Unfinished Business (9 page)

“So his right hand gets tired stabbing Daddy so he switches to the left. What a load of crap.”

“I didn’t believe it either but when Maggie, Lauren and even the staff at Mark’s college confirmed that he was ambidextrous there was nothing we could do.”

“Does that mean Seth’s ambidextrous too?” said Cass.

“Yes. Apparently they used to enjoy switching places with each other when they were younger so they got used to using the opposite hand.”

“And you think they swapped places after Bryan’s murder to try and confuse everyone?”

“Most certainly.”

Brodie paused to think before asking, “did you ever work on The Camden Carver case?”

“Yes I did and he’s started up again in Manchester, only now he’s simply called ‘The Carver’. Don’t tell me that’s where the Flynns ended up?”

“It is.”

“They’re lucky they changed their surnames, it’s probably why the media hasn’t picked up on that fact yet.” Greenacre steepled his fingertips together and leaned back in his seat, looking grim. “No wonder his wife’s worried but I’d definitely say no, Theo wasn’t responsible for that.”

“Was he ever considered a suspect in Camden?”

“No. He was only seventeen. We were looking for an older suspect.”

“How much older?”

“Aged late twenties to late forties. There was no way The Carver was a teenager, he was far too organised. The crimes exhibited an older man’s restraint and experience. Plus our killer definitely had access to their own transport and Theo couldn’t drive. Bryan Flynn himself was a suspect.”

“A serious suspect?” said Brodie.

“Oh yes. Unfortunately he only came to our attention after he was dead. We investigated anyone who had experience wood carving and whittling. Bryan wasn’t a professional, more of an enthusiastic amateur but he had real talent. Only his family knew about his hobby and they kept it quiet, which was why he slipped under our radar. Some of his stuff was exquisite, he worked out of the shed at the back of the house in Camden. He could carve anything out of a piece of wood.”

“Did you manage to match his work to the killer’s?”

“We tried but there was nothing in the shed that matched the carvings in the victims’ skin but if he was the killer he’s hardly going to keep evidence like that hanging around. We tried to trace his movements every time a girl was taken but Maggie stonewalled every attempt, she said he was at home with her. Of course that made me more suspicious but without anything concrete linking Bryan to the murders our hands were tied.”

“Was anyone arrested for the murders?”

“No. I think of that case as my biggest failure. Theo Flynn getting sent down for killing his father was my second.”

“Who do you think really killed him?”

“It could have been any of the other three - Maggie, Lauren or Seth.”

“Lauren?” said Brodie, surprised.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. I know she comes across as sweet and timid but she has a dark side too, like all the Flynns.”

“Cake anyone?” said a chirpy voice, dispelling the darkness that had settled in the room. Mrs Greenacre bustled in carrying a tray laden down with teacups, a teapot, a large homemade Victoria sponge and side plates.

“Let me get that for you Mrs Greenacre,” said Brodie, getting to his feet and taking the tray from her.

“What a gentleman,” she smiled. “You’re a lucky lady,” she said with a knowing wink at Cass.

“We just work together,” she explained.

“Oh, what a shame. You look so lovely together.”

Brodie could feel his cheeks heating and silently willed the old woman to stop talking. “This cake looks tasty,” he commented in an attempt to distract her.

“Ellie’s sponge cake is the best in the Lakes,” said Greenacre with a touch of pride.

After making sure all three of them were furnished with tea and cake, Ellie once more disappeared into the kitchen, leaving them to talk.

“If Maggie was protecting her husband by providing him with an alibi,” began Brodie, “do you think she was aware of his activities, if he was actually the killer or was she just afraid of him, even though he was dead?”

“I really couldn’t say whether she was protecting her husband or her family’s name but she was definitely afraid of him, they all were,” said Greenacre. “Her family was already in the spotlight after Bryan was murdered, she might not have wanted any more hassle, but it didn’t go unnoticed that the killings stopped after he died. Case closed I think, although that doesn’t get any justice for the victims’ families,” he sighed, hanging his head, looking weighed down with sadness.

