you I was a friend,’ he said. ‘Told you I would get you out.’

  For the first time, there was the ghost of a smile on the boy’s face. Terrified to believe the words, desperately hoping they were true.

  Phil fumbled with the bindings, had to stop.

  ‘I’m sorry, I … ’

  ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood, Phil,’ said Marina. ‘You’re going to pass out. Here. Let me.’

  She moved in front of him, took over the untying. Phil held on to the bars to steady himself. Tried hard to keep his eyes open. He felt like he wanted to sleep. His body telling him to just let go, drift away. He moved about, blinked, fought it.

  Caught a glimpse of movement at the far end of the chamber.

  Blinked again. Saw what it was.

  Glass. Standing there holding a gun.

  He blinked again. Hallucinating, he thought.

  ‘Stand away from the cage,’ Glass said.

  Marina turned also. Stopped what she was doing.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ she said.

  ‘Through the door,’ said Glass, as if explaining a simple fact to a dull child. ‘This chamber is directly beneath the chapel in the hotel. It was used for … oh, I don’t know. Hiding Cavaliers from Roundheads. Something like that.’

  ‘And the Gardener was here all the time,’ said Marina.

  ‘Ever since the Garden was forcibly evicted,’ said Glass. ‘And all down to me, too. If it hadn’t been for me, they wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.’

  ‘You arranged for their disappearance.’ Marina staring at him.

  He gave a small, bobbing smile. ‘I did. Went to them, told them what was going to happen. Offered them an escape route. And gave them my terms and conditions.’

  ‘Which were?’

  ‘I wanted to be one of them. An Elder. Because I could see the potential even then. They soon came round to my way of thinking.’

  ‘And that’s it, is it?’ said Marina. ‘All this? Just for money?’

  Glass shrugged. ‘And power. And influence. The usual stuff.’

  ‘You sold out your job. Yourself. Just for that.’

  ‘Oh, please. What would I have become if I hadn’t done that? Don Brennan? Old and redundant. Nothing. Him?’ He gestured to Phil. ‘No. The Elders allowed me to become the person I always knew I could be. Always should have been. They made me. They created me. But I don’t expect you to understand. Your mind’s too small. Boring. That’s what you psychologists do. Make the spectacular mundane.’

  She was about to answer, but he cut her off.

  ‘I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m all about the future. Mine in particular.’

  ‘Not … mine?’ said Phil with an effort.

  ‘You don’t have one,’ said Glass. He looked round. Saw the Gardener lying on the floor, blood pooled round his body. ‘You got rid of him. Good. Saved me the trouble. Of course, I can’t let you leave here. Not alive.’

  Phil tried to come up with an answer, couldn’t get his mind to work fast enough. Marina spoke once more.

  ‘Let it go, Brian,’ she said. ‘It’s over. Finished. You’re finished.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Move away from the cage. Or I’ll shoot you.’

  ‘Why? You’re going to do that anyway. It’s over, Brian. There’s a team of SOCA officers at the warehouse now, intercepting your incoming shipment. Mickey’s with them too.’ Marina looked at her watch. ‘Should be all wrapped up about now.’

  Glass looked like he was about to explode. ‘You’re lying … ’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, Brian. I’m lying. I’m making all of that up. I’ve plucked that information from thin air and flung it at you just to get a response. That’s what we psychologists do.’

  Glass started to breathe heavily. He looked around as if trapped. ‘But I can still … still take the … the credit for this … I can … ’

  He pointed the gun at the Gardener, then at Marina and Phil. His earlier composure had slipped away following Marina’s words.

  ‘Bastards, you bastards … ’

  Hand shaking.

  ‘You’ve … you’ve ruined everything … ’

  He moved closer to them. Stepped across the body of the Gardener, round the upended altar, right in front of them.

  Phil was aware of some movement behind him. He couldn’t focus strongly enough to make out what it was.

  ‘Put the … put the gun down, Glass … ’ he said.

  ‘Shut up.’ Moving nearer.

  ‘Why not just run?’ said Marina. ‘Start now. We won’t try to stop you.’

  ‘Oh you won’t, will you? Well that’s good of you.’

  Marina tried to move away from the cage, take Phil with her.

  ‘Stay where you are.’ The gun trained on her, finger tightening on the trigger.

  ‘Make your mind up,’ said Marina. ‘Move away from the cage, stay where you are … Honestly, Brian, what d’you mean? Which one is it?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Come on, Brian, be consistent. Man of action like you. Natural-born leader. Should be able to speak your mind and get people to do it.’

  She moved once more. Nearer to him.

  ‘Is this right?’ she said. ‘Or should I move back again?’ She took a pace backwards. ‘You tell me, Brian, which is it?’

  Phil watched her, puzzled. She seemed to be deliberately trying to provoke Glass. He didn’t know why. She couldn’t get the gun off him; she wasn’t physically strong enough to overpower him. And Phil couldn’t do anything. She was going to get herself killed.

  He opened his mouth to say something, didn’t get the chance.

