Truth or Dare (24 page)

P
hil opened his eyes, looked around. At his desk. Still at his desk. He had nodded off again.

He had slept the night at the station. Or tried to: there had been very little sleeping and certainly no rest. The scene at the hotel the night before had devolved into chaos. Looker was gone, Sperring was in a critical condition. And Phil felt he was, in some large way, to blame for both of those things. It had happened on his watch, under his command. Ultimately, the responsibility was his.

Phil rubbed his eyes. He had showered and changed into a spare plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. But the comfort he derived from being in his familiar clothes was limited. There was too much to think about.

Sperring was still in hospital, intensive care. They hadn’t heard how he was but knew he had been operated on straight away. He had lost a lot of blood and the knife wound had been deep. But clean, one of the paramedics had said. Easier to stitch up, theoretically. So that was hopeful. That was something.

The hotel had been searched from top to bottom. No sign of Looker. The surrounding streets had also been gone over. Same result. Like they had just vanished into thin air. They had given their descriptions out citywide, but so far there had been no positive responses. The Lawgiver had planned this well.

Phil checked his computer screen once more, scanned his email, read the display on his iPhone. Nothing. No one trying to contact him. No news. He sighed, sat back, rubbing his eyes. Then he ran his hands over his chest. No tightening, no pain. No sign of a panic attack. Yet.

A knock at the door. Not waiting for a reply, it opened.

‘Jesus,’ said Alison Cotter, ‘you look like how I feel.’

‘Thank you,’ said Phil, sitting forward. ‘Always nice to hear.’

She entered, closed the door behind her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, sitting down, ‘probably not what you wanted to hear. Bit tactless of me. My bad.’

Phil hated that expression but he was too tired to make an issue of it. And it had been uttered by his superior. He looked at her. She looked as bad as
he
felt. Back in her usual work clothes, tight, no-nonsense grey suit, flat shoes. The evening dress and accompanying poise of the previous night a world away. She was back to business.

‘Have you slept at all?’ she asked. ‘Been home?’

Phil shook his head. ‘Got my head down here for a bit. But I couldn’t sleep. So I got up, started monitoring radio chatter. Tried to see if there had been any sightings.’

‘And there haven’t been.’

He shook his head. ‘Nope.’

‘I know. I’ve been checking as well.’

Silence fell between them as neither spoke. They sat like that for a while, not relaxed, just grabbing a brief respite in the trenches before the bombs started falling again.

Eventually Phil spoke. ‘Any news on Ian?’

Cotter shook her head. ‘Still in intensive care. They’ll let us know soon as.’ She managed a brief smile. ‘Are you concerned for him, Phil?’

‘He’s my DS,’ said Phil, looking away momentarily. ‘My second in command.’

‘And when you started working together the two of you hated each other.’

‘Ah, now, that’s not fair.’ Phil gestured with both hands, as if surrendering. ‘He may have hated me. Thought I got his job. That’s all. I never hated him.’

‘Really?’ A smile played on Cotter’s lips. ‘You never thought he was a reactionary old dinosaur? Never said he should be pensioned off, that he was the kind of officer that gave the police a bad name and a bad image with the public?’

Phil felt himself reddening. ‘Well, I may have said something along those lines… not as bad as that, though.’

The smile stayed on Cotter’s face. ‘Not as bad? I just gave you the edited highlights. The sanitised version.’

‘Ah,’ said Phil. ‘Right.’ It was his turn to smile now.

‘Right,’ said Cotter. ‘Exactly.’ The smile slid away. ‘I’m glad that the two of you have managed to find some kind of accommodation. Some way of working together, of mutual respect.’

‘Well, maybe we both have something to learn from the other’s approach.’

‘Maybe you do.’

Phil flashed a smile once more. ‘Or maybe he does. From me.’ After the previous night, his words carried only a hollow bravado.

Cotter shook her head. Her smile faded away. ‘I’m sure he’ll pull through. He’s tough. He’s a fighter.’

Phil nodded, nothing to add.

Cotter looked directly at him, as if reading him. ‘And what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Do you want me to replace you? I could, you know. In fact, I probably should. The morning briefing’s coming up. I was going to take it myself. Or bring in someone else from another unit to head this investigation from now on. That’s what I should do. Ian’s attack may mean that this has become too personal for you and you should step down.’

Phil knew what she was doing. Offering him a way out of his failed operation with his head held reasonably high. A retreat in a dignified manner.

‘Unless you can convince me that I should keep faith with you,’ she said before he could respond, her voice dropping to a confidential level as if they were being overheard. ‘After last night.’

‘That what you want to do?’ asked Phil. He stood up, began pacing the room. ‘I’ve still got a job to do. A team to lead. A killer to find. You think I can just walk away? Let someone else take over now? Really?’

Cotter looked him squarely in the eye. ‘I admire your passion, Phil. But is that going to be applied with professionalism? Or are you going to let your personal feelings cloud what you have to do?’

