The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  “Cases? We’re only staying overnight not going for a fortnight in Spain.”

  The hallway was full of baby paraphernalia and Phil decided to take the pram out to the car to free up some space before he brought any more downstairs.

  “Gone are the days of travelling light,” she replied, her new lifestyle making her smile.

  “How can one tiny person need so much stuff? You realise Claire will have most of this anyway, Leo’s only six months old?”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and he knew there was no point in pursuing his basic male logic when it came to Molly’s needs. One thing he had learned since they had married was to choose his battles carefully and he knew there would be no way he would win. Although a huge amount of upheaval, it was preferable to Guy and Claire coming over as had previously been arranged. Katherine’s culinary skills were an acquired taste and a far cry from the fine dining they were used to. Chicken Chasseur from a packet mix accompanied by a cheap supermarket wine wasn’t the same as a meal cooked from scratch by a professional chef while the live in au pair took care of the children. Phil had actively supported the change of plans when Claire had offered for them to spend the weekend over at theirs. The rest would do Katherine a world of good and a few countryside walks were just what he needed to freshen his mind and give him a chance to talk to Guy.

  “We’ll have to be leaving soon,” Katherine said, as Phil battled to fit the second case into the boot of his car. “I fed her an hour ago so she’ll be needing feeding again in a couple of hours.”

  Phil nodded as he gave the case a last shove and slammed the boot shut, the force stopping the bags from springing back out. He rushed inside and carried Molly out, placing her carefully in her car seat and ensuring she was correctly strapped in. This had been the first proper outing as a family since she had been born and he had mixed feelings about whether it was the right time to be broaching the subject of his investigations.

  Katherine had made sure Coco had enough food to last till they returned the following day then locked the front door. Phil watched as she checked the door handle to make sure it was secure as he sat in the car with the engine running.

  “All set,” she said as she got into the car and looked over her shoulder to check on Molly.

  “She’s sound asleep. Hopefully the motion of the car will keep her calm.”

  They made the trip in good time, the weekend traffic had lulled leaving the M11 clear as they cruised along with Molly sleeping soundly, tucked up in her car seat. Soon, they reached the house and Claire greeted them at the door as they pulled up the long driveway into the turning circle.

  “How the other half live,” Phil muttered under his breath as Katherine got out the car and went inside, leaving him to unpack the boot of the car.

  “Here, let me give you a hand.”

  Guy appeared behind him as he tugged on one of the cases.

  “I’m sorry for snapping the other evening,” he said as Phil handed him Molly’s bag.

  “It’s okay, I understand. Perhaps you’ll reconsider when you’ve got the flats developed?” Phil replied, gauging his reaction.

  “We’ll talk about it later, after dinner.”

  He smiled and walked toward the house and Phil felt a slight glimmer of optimism at him not ruling out the loan entirely.

  “Dinner’s nearly done so come down as soon as you’re ready.”

  Phil made his way up the stairs to the bedroom they usually stayed in whenever they came to visit and strolled over to the window to admire the view in the setting sun. It was magnificent. The trees appeared black against the orange sky, presenting a stunning backdrop to the exquisite, eight bedroomed, Georgian house. Even if he made it to Detective Chief Inspector, living in a property like this would only be a pipe dream and he wondered what kind of house the Commissioner lived in. He rarely made an appearance, only occasionally dropping into the office to see Mick and have a coffee but he had seen him at the annual Police Charity Ball. He probably didn’t even know who Phil was. A humble Detective Constable not ranking high enough to be seated anywhere near the top table, but the odd time he had seen him he had noticed how young he was to be in such a high rank.

  “Maybe one day,” he murmured to himself.

  He made his way back down the wide staircase to the open hallway and through to the dining room just as Guy was serving the wine in readiness for the meal.

  “Ah, here he is,” he exclaimed, greeting Phil with a smile and patting him on the shoulder.

  “Where’s Molly?”

  “She’s with the au pair,” Katherine replied, looking a little pensive.

  “She’ll be fine,” Claire interrupted. “I thought it would be nice if Katherine ate a meal without having to jump up. The au pair’s very good, she used to work for royalty.”

  It felt strange not having Molly there. Since her birth she hadn’t been more than a couple of feet away from them during mealtimes and her absence made him feel incomplete. He tried not to let his anxiety show. Katherine needed the break and for some parents, not having their baby at the table was the norm.

  When the meal was over, Phil sat back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. It had been delicious and he had eaten everything but he wasn’t used to such rich food and it weighed heavy on his stomach.

  “Come on, let’s leave the girls to it and we’ll have a brandy,” Guy suggested, and he led Phil out of the living room to his study across the hall.

  A log fire crackled in the fireplace surrounded by a large stone hearth and Phil sat down on the ruby red leather sofa as Guy poured a large glass of Courvoisier into a brandy glass and passed it over. There was a pause as he sat down in his favourite matching leather armchair and savoured the smell of the drink, taking a sip and circling it around the glass.

  “So, how’s work? Is it getting a little better?”

  “Not really,” Phil replied, cautiously.