“We’re sorry to rake this all up again for you,” said Cass.

Greenacre’s head snapped up, eyes burning. “Don’t be. If one of his sons is continuing his father’s work then we might still get some answers yet.”

“You don’t think Mark…I mean Theo…is capable of murder, so that just leaves Seth?” said Brodie.

“I said he wasn’t capable when he was a boy. I don’t know who he is now. What sort of man is Seth? My guess is it’s not good.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

“He was always top of my list for Bryan Flynn’s murder. He was violent even as a boy. I know there’s a big difference between having fights with your peers and stabbing your dad to death but I felt Seth was capable of so much more bad stuff, despite his youth. There was something about him, a….”

“Darkness?” said Brodie.

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” said Greenacre. “Sometimes it was so potent it felt like it could touch you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I know it sounds odd. I was a police officer for thirty years and I met plenty of bad people but he was the only one who made me feel like that.”

Brodie thought about how Seth’s darkness had felt to expand and overtake the room at Sarah’s house and didn’t think it sounded so strange.

“But if he is The Carver then why suddenly start operating now? The original murders were twenty years ago,” said Cass.

“Some trauma usually sets serial killers off - a death in the family, divorce,” said Greenacre. “Look into his recent past and see if there’s anything that could have sparked him off.”

“It’s a good place to start,” commented Brodie.

“I wish I could give you something more solid but all I have is theory and supposition. But one thing I know for sure is that Theo Flynn is not a killer, which means another member of his family is. I’m not saying for certain it is Seth, I wouldn’t rule out Maggie or Lauren, not by a long way.”

“What was your take on the relationships between the family members?”

“Dysfunctional at best. Theo and Seth weren’t close at all for twins. Lauren was the one they all rallied round, who they sheltered from not just us but the media frenzy too. I don’t know whether that was out of love or because they wanted to stop her from losing it and revealing what really happened, she was in the house at the time of Bryan’s murder. But so were Seth and Maggie.”

“Did they show any concern for Mark?”

“Oh yes, especially Lauren. They seemed very fond of each other. Seth was going through his own shit and causing more mayhem. The courts bought it too and let him off lightly because his dad had just been murdered by his brother. But he wasn’t suffering any angst, he was just using the situation to do what the hell he liked. Typical. Maggie held them all together, made sure they all stuck to their stories, which they did. I couldn’t get any of them to change their statements. Lauren did tell me something curious though. Apparently before the police were called Maggie went out to the shed in the back garden, the one where Bryan Flynn spent a lot of his time and that no one else was allowed near. She was in there for about ten minutes before she came out with a big black bin bag, which she gave to Seth. He left the house and returned five minutes later minus the bin bag and only then would Maggie allow Theo to call the police. When I quizzed Maggie and Seth about it they denied it. Maggie blamed Lauren’s mental health issues, said she’d got confused, but she knew what she’d seen. We couldn’t find the bag either so that was the end of that but I’m sure it existed.”

“What do you think it contained?” said Cass.

“Proof that Bryan Flynn was The Camden Carver. He took trophies from his victims. That was something we managed to keep quiet.”

“Jewellery?” said Brodie.

Greenacre shook his head. “Skin.” He smiled at their stunned expressions. “It’s nice to know this old warhorse still has the capacity to surprise.”

“Skin?” repeated Brodie.

Greenacre nodded. “Cut squares off their backs, about two inches square. God only knows what he was doing with it. We kept that back from the press so we could use it to trap the killer, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone. It might come in useful yet.”

“You can trust us,” replied Brodie.

Greenacre’s intelligent eyes scrutinised him carefully. “Yes, I rather think I can.”

“And if Maggie knew to clear out Bryan’s shed…” began Brodie.

“Then she knew he was the Carver,” finished Cass.

“Which means his children might have known too and now they’re carrying on Daddy’s work.”

Brodie and Cass stared at each other, their eyes reflecting each other’s triumph.