‘I think you know me well enough by now,’ he said. ‘I won’t let my feelings about losing one of my team cloud my professional judgement. I’m fit for this. I know I am. And you know it as well.’

She stared at him.

‘Ma’am,’ he said.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said, as strongly as he could.

Cotter stood up. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad. I want you working this case. I want you to succeed.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

She reached the door, turned. ‘But,’ she said, with no trace of the earlier comradeship in her voice, ‘if this goes south, then on your own head be it.’

‘I know,’ said Phil.

‘Briefing’s in thirty.’

She left the room.

Phil was ready.

M
arina opened her eyes. For a few blissfully empty seconds, she was at peace. Then the full horror of what had happened kicked in and she felt emotionally bereft, physically sick.

She was cold, lying in Anni’s living room, back on the sofa, the duvet kicked off during the night and tangled round her ankles. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of old jogging bottoms she’d brought with her to sleep in. Despite the cold she was sweating. A cold, shivery, prickly sweat.

She pulled the duvet up over her once more, tried to take comfort from its weight on her. No good. She thought it would be a long time before she found comfort again.

But not as long as it would be for Anni.

She had returned to Colchester the previous night. Mickey was nowhere to be seen back at Southway. Anni had had a few choice things to say about his non-appearance but Marina could tell that she was worried. He was solid, dependable. Not showing up when he was supposed to wasn’t like him.

Marina, thinking about those few hours in hindsight, could even claim that Anni was suffering from a premonition that something had happened to him. Or if not a premonition, then at least a sense of dread.

Then Gary Franks appeared, Anni and Mickey’s DCI. He took them into his office, made them sit down. Then he told Marina and Anni about the road accident.

And Anni folded, crumpled, her world collapsing in on her.

‘A road accident?’ asked Marina, holding tight to Anni who was sobbing her heart out. After speaking she didn’t know if she wanted to hear any more. Not now. Not ever.

‘A12,’ said Gary Franks. Then, searching desperately for something to say, ‘Notorious, that stretch, down from Ipswich.’ His voice tailed away.

Marina felt her grief threaten to overwhelm her. Anni was still sobbing. Marina almost felt her spirit leave her body and look down on the scene. Like it was something once removed, something that only happened to other people.
Always
only happened to other people. Still life with tragedy.

Franks was still talking, scrabbling to find words to breach the void. ‘Apparently there were… no other vehicles involved.’

Anni was attempting to control herself, fall back onto her training, ask questions. ‘What… what happened?’

‘We… we don’t know. His car seems to have gone off the road. Burst – you sure you want to hear this?’

Anni nodded through her tears, eyes closed.

Franks looked unsure but continued. ‘Burst into flames. Hit the, hit something at the side of the road and… and burst into flames.’

Anni opened her eyes. ‘A burnt-out car. On the A12…’

Marina knew what she was going to say next. Dreaded to hear the words.

‘A burnt-out car… we passed that. Marina, we passed that – we had to slow down.’

Marina said nothing. They had been part of the queue of traffic forced into one lane, Anni complaining that they would be late home. They barely spared it a glance as they drove past, grateful as they were for the traffic to be speeding up again.

‘We… we passed him,’ said Anni. ‘My, my Mickey in that car, we passed him… And we, we —’

Her sobbing renewed itself.

‘He… he would have died instantly, if that’s any consolation,’ said Franks.

Anni looked straight at him. ‘No, sir, it’s not. It’s really, really not…’

She trailed off again, Marina gripping her tightly once more.

Marina didn’t know how long they stood like that, Anni sobbing, Marina holding her, Franks clenching and unclenching his fists, desperate to be of some use, knowing anything he could do was useless.

Eventually Anni looked up, wiped her eyes, her nose with the back of her hand. Looked at Franks.

‘Did you laugh?’ she said.

Franks frowned.

‘Did I what?’

‘Did you laugh? Did you have to practise what you would say to me to not laugh? I’ve done enough death knocks to know you have to do that.’

Anni had told Marina about that one time. About how officers would sit in their cars before knocking on some soon-to-be-grieving relative’s door to give them the news that their loved one was dead. They had to practise, not to say the wrong thing, not to laugh. And they would laugh not because it was funny, but because it was such a serious and solemn moment, sometimes too serious, and the strain would manifest itself in terrible ways.

‘No,’ said Franks, looking hurt, ‘I didn’t laugh. What have I got to laugh about?’

And Anni started crying again.

They stood like that for a long time. So long that it felt to Marina that this was all they would do for the rest of their lives.

‘What about Fiona Welch?’ she asked eventually, breaking the silence.

‘What about her?’ said Franks.

‘She was in the car with Mickey,’ said Marina. ‘He was bringing her back here.’

Franks looked stunned. ‘There was… there was no one else in the car, just Mickey. No sign of anyone else.’

‘Then where is she?’ asked Anni, the words coming out pained.

Where indeed? thought Marina.

Anni had been sent home, given something to help her sleep. She had protested, fought, said she wanted to go out and find Fiona Welch. Find out what had happened to Mickey. Franks had been adamant that she needed rest.

