Dying Eyes (18 page)

“Well, thanks for the lift,” Cassy said as they sat in the dim glow of the Victorian style street lamps. “Do you want to come in for a coffee?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m just messing with you, you big romantic. Come in and have a look around.”

Brian’s cheeks were on fire. Who could turn down a look around a pretty younger woman’s home? As long as his wife hadn’t moved in next door, he didn’t see a problem with that. “Sure. Be nice to see a house that isn’t a shithole for a change.”

Cassy frowned as she reached for the car door handle. “I didn’t say it’s not a shithole.” She climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

“Don’t slam,” Brian muttered under his breath. Vanessa always slammed the door. It didn’t matter how many times he asked her, she just kept on slamming.

Vanessa
. He’d have to see her again sometime. Apologise for the other day. It was over now. He could sort things. They could be happy again.

“The only thing I’m guilty of is being in love with her,” Luther had said, his eyes drooping and world-weary as he was dragged away.

Brian stepped out of the car and then walked up the little concrete steps and towards Cassy’s front door.

The place was warm inside. A few boxes were piled at the top of a flight of stairs at the entrance. The lounge was spacious, with dark leather sofas covered in old newspapers. Cassy reached for the lamp in the corner and flicked it on. She brushed some papers off the sofa.

“Well, here you are,” she said. She didn’t quite meet his eye as he looked around the room. Photographs of her and friends on holiday. Her and a girl at the top of Machu Picchu. Independent foreign cinema and classic literature.

In the corner of the room, on an old vinyl player, the new Biffy Clyro album sat on the deck.

“I’ve worked with you for all this time, and I didn’t realise you were a Biffy fan.” Brian spun the vinyl around. “What d’you think of the new stuff?”

Cassy cleared her throat. “Well, I know I’m not in the majority, but I like it. They’ve matured. All bands mature. Side one is good. Not so keen on side two. But Eve and I used to go see bands a lot back in the day. Kind of reminds me of her. Not sure what she’d think of the new stuff.” She laughed. “What do you make of it?”

Brian smiled as he turned around to thumb through the rest of Cassy’s vinyl collection. “I think it’s fucking abysmal.”

An awkward silence followed. The humour didn’t quite slip off his tongue in the witty manner he had intended.

“So…‌Eve. She sounds like a clever girl. She your mate on the pictures?” Brian gestured towards the shot of the pair of trekkers up Machu Picchu, the dark haired and olive-skinned girl unmistakably Cassy, and a blonde girl with a toothy grin next to her.

Cassy walked up to a photograph and held it in her hands. “Yeah, me and her back in the day. Had a blast. Tried our first joint together. Travelled the world together. Probably popped our cherries in the same bloody room.”

Brian sniggered. “It’d be good to have someone to share all that stuff with. You’re lucky.”

Cassy sighed as she dusted the table with her sleeve and placed the photograph back into position. “I
was
lucky. She…‌she passed away last year. Cancer. Brain.”

Brian’s knees turned to jelly. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Don’t mean to bring…‌Yeah, I’m…‌Are you okay?”

“It’s okay,” Cassy cut in. “Really. It’s fine. I’m sure you’d have got on with her though, in a weird way.”

Brian scrunched his nose. “What’s so weird about two people getting on?”

Cassy giggled and looked down at the floor. “You’re practically old enough to be my…‌our dad. Bit of a creeper.”

Brian brushed it off with a wave of the hand and a smile. “Only as old as you act.”

“In which case, you’re older,” she said, winking.

Brian slipped his hands into his pocket. The pair were silent for a few moments. “Well, I should, erm…” He pointed towards the door.

“You can always stay.” Cassy lurched forward a bit as she asked, her voice rising in tone and excitement. She wiped her hair out of her face, trying to look less eager. “I mean…‌I can clear up the sofa. You wouldn’t have to be late for work that way.”

A bit of company. That would make a change.

“Thanks, Cassy. I just…‌I don’t think it’d be a good idea. And I…‌It’s my day off tomorrow. Annual leave. Gonna try and talk to ‘Ness. See if I can sort all that crap out. Besides, you wouldn’t want a smelly old man on your sofa, would you?”

Cassy’s eyes watered, but she smiled and shook her head. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. Have a good day off, you lucky bugger.”

