Fallen Angel Page 19

  ‘Very,’ Jessie agreed. ‘The good thing, though, is that one of his cameras in Manning’s apartment actually captured the event.’

  ‘What d’you mean, captured the event?’ Flynn said. ‘You mean it showed the murder?’

  ‘Exactly, Mr Flynn.’ Jessie Partridge leaned her elbows on the table. ‘The camera was installed in a smoke alarm in the lounge, and covers the whole lounge and the entrance way to the apartment. The footage that it captured is very clear.’

  She paused and the air in the interview room was still.

  ‘Are you able to use that in court?’ I asked. ‘I mean, if it was installed illegally?’

  ‘Mr Beetham has given us authority in writing to use it,’ Powell said. ‘And so has Mr Manning.’

  Jessie looked at each of us in turn. ‘Shall we?’ she said. She turned and reached over to the DVD unit.

  She hit Play and we all focussed on the small screen.

  The footage had been wound on to the right place and a few seconds in it showed Sarah enter Mike’s apartment using a key. She closed the door behind her, put a bag on the kitchen bench, kicked off her shoes and went towards the bathroom. She was wearing her little sandals, extra-short denim shorts and a singlet.

  A minute or so later she came back into view, going straight to the door. She opened and a man stood there. They spoke for a few seconds before she stood aside and let him in.

  They continued to speak in the kitchen, face to face. There was no sound on the recording but their body language was not happy. There was lots of hand gestures, shaking of heads and stiff postures. The argument continued for about half a minute before Sarah turned away, facing the camera in the lounge.

  Even on CCTV I could see she was crying. The man behind her, however, was not. I watched as he lifted the back of his jacket, drew a small black club of some sort, and stepped forward, raising it up.

  He cracked Sarah across the back of the head with it and as she began to fall forward, he came back with a backhanded strike from the left.

  Sarah went straight to the ground on her front and the man stood over her. Jessie hit Pause and the screen froze.

  We were all staring at the image on the screen and Liam Flynn was staring straight back at us, standing over his daughter’s body with a cosh in his hand.

  The room was deathly silent for a long moment, then there was a sudden burst of movement.

  Flynn’s chair went over backwards and Molly was jerked from her seat, his arm around her throat, lifting her up and backwards. She let out a yelp of surprise and grabbed at his arm but he was too strong. I leaped up, shoving my chair out of the way.

  Flynn dragged Molly backwards to the door. In his right hand was the same black cosh he’d used to kill his daughter.

  ‘Let her go, Flynn,’ Powell said. ‘You’re in a police station, for God’s sake; where d’you think you can go?’

  ‘I’m not going down for this,’ Flynn snarled.

  ‘We know about your gambling debts,’ I said, ‘and we know that Sarah inherited everything when her mum died.’

  ‘So what? You can’t prove anything.’

  ‘Obviously you wanted money from Sarah,’ Powell said. ‘She wouldn’t give it to you and you killed her. End of story.’

  ‘Put the club down,’ Jessie said. ‘Let her go.’

  ‘And what? It’ll all end well and we’ll have a nice chat?’ He was using Molly as a shield, preventing us from getting to him. ‘I don’t think that’s gunna happen.’

  ‘You need to let her go,’ I said. I could see Molly’s eyes pleading with me. Her face was read and blotchy.

  ‘I’m getting outta here.’

  ‘No,’ I told him, ‘you’re not.’

  I took a step forward and he raised the cosh to the side of her head.

  ‘Come any closer and I’ll do her as well!’

  ‘This not going to end well for you,’ I told him. ‘You’ve got about three seconds.’

  You could almost hear the seconds clicking over, and I cheated by only giving him two. Flynn may have had a Mont Blanc, but I had a Gerber. I lunged forward, rammed the tactical pen down with my right hand and blocked his cosh with my left.

  The Gerber jabbed into his forearm where it was exposed across Molly’s throat, my thumb bracing the top on it to ram it hard into the flesh.