  The wine from the meal had gone to his head and his inhibitions had loosened.

  “It will work out, you know,” Guy said, trying to offer some reassurance.

  Another pause fell between them and Guy sensed his brother wanted to tell him something but was struggling to find the right words.

  “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Okay, was is it?” Guy said, prompting his brother to get whatever was bothering him off his chest.

  Phil pulled the letter containing the details of Molly’s trust fund from his pocket and handed it to Guy.

  “What’s the problem?”

  Phil relayed the details of his findings at St Jude’s along with his abduction and interrogation and he noticed Guy’s expression. He was very good at masking his thoughts but having grown up together Phil was familiar with tell-tale twitches whenever Guy felt uncomfortable or had something to hide. He let out a small nervous laugh and looked puzzled.

  “So what’s that got to do with Molly’s trust fund?”

  “Nothing at all, apart from the stationery you’ve used,” Phil replied. “It’s the same stationery used for the ransom note to Tom Dalton.”

  “Well…I,” Guy stammered. “It could have been sent by anyone. The stationery is often used by Masons.”

  “Indeed it is,” Phil agreed. “But how many Masons had purchased the flats at Deptford and were struggling to get planning permission?”

  Guy stood up from his chair and poured himself another drink, slugging it back in one gulp, and Phil noticed him wipe his forehead with his handkerchief.

  “Look, you’ve got to understand I never meant for it to turn out like this. I did it for you as much as for myself.”

  The effects of the alcohol from dinner instantly disappeared as Phil let out a faint gasp.

  “Are you telling me it was you who kidnapped Grace Dalton?”

  Guy sat back down in his chair and for a moment Phil saw the boy he had grown up with instead of the high flying business tycoon he had become.

 
“It was never meant to be for long,” he started to explain. “I’d bought the flats as an investment. The plan was to renovate them and turn them into luxury flats for professionals working in the city. But Tom wouldn’t budge, insisting a percentage had to be made up of social housing which would have put the wealthy buyers off and slashed the profits in half. I was desperate. They had cost a fortune and I was set to lose the lot.”

  “So you thought if you kidnapped his daughter then he’d pass your plans?”

  Guy nodded.

  “But why didn’t you release her when the plan failed?” Phil continued.

  “I planned to but…”

  “But what?” Phil snapped.

  “I had always intended for you to find her. But then things went wrong. Tom was arrested and ended up on remand so I held onto her thinking I could pick up the plan once he’d been released, I even hired a top QC to get him out.”

  Phil listened in shock. He had pieced it all together using his detective work but having his theory confirmed made him feel sick.

  “I wanted you to gain back your credibility and get the promotion you missed out on,” he admitted. “I realised I would have to let her go but before I could the crime network discovered what I’d done and used it against me. They forced me to sell the building to them for a fraction of what it’s worth and lend them the money required to purchase it from my company.”

  Guy covered his face in his hands and sobbed as the tension from his façade slipped away and Phil sat in silence from the shock of his brother’s confession.

  “Do you remember when I took a thrashing for you when you stole Grandad’s medals from the cabinet?” Guy asked, eventually composing himself.

  Phil nodded. They had never spoken about the incident until now and Phil felt the memories of his guilt and shame return.

  “Well, this time it’s your turn to cover for me.”

  Phil remembered the punishment he had taken and an unsaid understanding ran between them for a moment.

  “If you arrest me then I’m a dead man. They’ll have me killed before I even get to trial. What will happen to Claire and the children? Do you want them to grow up without their father?”

  Phil shook his head, numb from his brother’s confession. He recalled the conversation in the washrooms at work with Jason and how he had indicated Grace was still alive. He had assumed she had been imprisoned at St Jude’s but now, as the pieces fitted together, the realisation of where she was being held dawned on him.

  He jumped from his chair, stormed out of the room and made his way back to his bedroom as fast as his injured leg would allow.

  “Car keys,” he said, bursting into the bedroom and startling Katherine.

  “What on earth is the matter?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I just need the car keys. Where are they?”

  He grabbed the jeans he had arrived in and squeezed the pockets, casting them down on the floor when he found they were empty.

  “Tell me what’s happened? You can’t drive, you’ve had too much to drink,” she insisted.

  “For God’s sake, just give me the bloody keys,” he snapped.

  Katherine jumped and shot over to where her handbag was tucked beside the bedside table, pulled the keys out and handed them over.

  “Thanks,” he said, snatching them from her and giving her a quick kiss. “I’ll explain everything once I get back, okay?”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  The journey seemed endless as he raced from Guy’s house and followed the route to Deptford. It was late and only a few cars filled with couples on their way back home after an evening of socialising dotted the road. Even with such an easy drive the journey would take an hour and he actively forced himself to calm down and allow his logical mind to work on his findings. He had no idea what he was going to do once he reached the derelict flats or even if Grace was still there. Then there were the problems he would face if he found her. How would he explain the reasoning behind the rescue when he filled out his report? He had made sure to store the recording he had made at St Jude’s along with the supporting evidence in the station locker with a covering letter to his solicitor. Should things go wrong it would immediately be sent to Anticorruption but they still had Father Michael’s body as their trump card to destroy his career and land him in prison. It was a tightrope but one Phil was determined to navigate.