‘We’ll start looking for her, get onto it right away. But you won’t be part of the team, I’m afraid. You know you can’t be.’

Anni knew, but she still wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

‘Look, Anni, if there’s anything I can do,’ said Franks, ‘anything at all…’ His words, well-intended, ran out.

Anni nodded. Marina wasn’t even sure she had heard him.

Marina had taken her home. Sedated, she had gone straight to sleep. And Marina had sat up, thinking.

She had tried to phone Phil, several times, but got put through to his voicemail. Must be sleeping, she thought. Or working. She hadn’t left a message. Thought it wasn’t the kind of news that could be imparted like that. Not about one of Phil’s close friends and colleagues.

Marina had sat up watching Anni sleep, waiting to hear if there was any news of Fiona Welch. She had had no time to grieve for the loss of her friend. She had to be strong, supportive for her other friend. Grieving could come later for Marina. She kept half expecting the phone to ring, to pick it up and hear someone tell her it was all a dreadful mistake, that Mickey was alive, the car was someone else’s. That it was a case of mistaken identity. But no one phoned. No one told her that.

It had happened. It was real.

She reached for her phone once more. Checked the display. Nothing. From anyone.

She was going to call Phil again but thought better of it. She knew he must be working or sleeping and couldn’t be interrupted for either thing. She had given Eileen a call, just to check on Josephina. Her daughter was fine, Phil was working late, she said. Eileen was a godsend.

She put the phone down, threw back the duvet, walked to the bedroom, opened the door. Anni was still sleeping. She looked so peaceful that Marina wanted to her to sleep for ever, spare her the pain that waited for her when she woke up.

But that wasn’t how life worked.

She went back to the sofa, back to the duvet. Pulled it up tight.

Tried to keep out the cold, the depressing thoughts.

Then her phone rang.

‘H
ey,’ said Phil.

‘Hey yourself,’ Marina replied.

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

‘No, I was…’ Marina looked around the room. Hoped the noise of the call hadn’t woken Anni, although that seemed unlikely, the amount of drugs she’d been given. ‘No. I was awake.’

‘Right. Josephina got you up.’

‘No, I’m… still in Colchester.’

Phil’s voice became serious. ‘Really? Why?’

‘Oh, things became – there was something else to do. Went on longer than I expected. You know how these… things go.’

‘Sure I do. I had to sleep at the office last night. No point in coming home. This case is a bastard.’

Marina was glad that Phil hadn’t questioned her further. It wasn’t the right time or place to tell him about Mickey. Not when he was in the middle of his own investigation. Not when he was so pumped up about it. He hadn’t even asked her about Fiona Welch, for which she was glad.

‘What’s happened?’

He sighed. ‘There’s… I’ll tell you when you get back. But…’ Another sigh. ‘Ian’s in hospital.’

Marina sat bolt upright. ‘What?’

Phil seemed startled by the pitch of her surprise. ‘Yeah, this operation last night went wrong. We tried to catch the Lawgiver, that’s this vigilante, but instead he got away with his target. And Ian got stabbed in the process.’

Marina felt the news stabbing her also. ‘Oh no… oh no…’ Not after Mickey, she wanted to say, stopped herself from saying,
Not him too
…

‘It’s… it’s fine,’ Phil said. ‘Well, as fine as could be expected. Ian’s in intensive care. They’re looking after him. Everything’s hopeful.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ she said, expelling a breath she hadn’t been aware she had been holding.

‘Yeah. So not to worry too much. But I need a favour.’

‘What?’

‘I need a favour.’

‘Yes, I heard. What kind of favour?’

‘If I send you over everything we’ve got on this Lawgiver character, could you put together a quick profile?’

‘How quick?’

‘Twenty minutes?’

Marina laughed through sheer relief. ‘I thought you were going to say ten.’ She looked around the room once more. The news about Sperring had set everything at an angle, made it all seem even more unreal. This might be just the thing she needed to take her mind off things.

‘I’ve got the morning briefing in half an hour,’ said Phil. ‘Be good if I had something to present them with.’

‘This’ll be very basic, you know. Not a magic wand.’

‘I know. But at least it’s something to go on. If needs be, I’ll commission you for a proper one when you get back.’

‘Okay.’

‘Bit of nepotism never went amiss. I’ll get that stuff sent straight across.’ Phil paused. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

Marina’s voice was guarded. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Just… I don’t know. You sound… distracted.’

‘It’s been a big couple of days. Heavier than I thought they’d be.’

‘I know what you mean.’ He sighed. ‘I miss you. I need you here with me.’

‘And I need you too. Right now.’ At that moment Marina had never felt a yearning like the one she was experiencing. Phil would make everything better. Just being together would make everything together.

There was silence on the line as the pair of them seemingly communicated without words. Then Phil broke the spell.

‘I’ll get that stuff sent off.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Marina took out her MacBook and, glad of the temporary distraction, set to work.