Creatures of Dust

by Scott Hunter

  Harding nodded. “Will do.”

  Helen McKellar spoke up. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “As if the guv hasn’t enough problems already ... his mother’s been taken ill. She’s too frail to move, apparently. The matron called an hour ago.”

  Charlie sighed. “OK. I’ll get word to him. Thanks.”

  She surveyed the room. “Right. That’s it for now. DS Banner? A word please. My office.”

  Banner, who had been about to disappear for a smoke, twisted his face into a quizzical smile. “That’s the guv’s office.”

  “Not for the time being, Sergeant. I’ll be looking after it until DCI Moran is back.”

  Banner complied, muttering under his breath. One of his mates gave him a dig on his way past.

  Charlie closed the door. “Have a seat.”

  Banner hovered at the door. “I’m all right.”

  “I said, have a seat.”

  Banner sat.

  “Bit of a ladies’ man, are you?” Charlie asked, resting her elbows lightly on the arms of Moran’s chair.

  “Look, I’m only mucking about. Sorry if I offended–”

  “I’m not talking about me.” Charlie laced her voice with a steely edge. She’d dealt with blokes like Banner before. There was only one possible approach: the direct one.

  “Oh? Then why–”

  “Have you been seeing DS Flynn?” Charlie watched Banner carefully, studying his body language.

  Banner tried an exasperated laugh which didn’t quite come off. “Seeing? What do you mean, seeing?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  Banner fell silent. Charlie could see the cogs turning. How can I get out of this one? was written all over his conniving face.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Look, this has nothing to do–”

  “Nothing to do with the investigation? Nothing to do with DCI Moran’s arrest? Get real, Banner. Or are you even more stupid than I thought?”

  “I took her out for a drink, OK? That’s it.”

  Charlie raised her eyes to heaven. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. She’s all right. Bit on the cool side.”

  “I’ll bet she wasn’t too cool to lift your keys while you were ogling her charms though, Sergeant. Where did you go for that drink?”

  Banner shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Across the road to the Falcon. As usual.”

  “Let me guess. She went to powder her nose and took a bit longer than usual?”

  Banner was looking at the floor now. He didn’t reply.

  “Well?”

  “Yeah, actually. Now you mention it.”

  Charlie rapped her knuckles on the desk in frustration. “You’re supposed to be a detective. You’re supposed to be alert.” Charlie was really angry now. Not that it would do any good. With an effort she calmed herself down. Somehow they had to work together to turn this around. No point in making an enemy of Banner – but judging by the look of hate on his face she’d probably passed that milestone already.

  “What was she wearing?”

  Banner scratched his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “You asked her out and didn’t bother to look at her clothes?”

  “It’s not the clothes I’m interested in,” Banner said, with a sly grin.

  “Your brain is not in your trousers, Banner. Or maybe it is, I don’t know. Think, Sergeant. Blouse? Jacket? Colour? Style?”

  “No jacket. Too hot.” Banner shrugged. “Might have been orange. Or yellow. Yeah. A yellow top. Blouse.”

  Charlie leaned back in Moran’s chair and exhaled. “OK. Thank you, DS Banner. In future, use your noddle. That’s what you’re trained for.”

  “But she’s one of ours,” Banner protested. “How was I supposed to know?”

  “Intuition? Due care and attention? An enquiring, professionally suspicious mind? Shall I go on?”

  Banner was studying the carpet tiles again.

  Charlie stood up. “At least you had the foresight to security mark the packages. Consider that a partial redemption. And turn off the pricked balloon impersonation, sergeant. We haven’t got much time and there’s a lot to do.”

  Moran received Charlie’s message with resignation and without surprise. His mother was on the way out. A bit like you, Brendan... What could he do? Would they let him visit? Surely, on compassionate grounds? He buzzed for the duty officer.

  Ten minutes later he was led out to the car park. He was surprised to see Charlie Pepper sitting in her car. When she pulled in behind them Moran was pretty sure she wanted to make contact. Maybe the new DI had something useful up her sleeve. Someone better had, Brendan, because you’ve got nothing...

