Lasting Scars

by Lenny Brando

  He took off his shirt and opted for a drink instead of a shower. As he walked around the kitchen, he realised a plan was as important as a drink. What the hell made Scully and Mince do it? Supposing the old bill connect him with Mince and Scully? Would they bash into his flat with truncheons? Would it be worse if Scully came banging on his door? Cole realised he needed to calm down and take time to think.

  He stared out the kitchen window for several minutes. Then he gave up thinking, jerked the fridge door open and grabbed a can of beer. The ring top broke off when he pulled it. “For fuck’s sake,” he shouted. He plucked a knife from the drawer and stabbed the can. Beer froth bubbled over on the floor, and he brought the can to his mouth so as not to waste any. He took several large, yet awkward gulps through the narrow opening and belched with satisfaction. Then he poured the rest into a glass tumbler and went into the lounge.

  He pulled out his phone and stared at it while he slumped on the couch. The notification light pulsed, and he saw he had a voice mail. His mouth opened as he listened. He cut it off after the introduction, then realised it was pointless, and he played it all the way through.

  “This is a message for Lewis Cole from Detective Sergeant Kapoor from the Metropolitan Police. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the South Kensington attack. I appreciate you have already spoken with SO15, however, we need to follow up with something. It’s routine. Please call me to arrange a suitable time to talk.” She left her number and the message ended.

  Were they on to him? If it was anything to do with Whitechapel, it would be the anti-terror lot, SO15, not the Met. But on that basis, why were the Met asking about South Ken? It didn't make sense. The old bill were devious bastards. This could be about Alice, and they were looking for a link with South Ken. But that was all they were doing. Looking. Fishing. He opened the app on his phone to see if the motion detector had recorded anyone at his door while he was out, but the only files showed his own movements and those of the Chinese girl from the flat above.

  As he guzzled the beer, he told himself he was smart enough to solve any problems. In the worst case, the police would charge him with sexual assault and breaking and entering.

  He had to assume the Captagon fell onto the floor in Alice’s bedroom. Thank Christ he had dropped the bag into her bathroom sink and then dried it. That should mean no fingerprints. In which case, the police couldn’t tie him to the pills. There should be no DNA evidence linking him to Alice’s bedroom either. Under no circumstances could he admit to viewing the house as the police would assume he copied the key. “Fuck’s sake,” he shouted as he remembered he still had the key. That needed to disappear.

  Cole kept thinking. Besides the burner and the Captagon pills, and once he got shot of the key, nothing in the flat would link him to any crime. Thank fuck he’d had the sense to leave his regular phone at home that night. It might even give him an alibi. He’d deleted all the relevant apps and video files. The derelict building on Wilmot Street hid his bag with the knife and the rest of his gear.

  The more he thought about the situation, the more confident he became. He could claim no involvement. Any half decent brief would see him safe. Scully and Mince were the sole potential problem. Would they talk? Then he remembered Scully’s tale of the grass inside and thought it was unlikely.

  But he still wanted Alice Madsen. All he had to figure out was how to get her while avoiding the police. He thought it unlikely the police would watch her hotel room or her house. It wasn't as if Cole was a mass murderer or that Alice was aware she was in imminent danger. From what he’d read on the web, Cole reasoned the police wouldn't be on high alert over the Alice incident. Perhaps Mince and Scully had done him a favour, the police would concentrate on preventing a tit for tat escalation of terrorism.

  He decided he would talk to the police detective, but only after he’d seen Alice again. They had no evidence against him and by volunteering to go talk to them, Cole would show he had nothing to hide. Then when he got his way with Alice, he could claim it was consensual and everyone would believe it. After all, Cole was a hero of South Ken, and he’d apologised to Alice on TV. And Alice wanted it. How could she not? Genius, he told himself. Fucking genius.

  He leaned back on his settee with a satisfied grin and stared at the photo of Daz. It called to him, and he pushed himself to his feet. As he held the photo in his hand, he wished he could talk to Daz. Daz would know what to do. But Daz was dead. Dead. Cole’s grin faded to nothing, and he swallowed hard. The enormity of it hit him, and he leaned against the wall as his legs shook. His earlier confidence in his own genius shattered.

