The gemini effect, p.17
The Gemini Effect, page 17
Anyway, back to the first one I… hunted. Yes, I suppose you could call it that. I tracked him, at any rate, got his scent in my nostrils. Followed him, planned it all in advance: what I would wear – all black, including the mask – what I was going to do, where I was going to do it.
I had to share this one with you. The latest addition to my collection.
Matt Wilson (names to faces now, faces to names), fitness instructor in a gym. I followed him for four days, the posing twat. I did so enjoy our little ‘altercation’ out in the car park when he was leaving work late. And he was strong; a real challenge…
When the phone started to vibrate beside her on the bed, she’d started awake.
Snatching it up, she saw the clock, saw that she’d only had a couple of hours sleep at most, unsurprisingly. But another message had come in from Vinny, this one marked urgent. An answer to her message, but also saying that he’d doubled down on his research, called in several favours and finally tracked down some information he thought she should know straight away. Information that might be relevant to the case. Eager to please, once again.
Bleary-eyed, Deborah had read what Vinny had to say. Then she’d sat bolt upright. Relevant? That was the understatement of the century!
Because what Vinny had sent over that morning, ridiculously early, was probably the most important thing anyone had ever shared with her. Something that would change everything.
On his travels, Maxwell Craine had fathered twins. Twin sons.
And Vinny knew where one of them lived.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
If they were lucky, they’d reach him in time.
Before he got wind they were looking for him, before he had a chance to bolt. Not that he had an inkling anyone was looking for him, did he? That anyone was coming for him? If this person – by the name of Luke Simpson – was still where Vinny thought he was, then he couldn’t possibly be responsible for the murders in Norchester. It was simply too far away; the drive over was telling them that, because it was taking forever. But what about his brother? What about his twin? Both sons of Maxwell Craine, The Gemini.
Was he working with his sibling? Was this all about revenge? At the very least Simpson was someone they should probably have a talk with, all part of the ever-expanding mythology of this legend.
Deborah glanced across at Clark, who’d barely said a word since they exited the motorway and he’d told her that the back roads were probably going to be the fastest way to get there. To get to the outskirts of a town called Kamton, which, honestly, Deborah had never even heard of before. If he was keeping a low profile, then this Luke Simpson had definitely picked the right place to do it.
Bored, Deborah took out her phone, but she hadn’t been able to get a signal for ages. Probably a consequence of being out among the rolling hills, particularly lush after having a proper drink the night before, sheep and cows dotted about the place. She used to be quite excited by that, when she first moved from the city, from Norchester. But Armitage Bay and the surrounding areas had their fair share of countryside, with all the animals which accompanied that. It was no longer an exotic thing, and today she had other stuff on her mind.
Like the fact Clark was probably hacked off with her. It had been a big ask, she knew, and at a time when he was already on thin ice with Glover for hanging around with Deborah too much – or so she’d been told in no uncertain terms when she rang him up. Probably why the inspector had taken him into the interview with the Geminite rather than Fleming, trying to bring the DS more to heel. Was he dangling the promise of a position at the SCI as well? Would Clark even be interested?
“Deborah, I can’t. I really can’t.”
“But this is huge!” she’d told him, having woken him up at the crack of dawn.
“I agree. All the more reason you should tell Glover.”
“I… If he goes in all guns blazing, then we could lose our only shot at finishing this once and for all.” She didn’t want to bring up the trust thing again, she’d harped on about that enough to Rosy.
“Please. If the shoe was on the other foot, I’d do it for you.”
“Debs—”
“You said last week that I was an inspiration to you, that I’m one of the reasons why you decided to join the CID. Well, my gut’s telling me to go in quietly.”
“Look, I’d like to help, but—”
“If you don’t, I’ll just go anyway. You know I will. I’ll jump on a train or a bus or whatever and go there on my own.”
“Debs, you can’t.”
“Then come with me, Robbie. Please.”
There was a pause and a long breath down the line. “I’ll swing round and pick you up, I guess.”
“What are you going to tell the station?” Tell Glover is what she really meant.
“I’ll pull a sickie or something.”
“Oh thank you! Thanks so much!”
But he hadn’t been best pleased about it, and she couldn’t really blame him. No-one liked to be strong-armed into something, especially as it might get them into trouble at work. Deborah didn’t want that, the force needed people like Clark. At the same time, she didn’t know who else to ask. Rosy would just go straight to Glover, Vinny had already done enough – though would probably jump at the chance of a road trip to talk to the son of The Gemini – and she needed someone with clout on her side.
Someone with a badge, even if he would be off his patch here.
Still, she didn’t want it to come at the expense of their friendship – and it wasn’t until she saw how mad he was with her, that she realised how much she’d come to rely on that. Eventually, after miles of silence, she attempted some small talk. “How’s Helen?”
At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer her, then he just said: “Hmm?”
“Helen? You know, your girlfriend. I didn’t wake her up too, did I?”
Robbie’s eyes softened. “Oh, no. No, you didn’t. I’m not seeing her till the weekend. She’s fine.”
“Ah, right. For some reason I thought you guys might be, y’know, living together.”