  It was nearly 3am by the time he reached the flats and he pulled off the road near to the main security gates. A group of students from a nearby pub laughed and joked as they headed home from a Saturday evening’s revelry and he made sure they had turned the corner and were well out of sight before getting out of the car. The path was well lit with the usual sodium lights, a stark comparison to the dark gloom surrounding the flats. He shone his torch through the metal mesh. Pizza boxes, fast food wrappers and half eaten kebabs lay strewn on the ground along the perimeter, remnants of the local pubs’ punters attempting to satisfy their hunger and mop up the alcohol. Beyond, the outline of the flats were just visible against the night sky and he scanned them for any signs of movement.

  The fencing swayed as he shinned up it and dropped over to the other side, and he lost no time stumbling over the rubble towards the buildings. Two derelict sets of low rise flats six storey’s high, curved to form a broken circle and he walked into the area between them still watching and listening for any signs he was not alone and where he should start his search. He shone his torch light all around as he studied the layout of the buildings and tried to find a way inside.

  “Grace,” he called into the darkness, his voice echoing as it bounced off the external walls.

  He walked further and noticed tyre tracks printed into the dusty ground leading through the area between the flats and disappearing around to the rear of the building on the left. They looked fresh. A burst of adrenaline surged from his stomach and flooded his body as he recalled his own kidnapping and interrogation. He proceeded with caution, following the tracks around the building to where an old pick-up truck had parked near to a boarded up door. He paused and weighed up his options as an intense feeling of danger gripped his chest. What if the truck belonged to Baranski? Memories of his arm across his windpipe as it nearly choked the life out of him flashed into his mind, forming a cold layer of sweat over his skin. He moved closer to the truck and shone his torch across the licence plate but it wasn’t familiar.

  Suddenly, a cat shrieked and leapt from behind an old dustbin, knocking it over with a clatter. Phil’s heart sprang into his throat and he instinctively shot behind the truck for cover.

  “Bloody cats,” he muttered as he regained his composure.

  He switched off his torch and waited in the shadows for any signs the noise had alerted the owner of the truck but when no one appeared from the door he stepped out and continued to approach it. The door was ajar and he tentatively pushed it open a little and peered into the darkness inside but there was nothing to see. Assured the owner of the truck hadn’t heard the noise made by the cat, he opened the door further and stepped inside.

  Once in, he pulled the door back to where it had originally been and listened for any sounds before switching his torch back on. Two sets of stairs faced him, one leading upward, the other leading down towards a basement. His instinct told him to follow the steps downwards and he slowly started to descend, his feet moving softly to avoid any clicks from his shoes against the concrete until he reached the bottom of the first flight.

  He froze. A noise from the floor below halted him in his tracks and he switched off his torch. Whoever owned the truck was directly below and he held his breath as he waited to see if he had been heard. He tip-toed to the top of the next flight and leant over the handrail for a glimpse of whoever was down there and how many of them there were. He took another couple of steps, leaning further as a leg came into view and he hesitated as he realised he was unarmed with no back up team.

  “Oi!”

  A voice bellowed through th
e darkness behind him and he spun round to see a masked man racing towards him from the flight above. He was trapped. With his escape route up the stairs blocked and another man on the flight below he fished for his badge, and shone the beam of his torch directly into the approaching man’s eyes.

  “Police. Stop right there,” he yelled, lifting up his badge.

  The man didn’t stop and Phil was powerless as he felt a strong shove to his chest and his feet lift from the step. A spike of terror shot through him as he felt himself falling and he heard a crack as his head hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

  An orange glow from the flames flickered and danced on the wall and Phil stared at it through half opened, heavy eyelids. Caught between conscious and unconscious, he listened to the crackling sound as the fire angrily licked up the walls and travelled over the ceiling above. A loud banging gave him the jolt needed to shock his senses and he awoke to find himself surrounded by flames. The banging continued and he pulled the sleeve of his jacket down over his hand and covered his mouth and nose as he struggled to his feet and made his way over to the solid oak door.

  “Grace? It’s Detective Harris, I’m going to get you out.”

  The locks on the door were hot and he covered his fingers with his other sleeve as he slid them back and tugged at the handle but the door didn’t open. He stepped back for a moment and coughed, gasping for air as the acrid smoke rapidly filled the room.

  “I’m going to need to you push the door as hard as you can on the count of three. Okay, Grace?”

  The banging stopped and although she didn’t answer he knew she had heard the instruction.

  “Okay, here goes. One…two…three. Push!”

  He pulled at the door with all his strength and to his relief it released from the swollen frame, opening suddenly and catapulting a girl to the floor by his feet.

  “It’s okay, Grace. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  He glanced into the room where she had been and waved frantically at the smoke for anything which he could use to help their escape. Grabbing the blanket from the mattress, he doused it in water from one of the buckets she had been using for washing and threw it over her head.