Author: Sarah Pinborough
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/sarah-pinborough/page,9,69649-a_matter_of_blood_the_dog-faced_gods_trilogy.html
‘Did he say what it was?’
‘No.’ The short conversation of the night before played over in Cass’s head. ‘Nothing that made any sense. I cut him off.’
Pain caught the back of his throat and for an awful moment he thought he was going to break down and start crying like a child, sitting there in Claire’s car, Claire, whose heart he’d once broken in a quiet way. And his wife was probably sitting in their lounge doing some crying of her own. Nothing changed. He swallowed the well of emotion. Christian was dead. He heard the words in his head, but still they refused to take root.
A warm hand rested on his knee. ‘You couldn’t have known, Cass. These things . . .’ She shrugged. ‘They’re unpredictable. You can’t tell when someone’s going to snap.’
‘Christian wasn’t the snapping kind.’ He pulled hard on the cigarette, creating a barrier of stinging smoke between them.
She ignored it.
‘Cass,’ she said, softly, ‘this isn’t your fault. Don’t try and make everything your fault because you made one difficult call ten years ago. Isn’t it time you started to forgive yourself ?’
‘This really isn’t the time for that, Claire.’
Cass didn’t look at her, and eventually she sighed in defeat. ‘You want me to come in with you?’
He laughed dryly. ‘I don’t think so. Kate doesn’t know what happened while we were split, but you know what women are like. I think she knows. There’s only so much I can take in one day.’
The hand slid away from his leg, leaving only an echo of its warmth. ‘Well, if you need me, just call.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll be in by half-seven.’
‘You don’t have—’
‘What else am I going to do? Sit around and look at old pictures and cry?’
‘That’s what most people would do, Cass, yes. It’s what you do when you lose someone.’
Cass pushed the door open and flicked the butt into the gutter. The cigarette smoke was making his nausea worse, and he had this awful feeling that if he sat there long enough, flames would start to lick at his feet and neither of them would ever get out.
He gave her an awkward smile. ‘I know you’re probably right, Claire. But I’d go mad.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t let these cases slide, either. We owe those boys, and those poor dead women. Time won’t wait for me to deal with my own shit.’
‘I’ll pick you up in the morning, then.’
He frowned.
‘Your car’s still at the station, remember?’ she smiled. ‘If you change your mind about coming in, just let me know. Even if I’m already outside, okay?’
‘Thanks.’ He got out of the car. ‘But I won’t change my mind.’
‘I don’t expect you will.’
The look of gentle pity on Claire’s face, probably not that different from the one he’d given to Clara Jackson and Eleanor Miller barely forty minutes previously, was enough to make him shut the car door and walk away. Cass knew he, of all people, did not deserve pity. Christian, Luke and Jessica deserved the pity. For a second he felt surrounded by dead children, all pointing accusingly at him. Forgive himself? How the hell was he ever supposed to do that? Claire kept the car running behind him but he didn’t turn back. As he got to the front steps she pulled away and he let his shoulders slump.
There was too much weight on them.
Kate sat on the sofa, rocking backwards and forwards, her pale skin blotchy with tears. Sergeant Blackmore stood at the fireplace beside a man Cass didn’t recognise. They nodded awkwardly at Cass and he returned the gesture. Kate didn’t look up but pulled the cushion she was hugging closer to her chest. He flinched at the thought that she’d probably gain more comfort from an inanimate object than she did from him. Maybe it was time he stopped fighting it. He let people down. It’s what he did.
‘It’s true, then?’
Blackmore nodded. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Don’t be. You didn’t shoot them.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Kate flinch. She never could stand his roughness, but he didn’t know any other way to deal with pain.
The unknown man, thickset, in his fifties, stepped forward. ‘Detective Inspector Jones, I’m DI Ramsey. From Chelsea nick.’
An American accent, and phrasing slightly odd. ‘Not originally, I take it.’
