The Surrogate

feet too. Brotherton moved forward. He was going to go for him.

47

H e stood up, opened his eyes. Allowed himself a few seconds of indulgence. Smiled.

His prey was gone. Dead. The birthing room trashed. Order had become chaos. He could feel the blood of his prey soaking into his clothes. He loved that feeling. Luxuriated in it.

It had started when he used to hunt rabbits and deer in the woods. There was the planning, the preparation.Then the chase, the thrill of the kill.Then that moment of power, looking down on something that had recently been alive, knowing he had had the power of life and death over it.And had chosen death. He used to get his knife out and quickly slit the animal open. Steam would rush out as the hot innards and blood collided with the cooler air. Blood would spurt and fountain and he would catch it. Spray it on to himself, feel the hot, glistening liquid warm his skin, smell the dark, coppery scent of his prey. Spraying it down his throat, swallowing it down. It felt like he was taking the spirit of the slain beast, ingesting it, letting it feed him.

He looked down at his prey, lying there on the floor of her living room. He had wanted to do just that. Catch her blood in his hands as it had spurted out, strip naked, rub it all over himself, feel her on his skin.

But he hadn’t. He had to be disciplined about this hunt. Focused on his objective. He had no time to ingest the spirit.

Or did he… He looked down at the small, kicking baby he had cut out of her. Birthed in blood, its midwife a blade and a dying host. He smiled. There was the spirit, the life force from within her. He was taking that instead.

He took out the blanket he had prepared, wrapped the baby up, put it in his rucksack.

Left the house, closing the door behind him.

He walked down the street feeling like a god amongst mortals.

No one saw him go.

48

The door of the observation room opened and Anni Hepburn rushed in. Marina reluctantly took her attention away from the mirror.

‘I think Phil needs help,’ she said.

‘Never mind that,’ said Anni. ‘He can handle himself. We’ve got something. Ryan Brotherton used prostitutes. He knew Susie Evans. And Sophie Gale. That’s how they met. He’s known her for years. She’s also told us that Brotherton was out on Wednesday night. The night Claire and Julie were murdered.’ She looked at the screen, took in the standoff that was taking place. ‘Tell Phil. Now.’

‘Ask him about prostitutes.’ Marina’s voice was loud and sharp in Phil’s ear.

‘What?’

‘It’ll calm him down, wrong-foot him. Anything. Just ask him. Now!’

‘What about the prostitutes, Ryan?’

The big man was close to hyperventilating. The uniformed officer ready to intercede.

Phil raised his voice. ‘Prostitutes, Ryan. You ever used them?’

Brotherton’s head jerked suddenly upwards. He stopped in his tracks. ‘What? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Come on, Ryan.You hate women that much, sometimes it’s easier to pay to vent your frustrations, isn’t it?’

‘No.’ He sounded disgusted. His eyes went away to the left. Lying.

‘He knew Susie Evans,’ said Marina in his ear. ‘Was a customer of hers. That’s how he met Sophie Gale. They worked together. And she’s also told us he was out on Wednesday night.’

Phil tried not to let his emotions show. He kept his face as blank as possible. ‘Sit down, Ryan. Let’s talk.’

Phil sat down. Brotherton, getting his breath back, did likewise.

‘Now,’ said Phil. ‘You sure? You’ve never used prostitutes?’

‘No. Never.’ Eyes again to the left. Another lie. ‘I don’t have to pay for sex. I don’t need to.’

‘Might not just be for sex, though, might it?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You know what I mean, Ryan. You like beating up women. Sometimes the women in your life don’t like it and walk out. Or testify against you and get you banged up. So you need an outlet. A bit of release. Would have thought prostitutes would fill the bill nicely.’

‘You’d have thought wrong.’ His voice sounded weak.

Phil sat back, regarding him again. ‘I don’t believe you, Ryan. You see, I’m good at my job. I sit here and I listen to people sitting where you are. They want me to believe what they’re telling me. And most of them are liars. Some of them are very good. Some of them I nearly believe.’ He folded his arms. ‘But not you, Ryan. I know you’re lying.’

‘Prove it.’ Brotherton aimed for defiance in his voice, missed.

‘Okay,’ said Phil.

Anni Hepburn had just left the observation room to return to questioning Sophie Gale when the door opened again and an out-of-breath Ben Fenwick entered. Marina took her attention from Phil, looked at him. She had never seen him so dishevelled yet so elated. He looked wired.

‘Let me in,’ he said, making for the desk.

Marina moved aside, let him take over the microphone. Fenwick took a few seconds to regain his breath before he spoke. While waiting, he turned to Marina.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘Good,’ she said. She didn’t want to commit herself to anything else. Especially after the way Fenwick had spoken to her earlier. She didn’t want to tell him that it looked like Phil was about to crack Brotherton, that he was homing in for the kill. That Fenwick had been right and she had been wrong.

Fenwick smiled. It was the kind of glassy-eyed leer a coked-up City trader would give. ‘Well he’s going to be even better after I tell him this.’ He opened the channel, spoke into the mic. ‘Phil? Ben Fenwick.’

Marina watched Phil’s expression through the mirror. His head jerked upwards and he stopped talking immediately. He didn’t reply but they knew he was listening.

‘The Birdies have been singing.’ Fenwick laughed at his own joke.

Technically, thought Marina, now irritated with the man, the Birdies had been making other people sing.

‘They’ve gone through the records of the estate agency Lisa King worked for. Guess what? Brotherton was registered with them. He looked at houses through them. Lisa King’s name comes up a couple of times as showing him round some properties. Phil, we’ve got the bastard!’

Fenwick turned to Marina, a leering smile on his face. ‘Police work,’ he said.

In the interview room, Phil once again did his best not to respond. Instead he leaned back, regarding Brotherton quizzically. Brotherton looked down at the table, clearly scared.

‘You asked me to prove it,’ said Phil. ‘Prove you killed Claire and Julie. Okay. I will. There’s a few ways I could do that. Let me ask you something. How long have you been in your house?’

Brotherton frowned. It wasn’t the question he had been expecting.