Unspoken Truths

by Liz Mistry

  10:55 Allison-Hinton Solicitors, Harrow

  It had taken hours to get from Epsom to Harrow and by the time they parked up, Kennedy was more than ready to slit the driver’s throat. The idiot had talked no-stop for the entire journey and Kennedy had had about enough. However, they had come to an agreement. Nothing like a little avarice to break a man’s moral compass and Wasyl was nothing if not avaricious. An hour ago, Sean had phoned through and asked Allison-Hinton to meet him at his office. Sleazy stuck up bastard had tried to fob him off using the weather as an excuse, but Kennedy was having none of it. A gentle reminder that he knew where his kids went to school and where his wife played tennis was enough to have old Allison-Hinton grabbing his coat and hot-footing it to his offices.

  From the car, Sean could see a faint light through the frosted glass and was glad that he wouldn’t have to wait for the solicitor. He swung open the back door and was relieved when Wasyl pushed open the driver’s door and helped him to his feet. Tosser probably wanted a tip – well he could sing for it. No way was he getting any more than what they’d agreed. Sean stood for a moment balancing against the door. His chest was tight and every breath of cold air he took made it crackle. His limbs protested every time he tried to move them and the thought of the short walk to the entrance was enough to make him sweat. His phlegmy cough rattled like a snake and as he spluttered red globules landed on the pristine snow. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and tried to pull his coat up around his ears. It was a futile gesture because the wind had picked up again and there was no escape from it.

  ‘Help.’ The word was ripped from his mouth by the wind and transported away like a fading echo. He tried again, his throat rasping with the effort. ‘Help.’

  This time the driver heard and moved closer. Sean rested his hand on the man’s arm and step-by-arduous-step, they approached the door. His clumsy feet – like blocks of ice – upset his balance, but the weedy driver was stronger than he looked and, after what seemed like an age, he deposited Sean on the doorstep.

  The office wasn’t locked, so Sean pushed the door open. ‘Wait here.’ The two words took all the effort he had left and he was rewarded by a coughing fit that threatened to deposit his lungs on the carpet of Russell Alison-Hinton’s reception area.

  Dragging one foot at a time, Kennedy stumbled in, the warmth from the fan heater above the door adding to his existing temperature and making sweat gather across his upper lip. Allison-Hinton’s office door was closed, but he was expecting Sean. What he wasn’t expecting was the little gift Sean had for him. Forcing himself to traverse the short area from the reception to the solicitor’s closed office door, Kennedy picked his way towards it. Once there, he leaned on it, using the time to regain his breath before twisting the knob and entering.

  The light was almost blinding after the subdued shadowy dim lights from the reception. Sean blinked, trying to clear the little flashes of yellow and red that blighted his vison. Allison-Hinton was sitting behind his desk, his face taut and angry. Oh, so that’s how you want to play it? Sean didn’t care. He was here for one reason only – Allison-Hinton’s petty strops were irrelevant.

  Kennedy made his way to the chair opposite the desk and fell into it.

  ‘For God’s sake, what’s happened to you?’ Allison- Hinton’s voice had an edge of distaste to it and Sean wanted to smack him for it.

  ‘You fucked up.’

  The solicitor tutted. ‘You came here to tell me that?’

  ‘No’ said Sean, ‘I came here to give you something.’

  ‘Oh yes, what? More orders to do your dirty work for you or rather to pay someone else to do it.’

  Sean smiled. Old Russell’s being a bit bolshie all of a sudden when in actual fact he should be shitting his posh pants. ‘Oh, you underestimate me, Russell. No more orders. Just here to terminate our relationship – to absolve you of all responsibility for my affairs.’

  Hinton-Allison’s mouth twitched. ‘Really? Found someone better have you?’

  Sean shrugged, his throat was dry ‘Something like that. Can I have some water please?’

  Allison-Hinton sighed, but he reached over and filled a glass from the crystal decanter that stood on a tray on his desk. He stood and circled the desk, arm extended. As he approached, his mouth screwed up and he placed his other hand over his mouth, ‘Good God you stink, Kennedy. Like garbage or worse. Where have you been?’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to know, Russell. Believe me, you wouldn’t.’ He covered his mouth with one hand and began to cough, as if his insides were going to erupt onto the carpet. His entire body wracked from the inside out and he thought his bones were going to splinter into a million pieces.