  It took Cole several minutes to move. His world threatened to crumble around him, and he had neither the strength nor will to fight. Drugs would be his only hope, and he washed down another 2 Xanax to stem a rising feeling of hopelessness.

  For over ten minutes, he stared out the window and tried to recapture the numb feeling he had harnessed in the park that morning, but it eluded him. As the Xanax took effect, he forgot about the police and turned on the TV. But he couldn't stop his mind racing. Too many things bothered him. Each time he tried to concentrate on the TV, visions of Scully intruded on his thinking.

  To distract himself, Cole scrolled through his Twitter feed. He re-read the message from HardBoy97. How did this guy know Alice was in the hotel? Despite the Xanax high, he was suspicious. Yo mate. How did u know where she was? And why r u telling me?

  Mate dat works at hotel told me. My other mate got done bad at #SouthKen I seen ur tweets thought u wud wanna know

  Cole shrugged. K thanks

  Give her summat from me, yeah? Give it to her nice and hard. She deserves it! #makeherpay

  Cole typed a response. Dat bitch Alice is going down!!

  LOL! Go get her mate. Smack dat bitch up good!!

  Cole left the conversation at that, but it was good to know he wasn't alone, that others felt like he did. Xanax held his rage at Alice in check. He needed to be rational, and Cole soon decided he’d better spend the night away from the flat. A quick web search showed several cheap places close to the Metro in Ladbroke Grove and not far from her house in Portobello. He threw a change of clothes and toiletries into a bag. His normal phone lay on the table and he picked it up. He backed up everything from the phone onto the computer, and several complicated menu steps later, he completed a full factory reset on the phone, changed the unlock pin to 1234 and plugged it in to recharge. He left a scrap of paper with the pin number beside it. If Scully broke in, he wouldn't be able to resist it.

  He imported the phone’s contact details from the computer to the burner, then he grabbed the key to the house in Portobello, his burner, the Captagon and the Xanax and put them in his pocket along with all the cash he had. As he was about to leave, he looked once more to the photo of Daz. He held it in his hands for a moment before he placed it into the bag. “You’re not leaving me again, bruv.”

  As he closed his front door, he looked up to the camera and waved at it. The feeling he was waving goodbye was strong, and he wondered where it came from. He dismissed the thought as he hurried out of the building.

  He crossed Weavers Fields in the late evening sunshine and around mid-way through the park, he looked about to make sure no-one was watching, then he threw the duplicate key to Alice’s house into the shrubbery.

  On Wilmot Street, he recovered his holdall, unzipped it and checked the contents. Everything was still there, and the knife looked nice and sharp.

  A little over an hour later, Cole lay on a bed in a cheap hotel and stared at the mould on the ceiling. He studied the patterns with a pharmaceutically induced fascination, and his concentration lasted until he heard his phone beep. He tapped on the screen and opened the live feed from the camera outside his flat. Someone was at his door. Cole squinted at the phone as he watched a shadowy figure fiddle with the lock. It took the shaven headed bastard five minutes to break in. Cole nodded. At least he knew where Scully was.


  112

  Alice placed the wine glass down by the bedside table. “Don’t think I want to finish this. The idea was nice, now I’m not so sure.”

  “Then leave it,” Ian said.

  She put on a gown over her underwear and climbed onto the bed. Ian looked over, “Won't you be too hot in that?”

  “I don't care.” She scratched at her arm and looked at the corner of the bed frame. “This is the first night since...”

  “You want to sleep in the other room?”

  She shook her head. “No. I must do this. I can’t let them win.” She pushed over the duvet and got under the sheet.

  “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Promise?”

  He laughed. “Of course.” He turned off the light and got into the bed. Minutes later, she heard his breathing change, become heavier, and she envied the ease at which he drifted to sleep.

