Six Dead Men (13 page)

“Away with you Andrew O’Malley.”

The first bullet tore through his breast pocket; the second blew the left side of his brain away. The thwack of the bullet made a satisfying sound at each impact. The body was rocked by the force of the miniscule missiles hitting their target. Defying the laws of gravity the body remained upright. Ire ran at the figure and body tackled it viciously. The body slumped beneath his weight and then sprang back limply into position as his uncontrolled attack pushed him off balance and into a heavily padded wall. Ire ignored the loud alarm which was buzzing in his headset. He panted heavily and swore through gritted teeth. An irritable voice cut through the harsh sound of the alarm.

“God damn it Terry, your time’s up. I've had the quitting signal going for ages now but you've just been ignoring it. There’s a squad of new recruits waiting for their turn to run the exercise. In any case, your score was absolutely shit today. You shot most of the hostages. I don’t know what’s with you.

Ire pulled his headset off and blinked at the increased volume of the alarm without the safety net of the headset. His features were set in a tense grimace. He slammed the headset into a corner and heard it crackle in the silence as the alarm was shut off.

He shoved his way through the hoard of rookies waiting to use the training exercise.

“Oh man, you bust another dummy Terry. These things don’t come cheap you know. Oh hell, not another headset too. Terry!”

Ire barely registered the annoyance of the shooting range floor manager. He did not even bother going to have a shower. He slammed the practice pistol down on the counter of the gun room and pulled his jacket off the hook by the door leading to the exit. His thumb stabbed at the central locking tag for his car. He jumped into the Honda convertible and the thump of the door shutting echoed across the tarmac of the car park. He was in fifth gear before he was out of the gate of the training complex.

She had disappeared, vanished. He had been reviewing those tapes.
How do I find her?
He needed a new angle, another line of enquiry. Terence Ire was not about to let a little slip of a girl magic her way out of his grip. He refused to let this become an unsolved case.

Unsolved case...

The beginning of an idea was making itself felt in the recesses of his tenacious brain.

*****

Madison Bricot. Finally I have a sodding name.
It was two days since they'd found her name and address and the girl was still nowhere to be found. She had simply dropped off the face of the earth.

“How the hell has she done it?”

Brian did not answer Ire’s question. “Well Terry, we’ve got our boys keeping a look out for her. I’ve got a man stationed outside her work and residence and some of our undercover drugs boys are keeping a look out for her where they hang out, but we’ve had no luck yet.”

“You don’t seem terribly upset that you haven’t been able to find her.”

Brian’s face was an unreadable mask but now he frowned in a concerned manner. “I’m completely pissed off Terry. But the girl’s in hiding and until she makes a move and surfaces again there’s not a lot we can do about it.”

A heavy silence hung between them.

“Look man, I’ve got to head back to my office. We’ve got a big bust we’re working on and I need to be there to co-ordinate things.” Brian began to move towards the door.

“You’re not holding out on me Brian? Just tell me you really don’t know where the girl is.”

“Hey man, I don’t know where she is. Look, I’m sorry we’ve lost her, but I have to get back to my division. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

Ire slumped further into his swivel chair, his expression dark and dangerous. He nodded at Brian and turned towards his terminal, his gesture one of utter dismissal.

Shit. Shit! How the hell has she managed to escape the notice of half the police force of Manchester?

Frustrated with the lack of progress in finding the girl Ire turned his attentions back to the information he’d found about his father in his mother’s house. He’d always known Alfie wasn’t his real father, mainly because Alfie wouldn’t let his mum forget it. And his mother, despite the fact she crumpled beneath the boot of Alfie never ever let on who his real father was. But when he turned sixteen he packed a bag and left. At the door his mother silently handed him his birth certificate. At the time he glanced at it briefly before stashing it in a pocket of his bag. Then his only concern was getting out from under Alfie’s rule.

And when he joined the force the document was just a means of identification and nothing more. His job consumed him. He liked the power it gave him and he forgot that he ever cared about the need to know his real dad.

So, this Arthur, he knocks up mum and then does a runner down to London to do his thing - medical school. Mmmmm, not so decent then. Just an excuse to get away from her if you ask me. But they write those letters to each other for a few months, then nothing. What a load of crap. I have enough on my plate without having this shit to deal with.

An incoming message in Ire’s inbox flashed. What he read lifted his mood significantly. A satisfied smirk now twisted the fox-like features of his face. Ire laughed out loud. The laughter grew louder and became a harsh cackle. Members of his team looked at each other nervously.

Instinct — it never failed him. One national database search later and there it was. Her name, linked to a murder investigation in London. Out of interest he cross referenced the cited inspector’s name attached to the file. Two things made him start as he began reading through the document. The first was the detective's name and the second was his list of collars.
Bloody hell.
Ire felt a grudging respect for this Deed.
Funny thing, coming across that surname twice in one week. It's fairly uncommon
. He found that out when he got one of his lackeys to do a bit of ancestry digging. He was playing with the idea of finding out about his father, just playing with it. But this was a bit of an incentive to find out just a little bit more.

I think I need to call in some favours down South. Wonder why this Deed has done a sideways move? May be something worth knowing... for future use. Imagine if we’re actually related. He’s not that much younger than me, could even be my brother. Just my luck if I have a brother who's a bloody Sherlock Holmes. Shit, too right, he had a father figure by his side all his life. If he is... another policeman - must have been in the old man's genes. Couldn't have been mum she was a stupid cunt.

Madie had been at Sylvie’s house for nearly a week. Despite the fact the house was a Piccadilly Circus of people having readings Madie felt safe in the ramshackle but homely Victorian terrace. She had a room at the top of the house and was there or in the cosy kitchen with its kettle sitting on the hob just waiting to be boiled. Sylvie’s old school mothering soothed Madie. Some of the burden of her anxieties was lifted from her shoulders. It made her think of that old saying, one of many her mother had often quoted to her: a burden halved is a burden shared. So maybe those sayings were there because they were mainly true.
Sometimes our parents do know what they’re talking about
.