  Glass was staring at Marina, trying to think what to do, angry at her interruptions. He didn’t see Finn creeping up behind him.

  The boy had slipped out of the cage. That had been what Phil had heard behind him. Marina had seen Finn, known what he was doing. Let him.

  Finn had picked up the blade Phil had dropped, crept round behind Glass. While the DCI was looking between the pair of them, while Marina’s words had been throwing him off balance, the boy had moved.

  ‘So what’s it to be, Brian? Come on, make a decision. Haven’t got all night.’

  ‘Shut up … shut up … ’

  Finn slipped his arm round Glass’s body. Pushed the razor-sharp blade between his ribs, as far as it would go. Hard.

  Glass’s eyes widened. Two white-rimmed bullseyes. He dropped his gun. Finn pulled the blade out, did it again. Glass jumped. And again.

  And now Glass screamed as he realised what had happened to him. Screamed and kept screaming.

  Marina looked at Finn. He had the blade raised once more, ready to stab him.

  ‘No more, Finn,’ she said, her voice calm, reasonable.

  ‘Him,’ whispered Finn, ‘him … he kept us in the Garden … he hurt Mother … he hu
rt me … ’

  ‘And he can’t hurt you any more. No more. Put the knife down, Finn.’

  Finn did as he was told, let the blade drop at his feet.

  ‘Good. Come here.’

  The boy went to her. She put her arm round him.

  Glass fell to the floor.

  Phil looked between them. Glass. The Gardener. Marina and the boy. He must have frowned.

  ‘It’s what mothers do,’ Marina said, ‘for their families to survive.’

  Then Phil’s world went black.

  PART FOUR

  SPRING AWAKENING

  132

  ‘And about time. What time d’you call this?’

  Mickey smiled. ‘Well you’re feeling better.’

  Anni Hepburn was sitting up in the hospital bed, back propped on pillows, arm and shoulder supported and bandaged. She was smiling and, apart from the occasional wince and grimace, looking relaxed. Mickey sat down on the chair beside her.

  Anni put down the book she had been reading. David Nicholls. One Day.

  It was almost a week since that night at Harwich. Since Mickey had confronted the extreme horror of what humans could do to other humans in the name of exploitation. He had seen some bad things before. Almost on a daily basis in his job. But that …

  That night he hadn’t been able to sleep. Not without self-medicating himself into oblivion with a bottle of whisky. He had woken up with a raging hangover and the realisation that what he had witnessed had actually happened.

  But he had resolved to change things.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll bet. And here’s me stuck in this bed. Missing all the fun.’

  Mickey opened his mouth to reply, came out with a different response. ‘There’ll be plenty left for you to do when you get up. Don’t worry about that.’

  And there would be. With the deaths of the other Elders, Balchunas had been left to carry the blame. He had immediately started bargaining, but soon discovered he had very little to bargain with. He had been caught in his own warehouse with two containers of illegally trafficked young women. Also on the site was a prison made out of containers.

  ‘Ongoing inquiries?’ said Anni.

  Mickey nodded. ‘The Elders, as they called themselves, left very detailed notes. Who their clients were, what kind of things they enjoyed, how much they paid, where and when … all of that. And their customers weren’t short of a bob or two, either.’

  ‘Which means they’ll be fighting all the way.’

  ‘Absolutely. We crack one of the biggest cases in ages, lawyers have a field day. Going to tie the courts up for years. And then there’s the Gardener. Whole country’s being torn apart looking for the remains of his victims. He’s going to be bigger than the Wests, Shipman, all of them put together.’ He looked at her. ‘So yeah, plenty of work for you to do. Hurry back.’

  ‘Yeah, great.’ Anni’s smile dropped. ‘Look, I … heard about your girlfriend. I’m sorry.’

  ‘She wasn’t my girlfriend.’ Said very quickly.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘She wasn’t. She was … she used me for information. I was in the way and I … ’ He shrugged. Couldn’t look at her. ‘That was it, really.’

  ‘She killed herself when she couldn’t take it any more.’ Anni’s voice quiet, light. Not wanting to disturb the surface tension of the room.

  ‘Seems that way.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I rode her too hard in the interview room, made her face up to what she’d done. Maybe I could have … ’ He sighed again. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You couldn’t have done any more, Mickey,’ said Anni. ‘Like you said, she faced up to what she’d done. What she’d been a part of. And couldn’t live with herself. It wasn’t your fault. So don’t blame yourself.’

  He nodded, tried to appear convinced by her words.

  They lapsed into silence.

  ‘Jenny Swan didn’t make it,’ said Anni. ‘She tried, she was a fighter, but … ’

  ‘I heard,’ said Mickey. ‘Clemens, one of the SOCA guys, nearly lost his partner. But he’s pulled through.’

  ‘Well that’s something.’

  ‘They were all right, those two. In the end. Recommended Phil and me for promotion.’

  Anni tried to sit up, fired by his words. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Phil to DCI, me to DI.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘But Phil doesn’t want it. So that means … ’

  ‘You’ll be staying where you are.’