  She lay on her back, stared into the shadows and longed for sleep. Time passed. Bleak thoughts encroached. Her bra dug into her. The robe clung to her skin. She swung off the bed and slipped out of the robe. She unclipped her bra and let it fall to the ground. Ian groaned and turned, but he didn't wake.

  When she got back into the bed, she rolled back the sheet and listened to the noises of the night. She tried to identify each sound, but too many sounded like footsteps on the stairs or the creak of a door handle. Every sound pulled her away from sleep. An alarm wailed in the distance, and she sat up in the bed fearing it was theirs. But nobody crashed into the bedroom brandishing knives and menace.

  Hours seemed to pass. She glanced at the bedside clock for confirmation. 3:08AM. Her eyes grew heavy and she told herself the strange sounds were those of the house contracting in the cooler temperature of the night. The reasoning worked, and the next time she glanced at the clock, it was after 6AM and the room was bright. She reached her hand over and felt Ian beside her. A small smile flickered across her lips. Then she blinked several times and fell back asleep.

  113

  Cole looked around the room. Where the fuck am I? He almost panicked, but regained control as he remembered where he was. The urge to piss had woken him and he stumbled into the bathroom. It stank of damp, but it wasn't filthy. He stared at the water swirling in the bowl as he flushed. The things I do for love.

  Back in the bedroom, he pulled out his burner and muttered when he saw it was almost 9AM. There was a Twitter notification and he read a DM from HardBoy97. Have you done her yet mate or lost ur bottle? Send me foto? Cole frowned as he read. Was this a setup? HardBoy97 was too persistent for Cole’s liking. He didn't bother to respond, but perhaps he would later. Now it was time to get moving. He showered and made himself fresh and presentable, then he went out for breakfast.

  He stuffed himself with bacon and sausage, four slices of toast and downed two pots of tea to quench his raging thirst. After breakfast, he looked at the blister on his hand. It hurt each time he closed his fist and sometimes when he did nothing at all, so he went to a chemist where he bought pain killers and a spray for burns.

  As he walked back to the guest house, he figured the first thing he needed to do was locate Alice. She’d be at the hotel or home. He’d check the hotel first. A flower delivery should do it, and he could probably get Laura’s unwitting help. He thumbed out a text. Hey Laura. Problem with other phone. Use this if u need me today. Ordered flowers for Alice. Online company will deliver today @hotel. Will u let her know to expect them? Nice bunch. ££££!!! Could use in interview? Thx Lewis

  When he got back to the room, he popped more Xanax. Once his plan was in progress, he would up the intensity. He took out the bag of Captagon and shook it with a wide grin. There was more than enough to get well and truly out of it.

  114

  Laura hurried from the Xtra News building to meet Suzanne Durrant from FMP in a nearby coffee shop. Suzanne smiled from the table as Laura queued for an Americano.

  “Thanks for coming Laura,” Suzanne said when Laura sat.

  “You’re welcome, but I should be the one thanking you for coming over this way.” Laura looked across the table, but Suzanne avoided her eyes. “Oh,” Laura said. “I see.”

  Suzanne shrugged. “Sorry. I thought they’d confirm it, but Larry, you know, he’s... well, thing is, he’s still got something for Alice.”

  Laura put her coffee down. “Alice? Not Alice Madsen?”

  “Oh shit. I didn't mean to say that.”

  “Jesus Christ. I should have known.”

  “Why? You know her?”

  “I’m putting her on camera later. I’m interviewing her, giving her a chance to put her side of the South Ken story out there.” Laura picked up her coffee and sipped at it, almost burning her tongue.

  “If the others can persuade Larry, then it’s yours.”

  “After the South Ken attack, the police arrested Alice...”

  Suzanne laughed. “I think everyone knows that.”

  Laura put her hand up. “I spoke to my contact in the anti-terror squad yesterday, and they still haven’t ruled her out. The police found a bag of drugs in her bedroom after the recent assault. The same drugs the South Ken terrorist used.” Laura pointed at Suzanne. “Tell Larry that.”

  “That for real, Laura?”