“Maggie definitely knew more than she was telling,” said Greenacre. “I didn’t think it was coincidence either that all the Camden Carver’s victims resembled her - dark eyed with long dark hair.”

“Have the police in Manchester asked you to consult on the case?” Brodie asked Greenacre.

“No. They called to ask me about it but that’s all. I wish they had, I’d love to see that family finally fall.”

The rest of their conversation with Greenacre didn’t yield much but by the time they finally got out of the cottage it was early evening and they both felt drained.

“It’s a bit late to drive back to Manchester now,” yawned Cass. “Let’s find a hotel.”

Brodie didn’t get excited at the prospect of sharing a hotel with Cass. They’d done it many times before and nothing had ever come of it. “Yeah, I’m a bit knackered,” he yawned back.

As they strolled through the garden Brodie looked back over his shoulder and saw Greenacre watching them from the window, his lips set into a determined line. He hoped he managed to solve this case and give the poor bugger some peace. He knew what it was like to be haunted by failure.

CHAPTER 8

Cass and Brodie managed to find two single rooms at the village inn that the Greenacres had recommended to them, which turned out to be a beautiful and very well preserved seventeenth century building and far more pleasant than the hotel Cass had booked him into in Manchester.

After checking into their separate rooms Brodie met up with Cass in the hotel restaurant for dinner. The staff were actually pleasant and the food excellent.

“So who did you leave in charge, Christian or Ross?” said Brodie between mouthfuls of roast beef.

“I left them in joint control. It was the only way to stop them bickering.”

“And there’s nothing they can mess up?”

“No. All they’ve got to do is a couple of warnings off and clear a nest of vipers. That’s it.”

Nest of vipers was the code they used for a junkie squat. More often than not those sorts of people set up home in deserted tenements and empty buildings, well away from the rest of humanity. However occasionally they took up residence close to respectable people who didn’t want desperate addicts anywhere near their nice homes or their kids. Brodie’s organisation specialised in clearing them out. He usually gave that sort of work to Christian and Ross anyway, who were both huge. When they charged in wearing balaclavas and wielding baseball bats it was usually enough to make everyone in the building run, those who were compos mentis enough to anyway.

“What’s the game plan now you’ve spoken to Greenacre?” said Cass, delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin after polishing off a huge plate of homemade meat and potato pie. She loved her food and it was a marvel to him that she kept her figure so well. She picked up her glass and took a sip of orange juice. Cass wasn’t a big drinker. “Are we looking into Bryan Flynn’s death or letting sleeping dogs lie?”

“Mark didn’t do it, I’m certain, but there’s nothing much I can do unless he admits it.”

“If he didn’t do it then that means he’s not The Carver.”

“He’s not The Carver, no way.”

“Just because he seems harmless doesn’t mean he is.”

“If he was confronted by a dead body he’d faint.”

“Is this just gut instinct?”

“Yep.”

Cass nodded thoughtfully. She was a great believer in Brodie’s instinct.

“I’m not sure where we go from here,” he said. “All I know is that this case is too interesting to let go of yet.”

“You’re the boss,” replied Cass, draining the last of her orange juice. “Do you want another drink?”

“Aye, I’ll have another red wine.” Brodie thought he must be the only Scotsman in the world who couldn’t stand whisky. Red wine was his favourite tipple, which had led to no end of ribbing throughout his life, especially at post-work gatherings in the pub with his colleagues when he was a copper. He didn’t mind the odd pint of lager but red wine, particularly a nice rioja, was his favourite. “I’ll get it.”

“You sit down. I’ll get them in,” she said, getting to her feet and heading for the bar before he could protest.

Brodie’s heart sank when he saw why she was in such a hurry. A suave, gelled bastard in an expensive suit was sitting at the bar. Brodie pouted when the man invited Cass to sit beside him and they started chatting like old friends.

“Prick,” Brodie muttered into his wine glass. He’d long ago realised that he and Cass would never be, he’d even accepted the men who suddenly came into her life and then left just as quickly but he could tell this one was a piece of work. Cass was the most astute person he knew except when it came to her own personal life, then it was a case of not being able to see the woods for the trees. This arsehole kept twiddling his left ring finger, as though he was used to a ring being there. When the man caught himself doing it he screwed his hand up into a fist. He was married and he was trying to get Cass in the sack. He couldn’t have that.