  Allison-Hinton, seemingly managing to overcome his distaste, moved to Kennedy’s side and bent over, pushing the glass of water towards him. ‘For God’s sake, here drink this.’

  Kennedy stopped coughing and his arm snaked out, his fingers gripping Allison-Hinton’s wrist in a pincer hold with a strength that his frail frame belied. Before the solicitor had the chance to pull away, Kennedy yanked him closer and with a swift upper jab, rammed the knife he had concealed by his side right into the other man’s heart.

  Spent now, Kennedy fell back against the soft cushions, trying to catch his breath. His entire body was on fire, shaking and aching. Sweat wafted up to his nostrils, mixed with something else, something more feral. He glanced down at the floor where Allison-Hinton lay, his hands cupping the stiletto blade that protruded from his chest. A balloon of ruby red expanded across the cream carpet. Sean found it quite beautiful as it spread, pinkish tinged at the outer edge progressing to a deeper robust hue as it reached the body. The solicitor’s breathing was fragmented, his eyes fluttering, making Sean think of that saying about butterfly wings in the rainforests. ‘I don’t suffer fools gladly, Russell. You should have known that.’

  Russell’s eyes opened and red bubbles gathered at the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re fucked, Kennedy.’

  Kennedy laughed, ‘No, Russell, old boy – on the contrary, it’s you who’s fucked.’

  The door opened, and assuming it was his driver, Kennedy said, ‘Help me up.’ A gasp and a waft of Dolce and Gabanna displaced both his body odour and the abattoir smell coming from Allison-Hinton. He tilted his head till he could see the receptionist, fingers over her mouth, wide eyes latched onto the solicitor’s bleeding body. ‘Well, hallo there.’

  She retched and tried to back away. But seconds later she was pushed in front of Sean, her face pale, her hands shaking. Sean grinned. This was an unexpected bonus. He gestured for the driver to release her. Not like she had anywhere to run to. She had her tits out again today and Sean fleetingly wondered if she had a thing going with Old Russell boy – not any fucking more!

  Her eyes were once more pinned to her boss’ body, her chesty gasps making her tits heave like some voluptuous silent movie heroine. The effort it had taken to deal with Allison- Hinton swept over Sean and his limbs began to shake. An annoying tic fluttered by his eye and his vision blurred. All he wanted was to be out of here, even if it meant another struggle with The Beast from the East. He sighed and, voice hoarse, said. ‘Lock her in the boot and then come back for me.’

  The driver dragged her from the room, stumbling on her high heels, leaving Kennedy alone. He closed his eyes. His body was giving up on him. He couldn’t breathe, his temperature was sky high – pneumonia? The only thing he had left to do now, was to make sure Cooper was dealt with. When they got away from here he’d put out a few feelers, get things set up.

  The door opened again and Sean shuddered. The thought of moving from his comfy seat was almost too much, but he had to do it. Had to finish this. A flurry of activity, bodies rushing into the room, voices. ‘Clear!’

  ‘Clear!’

  Someone dressed all in black was kneeling beside Allison-Hinton.

  ‘Slight pulse.’

  ‘…paramedics.’

  ‘Sean Kennedy we are arre
sting you for…’

  He blinked up at the officer towering over him, trying to make sense of what had happened. How could they have got here? How did they know what he’d done? But wait they weren’t arresting him for the solicitor – not yet anyway. They were banging on about subverting the course of justice, implicating a police officer, drugs, weapons.

  A triumphant shout from another officer ‘Got it! Just like we were told. Everything’s recorded. Just need to unencrypt it.’

  The officer who was reading him his rights grinned, ‘Looks like we’ve got you, with bells on, Kennedy.’ To another officer, ‘Get the paramedics in here. Don’t want this fucker dying on us, do we?’

  60

  11:30 Manchester General

  ‘Mum, I’m fine, really. Just a scratch.’ Gus held the phone away from his ear and grimaced at Nancy, ‘Why’d you have to tell them, Nance?’

  Nancy splayed her hands before her, ‘Right, like I was going to flirt with the wrath of your mum. She’d have killed me if I hadn’t told her. Just be thankful, I didn’t spill the beans ‘till after we’d rescued you.’