“Have a lovely day yourself.”

He took one last glance at the picture of Cassy and Eve. He hadn’t noticed the bottle of pills by its side until now.

“It’s just passion flower,” Cassy said. She must have spotted him looking. “Just helps me sleep and chill. Won’t be enough to get high off.”

“Any more of that and I’ll have to report you to Price,” Brian said.

Cassy laughed. “That wanker’s probably getting stoned off his sour old face every night.” They held a stare for another few seconds before turning to the floor. “Anyway…”

“Yeah, I’ll…‌I’ll see myself out. Night.”

“‘Night, Brian.”

He stepped over the piled boxes and trotted down the stairs towards the outdoors, towards his car beneath the moth-crowded glow of the street lamp. When he got in, he heard a voice somewhere above him.

“Always welcome to stay.”

Cassy leaned out of the living room window. Her brown hair rustled in the breeze.

Brian waved at her. “Gonna get back and have an early night. But thanks. I’ll see you…”

She winked and shut the window.

Brian turned the key and started up the engine, nothing but that stupid David Beckham air freshener for company. He flicked on the radio as he turned onto the main road.

Biffy Clyro playing a live gig at Maida Vale. He thought of Eve. Of Cassy, and her loss. The bottle of pills.

The 24-Hour shop caught Brian’s eyes as the vocals bashed their way around his skull. He sharply swung the car into the parking space and turned the radio off.

Biffy Clyro’s new stuff was still shit.

And he needed a Becks. Not a Becks-fucking-Blue.

Chapter Twenty Four

The headaches and the aching forearm were just a part of Brian’s morning routine now.

He shuffled around. His bed felt hard. His neck was stiffer than usual. He opened his eyes and realised he wasn’t on the bed but the floor. A strand of saliva formed on the side of his mouth.

What time had he got in?

He’d been to Cassy’s. Yes, Cassy’s…‌Then he’d just had a few beers…

He looked around the room. An empty bottle of vodka lay on its side, the smell of stale alcohol torturing his nostrils as dust and damp spread across the floor.

Vodka. He didn’t remember buying any vodka.

Oh! He’d been out again. He must have got it later on. Before he rang…

Shit. He’d rung Vanessa.

Turning onto his back, he scrunched his eyes together.
Vanessa
. Why did he always have to turn to her when he was at his worst? He let his arms drop to the floor and spotted his phone, the screen face down. He reached over for it with his aching arm, a bandage drunkenly wrapped around it, and pulled it up above his face. The screen swam out of focus.

A couple of texts, one of them unreadable.

Another: “See you at 11 x”

Shit
. He jumped to his feet. Why had he been drinking so heavily? It was just a facade. He didn’t need it. He’d never been a big drinker, so he couldn’t allow himself to drink. He slipped on a pair of creased trousers and sprayed some deodorant underneath his armpits. Nothing but air squeezed out from the pressurised container. It’d have to do.

As he pushed the door open and looked at his phone again‌–‌10:51 a.m.‌–‌he remembered their conversation. They’d meet for a walk at…‌the docklands. Talk things through. The case was over now. Luther was being charged. That was it.

BetterLives was down at the docks. Maybe he could pop in and see to some things…

No. Today was about Vanessa and him. Today was about getting things back on track. He threw himself into the driver’s seat of his car, probably still a little over the limit, and swerved out of the tiny car park. He left a plume of exhaust fumes in tow.

Vanessa stood by the railings, her blonde hair dancing in the wind as Brian’s car pulled up. As he jumped out, he smiled and half-waved at her. She nodded back in acknowledgement, barely smiling.

“I…‌Sorry I’m a bit late.”

She shook her head. “I get it. At least you’re not as late as you have been in the past.”

Brian could only grit his teeth.

They walked down the promenade. It was a grey, windy day, and the water in the docklands crashed against the sides of the walls as seagulls swooped down at scraps of food and disposed materials.

“How’s things?” Vanessa didn’t look at Brian. She sounded mechanical. Robotic. Strange, how one could go from talking to someone every day of their life to struggling to find the words to make conversation. Even small talk became a struggle.

“I’m all right,” Brian said. “The case is closed. We’ve got the‌–‌”

“Yeah. All over the papers.” Vanessa gestured towards the BetterLives office blocks in the distance. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“What’s weird?”