Clark shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe, someday. It’s just easier at the moment, what with work and everything.”
She almost asked ‘hers or yours?’ but then she knew the answer to that already. It was a hard life being the partner of a cop. “Yeah, makes sense,” she answered, leaving a gap. Then: “Definitely don’t tell her you and me went on a trip together.” It was a stab at humour that fell completely flat.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Another lapse into silence, which she broke with, “I can always sort out a couple of signed copies of my books for her. If she’s—”
“Deborah. Debs. Look, I know what you’re trying to do. And I appreciate it. But, well, this is really awkward for me.”
She hung her head. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
“I try and do things by the book, is all. This maverick stuff doesn’t come easy to me. Keeping info from superiors, going behind their backs to—”
“I said I’m sorry.” She hadn’t meant it to, but her words came out with an edge to them. It was their first real lead since she’d been brought into all this, apart from the vague talk about Geminites that Vinny had come up with, and the priest now in the cells at the nick, who’d clammed up again since she’d attacked him.
“You’re coming across as a bit…” Clark shrugged. “When you went for that guy, I mean. I get it, I really do, but—”
“Oh, do you?” she asked, the tone still there.
“You weren’t the only one there when The Gemini was taken down before, remember?”
“I remember,” said Deborah. “I’m remembering more and more each day.” And was it her imagination or did she see a wince at that, as if he was doing the same. They’d both blocked it out, but now those memories were coming back with a bang. “You weren’t the one dragged back into this, though. Who put her family at risk because of it. Hell, Robbie, I’m not even job anymore. Not even on the force, I shouldn’t even be—”
“No, no you shouldn’t. That’s what I was trying to tell you back there on the phone, let the others handle it. Let Glover—”
“Fuck Glover,” she snapped. “I’m sick to death of hearing about bloody Glover! I’ve done more for this investigation since I’ve been back than he’s… Why is that, do you think?”
“He’s not Mason,” stated Clark, glancing over.
“Don’t ever say that name to me, Robbie.”
“Mason,” repeated the man, on purpose probably, “was a complete and utter… You weren’t the only person he let down, Deborah. You weren’t the only one who lost somebody.”
“Not the same.”
“No, but I… I did love Peel. He was like a brother to me. We came up through training together, watched out for each other.”
She’d known they were close, but Deborah hadn’t realised quite how close until then. “Robbie, I’m sorry. I really am.”
He nodded, and she could see he was trying to control his emotions. Teeth gritted, attempting to hold back the tears. “I just wish…” Now he shook his head.
Her hand was on his arm again, another squeeze like back in the curry house. “Yeah, me too.”
Clark laughed suddenly. “He told me about that time you know, with you and him in the car. When he dropped the sweets.”
Deborah couldn’t help herself, a smile broke on her face when she recalled that memory. Unlike some of the others associated with this case, it was a nice one. They’d been on their way to do a horrible thing, to inform Stuart Redbrook’s family about his death; deliver the ‘death knock’ as they called it on the force. But the car journey, a bit like this one now, had been nice. Funny even. “He looked like a little kid with those sweets, and then he dropped them all over the floor of the car.”
Another chuckle from Clark. “I shouldn’t laugh, he was mortified. Thought he’d made a bad impression.”
Deborah joined in with the laughing. “He thought I was going to report him, didn’t he.”
Clark nodded.
“I told him, if I reported every copper who scoffed sweets on duty—”
“You’d be doing paperwork from now till doomsday.”
She turned and smiled at him, and he smiled back. To think that Peel had remembered exactly what she’d said, and then Clark all these years later… “He was a good bloke.”
“He was.”
They tailed off into silence again for a few moments, but it was a comfortable silence. The silence two friends can share without having to say anything at all. But then Deborah remembered something else. “Allsorts.”
“Sorry?” asked Clark.
“The sweets. They were liquorice allsorts.”
Clark gave a nod. “Those were his favourites.” He leaned forward and put on some music, some woman with a terrific voice accompanying a set of furiously played strings. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d pegged Clark for, but Deborah was glad of it as she watched the greenery go by, the faint outline of a rainbow in the distance.
A nice journey, but with something horrible at the other end.
After stopping off at a pub for lunch, one of those really out of the way traditional places called The Wanderer’s Rest, where they were served by a burly barkeep who introduced himself as Abraham Bamford, and said they did the “Best shepherd’s pie you’ll ever taste!”, and after Clark consulted the map he always kept in his car, they arrived at the outskirts of Kamton mid-afternoon.
It took them half an hour or so to find the place they were actually looking for, however, through a combination of asking people and just blind luck: a block of flats that looked like two concrete Lego bricks on their sides stuck together, and was totally out of place, just a hop, skip and a jump from all that nature. Not to mention being equally at odds with its own name: Meadow Hill.
Wasn’t hard to figure out why Kamton council had stuck the place here though; out of sight, out of… From the graffiti that covered the walls, to the smell inside the lifts – of vomit, or pee, or possibly a combination of both – it was a billion miles away from apartments like the one Rosy inhabited, in more than just distance.