  “What? The drugs?”

  Suzanne nodded.

  “Yeah,” Laura said. “Got it from a reliable source.”

  “I see.” Suzanne tapped her fingers on the table.

  “Alice is bad news for FMP.”

  115

  Alice looked into the office upstairs where Ian worked on the computer. “Can I get you a coffee?” she asked.

  “No. I’m good, thanks. Did you get a time for the interview from Xtra yet?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “Would it be all right if I went into the office when you're doing it? I’ve got things to do in there.”

  “Yeah. I feel kind of safe during the day. Anyway, I want to go to Copenhagen. Tomorrow or the day after, whenever the interview is done. Would you come?”

  “I could come over at the weekend?”

  “That would be good.” Her phone beeped and she walked away from the door. It was a text from Kristin. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was only ever love. Truly sorry. K xxx.

  Alice called out to Ian. “Kristin says sorry.”

  His voice sounded muffled. “To me?”

  She returned to the office and leaned against the door frame. “Not sure about that.”

  “She was well out of order.”

  “I know.”

  “You going to forgive her?”

  “Eventually. Make her squirm for a while first.”

  Ian laughed. “Good.”

  Alice twisted her hands together and Ian looked to her, “What?” he asked.

  “I’m going to get bored sitting around all day. Waiting. Worrying.”

  “Ring the police. Hassle them. Chase the interview. Ask the FMP people whether they’ve made their minds up.”

  “I suppose. Do you want the door open?”

  “Closed. Want to concentrate on this.”

  116

  Cole called the Metro Hotel in Ladbroke Grove from the room in the guest house. “Hi. My name is Simon. I’m from Xtra News. We’re supposed to be doing an interview with one of your guests, Alice Madsen, and I need to talk to her about some details. Could you put me through please?”

  “Please hold while I check for you.”

  Cole waited while the receptionist tapped on her keyboard. If Alice answered, he’d tell her he was arranging flowers for the room to look good on camera.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but that guest has checked out.”

  Cole thanked her and ended the call. From what Laura said yesterday, this suggested Alice had gone home to Portobello. He wondered whether Laura had told Alice to expect the flowers, it would be good if she had, but either way, Cole would make it work.

  All he needed to do was establish when Alice would be in the house. Mid-mo
rning would be a likely time. The boyfriend would be at work, and no-one would expect Cole to break in during broad daylight. It would be the perfect time to deliver a large bunch of flowers for the interview, and a search on his phone showed a florist on Portobello Road, a short walk from Alice’s house.

  Cole nodded to himself. It was time. He picked up the photo of Daz. “Gonna get that bitch for you, Bro.”

  Cole checked the contents of his bags. Then he placed the photo into the holdall and zipped it up. He stashed the other bag in the wardrobe. He washed down ten Captagon pills with a glass of water from the bathroom. Everything was in place. After a final look around, he left the room carrying the holdall with him.

  He walked to the flower shop on Portobello Road, where he ordered an arrangement that cost over £100. They told him it would be 20 minutes, and he bided his time in a cafe, where he drank tea and waited for the Captagon to kick in.

  117

  Kapoor finished writing up another interview on the Natalie Johnson case and decided to get a coffee. As she stood, her phone rang with a number she didn't recognise.

  “DS Kapoor.”

  “Sergeant, this is Laura Bowfield from Xtra News. I want to talk to you about Alice Madsen.”

  Kapoor rolled her eyes. “I don’t talk to the press. Sorry.”

  “No wait. This isn't an interview. I was hoping to help.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’ve arranged to interview Alice together with Lewis Cole. He’s the guy who caught the terrorist and accused Alice of helping with the attack. He now believes he was wrong and wants to apologise to her. I’ve heard you are investigating people who had friends or relatives killed in the attack?”

  Kapoor leaned back in her chair and stifled a yawn. “Where did you hear that?”

  “A source.”

  “A source, huh?” Kapoor picked up a pen. “Okay. Go on.”

  “Are you investigating Lewis Cole?”