She let out a high-pitched sigh and slowed down as the wind plummeted against her, her hair flying from her head like a cape. “Just, well…‌That someone you think is a good person can be so…‌wrong.”

“I guess that depends on what your idea of right and wrong is.”

“Killing a girl is wrong, Brian. Don’t let your warped sense of morality get in the way of that.”

Brian began to boil over. “Hang on,” he said, before realising he was shouting. He couldn’t lose it in front of her. He knew what he’d look like‌–‌the psycho suicidal self-harming husband with a twisted idea of right and wrong. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and smiled. “I’m not saying it’s not wrong. Of course not. Just that maybe to Luther, what he was doing didn’t
seem
wrong. Killers, they work differently to you and me, but they don’t see themselves as the bad guys. They justify their actions. We’ll find a lot more out soon, anyway.”

“Do you think it’s him?” Vanessa stopped to lean on the railing. She seemed way too concerned about the case. Surely that wasn’t what they were here to discuss? He wanted to build bridges with her, put all of what had happened behind them. But she wasn’t letting it go.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what I
think
. The evidence points to it being him. He had a relationship with her. He bought her gifts. He kept all of that a secret.”

“Any DNA of his at the scene?”

“Yes, he…‌Look, why are you so concerned?”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed and scanned Brian’s face pitifully. “Because I’ve seen what you’re like when you can’t let something drop, Brian.” She looked down at her feet.

Brian’s throat swelled up as he struggled to speak. “This isn’t like that,” he said. “I’m okay now. That’s finished. It’s‌–‌”

“Then why do you turn up late reeking of booze?”

Brian trained his stare on the ground. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to spit it out to somebody. “I…‌How…‌How’s Davey?”

Vanessa raised her eyes to the sky as they resumed walking. They approached the steps guarded by a black metal railing, leading down to the water. “He’s good. Misses his dad. It’s hard trying to explain things to a boy that young. I know you think you have it rough but it’s almost harder being the one who
is
there sometimes.”

Was she screwing with him? He bit his lip and tried not to say anything. Harder being there for her son? She had no idea. Try telling him it was harder being there when she saw the state of his flat. Try living in that shithole and telling him it’s “harder being there”.

As they carried on, a flock of seagulls kicked up a fuss by the water’s edge as they battled for a piece of food. They swooped and flapped around before snapping at one another.

“You should come ‘round sometime,” Vanessa said. “Just to see Davey. We can go from there. Can’t we?”

Warmth grew in Brian’s stomach. “Yeah, that’d…” He stopped walking. “Is that…? Oh. Oh shit.”

Vanessa squinted and looked over at where Brian was staring. The seagulls were poking at something green. Squawking. Making a fuss.

“Yeah, I’m not…” Vanessa said, but Brian didn’t hear her. He’d already thrown himself over the metal railings and started running down the narrow, slippery concrete steps.

“Brian!” she shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

Brian’s heart pounded as he fanned the seagulls away. They departed almost as soon as his shoes splashed against the waterlogged final step. He reached down into the water, sticking his hand into the jelly-like green substance, and then brought his hand up to his face to examine it.

Adrenaline rushed through Brian’s body. “Cyanobacteria…” he mumbled.

BetterLives offices stared over them.

“What?” Vanessa shouted. “Brian, come back, you’re‌–‌”

“Nicola Watson’s underwear.” Brian turned to look at his wife as the water engulfed his ankles and soaked the bottom of his trousers. “There were cyanobacteria in her clothes. Her underwear, it was…” The substance dribbled down his arm. He remembered Jeeves’ close-up photograph. The photograph with no explanation. “Blue-green algae.”

“You aren’t making any sense, Brian.”

“I think…‌I need to go to the station and have a word with someone.”

Chapter Twenty Five

Price sighed as he and Brian stood in the corridor outside the holding cells. His nose was even redder than usual, which was hard, considering it was practically purple every day. Little growls emerged from his throat.

“And you say you found it in the docks?” Price asked, holding the little bag of algae up into the light.

“Right by BetterLives HQ. I was with my wife, and…‌yeah. I saw some commotion and I‌–‌”

“What sort of commotion?” Price interrupted.