  Flynn shrieked, I blocked his attempted swing with the cosh, and he released his grip on Molly. I grabbed her arm and jerked her towards me, stepping in front of her as Flynn erupted in pain, the pen still protruding from his forearm.

  I slapped the cosh from his hand, grabbed him by the shirtfront, and threw him across the room. He hit the wall with his head, hard enough to put a decent hole in the plaster, and bounced off to the floor.

  Powell and Jessie were on him in a second, restraining him while I took hold of Molly and pulled her close.

  ‘You okay?’ I said.

  She nodded, touching gingerly at her throat. ‘What a psycho.’

  Powell handed me back my pen. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve got it from here.’

  They hauled Flynn to his feet and hustled him towards the door.

  ‘What’re you going to say to Kennedy and Vance?’ I asked.

  Powell and Jessie looked at each other, then back to me.

  ‘We’ll probably just let them know that we’ve arrested the right guy for murder,’ Powell said.

  ‘I think we’ll be okay,’ Jessie said. ‘I know people.’

  I stuck out my hand and Powell shook it. Nothing more needed to be said.

  Chapter 33

  The restaurant was a little backstreet gem in Mt Roskill that Molly had found a while back.

  It served the best Thai we’d come across in a long time and, almost as important, it was BYO. I was still sore at not being paid by Flynn.

  Being a Friday night it was busy but I had called ahead. We got a table at the window and the waitress lit the candles and dished out some menus.

  Molly was looking radiant as ever and I had managed a shave and a clean shirt. She sat beside me and Mike and Buck sat across from us. Mike seemed to be in a better frame of mind and looked rested.

  The waiter brought an ice bucket for the bottle I’d brought, going all out with a Moet and Chandon Grand Vintage that cost me over a hundred bucks. I would never spend that money on anyone outside this little group.

  Once we were all settled in and the champers had been poured, we clinked glasses.

  ‘Onwards and upwards,’ I said.

  ‘To good friends,’ Mike added.

  I took a sip and savoured it.

  ‘So Buck,’ Molly said, ‘what’s the goss with Kennedy and Vance? Did anything happen to the other two?’

  Buck gave a wry smile. ‘Well apparently it was a well-executed plan by the investigation team,’ he said. ‘Beetham cracked under the pressure and confessed his sins, and handed over his recordings. They then brought in Liam Flynn and you two as part of a plan, and you know the rest of what happened with him.’

  ‘So that’s the official version,’ I said.

  ‘Yup. An excellent result under the strong leadership of Kennedy and Vance.’

  ‘And the unofficial version? What’s the scuttlebutt there?’

  He grinned again, happier this time. ‘Well of course Kennedy and Vance knew nothing about it. Andy Powell is back on Major Crime, Kennedy’s acting as if he never left and everything’s okay.’

  ‘Because it would be embarrassing otherwise?’ Mike guessed.

  ‘Exactly.’ Buck took a sip of his bubbles. ‘That’s really nice, what is it?’

  ‘Champagne, you heathen. Are they taking any action against Powell or your mate Jessie?’ I said.

  ‘Can’t really. Jessie’s hubby’s been around a long time and has a lot of influence, so they’ll leave her alone. Not so sure about Powell. It looks okay for now, but I imagine he’s messed in his own nest, at least for now.’

  I nodded my understanding. It didn�
��t matter that they had shown initiative and did great police work; no good deed went unpunished when it embarrassed someone higher up the food chain.

  ‘Jessie doesn’t care anyway, but I don’t think Powell will be getting any good jobs while Kennedy’s still around.’ Buck gave a chuckle. ‘There’s a strong rumour going around that you broke Kennedy’s jaw years ago. Don’t know where that came from, but it’s getting bigger every day.’

  I grinned. ‘Long may it continue.’

  ‘What about that other jerk?’ Molly asked.

  ‘Vance? He’s going back to Drug Squad. I think officially there’s no criticism of him, but everyone knows he was in the wrong place. Covert stuff’s more his forte.’

