And Marina had to agree.
Things progressed smoothly after that. Keith Bailey was sent for psychiatric assessment. Marina made it clear she would be on hand for advice, but that was as much as she wanted to do with him. It was already looking like he might not stand trial, for reasons of insanity. He had admitted to other victims; all they had to do was find the bodies.
‘That could go on for ever,’ Phil had said to Cotter in the office a few days later. ‘Depending on how much he wants to string us along.’
‘Don’t I know it. Still, at least there should be some anxious families who can put their minds to rest about their missing loved ones. Not in a positive way, though.’
‘Closure,’ said Phil. ‘I hate that word.’
Cotter had nodded. Looked at him. ‘So, DI Brennan, I believe you’ve had a change in your personal circumstances.’
‘Things are looking up,’ he said. ‘Yeah. One step at a time.’
‘Good. Well, with that in mind, are you ready to resume your place in the team?’
He grinned. ‘I would love to.’
Claire Lingard had found it difficult to go back to work. She had found it impossible to stay at home. She had gone to her parents’ place out in Oxfordshire, taken Edward with her. They had told her she could stay as long as she needed to.
One day while Claire was sitting in an armchair by the huge woodburner in the oak-beamed living room, trying to lose herself in a book, there was a knock at the door. She made no move to get it. Heard her mother talking to someone on the doorstep.
‘Someone for you, Claire,’ her mother said, coming back into the room, worry in her eyes.
Claire’s stomach turned over. He’s found me. He’s out. Oh God… She knew it was irrational, but she couldn’t help but think that way. Not after what she had been through.
But it wasn’t him.
‘Hi, Claire.’ Imani Oliver followed her mother in.
Claire stood up. She didn’t know whether to hug Imani or shake her hand. Or just keep her distance. Keep contained. Imani made up her mind for her. She came over, took her in her arms. Claire had no option but to return the hug. Yielding as she did so, her defences dropping. Eventually they stood apart, looked at one another.
‘How are you?’ asked Imani.
Claire couldn’t answer.
‘Sorry, stupid question. Shouldn’t have asked. I just wanted to see you.’
Claire nodded. She understood. When people went through an intense experience – good or bad – they could only talk about it with someone who had experienced something similar. As good as her parents had been, Claire hadn’t been able to bring herself to open up to them about what had happened.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I was wondering how you were too.’
Imani nodded.
They sat on the sofa next to each other. Claire’s mother excused herself, left them alone.
‘It’s… hard,’ said Claire. ‘Every day. You just can’t… I just keep thinking back to… to what happened. What he was like. You know, whether I should have known, picked up on something. Some sign.’
‘It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. He had that mask firmly in place. He wore it well. There’s no way you or anyone could have known.’
Claire just shook her head. ‘I’m sure everybody’s saying I must have known. Blaming me as well. But I… I…’
Imani placed her hand over Claire’s.
‘Sorry,’ said Claire, starting to well up.
‘It’s okay,’ said Imani.
Claire looked up, wiping her eyes. ‘Sorry, I haven’t asked about you.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘How are you?’
Imani shrugged. ‘Physically? Fine, really. No lasting damage.’ She held up her bandaged wrists. ‘Everything’s on the mend.’
‘And mentally?’
Imani tried to smile but couldn’t. ‘That’ll take a little longer, I think.’
‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘You were very brave.’
‘I was doing my job.’
‘And it was a brave thing to do. The bravest thing I’ve ever seen.’
Imani looked straight at her. ‘There’s different kinds of bravery. You should know that.’
‘I just run a refuge,’ said Claire. ‘There’s no bravery in that.’
‘You think not?’ said Imani. ‘You know what you had to go through to get there. Now you help other women to do the same. That’s bravery.’
‘I’m not sure I can go back there,’ Claire said.
‘Get yourself sorted first. That’s the main thing.’
They talked on, well after day turned to night. So long that Imani accepted an offer to stay over.
Talking was good for both of them. There would be much more of it.
Together they had found their own personal refuge.