When Madie called and took a leave of absence from the refuge, Moira Carson told Madie the police had been asking questions about her.

“Don’t you worry luv. You've never let us down before. I knew it had to be a family matter or illness when you didn't call in. I told the police you called in sick when they showed up asking for you. You take as much time as you need. We’ve a lot of volunteers in at the minute so we can cope. You take care now luv.”

Madie heard the bustle of the centre staff as they prepared for the evening meal and someone calling for Moira.

“Got to go luv.” She scarcely had time to add anything before Moira put the phone down.

The police! Maybe it's Deed. No, it's that estate agent. They know it was me. Somehow they know it was me. I told Andrew but he told me not to worry and now he and Sylvie will be accessories for helping a murderer. Maybe I should just hand myself in. It will be easier on everyone if I do.

Sylvie appeared and as though sensing Madie's thoughts said, "Time for a chat Madie."

“I should hand myself in to the police.”

“I don’t think you should Madie. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.” Sylvie marshalled Madie along the corridor towards the dining room.

"Moira says the police are looking for me."

"Let them look. You need some time to sort through your thoughts and feelings."

"You don't believe me. You think I'm just making up this story for attention."

Sylvie stopped and rested her hands on the tops of Madie's shoulders. "No, no Madie. I really do believe you. I think there's a lot more going on here than you or me know yet."

“What should I do?”

“Let's try things my way first." Sylvie wrapped a protective arm around Madie and she stepped into the cave of the offered security, revelling in the scent of faded rose potpourri clinging to the older woman. "If you still think you want to go to the police after that then you do that. Don’t go doing anything rash like calling the police just yet though. You just talk to me or Andrew first.”

“Are you sure I’m not in the way?”

“Good heavens no! There’s more than enough room in this old place.”

“Sylvie, am I cursed?”

Turning Madie to face her, Sylvie placed a hand on either side of Madie's face. Her palms were cool. Her voice was tender. “I can see why you feel you're cursed Madie. Will you let me contact my guides to see what they say?”

“I don’t believe in any of this stuff Sylvie.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to believe in it. The things you say you can do Madie, it's not usual, there's something else going on here. I don't think the police are going to be able to help you. I think there's something paranormal happening to you."

"I thought if I said that Sylvie then people would really think I was mad."

"You're not mad. You're experiencing something very dramatic and I'm amazed you've coped so well. Father Andrew says he's the first person you told."

"I nearly told someone else, but ..."

"You just felt so foolish."

Madie nodded as they stepped into the dining room, glad to be talking to someone who didn't dismiss her views, didn't look at her as the monster she was sure she was becoming.
Maybe Sylvie can help me understand what's happening to me; help me control what I’m doing. Help me get rid of it.

"What do we do now Sylvie?"

"You sit in that chair and let me contact my guides. If I ask you a question just answer simply. If you don't know, just say you don't know. Okay?"

Madie nodded. She waited for Sylvie to lay a velvet cloth on the table or to close the dining room curtains and light candles. She wondered if Sylvie would change out of her tweed skirt and sensible brogues into something more flouncy.
I wonder where she keeps her crystal ball.
Sylvie did none of these things. Instead she settled herself into her chair and breathed deeply and evenly. Madie counted - in for five, out for five, in for five, out for five.

Madie’s eyes drifted around the parts of the room she could see from where she sat. At the bay window there was the glimmer of the streetlight, suffused by the sheer fabric of the inner curtains. The dim of the winter evening made the pole of the streetlight difficult to see and the glow of light hung in the air like a mini spaceship. Madie turned her attention to the inside of the room. A soft hint of rose scent was in the air. Sylvie’s garden was amass with rose bushes and other scented flowers and shrubs. Sylvie made her own potpourri and a large, delicately shaped white bowl full of dried rose petals took centre stage on an ancient pine dresser. A pair of matching candlesticks stood guard over the bowl. The patina of the wooden boards beneath Madie’s slippered feet reminded her that many generations of feet had stood and walked upon this floor. Madie heard Sylvie's breathing pattern change. There was a depth in her breath like someone in REM sleep, but Sylvie's eyes were open. Looking directly at Madie she sighed lightly.

“Mmmm.” Sylvie suddenly screwed up the right side of her mouth and frowned slightly. “I’m sorry Madie. I must be tired. I’m having problems linking with my guides. Can we do this tomorrow or perhaps on Sunday? Do you think you could wait?”

“Yes, yes of course. I’m sorry. You’ve been working all day. All I’ve done is sit up in my room or in your gorgeous garden. Can I make you a cup of tea or something?”

“No, no dear. I’ll be fine. I think just a good night’s sleep is what I need.” Sylvie launched herself from her chair and made her way out of the dining room. “Goodnight dear.”

“Goodnight Sylvie.” Madie sat staring at Sylvie’s empty chair. She couldn’t help but feel that Sylvie had in fact received a message, but she was reluctant to reveal the nature of it.
It's something awful and she can't bring herself to tell me what it is. She's claiming she's tired and run off to bed so she won't have to face me. She's probably on the phone to Father O'Malley right now.
Madie stood in the hallway staring at the telephone, wanting to pick up the receiver and confirm her suspicions. Her hand hovered over the handset but then she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and silently berated herself for her self importance.
The world doesn't revolve around you Madison Bricot. You've been doing nothing all day. She's been seeing people on the hour with only a break for lunch and dinner. And whether or not you believe in this stuff it takes a lot of energy to make yourself available to someone's every need.