  It was getting dark by the time the car pulled into the nursing home. Out of the corner of his eye Moran saw Charlie park a discreet distance away. Moran was escorted to reception and led along the corridor by the matron, a large lady in a blue uniform who seemed not to think it unusual that Moran had turned up with two uniformed police officers. Perhaps she thought it was all part of his job.

  “She’s not good, I’m afraid. Doctor’s been in twice today. He’s not ... optimistic.” The matron nudged the door to room fourteen and poked her head in. “Mrs Moran? Your son is here.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Moran could hear his mother’s laboured breathing. His nostrils wrinkled at the smell of sickness. There was a chair beside the bed, a vase of flowers on the edge of the television table. The walls were bare. It wasn’t much of a place to end your life.

  As he looked down at his mother’s emaciated form he forgot his own problems. This was the woman who had raised him, had suffered the loss of a much-loved child and yet had struggled on, bearing the pain and loss like the trooper she had been. Moran’s father had disappeared into the Western Isles and a bottle of whisky when Moran was six years old. It was his mother who had paid his way and managed him through his teens, through college, police training, and who had eventually helped him buy his first flat. It was his mother who had been there for him when Janice was killed. And here she was now; a shadow in a dark room.

  Moran took her hand and she stirred, her chest wheezing as her eyes tried to focus. “Is that you, James?”

  “No, Mum. It’s Brendan.”

  “Ah, Brendan. Are you well?”

  “Yes. Very well,” Moran lied. What was the point in telling the truth? “And how are you?”

  “Oh. You know. I could be better.” She coughed and grimaced in pain. “Are you well yourself, James?”

  Moran squeezed her hand. “It’s Brendan, Mother.”

  “Yes. Yes, I know. Brendan?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you married yet?”

  The question took him aback. He swallowed. “No, Mum. Not yet.”

  “Well, you need to be. You’re getting too old to be on your own.”

  Moran smiled. “You’re probably right.”

  “Am I not always right when it comes to you?” She smiled weakly. “I’ve always tried to do the best I can for you, Brendan.”

  He nodded, unable to speak. He thought of the Dass family, bonded together, united in crisis, the elderly matriarch at the centre of home life and activity, respected and cared for. Could he not have done the same for his own mother? Should he not have done?

  “I’m very tired, Brendan.”

  “I know. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

  Liar. You wanted to assuage your conscience...

  Her eyes had closed. She was asleep. Moran sat for a long time, watching his mother’s chest rise and fall, listening to her infected lungs fighting for air. Thank you, he said quietly. For all you did. For all the sacrifices. He stood up but found he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Maybe we’ll meet again, one day. If there is a heaven.

  “Guv?”

  Moran’s heart jumped.

  Tap Tap Tap. “Guv? Are you in there?”

  Moran went to the
window. “Charlie?”

  “Guv. I’m sorry to intrude. The farm; the woman – it was DS Flynn, I’m sure of it.”

  “Was it, now?” Moran felt a familiar excitement ignite in his stomach.

  “And Banner security marked the heroin. We just have to find traces on Flynn and we’ve got her.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “She’s on duty tonight, guv, so she won’t be at home.”

  Moran glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had entered the room quietly while his back was turned. “You’re not suggesting a break-in, are you DI Pepper?”

  “Only if strictly necessary, guv” Charlie said, straight-faced. “Just following your example,” she added. “Would you care to join me, sir?”

  Moran suppressed a smile and shook his head. “I’m in enough trouble already without slipping custody. If you’re wrong, they’ll hang me out to dry.”

  “Fair point.” Charlie stuck her chin out. “But I can prove it, I know.”

  “And what if DS Flynn has been her usual thorough self? She’ll have covered up well, if all I’ve heard about her is to be believed.” Moran felt a wild impulsiveness competing against his better judgment. If Charlie was right they needed to nail Flynn before she got up to any further mischief. If the DS had taken the drastic step of a drug frame-up it meant she had a lot to hide. Like the murder of a colleague, for instance.

