Cage of Bones

38

Phil ducked under the tape, dodged the waiting news crews, walked away from the crime scene. His Audi was parked on the opposite side of the road.

Marina was going back to the station in her own car. Just as well, he thought. He had felt uncomfortable around her. And he had felt bad keeping what he was feeling from her. The trouble was, he still didn’t know what exactly he was feeling. Just that it wasn’t good.

As he reached his car, he heard his name being called. He turned. Saw Don Brennan walking over the bridge towards him.

‘There you are,’ said Don.

‘Don.’ Phil walked away from the car to join him on the bridge. With the lack of action, bodies or blood down below, the gawpers had thinned out. ‘What brings you here?’

Don shrugged, smiled, tried for casual. ‘Oh, you know. Just out for a walk. Bit of exercise.’

‘And you ended up here.’

Another smile. ‘Can’t keep away, can I?’

Phil looked at the man he regarded as his father. He was in his sixties but kept himself fit. He hadn’t succumbed to the expanding waistline and strawberry nose that cursed so many ageing coppers, those who couldn’t deal with the lack of focus and direction once the pension cheques started and the excitement of the job abruptly ceased. He played tennis, badminton. Still had a full head of hair, now white. Still dressed well. Not for him the beige windcheater and elasticated trousers. Instead, a plaid shirt, tweed jacket and jeans.

Don looked down at the house, the white tent. ‘Brings it all back,’ he said, smiling with the corners of his mouth.

Phil waited. He doubted this was just an accidental meeting.

Don looked away from the crime scene, back at Phil. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Early days,’ said Phil. ‘You know how it is.’ He was going to add or was, but decided to leave it. Sure that Don didn’t need any more reminding.

Don nodded. ‘Kid in a cage, wasn’t it? That what you said?’

‘That’s right,’ said Phil.

‘What, down there? In that house?’ Don looked once more at the crime scene.

‘That’s the one,’ said Phil, his eyes following.

‘Any leads? Anything?’

‘Nothing yet. Early days, like I said.’ Phil turned back to Don. ‘Are you really just here by chance, Don?’

Don looked down at the bridge’s stone balustrade, his own hands. Then back up to Phil. ‘I just thought… you know, you’re always saying I should come back, get in with the cold-case squad, that kind of thing… ’

‘Yeah. We’ve talked about this before.’

‘I know that. And I’ve always said no. But… ’ His eyes flicked down to the crime scene. Phil could tell he was tempted to keep looking, but he brought his gaze back up. ‘Well, I was thinking. You were saying about how short- staffed you were. Cuts and that.’

‘Yes.’ Phil could see where this was going.

‘Well I just thought… ’ He shrugged. ‘You could use all the help you can get.’

‘You want to work this case? With me? Be on the team? That what you’re saying?’

Another shrug. ‘If you’ll have me.’

‘And what would you do, exactly?’

‘You know. Filing. Office stuff. Bit of legwork.’ He looked away again. Phil couldn’t see his eyes. ‘Check out the files, the archives, see if this kind of thing’s happened before. Any connections… ’

He didn’t look back at Phil. Phil couldn’t read his expression.

‘D’you think it has?’ said Phil. ‘Does it remind you of anything?’

‘Don’t know. I could have a look.’ He tapped his head, looking at Phil at last. ‘Get the old brain cells going again.’

Phil didn’t know what to say. He was sure from his body language that Don had some ulterior motive. But he also knew that if he asked him, he would just deny it. Still, something about this case was stopping Phil from thinking straight. It might be good to have someone he could trust and rely on alongside him.

‘You sure you can stand working with me?’

Don gave a small laugh. ‘Why wouldn’t I? Taught you everything you know.’

Phil smiled. ‘OK. I’ll have a word with Glass, see what he says.’

Don frowned. ‘Glass? Brian Glass?’

‘That’s him. D’you know him?’

‘Years ago. He was uniform when I was CID.’ He nodded, memories screening behind his eyes like old movies. Again the sides of his mouth curled into a smile. Not a happy one, Phil thought. ‘Yeah, I remember him. Doubt he’d remember me, though.’

‘We’ll see. I’ll give him a call.’

Phil detached himself from the side of the bridge. Looked at Don. ‘I’ve got to go. Marina’ll pop round for Josephina in a while, yeah?’

He went back to his car.

Head like a badly tuned radio.

39

Darkness had fallen. And cold with it: the air catching the breath unexpectedly after a warm day. And with the cold, fog. Drifting, swirling, rendering the world in dark, Impressionistic hues.

But the Gardener didn’t notice any of that. He didn’t care. He was out of the cave. That was all that mattered.

He stood by the gates, staring upwards. Breath a cloud of steam, his personal fog machine.

Out again. That stupid weak fool Paul. The Gardener laughed. He loved the man really. Paul had saved his life. Stepped in at a time when it was all falling apart. Showed him there was a different way. A better way. A purer way. And he would always be grateful to him for that. Always.

But he was a fool. And a soft-headed, soft-hearted one too. He had hope. Even now. Even after everything that had happened. And that was why he would never win. He would put the Gardener in the cave. Yes. But he would let him out again. Always.

Yes. Always.

The Gardener nodded to himself. Eyes never leaving the house before him.

Big. Old. Lights on in lots of rooms. Making it look inviting. Warm. Big gravel drive curving round before it. Grounds at the side. Grass. Trees. Deer in the trees. He had seen them. They had seen him too. Run from him. Scared.

Good. They should be.

He had received the call. Been told what to do.

He hated being told what to do. Hated it. Especially with what had happened today. The sacrifice house gone. The boy taken. How had that been allowed to happen? Didn’t they know how important it was? To him? To them? All of them?

They had said they did. And that they would make everything all right. Get the boy back. Use the other sacrifice house. They had better, he had told them. They had to.

Or it would be their turn next.

They knew that. But first they wanted him to do something for them. And for himself too.

They had told him what it was.

And he had smiled.

He would have done it anyway if they had asked. Enjoyed it. But he didn’t tell them that. Made them bargain.