Part 15 (1/2)
”I can't help you, Inspector. Whatever you've got planned, you cannot expect to rely on my support,” Chalmers said with as much authority as he could muster, but suddenly his s.p.a.cious office seemed a little too tight.
”Jesus Christ, were you ever a cop?” Danny said, shaking his head. ”Didn't you ever have an affinity for the job or is this all just one easy gravy train for you?”
”I am still your superior officer, DI Meyers!”
”No, Sir, you've just got a higher rank.”
”I think that we're done here,” Chalmers ordered weakly.
”And what about Jane? She's out there trying to do our b.l.o.o.d.y job for us. While you're sitting behind your comfy desk, she's thinking about risking her life to stop a killer.”
”Oh, how easy it must be to sit in the cheap seats,” Chalmers spat. ”Tell me, Meyers, what's the view like from up on your pedestal? Down here in the real world us mere mortals have to worry about consequences - we have to pay our mortgages and think about just what the h.e.l.l we're going to do come Monday morning when they throw us out on the street.”
”My heart bleeds,” Danny said sarcastically.
”Look, we're getting a little off point,” Bradshaw offered, trying to broker a peace.
”Ms Parkes needs to walk away from this, Danny,” Chalmers sighed. ”They're not going to let her get in the way, not again.”
”What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?”
”Accidents happen, Danny; you're a big boy now and you're not stupid.”
”If anything happens to her then I'm gonna be knocking on your f.u.c.king door!”
”I think that you're forgetting who you're talking to, Inspector,” Chalmers bl.u.s.tered.
Danny gripped the edge of the large oak desk. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the hard wood in barely suppressed anger. ”No, you sack of s.h.i.+t, I think that you're forgetting just who you're talking to.”
Jane was cleaning out her work locker when she felt eyes staring at her from behind. Her morning had started badly and gotten worse very quickly thereafter. Her face had been splashed across a national newspaper and was now beginning to pop up on TV news bulletins. She had never wanted any sort of fame to be a.s.sociated with her gift and now her worst fears were coming true.
The photo that the TV was using was barely recognisable to her and she had to admit that she looked like a criminal on screen. She was blissfully devoid of immediate neighbours but her narrow lane had already been overstocked with press intrusion. Her quiet seclusion had been shattered forever and her family home would never be quite the same again.
She had dressed comically with a large overcoat and baseball cap that was pulled down low on her head, teamed with sungla.s.ses. She knew that if they had her address then they would also have her car details. The woodland around her property was thick and dense and had allowed her to hike into the next village over. From there she had called a taxi firm which had driven her into Faircliff and to a car rental outlet where she'd reluctantly paid for a small hatchback, immediately missing her 4x4.
There were very few people in her life that she cared enough about, but Jessica Nelson, her boss at ”Best 4 Pets”, was someone that she owed an explanation to at the very least.
The store had only just opened when she arrived and she slipped in quickly and un.o.bserved. She headed for Jessica's office by the stockroom at the rear of the store, only to find it empty. She detoured towards the staffroom and towards the small locker that she had there to remove her few personal belongings. It wouldn't take the press long to find the pet store and soon Jessica and the other staff would be bombarded with flashbulbs and questions.
She spun around, hoping to see Jessica but found only Marty Kline instead. ”Marty,” she said as her eyes darted towards the door as he was currently standing between her and the exit.
”Jane,” he replied sadly but said no more.
”How's the head?” she asked lightly.
He only shrugged in a non-committal answer.
The kid had never struck her as anything other than a love-struck teenager before, but now she felt an air of unease, as though really seeing him for the first time. A horrible feeling started to grow and squirm in the pit of her stomach; there was something suddenly all too familiar about Marty Kline.
”Have you seen Jessica this morning?” she asked, trying to keep the tenseness out of her voice.
He only stared at her with his head slightly tilted to one side as though he was listening to an internal tune that was sound tracking his thoughts.
She was taller and physically stronger than him and had little doubt that she could handle him in a normal confrontation, but this suddenly felt far from normal.