  ‘What about the female detective, Gardner?’ Mike asked. ‘She was a real piece of work.’

  ‘Apparently she wants to go to Drugs with Vance,’ Buck said. He flicked his eyebrows knowingly. ‘I think they’ve formed a special relationship.’

  The waiter came and waited patiently while we decided on starters. As soon as he was gone, Mike continued.

  ‘What’s happened with Beetham?’

  ‘He was in court today. Pleaded guilty at the first opportunity and got name suppression, part of the deal that he’ll give evidence against Flynn.’

  Mike frowned but said nothing. I knew what he was thinking and I felt for him.

  ‘I still can’t quite believe he did that,’ Molly said. ‘Flynn, I mean. He seemed so normal.’

  ‘Desperate,’ Buck said. ‘No conscience if he can do that to his own daughter.’

  ‘Mmm.’ I put my glass down and draped my arm over the back of Molly’s chair. ‘And it was him that broke into the office?’

  ‘Yep. Although of course he denies any assault on you.’

  ‘Huh. My ribs would beg to differ.’ He’d told me earlier that Vance had “cleared” that part of the incident, so it officially no longer existed. I was still sore on that, too.

  ‘Hang on,’ Mike said. ‘Just so we’re all clear; Dan chased a fifty-something year old man, let him get away, then fell off a fence?’

  Buck laughed. ‘That’s it.’

  Mike nodded, grinning. ‘Sounds believable.’

  I let the jibes wash over me and just enjoyed the atmosphere. These three were my family here, the people I was closest to in the world. More than a blood bond, we had chosen each other. We chose to be a significant part of each other’s lives.

  I listened to Buck fill in some more details. They had got Beetham’s fingerprints off the covert cameras. He had previously done electrical work in both Mike’s and Sarah’s apartments, and had copied the keys and set himself an access code on their alarms. In fact, he’d done it on several other apartments in the complex. They would all be checked for further cameras, although he denied having installed any more.

  Buck was jazzed about the whole thing. He was enjoying the trill of being involved in a major investigation again. Listening to him talking reinstated some of the faith I had lost in my former colleagues. Pete Evans had been right in what he said; I needed to recognise that not all cops had the integrity of people like Buck. There were bad apples out there.

  But they were the few among the many, and it was also important to remember that. I had no interest in being a bitter ex-cop, ranting about how nobody was as good as me in my day. That did nobody any good. Besides, times were different now. It wasn’t the same job I had joined, and it wasn’t the same one I had left. I had had my time in the big blue machine, and I had moved on.

  I could see the tension slowly easing out of Mike’s face and shoulders. He had contacted a counsellor his mate had put him onto. Gone were the days of soldiers being stoic hard men who drowned their demons with drink. It would be a long road for him, and it wouldn’t be easy. I was proud of him for taking the first step.

  And Molly. Wonderful Molly. When that murdering bastard had grabbed her and threatened to hurt her, it took all my willpower not to rip his head off. He was lucky to have got away in the condition he did. He had complained of excessive force in his arrest, but both Powell and Jessie had backed me up. In fact, they had started the process to nominate me for an award. I didn’t care about that; I just cared about Molly being safe.

  I had stood Ace down once we had got Liam Flynn arrested. Had I kept him on our tail a while longer, I would have been aware of the eyes watching us from a car across the road. But I didn’t.

  So for now I sat back and took a long pull on my expensive champagne. It was a celebratory drink. We had got the bad guys. We had cleared Mike. We had saved our business and reputation. We were unharmed – my bumps and bruises aside.

  We had done right by Sarah.

  And we were together. There were many things to celebrate tonight.

  Chapter 34

  The cemetery was a sprawling affair near the airport in Manukau, rows upon rows of headstones, flowers and balloons.

  A large group was arriving for a burial the next row over, down the far end. There had been a few burials since Sarah’s, and a new row had started. A light misty rain had begun as soon as Mike had pulled up, not enough for him to bother with an umbrella, but enough to flatten his hair by the time he’d walked from the truck to the plain white wooden cross with the freshly-turned earth.