  “It’s worth the risk, guv. If we get Flynn she’ll open up the whole case for us,” Charlie pressed. “With the added bonus of your charges being dropped, of course.”

  “I can’t pretend that’s not an attractive result from where I’m standing right now.” Moran smiled wearily. “Do what you can Charlie, but remember that anything you find will be inadmissible in court without a search warrant.”

  “Been there, guv,” Charlie said.

  I’ll bet you have, too, Moran thought as he watched her trot back to her car.

  Chapter 21

  On his way out Banner dropped by to see how the police mechanics were getting on with stripping the Audi. Pepper had also asked him to catch up with Dr Bagri at the path lab; by now Father Jeffries’ autopsy, which the guv had obviously been unable to attend, had already taken place. Banner looked at his watch. After half past nine; Bagri would be finished for the day. He could probably make do with a phone update.

  What Banner needed right now was exoneration. He knew he’d screwed up badly with DS Flynn, added to which his humiliation at the Zodiac had made him the butt of a seemingly endless stream of wit and repartee from his colleagues. Banner wasn’t used to that. He was the one who made the jokes. Worse still, he had to deal with a sassy new DI who seemed impervious to his charms. We’ll see about that, Ms Pepper...

  His train of thought was interrupted by the approach of one of the forensics team. “Couple of hairs in the boot. Lipstick in the glove box. Missing brake light. Nothing hidden in the panelling. That’s it so far.” The white-suited investigator turned back to his work.

  Banner thanked him curtly and headed for the car park. Sod the autopsy result. It could wait until the morning. It wasn’t top of his list anyway, and besides, he was spoiling for some action. True, the Ranandan brothers had done a predictable disappearing act, but he was pretty sure he knew where they’d show up. Banner loosened his collar. He was going to kick some ass down at the Zodiac, and this time he’d be the one who came out on top.

  Nice place, Charlie muttered to herself as she parked beneath a street lamp. Sharron Flynn’s address had led her to a new block of executive flats overlooking the river, complete with underground car park and security entrance system.

  You seem to be doing all right for yourself, Miss Flynn ... or is someone else footing the bill?

  She entered the reception area. A security guard looked up from his magazine with a lazy enquiry. “Help you?”

  “Just calling for number eleven,” Charlie said. “Mind if I go up?”

  “Go right ahead. Second floor.” The man’s eyes were already back on his magazine.

  Charlie called the lift and pushed the button for the second floor. She emerged into a plush corridor which evoked the feel of a five-star hotel. The carpet was silent beneath her feet; number eleven was the last flat on the right.

  She knocked once. The door opened almost immediately. A woman in her late fifties stood on the threshold. She looked puzzled, as if unused to opening the door to visitors.

  “Can I help?”

  “Hi. I’m Charlie, one of Sharron’s colleagues,” Charlie said. “She asked me to pop in and pick up something she forgot. You’re Mrs Flynn?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Mrs Flynn gave her the once-over. “I’m just on my way out. It’s not like Sharron to forget anything. She’s very organised.”

  “Yes, I know.” Charlie laughed. “Puts us all to shame.”

  Mrs Flynn laughed. “It’s just her nature. I expect she drives you all mad.”

  “She sure does,” Charlie grinned. “We cope, though.”

  “Drives me mad on occasion as well,” Mrs Flynn confided. “Do come in, please.” She stepped aside and held the door open.

  “Now, what’s she’s forgotten?” Mrs Flynn asked Charlie over her shoulder as they walked through into the lounge. “I expect I’ll know where it is. I usually pop in to do the housework once or twice a week, so it’s all familiar territory to me.”

  “It was her bag,” Charlie replied. “The one she uses for work. It’s got all her stuff in it – you know, rubber gloves, pens, notebook and so on.”