‘No. I guess home is really Eerie, Pennsylvania, but I left twenty years or more. Wouldn’t recognise the place if I saw it now - and it certainly wouldn’t recognise me.’
‘Were you on the scene?’
Ramsey nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m Murder Squad, like you. Responding car called us out. You know how the drill goes. I got there at about two this morning.’
‘How were they found?’ Cass’s voice sounded like a stranger’s in his head. Was he really talking about his little brother and his family? The world glimmered as his breath hitched and stuck in his lungs as shock took a brief hold of him. For a moment it was as if a watery glow, like early autumn sunshine, coated Ramsey, shining out from the corners of his eyes. Cass blinked and it was gone.
‘Your nephew was shot in his bed. Died instantly. He wouldn’t have known anything about it.’
‘And Jessica?’
‘The shot must have woken her up. She was found in the doorway of the main bedroom. He shot her once in the chest at point-blank range. She would have died instantly too.’ Ramsey kept his voice level. ‘It looks as if your brother then went downstairs. He shot himself in the lounge.’
‘Christian would never do something like that.’
Ramsey shrugged and Blackmore looked down at his feet.
Cass felt his frustration rising. ‘I know it’s the normal response from a relative, to disbelieve. I fucking know that.’ He swallowed hard and lowered his voice. ‘I’m just saying that Christian really wasn’t the type.’
‘According to your wife he’d been trying to reach you for a few days? Is that right?’
‘Yes. But I spoke to him briefly yesterday. He didn’t sound suicidal.’
‘He was agitated.’ Kate’s voice cut in, a monotone. She followed it with a loud phlegm-riddled sniff. ‘When he rang here last night he didn’t sound right.’
‘I thought you said he sounded fine?’ Cass stared at his wife, aware of the sharpness in his voice but unable to stop it. Kate met his eyes and for the first time, after everything they’d gone through in their marriage, he was sure he saw hate burning there. He winced.
‘I said what you wanted to hear.’ A tight smile twisted on her lips as more tears spilled from her red eyes. ‘You weren’t going to ring him anyway. You never do.’
The truth stung him, and although his immediate reflex was to deny in, he bit the words back. It was a pointless argument. She was right. If she’d told him, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. He looked back at Ramsey. ‘Something was bothering him, yes.’
His fellow DI’s hooded eyes were thoughtful. ‘I sense there’s more.’
Cass shook his head a little. ‘It’s just the way he sounded. He wanted to talk to me. I mean, really wanted to.’ He looked at Kate. ‘And my wife’s right; I haven’t been good at staying in touch. Ever since our parents died I’ve let our relationship slide. We’re both grown-ups, with jobs that take up a lot of time. We spoke more frequently when Luke got ill, but even that wasn’t that often. But the past few days, he’s rung a lot, trying to catch up with me. He had something he wanted to tell me. It just doesn’t make sense that he’d do this without having spoken to me first.’ Suddenly exhaustion seeped into his shoulders and he felt himself sag. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’
‘There often isn’t a lot of sense in suicide, boss,’ Blackmore said.
Cass glared at him, and was pleased to see Ramsey send him a sharp look too. The young man shrank back slightly against the wall.
‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ Ramsey said, stepping forward, ‘but you’ve got to let me run this and see how it plays out. And although we’re treati
ng this as murder-suicide, with no current outside suspects, there are two murders, and so the process is the same as always. Mark Farmer’s the ME on the case, and you know he’s the best. And if there’s evidence of any outside interference at the scene, then trust me, the lab boys will find it.’ He paused. ‘That’s the best I can tell you.’
Cass nodded. Bile rose in his throat again, burning the soft tissue that was already sore from the cocaine he’d taken the previous night. This was too surreal, a bad trip. He still hadn’t thrown the wrap away, and he caught himself wondering if maybe one small line - just a small one - would make the world a little better. It wouldn’t help the pain, but it might just ease the huge tumour of guilt that was growing inside him. He squeezed the thought away.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘You’ll let me know when I can start arranging things?’ Things: caskets, flowers, cold graves. None of the words fit with Christian in his head.