The staffroom seemed to dim as the shadows encroached inward, strangling the light until it choked. She could feel her entourage on the outskirts of reality; the dead were watching hungrily and that was never a good sign. She tensed her body and s.h.i.+fted her weight to a fighter's stance, ready for his attack. The air was sucked free of life and she felt like she couldn't breathe but she wouldn't blink.
”h.e.l.lo?” A voice called out from the doorway and immediately the mood was shattered into a thousand black shards.
Jessica Nelson emerged into the room and Jane felt a huge sense of relief as Marty turned away with an odd look on his face as though he'd just woken from a bad dream that he couldn't quite grasp as it floated away only leaving a bad taste behind.
”Ah, Jane,” Jessica said catching sight of her. ”I was wondering if I might have a word, although I can see from your now empty locker perhaps you were having the same thoughts.”
Jane waited until Marty had left the room completely before she allowed herself to relax.
”Are you okay, dear?” Jessica asked, seemingly with genuine concern.
”Yeah, I'm fine. I wanted to come and apologise about whatever trouble you might have had or might get on my behalf.”
”Well I suppose it can't be helped.”
Jane watched her boss' face carefully for any signs of distrust or fear but couldn't find any. ”Did you want to ask me any questions before I go?”
Jessica stared long and hard at her. ”Could you talk to my mother?” she finally asked.
Randall read the contract again and again, his eyes pausing every time that they reached the money figure near the bottom of the page. It was everything that he had hoped for and a little bit more. He had already reached out to his ex-wife who had responded with well worn scepticism to his financial claims, but at least she had listened.
The Herald had promised him anonymity, which had been one of his main conditions ever since Alfonso Ramsey had made his opinions clear. The story was too huge now to have a lid put back on it and Ramsey was just going to have to live with it and there was still more to come. He had originally wanted to end the story with its natural conclusion, but his impatience and declining health had overtaken his thoughts and he'd reluctantly decided to cash in early.
He had enough of the story to reduce the editors of The Herald to quivering wrecks with shaking hands as they signed on the dotted line, but it wasn't done. The Crucifier was still masked and until he was brought into the light of day, Randall still had a job to do.
Chalmers, Barrett and Parkes' faces were all about to be strewn across the front pages, named and shamed, in the coming days and he felt that part of his debt had been paid to his old friend.
The hotel room was a step up from the one that Marion Ramsey had set him up in, in what seemed like years ago now. He felt a stab of regret for her demise but not that much when he remembered her father standing over him and breaking his hand. In his experience, apples never fell that far from the tree.
His new handler was a woman called Helen Allen. She was a stern, officious woman who showed little interest for him personally, only the prize that he offered which suited him just fine. He was in control now and he only fed Helen what he wanted to and kept the lion's share safely hidden away. It had been Helen who had insisted on him taking a medical, despite his protestations to the contrary. He knew that it mattered little just what exactly was wrong with him; he only knew that it was fatal and his time was limited. But she'd shown up at his hotel room with a discreet doctor in tow who'd prodded and poked him with fingers and needles before slinking away. He knew that his new handler was only concerned that he would keel over before they got their pound of flesh from him and, considering the deal he'd made, he couldn't blame her.
He lay on the plush bed and consulted his thoughts. Thanks to his bullying of the police aide, he had a name - Marty Kline - but it was a name that was not written down anywhere in his carefully secluded notes. This was his one jewel that he wasn't going to share with anyone, not yet. Marty Kline wouldn't be brought down by the police. He was going to be caught by Randall Zerneck. The money that he was going to earn was for his son and would secure Randall's legacy in his boy's eyes, but when Randall brought down the Crucifier, his legacy would be secured before the whole world. It was time to put away the reporter and find the detective in him.
Commander Jeffrey Barrett looked down nervously at the floor. It had been a long time since he had been by far the least senior man in a room and it wasn't sitting well with him. There were senior officers and politicians viewing him with dead shark eyes and he could feel their anger. He had promised them all that the situation was under control and that their fears of much unwanted publicity were unfounded, but yet here they all sat.
”How much damage are we talking about?” an elderly man in a smartly-tailored grey suit demanded.
”Worse case. More than we can handle,” another replied. ”It will mean resignations and plenty of them.”