  Mrs Flynn frowned. “Well, she had a bag with her when she left the flat earlier on. I wonder which one she meant. I’ll have a look in her bedroom. Do make yourself comfortable. I won’t be a moment.”

  Charlie waited until Mrs Flynn had left the room. The designer kitchen was immediately opposite the lounge. She nipped across the hallway and opened the first of a seemingly endless row of drawers. It slid noiselessly open on its rail.

  Mrs Flynn called from the bedroom. “I can’t see another bag.”

  Charlie tried the second and third drawers. Inside the third was a key ring containing a comprehensive assortment of keys she doubted were for domestic use. She pocketed it and returned to the lounge. Mrs Flynn bustled in seconds later. “Well, there were a few things on her bed. I’ll put them in a plastic bag for you.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie said with a smile. “May I use the bathroom?”

  “Of course, dear. Second on the right.”

  Charlie went straight for the laundry basket by the basin. It was full. She whispered a prayer of thanks and started to dig. Right at the bottom was a yellow blouse. Hey presto...

  But what if Mrs Flynn decided to do a load of washing? Charlie frowned, and then carefully removed the yellow blouse and placed it in the airing cupboard under a pile of sheets. Hopefully it wouldn’t be discovered until she got hold of a warrant. She flushed the toilet and went back into the lounge. Mrs Flynn handed her a bag.

  “Oh, by the way, Sharron says to say thanks.”

  “Send her my love,” Mrs Flynn said as she led Charlie to the door and saw her out.

  Charlie cocked her head, a noise attracting her attention. “What was that?”

  “One of the cats, I expect.” Mrs Flynn smiled sweetly. “Noisy things.”

  “Well, bye for now,” Charlie said.

  “Bye.”

  Back in the car Charlie called Moran.

  “Any luck?” The guv’s voice sounded tired and strained.

  “Yes, guv. A set of skeleton keys and a yellow blouse in the laundry basket. Banner said she was wearing a yellow blouse when he bought her a drink the other night.”

  “Top marks, DI Pepper. No time to lose, then; when DS Flynn goes off shift and speaks to Mummy she’ll know she’s been rumbled. Get a search warrant authorised, pronto.”

  “I’ll get Banner and Helen McKellar to join me for the fun, guv.”

  “The real fun starts in
the interview room,” Moran said coldly. “And I’ve got a lot of fun to catch up on.”

  His head was splitting, a pounding, relentless pulse which had tormented him all day. The tablets he had taken hadn’t got close to reducing the pain.

  The Kafir lay full length on the floor and writhed like a snake, as if by doing so he could somehow push the agony out of his body, and then trap it and kill it. Should he visit the doctor? No. What good would that do? More tablets, more empty advice.

  Perhaps the heat was to blame. He had tried cold showers, sipped mugful after mugful of herbal tea, but it was no good. His head was on fire, his brain in torment. If he closed his eyes and tried to sleep he was disturbed by images that made no sense. A dark wood, snowfall, the distant echo of church bells, tree roots tripping him, hindering his progress through the blackness. A cowled figure waiting, watching.

  The Kafir snapped his eyes open. Better to be awake with the pain than to allow sleep to take him to that place...

  Through the mist of his discomfort the Kafir tried to focus on his enemy, something he knew would sustain him through the hours of trial. He would not be beaten, and revenge would be all the sweeter with the knowledge that his anger had been refined in the fires of suffering.

  The Kafir went to the window and breathed in deeply. The air seemed cooler outside. Perhaps he would find relief in the ebb and flow of the river. Perhaps he would find peace sharing his pain with another.

  Suddenly, in an instant, as though someone had flicked a switch, the hammering in his head ceased. He felt instantly refreshed. and alert. The Kafir laughed aloud. Now he knew where he was going; his friend had told him just what to do. He’d been wrong. He wasn’t being followed; he was being helped.

  “Thank you,” he said aloud. “Thank you for telling me where she is.”

  He began to make preparations. Everything must be done with diligence, his helper had told him, and so it would be. The Kafir was happy; it was time to kill again.