‘Will do.’
‘If you need me I’m normally on my mobile. I’ve got two heavy cases on the go, so that’s the best way to reach me.’
The other DI didn’t look surprised, nor did he try to persuade Cass to stay at home, and Cass liked him for that. Ramsey led the way out into the hallway, and after saying goodbyes, and telling Blackmore he’d be in tomorrow morning, Cass closed the door. The house felt like a tomb around him.
Now Kate’s sobs echoed out from the lounge. She was taking it hard, he thought, and considered going to her, maybe putting his arm around her - but instead he ran to the downstairs bathroom and vomited loudly.
When he was done, he sat there with his head resting against the cool tiles until the heat left him and he started shivering. It felt surprisingly good. Eventually Kate peered through the door and handed him a glass of water.
‘Are you okay?’ The words were awkward. Her voice was thick with snot and the remnants of tears, and she didn’t sound like herself. She stayed in the doorway, on the other side of the threshold.
‘Do you think Christian did it?’ he asked.
His throat was dry and he drained the water, fighting his stomach as it immediately tried to reject it. He didn’t answer her question. Given the situation, and the fact that he was curled up against the wall of the toilet, he figured the answer was clear.
Eventually Kate shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Her eyes focused on the hand basin, clearly not wanting to look at him. He watched her pick absently at the skin around her fingernails.
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
She chewed her bottom lip and Cass thought he saw the water in her eyes turn to ice for a moment. ‘There was a time when I thought you couldn’t do something like that.’
Cass recoiled, his skin cooling further. ‘How can you equate what I did with this? Jesus, Kate.’
Finally, her eyes met his. ‘I can because you do. That’s why you don’t talk about it.’ Her tears rolled again, spilling in large drops from her chin. ‘I don’t know whether Christian did it or not. But do I believe he could? Of course I do. I think we’re all capable of terrible things if we’re pushed, or if we’re put into situations out of our control. And sometimes it’s not our fault.’ Her breath hitched in her chest. ‘It was only you that ever thought you were beyond redemption, Cass, no one else. And now look where you are. Look at everything around you. It’s all turned to shit.’
One word cut through the sting of the rest: redemption. It’s about redemption. That’s the key. That was what Christian had said to him just before Cass had cut him off. Was that what Christian wanted to talk to him about? Forgiving himself? Even if Jessica had told him about their long-ago affaire, why would he forgive Cass and then shoot her? And if it was for anything else, then why would it be so important to Christian now? There had to be more to what he wanted to talk to Cass about. Maybe Christian had done something and it was redemption for himself he was after . . . but by suicide? There had to be more to it. He banged his head slowly against the cold tiles. Or maybe he was just wanting there to be more so he could go on thinking that this wasn’t a crazy gene taking his baby brother over the edge and he hadn’t even noticed.
‘Are you even listening to me?’ Her voice was cold again, all emotion leached out.
‘This isn’t about me.’
‘No.’ She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. ‘No, it isn’t. You’re just making it that way.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘You figure it out.’
Cass put the glass down carefully on the floor, determined not to throw it. ‘My brother just died, Kate. Why are we fighting?’
They stared at each other for a long time across the abyss that separated them.
‘Because it’s all we know what to do any more.’ She crouched beside him. Close up, even under the bright lights and with her face streaked and blotchy, she was still beautiful. ‘Apart from one thing.’ Her fingers ran gently through his hair and her body heat reached for him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘Come upstairs, Cass. Please.’
She kissed his head before getting up and walking away. After a while Cass got up and followed her. He needed warmth, and God help him, whatever love she had for him was all he had left.
This time, however, they were both saved the awkwardness of the quiet time afterwards by the quiet buzz of his mobile ringing. Cass stared at the ceiling for a minute before sitting up to take the call. He knew who it would be. Ramsey. And he knew what he’d want. Someone had to do it and Cass was the only one left. He listened and muttered a quiet ‘yes’, before reaching for his discarded clothes. The car would be coming for him in twenty minutes.
