by Tony Black
‘Crawley, step away!’ yelled Brennan as he tried to rise.
McGuire groaned at his side, turned over on his knees holding his elbow; Brennan saw the blood trailing over the sergeant’s knuckles; the arm sat at an unnatural angle.
He got up, turned from McGuire and ran into the torchlight. Crawley stood frozen as Brennan crossed the few short yards between them and tackled him to the ground. The torch fell into the grass as Brennan landed heavily on Crawley, forcing him to cry out. The DI righted himself, rose up on his knees as he straddled the felled Crawley; for a moment Brennan was lost to himself, he put his hands on the killer’s neck, tightened his grip and watched him writhe beneath him. He felt a powerful urge to watch Crawley’s life drain away; his pulse was racing, his mind welling with animus as he pressed his hands deeper into Crawley’s throat. He watched the killer’s eyes widen, his lips splayed in a rictus and the dark tongue inside pressed into the air. Crawley started to gag, white froth gathering at the edges of his mouth. Brennan knew he was seconds from death, he felt the tension in his own aching jaw where he gripped his teeth tight and saw the real terror that was in Crawley’ face. For a moment, Brennan understood nothing about himself and everything about the killer he gripped in his hands, and the thought stabbed at him; flashing into his mind with fresh perspicacity. It was as if an unseen hand was holding him back: some part of him didn’t want to take revenge. Brennan knew the primal instinct to kill wasn’t in him; he was a police officer, not a murderer. He gasped for breath and released his grip.
Brennan watched as Crawley raised hands to his throat; he coughed and spluttered as he gasped the night air greedily. His face was reddened, his eyes, still wide, showed the brightness of burst capillaries webbing their edges. He tried to turn over, to escape the hold Brennan had on him, but the DI grabbed his flailing arms and attached handcuffs to his wrists. As Crawley lay with his face in the dirt, spitting at the grass and muck, Brennan leaned forward, brought his mouth close to his ear and yelled in a ragged, emotional voice, ‘Get used to fucking chains, beast!’
Brennan rose, gasped for breath himself as he turned to take in the sight of McGuire kneeling to comfort Elaine; he had his one good arm round her; she rocked in steady tears as they huddled together on the ground like lost children. The DI walked towards them, his steps heavy and uncertain, adrenaline receding, his mouth drooping as he took in air.
‘It’s over,’ said McGuire to Elaine. ‘All over.’ As the DI appeared at his side, he looked up, said, ‘It is, isn’t it, sir?’
Brennan nodded; he placed a shaking hand on McGuire’s shoulder. ‘It’s over, Stevie.’ He turned away, looked to the dark night sky and caught the dim glow of the city of Edinburgh in the distance. ‘It’s well and truly over.’
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Copyright © Tony Black 2012
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ISBN 978 1 84809 192 4