Eventually Cass remembered him and returned with his drink just as a waiter was clearing their plates.

“Found better company?” he said. “I’m talking to her,” he added when the waiter regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” she smiled.

No,
he thought sulkily.

“You don’t mind sitting on your own, do you?” she said, already looking back over her shoulder at her paramour.

“No, I’m a big boy.”
If only you’d notice.

She gave him another smile before hurrying back to the creep. The man frowned at Brodie and said something to Cass he couldn’t quite hear.

“No, he’s just a friend,” she replied dismissively, making Brodie’s heart sink even further.

After the waiter had disappeared Brodie took out his phone and played around with it so it didn’t become obvious that he was watching them. The creep reached out to stroke a stray tendril of Cass’s hair back off her face and jealousy surged through Brodie, causing him to mash his finger against his phone, eliciting a loud bleep. How dare he touch her when they’d only been talking for five minutes. Cass didn’t seem to mind. Give the creep his due he was a handsome bastard but it was all surface, nothing underneath. The tosser had his car keys out on the bar, showing the world he drove a Porsche. Brodie’s face lit up with an evil grin and he got to his feet and slipped outside.

The car park was half-empty and there was only one Porsche there, a wanky little silver thing usually driven by men in the throes of a midlife crisis.

Brodie called his ex-colleague and friend, Detective Inspector Peter McLaren at Glasgow. When Brodie had become completely disillusioned by the police force after a paedophile had got off some pretty horrific charges because of a technicality he’d come up with the idea to create his specialised business. His best friend for years and colleague, the Judas bastard John Lyons, had agreed to come in on the business with him, feeling the same way. Pete, also keen on the idea, had decided to remain on the force and covertly work on their behalf. He’d also saved Brodie’s life after he’d almost been stabbed to death by the Judas bastard. He’d never forgotten that he owed Pete his life.

“Pete, it’s me.”

“Brodie, still on the Creegan case?”

“Aye I am and it’s getting complicated.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I need you to run a check on a licence plate.”

“Is it to do with the case?”

“Not exactly. It’s Cass.”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. “Not again. When are you going to get over your sad little crush?”

“I am over it, I’m only looking out for her.”

“Yeah, right. You do realise these checks can be traced back to me?”

“I haven’t forgotten. Come on Pete, I’ll buy you a pint.”

“You’ll buy me more than one.” Another sigh. “Fine but only because I’m very fond of Cass, I’m not feeding your obsession. Give me the number then.”

Brodie rhymed off the plate and Pete promised to call him back in a few minutes. He returned to the bar, hoping Pete turned something up otherwise he’d have to watch Cass and that creep getting even closer. She’d go upstairs with him, a man completely unworthy of her. She’d come downstairs to breakfast in the morning with a satisfied afterglow - that was if the creep was any good in bed, if not she’d be irritable and frustrated. She’d never see the man again, it would just be the one night but Brodie would be forced to watch their mating dance and he couldn’t bear that.

When his phone rang he snatched it up. What Pete had to say made him smile. “Nice one, thanks Pete. Aye as soon as I’m back I’ll take you for that bevvy.” He hung up and smirked at the creep sitting at the bar, or rather Jason Buckwell. He wouldn’t be having any sex tonight. Now all he needed was for Cass to disappear for a few minutes.

After another thirty five minutes of flirting Cass got up to use the bathroom, just as Brodie knew she would. She would want to make sure she was looking her best before going upstairs with the creep.

Jason watched her sashay into the toilets, eyes fixed on her very nice backside, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Brodie wanted to rip that tongue out of his head and stuff it up his nostril. Instead he got to his feet and sauntered over to the bar.

“Another glass of red please pal,” he said to the barman, who nodded and set about pouring his drink. “Alright?” he nodded at Jason.

