Cage of Bones

Mickey looked again at the man lying on the floor. There wasn’t much of him left to recognise or make an identification from. But from the sweep of his grey hair, the first thing Mickey thought was, that’s the guy I saw yesterday. Then he shook his head. Seeing him everywhere now.

‘What?’ Phil looked at him. ‘What did you say?’

‘Er… nothing.’ Mickey hadn’t realised he had spoken his thoughts out loud.

Phil kept looking at him. Waiting.

‘Nothing.’

‘You had a thought there, Mickey. Your first response. Your copper’s intuition. What was it?’

Mickey tried to smile, laugh it off. ‘Well, I saw this guy. In the solicitors’ offices first. And I recognised him. Or thought I did. Couldn’t place him. Anyway, I didn’t waste too much time on it, kept going.’

He paused. Phil waited.

‘And then… ’ Mickey sighed. It felt ridiculous saying this aloud. ‘I saw him again. At the building firm. In a car with Balchunas. I asked Balchunas who he was. He got angry. Asked me to leave.’

‘And now he’s here. Dead.’

‘If it’s him.’

Phil looked again at the dead body. ‘D’you believe in coincidence, Mickey? When murder’s involved?’

Mickey didn’t reply. He knew a rhetorical question when he heard one.

Now he dropped the pen. Blinked. He had been slipping away. He took a mouthful of coffee. Two. Looked around the room once more.

The incident room of the Major Incident Squad was filling up. When a big investigation was under way, they moved into the bar. He could imagine, given the press of bodies in the room and the escalation in importance of what they were working on, that they would be in there soon.

They were all here. The Birdies, sitting together as usual. Milhouse, dragged blinking and squinting away from his computer, forced to interact with real people against his will. Anni. Sitting opposite Mickey. She looked up. Smiled. He returned it. Held it for a second too long. Just as she did.

Every time he saw her – which was just about every day – the word that came into his head was ‘nearly’. They had nearly gone out together. Nearly gone for a drink. Or dinner. Or the cinema. They had nearly kissed. They had nearly gone to bed together. Nearly. Always nearly. There was definitely an attraction there. No question. And it was reciprocated, too. But neither one of them would make the final move towards the other. As if something – fear of rejection, fear of losing friendship, fear of losing mutual respect if it went wrong, he couldn’t say what exactly – was holding them back.

Maybe it was all of those things. Maybe none, something he didn’t even realise. Whatever, it had kept their relationship as just good friends. Who smiled at each other and held it for too long.

Then Glass entered. Took his place before the group, plonking a heavy-looking file down on the desk, digging into his briefcase for something to supplement it. No banter, no chat, just business. All business, as usual.

And then Phil arrived. With Marina. Mickey frowned. The pair of them entered together but couldn’t have looked further apart. They sat down next to each other but still managed to maintain a distance.

Lovers’ tiff, thought Mickey, risking a glance at Anni. From the expression on her face, she had picked up on it too. That was the trouble with having relationships with people at work, he thought sadly: if they went wrong, the fallout was awful.

Another glance at Anni. From the way she looked at him briefly, then away, it seemed like she was having similar thoughts.

‘Right, good morning, everyone,’ said Glass. Getting attention just with his voice.

Everyone looked at him, waited.

Mickey took a mouthful of coffee. Another. Blinked. Felt the caffeine jolt through his body.

‘We ready? Let’s start.’

Another quick glance at Anni, who was staring straight ahead, eyes on Glass. Mickey did the same.

He was ready.

44

‘OK,’ said Glass, ‘I think the first thing I should say is that we are now dealing with two ongoing major crimes, and we will be investigating them simultaneously.’

Phil said nothing. Just waited his turn to speak. Before Glass arrived, Phil had always led the briefings. He wasn’t the most senior officer in the team, but as a reactive DI, his role was the most hands-on. Glass had changed that. He had stated, brooking no argument, that he should be the one to host the briefings. Even when he didn’t know directly what they were about.

‘Phil here,’ said Glass, pointing.

Phil looked up as his name was mentioned.

‘Detective Inspector Phil Brennan will be running both investigations.’ He looked at Phil, made a rising gesture with his hand, as if he was a stage illusionist performing an act of levitation. Phil rose, walked to the front.

He tried to push last night’s nightmare out of his mind. Keep his recent fears securely locked up. Concentrate on his team, on the job he had to do. Work through it, don’t give in to it.

He looked at the assembled faces, his gaze falling on Marina. The concern in her eyes for him, the worry. The love. He felt a thudding of shame from within his chest, pangs of guilt at the way he was treating her. Something was going wrong within him. Very wrong. He didn’t know what. And the one person who could help him… he couldn’t tell her. Because he didn’t know how to tell her. Because he didn’t understand it himself.

He knew what she must suspect. What she must think of him. And he had to do something about it. Before those feelings crystallised. Before she pulled away from him the way he had from her.

Before they fell apart.

Concentrate on the team, he thought once more. On the job. On the work before him. The rest will have to wait.

‘OK,’ Phil said, eyes scanning those before him, ‘as you’re well aware, last night there was a murder at the Halstead Manor Hotel. The photos are here if you’d like to see them and you haven’t had any breakfast. But I wouldn’t advise it unless you need to. Because someone did a very thorough and brutal job on the victim.’

Adrian Wren frowned, spoke.

‘Halstead Manor… Isn’t that the place that used to have that commune in it?’

‘Years ago,’ said Glass. ‘I was on the team investigating that. One of my first jobs as a uniform. I remember it well. But I doubt that’s relevant.’

Adrian nodded, as if a bet had been confirmed. Phil waited, made sure there was nothing else from Glass. Continued.

‘The victim’s name was Adam Weaver. However, he was signed in to the hotel as Robin Banks.’

A ripple of laughter.

‘Yes, I know,’ said Phil. ‘Adam Weaver was a businessman, living in Lithuania. We don’t know what he was over here for, but we’re in the process of investigating. We do know that he was on the board of the company who own the hotel.’

Phil was aware of Glass leaning forward, listening more intently to his words.

‘And there’s something else,’ Phil continued. He looked to his DS. ‘Mickey?’

Mickey cleared his throat. ‘Yeah,’ he said, not standing up but turning to address the rest of the group. ‘Adam Weaver. I think I saw this man yesterday. At the offices of Fenton Associates, the solicitors’ practice just beside the house where we found the kid in the cage. And then again later, at the building contractors. He was in a car with Karolis Balchunas, guy who runs the company.’

Anni looked up. ‘So the two things are related?’

Phil became aware of Glass scrutinising him. He ignored him.

‘We don’t know,’ said Phil. ‘But we’ve had a look into Mr Balchunas and he’s Lithuanian too. So are most of the staff he employs.’