  Gus held the phone closer to his ear. His mum was still scolding him, words like ‘irresponsible’, ‘waiting for back-up’, ‘letting the professionals deal with these situations’ were fired at him in his mother’s staccato tones. The only blessing was that at least he didn’t have to face her ire in person. Perhaps by the time he got back to Bradford, she’d have calmed down. This was an unlikely possibility. His mum was nothing if not tenacious and Gus had really pissed her off this time. Hell, she seemed to think he should update her every time he took the slightest risk. If it were up to her, he’d not be able to shave without giving her a three-day warning so she could hover with the Band Aid in hand.

  Christ, he was a grown man, not a damn kid. And as for ‘let the professionals do it’? What the hell did she think he was, if not a professional? Some bloody randomer plucked off the street to apprehend Britain’s most nefarious killers? Bloody cheek. Yes, he was sorry he’d upset her, sorry he’d worried her. But no damn way was she going to cocoon him in bloody cotton wool. He’d a job to do and do it he would – but now wasn’t the time to tell her that. So, he did the only thing he could – he lied. ‘Got to go mum, the doctor wants to check over my wound before we go.’

  Nancy grinned and shook her finger back and forth, ‘Naughty, naughty, Gus.’

  He sighed, ‘Don’t you dare tell her I lied – she’s having enough of a go at me without you adding anymore ammunition.’

  She handed him a can of Irn Bru, ‘As if. I’m not a snitch.’

  Gus raised his eyebrows but refrained from answering. ‘Any word on Gore?’

  ‘Not looking good, swelling on the brain. He’s in theatre now.’

  Gus pulled the crutches he’d been given towards him. This was all on him. He’d agreed to co-opt Gore onto the team and then dragged him all the way to Manchester. His mum was right about that. He should have left it to the SCO19s. The end result would probably have been the same but Gore wouldn’t be in theatre and he wouldn’t be on crutches. Shit, why did he always make these bad calls?

  As if sensing Gus’ mood, Nancy reached out and stopped him from standing up. ‘It’s not your fault Gus. If you and Gore hadn’t gone to the farmhouse, Daniel may well have already been killed and who knows how many of our lot the Turks would have taken down.’

  Gus brushed her hand off and pushed himself to his feet, flinching a little as the stitches across his thigh pulled. More damn battle scars to add to his existing collection. ‘Going to see Daniel. Got to break the news about Izzie and I want to do it before Gabriella turns up.’

  Nancy snorted, ‘We know her track record at offering bedside support, Gus. Don’t expect her to roll up anytime soon.’

  Gus grinned. Nancy was referring to a couple of years earlier when he’d been fighting for his life in Bradford Royal Infirmary. Gabriella had chosen that moment to desert him. ‘Clearly, she thinks more highly of her brother than she ever did of me, because she and Katie have managed to get themselves on a flight from Dublin to Manchester. Weather depending, they should be taking off…’ he glanced at his watch, ‘now-ish.’

  Nancy fell into step behind him as he swung his injured leg along the corridor to the ward’s exit. ‘I already told Daniel, Gus.’

  He stopped, and spun round to face her, ‘What the hell, Nance. Why did you do that? He deserved to hear it from me. I’m the SIO.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. However, you’re also his brother-in-law,’

  As Gus murmured ‘ex’ under his breath, she wafted her hand at him, ‘Yes, yes, I know – ex. But the fact remains that however tenuously you’re related, he needs someone to lean on. Someone a little divorced from that initial announcement. Someone he won’t forever associate with the worst possible moment of his life.’

  With an abrupt nod, Gus continued to walk. Nancy was right and he should thank her for that – but maybe not right now. Instead he posed a question. ‘How did he take it?’

  Nancy frowned, ‘Well, to be honest, better than I expected. If I didn’t know otherwise I could have assumed he already knew.’ She shrugged, ‘Maybe he’d worked it out. Maybe I just confirmed his worst fears.’

  ‘Didn’t he seem upset?’

  Again Nancy hesitated, ‘Upset – no – not upset. I wouldn’t say he was upset exactly. Buy hey – everyone handles grief in their own way. Just because he didn’t react then doesn’t mean he won’t react later. Seeing Gabriella might push him over the edge.’ She lowered her voice and muttered, ‘I know it would me.’

