hopped into the car. Headlights snapped on. A cat skittered from beneath as the engine coughed into life. It ran to the next vehicle then turned to glare at its former shelter. Eyes unblinking. Head still.
The red car swung out into the road and away.
The man watched it recede then turned the music off. The rain had slowed to a steady rhythm. He stepped from the vehicle and retrieved a bag from the back seat. He closed the door, but didn’t lock it, then walked briskly across the road to the house the other driver had left.
He rang the bell, and stepped back from the mottled glass of the front door to look around. No reply.
He rang the bell again and looked around, humming the music to himself. He could see the cat beneath the parked car, flattened against the ground, inching forward, restrained power, eyes rigid, ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey.
Jason heard the front door bell and lowered his mobile, the text message forgotten for a moment. He stood up from the bed and picked his way carefully round the baby’s cot, to avoid waking her. The light was already off so he felt able to peer out of the window. He could make out a figure but couldn’t tell who it was in the dark.
It didn’t look like any of the officers assigned to protect him, since the slaughter of his family, so he decided to ignore it. Whoever it was carried a bag-probably someone flogging stuff. He tiptoed back to the edge of his bed and sat down.
Jason waited a few minutes in the dark, listening for the figure to go. He heard nothing except the wind and the gentle breathing of his baby sister.
After a few moments listening, Jason returned to the glowing display of his phone. As he started keying a message, the bell sounded again.
This time he growled in annoyance and made his way softly to the top of the stairs and squinted down at the door to the frame standing motionless on the other side of the mottled glass.
Again he hesitated, watching, waiting. When the bell sounded again he lost his patience and stomped down the stairs.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s DI Brook.’
‘Fuck do you want?’
‘To talk.’
‘What about?’
‘Police business. And I want to apologise…’
‘It won’t do any good. We’re not dropping the complaint so fuck off!’
‘It’s important.’ He paused then dangled the carrot. ‘I’ve brought your money.’
Silence. ‘What money?’
‘The money we confiscated when we arrested you.’
Another pause. ‘All of it?’
‘All of it.’
Jason moved to unfasten the many new locks on the door. It opened and Jason peered out at Brook through a crack. ‘Give us it.’
‘I can’t just hand it over. You have to sign for it. Can I come in? It’s cold.’
Jason looked Brook up and down, a superior scowl on his face. The door opened and Brook stepped inside. Jason nodded him towards the kitchen.
‘Was that your aunt I saw leaving?’
‘Yeah, she’s on nights.’
‘You’re not going out?’
‘I’m babysitting which is gay.’ He looked peeved, weighed down by the excessive responsibility.
Brook shook the rain from his coat but kept it on. He put the bag on the table, unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a bottle of whisky.
‘What’s that?’ asked Jason.
‘Peace offering.’
Jason’s face cracked into a slow smile of triumph. His aunt and that solicitor were right. They
Jason pulled a single glass from the drainer and plonked it on the kitchen table. Brook spun the top from the bottle and poured Jason a generous measure.
Jason picked up the glass and hesitated, savouring his moment of victory. Wait till his crew heard about this. Maybe they had the pig on bribery, as well as supplying booze to an under-18. The bastard was finished.
Jason drank his whisky straight down and pursed his lips against the fire. ‘Where’s my money?’
Brook turned to the bag and pulled out an envelope. Jason snatched it from him with a grin and began to count it. Brook replenished Jason’s glass like an attentive barman. Jason put the envelope on the table and smiled. Fucking result.
‘What do you think of the whisky?’
‘It’s shit,’ he replied with relish. ‘But as long as it gets the job done, who gives a fuck?’
Brook smiled. ‘No-one does.’
Jason emptied his glass again and filled it himself.
‘Steady on. Don’t forget you’re babysitting,’ said Brook, without conviction.
Jason leered in his direction then bent down to a cupboard and took out a bottle of cola. He topped up his whisky to the brim and this time took just a sip. ‘I can handle it. I’ve been drinking since I was eleven.’
Brook allowed himself a thin smile as the boy sniffed his pride at such an achievement. He really was a special young man.
He eyed the money and grinned at Brook, ‘Thanks for the dosh. Was there ’owt else?’ He took another draught of his whisky and cola.
Brook smiled and pulled up a chair. ‘You need to sign for it.’ Brook placed a piece of A4 and a pen on the kitchen table. Jason sat down and squinted at the paper. He picked up the pen. He turned to Brook. ‘Where do I sign?’
‘At the bottom.’
Jason looked again. ‘This paper’s blank. I’m not signing it. You could put anything on it.’
Brook moved his face close to Jason’s and spoke slowly and clearly. ‘I’m not going to write anything. You’re going to give me a list of names, the friends who killed Annie Sewell with you.
It took a moment for Jason to register what Brook had said. He thought for a second then laughed. ‘You never give up, do you? Get the fuck out of here. I can have your fucking job, coming round here and interviewing me without an adult. You’re abusing my rights, pig. Plus I’m under age and you’ve made me drink whisky…’
Jason decided to stand to show Brook the full force of his indignation but stumbled and fell back in the chair. He giggled and tried again but was still unable to get to his feet. The humour faded from Jason’s expression. He was puzzled. He couldn’t feel his legs. He tried again but gave up. Instead he stared off into the distance, alternately opening and screwing up his eyes to gauge the level of his intoxication.
Brook stood and sauntered around the kitchen, hands behind his back, not looking at Jason. Jason just watched him, head swaying slightly.
Brook stopped to admire a large framed picture of a lighthouse being ravaged by the sea. He then lifted the frame from its nail and placed it on the floor.
‘Fuck you doing?’ snarled Jason. ‘I’ve told you. Get out, yer twat. You’re trespassing. I can have you done…’ Jason began to sway in his chair now. He looked at the glass on the table and squinted at Brook, then at his hands. He flexed his eyelids and mouth like a fish. Again he tried to stand, placing his hands on his chair’s wooden arms to lever himself, but this time he couldn’t even lift his body. Still he tried, face straining, sweating with the effort, but it was no use. He looked in Brook’s general direction but couldn’t focus so he just stared, muttering as best he could. ‘Get’n me drunk. Bastard!’
Brook said nothing but continued to move around the kitchen. He moved to his sports bag and took out a