  It was too soon yet for a headstone, and he doubted that even then it would happen. With Liam Flynn in jail awaiting trial and Sarah’s mother gone, there were only a few relatives dotted about that had any real interest. Maybe her workmates would do something; there had been enough of them at the funeral.

  Mike knew in his heart that if nobody else did anything, then he would. He couldn’t let her be forgotten.

  Love. It was a simple word for something so powerful, and it covered a myriad of sins. It made the world go round, according to some. It made people do crazy things, according to most. And love could lead to hate, at least according to Liam Flynn.

  His daughter didn’t love him, wanted nothing more to do with him, wanted to keep him out of her life forever. He loved her, or had loved her, even after she had first tried to cut her ties with him. A scammer, she had called him, a waster and a taker. Always had his hand out, even after her Mum died.

  With everything tied up in a trust, Sarah had received an allowance until she was thirty. Once she hit that she would get the remainder paid out, a very healthy lump sum. She had intended to help Flynn out to some degree when that happened, but he couldn’t wait. A big talker with little to show for it, he had debts to pay, big debts to loan sharks who had financed his ventures over the years. The kind of people with short tempers and long arms.

  When Sarah had told him for the last time that he would be getting nothing from her, it was the last straw. The death knell for a desperate man.

  Mike stood at the foot of the grave silently, staring down at the white cross. It simply had her name on it in black lettering. No dates. No loving messages.

  Several flower arrangements sat around the cross, little cards that were getting wet containing messages of love and grief from her friends.

  The flowers in Mike’s hand were a dozen long stemmed red roses, bound with a white ribbon. He laid them lengthways on top of the grave and stepped back. He wasn’t a man for praying – life was what it was – but he felt compelled to say something.

  Dan should be here; he was the talker. But this was something Mike had to do on his own. Pay his respects. Heal. Move forward. Things he would do himself in his own time.

  The rain was persistent if nothing else. It had started as light and misty and settled in for the afternoon, but was picking up the longer he stood there.

  Mike realised his hands were folded in front of him as if he were at church. He could hear voices from the other funeral party, a child crying. He blocked them out. This was his time with Sarah.

  He stared at the grave, feeling tongue tied, a whirl of emotions inside him. His eyes prickled and felt hot. He licked his lips.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he
whispered.

  The truck was a hundred yards away and the ground was getting soft. Mike turned and headed for it.

  The rain got heavier.

  THE END

  BONUS CHAPTERS

  The Service: Warlock

  Prologue

  Village of Magas

  Drina Valley, North-Eastern Bosnia

  June 1995

  Death came at dawn.

  The sun was creeping over the lip of the valley and the village was starting to come to life. It was a small settlement of simple houses, many already damaged by various attacks over the years and repaired as best they could be.

  The main road into the village was rutted and narrow, potted with holes and horseshoe imprints.

  The trucks of the short convoy crushed the ruts flat as they rolled down the road from the south, heavy diesel engines throbbing and gear boxes grinding as the drivers struggled to maintain momentum and stability at the same time.

  The villagers heard the trucks coming and knew it was not good news. People started to come out of their houses, peering up the road to try and see who it was. Could it possibly be a UN visit? Probably not. Nobody cared enough about these poor peasants to send the UN to them.

  A few people started to make haste, rousing their families and getting ready to run. But it was too late.

  The first truck rounded the last bend and gunned it straight into the centre of the village, a small town square surrounded by a few basic shops and shuttered buildings. The head elder of the village had been awakened and shuffled out in his coat and hat, his pyjama legs flapping in the light morning breeze.

  The first truck ground to a halt and the rear flap opened, discharging a dozen armed soldiers. They quickly spread out across one side of the village square, rifles at the ready and game faces on. They wore the standard Serbian Army uniforms with the shoulder patch of the Red Wolves, the feared elite paratroop unit.

  The elder felt his gut go cold as he recognised the men before him, and he knew without a doubt what was about to happen.