  Gus snorted. ‘Me too – I’m hoping she’ll be too wrapped up in mollycoddling Daniel to give me any grief.’

  The two of them sniggered. Gus said, ‘Physically, how’s he doing?’

  ‘The doctors seem pleased. He’s responding to antibiotics. They’re removing two fingers but have been able to save his toes. He’s not out of the woods but we got to him in time.’

  As they approached the side ward where Daniel was, Gus lowered his voice, ‘Any word on the Kennedy situation?’

  ‘No, not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear more. They were supposed to be raiding the solicitor’s this morning.’ She tapped her toe on the floor. ‘Bit of news from Stanton though.’

  Gus eyes’ raked Nancy’s face. He could tell that the news wasn’t good and he braced himself for a body blow. ‘Alice? She’s back there?’

  Nancy chewed on her lower lip and Gus wanted to shake her.

  Gus slammed his palm onto the wall, causing a passing registrar to stare at him, before hurrying along, no doubt to alert security. How much more could Alice take? Not only had she been attacked repeatedly, but he’d forsaken her. It had taken Compo to make him waken up. ‘Bastards. So she’s back in Stanton?’ It was easier to use the prison’s name than the word prison – made it seem less permanent somehow. ‘Have they got her in solitary – guarding her? What precautions are they taking?’ His heart had sped up and the anticipation exacerbated the low-level headache that had skulked behind his eyes for the past few hours.

  ‘She wanted to go back to her old cell with her old cellmate. Was adamant. Truth is, Bernadette – her solicitor – is worried about her. She’s been uncommunicative, refuses to testify against the rapist or talk. But then…’

  Gus’ heart sank. There was more. ‘Go on.’

  She sighed. ‘There was some sort of riot, this morning.’

  Gus heart thumped against his chest. ‘And…’

  ‘The woman, Baby Jane Inflictor of Pain, they call her. The one who attacked Alice in the shower …’

  ‘Say it how it was Nancy.’ Gus’ tone was angry, ‘You mean the animal who bit off her nipple and swallowed it before stabbing her – that one?’

  ‘Yes, that one. Well, seems that, during the riot she was attacked. They’re thinking the riot was a distraction. A tactic to get the officers out of the dining area. She was found with her nipple sliced off. Seem
s she was forced to swallow it.’

  For long seconds Gus didn’t react, then ‘aw Alice.’ His cry was strangled in his throat.

  Nancy shook her head. ‘Seems there’s a marked absence of witnesses. Cameras were covered with margarine and nobody, not even Baby Jane, is talking. They’re still investigating so even when they dot the ‘I’s and cross the ‘T’s, it’ll be a few days before she can be released.

  Tone hard, Gus turned to the door of Daniel’s room and said, ‘Well let’s hope they keep schtum. She needs to be out of there.’ As Nancy made to follow him into Daniel’s room, he shook his head. ‘I’ve got this Nance. Go for a coffee, I’ll meet you there later.’

  The hospital radio played softly in the background when Gus stepped into the room. Daniel was dozing. Strapped up to an intravenous drip, and attached to various monitors that emitted a series of slow steady beats, he looked marginally better than he had last time Gus had seen him. Gus made his way over to the chair by the side of his bed and collapsed onto it. It wasn’t comfortable but it was still a welcome respite for his leg, which was throbbing now he’d started to use it.

  ‘Storm Emma will descend and the region will be thrown into further turmoil.’

  Further turmoil? Gus didn’t think there could be any worse turmoil than what had occurred over the last twelve hours.

  As he sat, Gus wondered what his reaction would be if he was the one lying in a hospital bed being told that Patti had been brutally killed. How did you even begin to get over that? He suspected he’d be in bits. He remembered how he’d been when he thought he’d lost his mother last year.

  ‘Winds of over eighty miles per hour are forecast and combined with more snow and freezing showers, conditions will be treacherous throughout Rochdale and Tameside.’

  He definitely remembered the range of emotions that fired through his mind, keeping him awake for months after Greg had died. He remembered Billy’s little face as Gus had tried to staunch the bleeding and he would never forget Becky, with the knife juddering from her eye. None of these images were going anywhere anytime soon and he suspected Daniel would have a fair few of his own to haunt him.