again, the DI knew that his whole career was now on the line; it was as if all his work over the years had reached this point and yet he didn’t seem to care whether he remained on the force or not. Brennan’s mind was occupied with his previous visits to the grim stretch of farmland where he had seen the mutilated bodies of the two young women. The pictures that had been pinned on the board of Incident Room One came back to him, he heard the words from the pathologist’s report again and he remembered the looks on the faces of the Sloans as he spoke to them about their daughter. Brennan knew he couldn’t take the news of another death; he knew McGuire would be finished by the loss of Elaine too. The thoughts swirled in him, marched through his mind like an unholy pain brigade and made him shake his head in an effort to block them out.
‘Fucking hell, slow it down, Stevie!’ he yelled. ‘How are we supposed to see anything if you’re up to sixty!’
The DS depressed the brake, brought the speed of the car down. Brennan reached for the buttons to lower the windows, a chill wind blew through the vehicle as they dropped. ‘Can you hear anything?’ he said.
McGuire shook his head, ‘Nothing… No.’
‘Right, get on the back road…’
Brennan watched McGuire turn on the blinkers, drop a gear and slot the car into the side road where they had driven towards the site of Angela Mickle’s body. The DI blocked his emotions, gulped down all fears he held and became an automaton, searching the dark fields for a chink of light, listening for a shrill cry from WPC Elaine Docherty. He knew Crawley had a routine, he knew the serial killer had acted out the routine before and had never been caught, or even witnessed by anyone; but Brennan held out the hope that, until now, no one had been looking in the right place, or at the right time.
‘Stop the car, Stevie…’
‘What, here?’
Brennan smacked the dash with the flat of his hand, ‘Yes, fucking here…’
As the car slowed, the DI undid his seatbelt, started to open his door. His feet were dangling over the dirt road as the car came to a halt. He stepped out, turned towards the dry-stone dyke skirting the field. The ground was wet; long grass holding plenty of moisture brushed him as he positioned his feet on the stones of the wall and raised himself to a point where he could view the full mile radius of the murder scenes.
‘See anything?’ said McGuire.
Brennan flagged a hand, said ‘Shh-h, I’m trying to listen.’
The night was silent, black.
The DI felt the stone he stood on move beneath him, he repositioned himself and felt McGuire’s hand steady him. He could hear nothing, see nothing. As he stared out into complete and utter blackness, Brennan felt the immensity of the world conspiring against him. He felt like an insignificant speck as he raked his eyes over the miles of inky darkness. There was nothing there. It felt like the end of the world; it felt like the end of everything he had ever known, as if his whole life had been ineluctably aiming towards this point to prove just how futile all his struggles with existence were.
‘What was that?’ said McGuire.
‘What was what?’
‘A noise… a click.’
Brennan lowered his gaze, looked towards McGuire, ‘Where?’
‘Over there,’ the DS pointed.
Brennan turned towards the direction McGuire indicated; as he roved the sublunary night he could only pick out the pinpricks of white stars burning above him, and then, a different colour of darkness appeared. A small shape at first, but it seemed to widen as Brennan’s eyes adjusted.
‘You see something?’
Brennan held his gaze firmly; now he saw a car’s interior light burning, he saw movement, a figure, and then there was a sound like a door closing and the light disappeared from view.
‘There’s a car out there!’ Brennan jumped down from the wall, ran for the Passat. The engine was still ticking over as he got behind the wheel and engaged the gears. McGuire dived into the passenger’s side as Brennan spun the tyres on the dirt track. The car took off down the narrow side road and then suddenly stopped as Brennan applied the brakes.
‘Hold on!’
He reversed the vehicle a few feet, turning the wheel to line the front of the car with a wooden gate that divided the dry-stone dyke.
‘Jesus, you’re going through it?’ said McGuire.
‘Fucking right!’
The car jolted forward in a lunging motion, wheels screeching beneath them; as the bumper connected, the sound of cracking wood erupted and then the gate was unmoored from its postings and struck the windscreen. The loud crack of glass caused the officers to raise hands to their faces and for a second the car veered to the right before McGuire swept clear the screen. Brennan gripped the wheel again and pressed forward into the black field. The pair rocked in their seats as the car progressed on the bumpy terrain. The lights flashed up and down, illuminating the immediate stretches of green grass before them and then darting to the further reaches of the field.
‘There! There!’ said McGuire.
‘I see it…’
Brennan floored the pedal, the steering wheel spun in his hands and the tyres slid on the moist grass. They had their target in their sights now, the silver Corolla reflecting the lights of the police car like a beacon in the middle of the field. The DI tried to make out what was going on and how many people there were, but the ride was too bumpy, jolting his line of vision in and out of focus.
‘Can you see anything, Stevie?’
‘Just the car.’
They were getting nearer; Brennan started to apply the brakes, dropped a gear. He wondered why he couldn’t see anyone; surely they must be there, he thought, they must be in view by now. As he gripped the wheel he tried to scan further into the field, past the silver Corolla, but he still couldn’t detect any movement. For a moment, his stomach started to cramp as he had the dreaded feeling that they had arrived too late.
‘Where the fuck are they?’ said McGuire.
‘I don’t know… Watch out.’ Brennan felt the car slide to the side as he skidded to a halt. The officers pushed open the doors and ran to the other vehicle.
‘Nothing…’ said McGuire. ‘Where the hell are they?’
Brennan opened the Corolla’s door; the interior light came on and he spotted a length of nylon rope in the foot well. As he reached in, he felt a needle of pain slice into his back; he jolted himself from the car as a woman’s scream raked the night air.
McGuire was already running towards the sound as Brennan turned; the DI took off after him. The pair went headlong into the darkness, Brennan following the thud of McGuire’s footfalls and heavy breathing. The night air was cold and the men’s warm breath was lit by the moonlight as they went. They had only travelled a few metres when they seemed to drop sharply into a ditch that halted them mid-stride. As Brennan fell downwards he extended his hands and felt his palms connecting soundly with solid earth. For a second he was jolted, as his shoulders absorbed the full shock of his body weight, and then his elbows bent and his chest smacked off the wet ground. He rolled to the side, tracing the ditch’s declivity, and then came to a halt. As he righted himself, regained his senses, he saw the torchlight burning in Crawley’s grip. WPC Elaine Docherty was on the ground beneath him; her hands were tied behind her back but her legs kicked out as she thrashed and lunged at her attacker.
‘Crawley, step away!’ yelled Brennan as he tried to rise.
McGuire groaned at his side, turned over on his knees holding his elbow; Brennan saw the blood trailing over the sergeant’s knuckles; the arm sat at an unnatural angle.
He got up, turned from McGuire and ran into the torchlight. Crawley stood frozen as Brennan crossed the few short yards between them and tackled him to the ground. The torch fell into the grass as Brennan landed heavily on Crawley, forcing him to cry out. The DI righted himself, rose up on his knees as he straddled the felled Crawley; for a moment Brennan was lost to himself, he put his hands on the killer’s neck, tightened his grip and watched him writhe beneath him. He felt a powerful urge to watch Crawley’s life drain away; his pulse was racing, his mind