They spotted youths with caps on, wearing hoodies, hanging about round the stairs that they took, a couple of which eyed Deborah up like she was an option on the menu back at The Wanderer’s Rest. Her response was to stare back until they looked away; it was something she’d learned very early on walking the beat. They also didn’t seem too impressed by Clark’s suit and tie, the whiff of police coming off him in waves.
“Not exactly somewhere I’d expect a criminal mastermind to be living,” muttered the DS.
“Or the perfect place to lay low,” Deborah countered.
They reached the level they were looking for, which took them out onto a walkway with a rail separating them from the inevitable drop. “Flat 401, just down here,” said Clark, gesturing along the corridor. Deborah tried not to look to her left as they walked.
Someone was just coming out of their front door ahead of them. He was thin – too thin, really, because his jacket, T-shirt and jeans hung off him; even his dirty-white trainers looked too big – and he had that stooping stance of someone who was either hung over, or was looking to be. A drawn expression, pale skin and bulbous eyes, with a goatee beard, it wasn’t until they got a little closer that Deborah spotted the resemblance. The man locking up his door had the look of a younger version of Maxwell Craine. Of Maxwell’s brother, too.
That was to say, he bore more than a passing resemblance to The Gemini.
If The Gemini had been a washed-up druggie. If he’d been a weakling, which was about as far from the truth as you could possibly get. Even as he turned to see them, Deborah was wondering if this man’s father had known about him. Probably not. Wondering also if this man knew about his father? That remained to be seen.
And to get the answer to that question, they’d need to talk to him. They’d need to—
His eyes went wide, his hand trembling as he finished locking up his flat. Deborah looked across to see that Clark had taken out his warrant card, was flashing it – always by the bloody book! – and that alone was filling this bloke (who had to be Luke Simpson, couldn’t be anyone else but one other person) with complete dread.
That was when it happened, when he turned away from them and bolted. “Stop! Police!” shouted Clark, which Deborah couldn’t help thinking wasn’t the smartest move to make around here, either. The badge, the warning… Nothing would guarantee a chase more than that.
They set off after him, Clark ahead of her because he had longer legs, because he was more physically fit. What with this and the stunt in the alley, she was beginning to feel her lack of time in a gym. That and her years, her bad leg. Simpson was pelting down the walkway, elbows going up and down like some kind of well-oiled machine. Weakling he might have been, but he clearly made up for it in speed.
Clark was gaining, though. Would have caught up with him there and then if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of more of those youths. Might have been the same ones from the stairs, might have been some others – they all seemed to look the same here – but the intent was clear. There was no love for the law in Meadow Hill, and if someone was trying to escape a copper then they’d definitely get help.
They barrelled into Clark, sending him spinning. Sending him back into Deborah, who was knocked towards the railings. Sent backwards over them, her top half flying off into space. She had seconds, and would have gone over completely if it hadn’t been for Clark grabbing her and pulling her back.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, setting her upright again. “You okay?”
Deborah nodded, but she felt far from all right. It had done nothing to combat her recent fear of heights at all. “Go! Get after him!” she said.
Clark nodded, set off again. The youths looked to have scampered, but as soon as Clark was out of sight, they suddenly appeared again. Deborah had barely got her breath back, was still shaking from almost going over the edge. But there was a new thing to panic about now, a new threat. Three of them, stepping closer.
“All right,” she managed. “Who’s first?”
Clark caught sight of his target just as he was vanishing round the corner.
Heading for a set of stairs. Would he go up or down? that was the question. He was left no choice, really, when a woman with a baby coming up to this level cut him off. Simpson began upwards, with the policeman hot on his heels.
Clark pelted up the steps, taking them two at a time to try and catch up with the person he was pursuing. This was important, he couldn’t let him get away. Wasn’t about to.
Clark rounded one turn, then another. And… lost him.
Had he gone out onto the walkway at this level, out through the door there? Must have done, Clark couldn’t hear him on the stairs now as he craned his neck. Then suddenly he was being struck again, shoved into the wall, which he hit and then slid down. Simpson had been hiding in the well between the stairs and had shot out like a missile.
Clark was aware of being kicked while he was on the ground, once in the side, once in the face. But the next time he saw a foot, he grabbed it. There was a noise which was like a cross between a yelp and a war cry, and the man pulled his leg back, leaving the filthy trainer in Clark’s hands.
Limping away, Simpson started racing upwards again.
Clark scrambled to his feet, tossing away the shoe and shaking his head to clear it. Then he was off in pursuit once more.
Right, thought Deborah.
Here she was, no baton, no backup – because she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about this, had she, stupid mare! – and a bit wobbly from almost falling several storeys to her death. She was also, though, not in the mood for this shit. The three youths had really picked the wrong day to mess with her.
Kicking out, she got the nearest one in the crotch. He fell to his knees, holding his privates like they were about to drop off. One of the others reached to grab hold of her, but her self-defence training was coming back to her now – Vinny wasn’t the only one who’d been taught that – and she took his arm, levering it over her shoulder to throw her opponent. He ended up on the ground in a puff of concrete dust and dirt, completely winded. The third she elbowed in the face, hearing and feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose. It made up for not having managed the same to the Geminite with the back of her head.