“Yes thank you,” he smoothly replied. “Yourself?”

“Aye I’m good. Nice hotel.”

“It certainly is. I’m a regular here,” he said smugly.

Brodie wondered how Cass could stand the man, he oozed slime. “You here alone?”

“Yes but hopefully not for much longer,” he smiled into his drink, eyes darting to the door of the ladies’ toilets.

“Why, is Helen joining you?”

Brodie said it so casually that it took Jason a moment to process what he’d said. He went rigid and slammed down his drink, face as pale as his crisp white shirt. “What?”

“Helen was wondering why you’re here chatting up other women instead of at home with her and your three weans.”

It appeared Jason was about to slide off his stool with shock. “Who are you?”

“Just a friend giving you a warning. She knows all about what you’ve been getting up to.”

“That bitch is a honey trap, isn’t she?” he said, furious, nodding in the direction of the toilets.

“Watch your mouth,” he growled, causing Jason to lean away. “If I were you I’d be more concerned with my wife. Go home before she empties the bank accounts and leaves with your kids.”

“Jesus Christ,” he cried, leaping to his feet and racing out of the bar.

“What’s up with him?” said the barman as he placed Brodie’s drink before him.

“Search me. Put it on room seventeen,” he said cheerfully, motioning to his drink. Number seventeen was the creep’s room, he’d kept the key next to his car keys. Some people really had no idea about security.

Brodie sat back down at his table seconds before Cass emerged from the bathroom. He kept his head down, pretending to study his phone, watching from his peripheral vision as she frowned at the empty stool where Jason had been sat then quietly conversed with the barman.

He looked up when she retook her seat. “Back so soon?” he said, casually putting his phone down on the table. “I thought you were going upstairs with Mr Hair Gel.”

“He disappeared,” she mumbled into her drink. “Shame, I was looking forward to continuing our conversation.”

“Yeah, he looked like a real font of wisdom.”

“I wonder if I said something to offend him? The barman said he ran out of here looking scared…” She trailed off and fixed him with a hard stare. “Brodie, what did you do?”

“Me? Nothing. I’ve just been sitting here enjoying a wee drink.”

“That glass is full. You’ve been up to the bar again, haven’t you?”

“A man’s entitled to get another drink if he wants.”

“What did you say to Jason?”

“Nothing.”

She snatched up his phone. “So if I check your call log there won’t be a recent call to Pete, will there?”

Brodie decided silence was his best defence, so he didn’t reply.

“You ran a check on him, didn’t you?” she pressed.

“Alright, I did,” he relented.

“Why?”

“Because I thought there was something wrong with him. He kept playing with his left ring finger, as though he was used to wearing a ring and he’d taken it off.”

“He’s married?”

Brodie nodded. “With three kids.”

“So you warned him off?”

“I made out his wife knew what he was up to. He’s probably halfway to Leicester by now.”

Cass looked furious. “Why didn’t you just tell me and let me deal with it?”

“Why should you have to?”

“So it would have been better for me to think he didn’t like me and had done a runner the minute my back was turned? Yeah, thanks for that.”

“Sorry Cass, I was only trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me, I can take care of myself.”

“Where are you going?” he said when she got to her feet.

“Up to my room before I do something I regret,” she hissed, cheeks flushed pink with anger.

“Cass…”

He sighed and slumped back in his chair as she stormed towards the door. Then she hesitated and came back. Brodie prepared himself to be punched. When she leaned over he thought she was going to head butt him instead but she planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said.

After she’d gone upstairs Brodie finished his drink, a smile on his face.

He retired to his own room ten minutes after Cass and curled up on the bed with a book. As usual it was a true crime book. Since he was a teenager he’d been fascinated by Glasgow’s grisly history - Archibald Hall, Peter Manuel, Dr Thomas Cream, these killers all intrigued him but it was the mystery of Bible John that really fascinated him. His dad used to tell him the stories, making him into Brodie’s ultimate Boogeyman. His dad had been a police officer so he’d known all the details but he’d only told him because he’d enjoyed scaring him.