  He looked right at her. Eye to eye. ‘I’m staying where I am.’

  Silence once more.

  The wind blew dead leaves against the window. They could feel a faint draught coming through, the world outside penetrating the room inside.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Mickey, after deliberation.

  ‘Me too,’ said Anni. ‘Haven’t been able to do much else in here.’ She pointed to the TV. ‘Except watch Clash of the Titans on pay-per-view. Again.’

  ‘When you’re up and about, d’you want to … ’ He felt himself reddening. ‘D’you fancy going out one night?’ He suddenly found the window beside her hugely interesting.

  Anni smiled. To herself. ‘You asking me out on a date?’

  Mickey didn’t trust himself to answer immediately. He feared his tongue would trip his words.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said eventually. ‘Yeah, a date.’ He looked at her this time. Saw her smile. For him.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I’d really like that. I’d love that.’

  He tried to hold her hand, but it was strapped up. Settled for touching her arm.

  ‘Ow.’

  Sorry.’

  They both laughed. Kept looking at each other.

  Outside, it was a miserable day.

  But inside, the room was warm.

  133

  Donna had never had a good time with religion. Standing outside the church of St James and St Paul on East Hill, she thought of turning, walking away. Not going in.

  But she bit down on her fear. Pulled the last bit of life from her cigarette, crushed it under her boot. Went into the church.

  Inside, it was as she had expected. Dark. Polished wood. Stone. Tall stained-glass windows, high carved ceiling. All of it dwarfing the people inside. Making small lives seem smaller.

  Don and Eileen were sitting about halfway back. Her first impulse was to go to them, join them in their pew. But she resisted. They might not want her with them. Might not welcome her. So she sat near the back. Easier to escape when it was all over.

  Donna hated funerals. She had been to Faith’s just a couple of days before. It hadn’t been anything like this. Much simpler. A nearby church, the crematorium, then drinks at the Shakespeare. She had sent Ben to school. He didn’t need to be there, she had reasoned. His mother wouldn’t be.

  She had witnessed the vicar glance at his watch while he talked about Faith, seen her cheap wooden coffin go through the curtains, then watched while people she barely knew used her death as an excuse to get hammered. Later she had picked Ben up from school, taken him out in town for a meal. Watching him eat, laugh and tell her about his day at school, she became determined to honour Faith’s memory in a better way. And do something for herself – and Ben – while she was at it.

  She looked round the church. A lot of coppers there. Some she recognised. Not always happily. Part of her wished she hadn’t come. But part of her knew she had had no choice.

  The service went on. Phil was asked to speak.

  She had liked him. A decent copper, a decent man. All too rare. She watched as he stood at the lectern, fumbled to take his papers from his pocket since his arm was strapped up, looked round the church.

  ‘Rose Martin,’ he said, and glanced down at his notes, ‘was one of my officers for a time. And in that time I came to know her well. She was … ’ He paused, glanced down at a very attractive dark-haired woman who had been sitting next to him. She nodded. He looked up,
kept going. ‘She was all the things a good police officer should have been. Conscientious. Hard-working. Loyal.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And that she should die in this way is … particularly upsetting. Now, we didn’t always see eye to eye, Rose and me. But we were on the same side. And she knew it. When she needed an ally, when she needed help, she came to me.’ He sighed. ‘And I wish I could have saved her. I wish … ’ He stopped talking, trailed off. Looked at the stained glass. ‘I wish she was still here. I wish I wasn’t standing here saying this. In the end, I was proud to know her.’

  There was more, talking of Rose’s achievements, her accomplishments. But Donna tuned out. That was just cop talk. Nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the woman she had known briefly, who had died in her house.

  Died in her house. A lot had changed in the few weeks since that had happened, thought Donna. A lot. She wanted to move on. Not sell her body any more, not take her anger out on the world. She had responsibilities now, she had Ben to look after. She had to look after herself, for his sake if nothing else. After what she had been through recently, she owed it to him. And Faith. And herself.

  So she had gone to St Quinlan’s Trust, asked for help, enrolled in some classes. And she had felt good about herself. The first positive thing she had done in ages. She had a long way to go, but she had made a start.

  Someone else was up now, another copper, talking about Rose. Donna tuned out again. She had come, paid her respects, that was enough. She could just slip out the back door, no one would notice.

  And that was when she noticed Don turning round, looking at her. He smiled. Caught, she smiled back.

  Now she would have to stay.

  So she listened, and she stood and sat when they asked her to. She sang a hymn, or at least mouthed the words. And as she sat there, something came over her. Grief. She hadn’t mourned Faith’s passing. Not really. She had wanted to remain strong for Ben. But now, thinking of Rose, she let it all come out. Rose, this woman she had hated, who had hated her. Rose, who she had developed respect for, knew it had been reciprocated. Rose, who had died in her house.

  She began to cry. Torrents of tears, flooding from her body. An unstoppable flow. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry, just let them come. Sat there, on her own, hunched forward, crying. For Rose. For Faith. For Ben. For what she had done with her life.