The morgue was cold, and even out in the corridor, Claire shivered. She didn’t have to be here. She could be on her way home, or at the pub with Mat, or even still at the station, but there was no way she’d let Cass Jones do this alone. Mat hadn’t understood why Cass had wanted to go through this procedure at all when photos would have sufficed. But then, she thought, wrapping her arms round her slim body in an effort to fight the chill, Mat would never see how deeply Cass’s still waters ran. Of course, he’d want to identify the bodies himself. It was as close to paying them some respect as he could get straight away. Shoes tapped their way along the corridor and she looked up.
‘Sir,’ she nodded at Ramsey.
‘What are you doing here, Claire?’ Cass said. ‘The fewer dead bodies you see in your life the better for your soul and your sleep, trust me.’
‘This is different.’
‘No it isn’t. Not for you.’
‘I would want a friend with me,’ she answered softly. ‘I’d want you with me.’
Inspector Ramsey had stepped ahead and she was glad. Although their relationship was over and done a long time before, she knew it wouldn’t take a genius to see the strength of feeling she still had for the tall, dark detective. She might fool herself at times, but she wouldn’t fool anyone with half an eye for these things.
‘You ready?’ The DI looked back at them, one hand already pushing the door open. ‘Let’s get this done quickly.’
Claire followed the two men inside. Her mouth dried as she drew level with Cass. She’d done this before; it wasn’t the presence of death that disturbed her, it was these particular deaths which made her stomach flip. Cass’s family . A brother he’d rarely spoken about, a wife and a child.
‘You know how this works, Jones.’ Dr Farmer was gripping the handle of the first metal drawer. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Get on with it,’ Cass growled.
Claire wasn’t fooled. She saw the twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. She’d seen that before in the heat of a very different kind of emotion.
The drawer slid open. Even from where she was standing, slightly behind Cass, Claire could see that the space was woefully too large for the small figure inside. Dr Farmer reached in and carefully folded down the sheet from over the boy’s face.
‘Is this your neph
ew Luke Jones?’ Inspector Ramsey asked.
The child was perfectly still against the metal, his blond hair combed backwards away from his face. Claire wasn’t sure that’s how he would have worn it to school. There would have been gel and spikes by this age, or at least the semblance of a style emerging. His skin was pale and smooth and his eyes shut. He had long eyelashes, she noted, and they were dark. Her heart squeezed tight. This was the third dead boy she’d seen in a month, all blasted by bullets. Somewhere under the sheet would be the cleaned-out mess, all that was left of the slight boy’s torso.
‘Yes.’ Cass didn’t take his eyes from the boy’s face. Even knowing him as she did - or thought she did - Claire wondered how he could stay so self-contained. She watched him as Dr Farmer closed the drawer and opened the second. Another sandy head was revealed, closed eyes, closed mouth. Calm after the storm. Claire tried to imagine the woman animated, maybe calling to the child now lying so still in the darkness on the other side of the metal wall. She shivered again, this time not from the cold, but at the speed at which death could come. Jessica Jones had gone to bed fully expecting to get up and feed her son, ready to send him off to school, to face another ordinary London day. Instead, one blast to the body and she was gone. Claire’s own mortality clung to her for a moment, time and place unknown but there all the same, just waiting for her arrival.
‘That’s my sister-in-law, Jessica Jones.’ Cass’s words were hard but fast. At his side, one hand was clenched. Claire wanted to prise those fingers open and take his hand, for her own comfort as much as his. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe the dead were to be avoided when possible. This wasn’t like seeing the Jackson and Miller boys dead, or any of the other corpses she’d had to deal with in her time on the force. This was something different. These were personal deaths: parts of Cass Jones’ life gone, for ever.
‘You may prefer to provide photographic identification for Christian,’ Dr Farmer said. ‘I’ve done what I can, but given the nature of his—’