Hugh Ellison had heard what had happened. How Phil Brennan had been a hero once again, taken down that serial killer with the help of his wife. His wife. A psychologist, for fuck’s sake. Confronting a killer. He felt sickened every time he heard about it. And since it was still the main topic of conversation in the station, he heard about it a lot.
He sat on the pull-down bed in his studio apartment just off Hagley Road in Edgbaston and stared at the TV. His wife had finally kicked him out. Drinking in the Ivy Bush, meals from the chip shop next door. His life. And how he hated it.
He lay back on the bed. Thought again about the only thing on his mind. Phil fucking Brennan and Marina fucking Esposito. That case should have been his. His. He should have been the one to crack it, to find the real killer. He had gone over and over it. Marina should have done more when she was helping Carly. Should have gone further. All the brilliant stuff she came up with later, she should have done that with him. He hated her for it. Hated her.
But he knew what to do about that.
He checked his watch. Late. Good. It was time.
He took one last slurp from his bedside bottle of Bell’s and made his way out. Drove to Balsall Heath. He knew where he was going. Rang the bell. She answered. Stared at him.
‘Back again,’ she said, and stood aside, allowing him to enter.
He was back where he always went to feel better about himself. To let off steam. The place his wife had continually complained about. Where he’d been when he told her he was out with friends. Networking, he had said.
He threw something at her.
‘Put this on.’
She caught it, looked at it. ‘Not again.’
‘Just do it.’
She sighed, bracing herself. ‘That’s extra, you know.’
‘I always pay, don’t I?’
‘For what you want to do, you should.’ No attempt at seduction, no niceties. They both knew what he was there for. And what she was there for too. ‘And go easy, will you? Bruises have just healed from last time.’
She walked away from him, pulling the long black curly wig on as she went. She reached the bedroom. It stank of stale bodies and cheap air freshener. She stood in front of him, bracing herself. Closed her eyes.
‘I’m ready.’
He drew back his fist. ‘Right, you fucking slut,’ he said, building himself up for what he was about to do. ‘Treat me like that, will you? Look at me like that, will you? I know what you’re like. What you’re really like. I know what you want.’
Rage built to a peak and he let go with his fist. It connected with her face, spun her round, knocked her down on to the bed. He was quickly on her.
‘Right, you bitch. You’re going to get it now. Marina.’
This was better. Now he was in charge.
Now he felt like a real man.
The rain was drying up as the service in the crematorium finished.
Phil and Marina had sat at the back, away from everyone else. They weren’t family and they weren’t strictly speaking colleagues. Just there to pay their respects.
The mourners filed out. They nodded and sp
oke. Phil noticed Esme Russell among them. She nodded at him, didn’t speak. The family invited them back for something to eat. Phil declined. Waiting a decent amount of time, they made their excuses and left. Drove back to the city.
‘We seem to go to a lot of these, don’t we?’ said Marina.
‘Funerals? Line of work we’re in, I suppose.’
Marina nodded. She drew in a deep breath, let it go. ‘And I suppose also… that one day it’ll be one of us.’
‘You think?’
‘Some things we just have to accept, don’t we? It’s what we do. Who we are. We’ve got someone after us who might strike at any time.’
‘Or,’ said Phil, ‘might not strike at all.’
‘True,’ said Marina. ‘But you know what? You’re right. We’re stronger together. If it happens, it happens. But we won’t go down without a fight.’
He turned to her, smiled. She returned it.
They drove on in silence.
‘So where are we going?’ asked Phil after a while.
‘You speaking philosophically or geographically?’
‘Both,’ he said.
Marina smiled. ‘How about lunch?’
He laughed. ‘That’ll do nicely.’
Table of Contents
Also by Tania Carver
Copyright
PART ONE: Itchy Feet
1
2
3
PART TWO: Saturday Bridge
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
PART THREE: The Softest Bullet Ever Shot
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
PART FOUR: Safe Havens
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
PART SIX: Hearts to Hearts
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
PART SEVEN: Broken Hearts
97