Holy Island Trilogy 02 - Nowhere Man (2 page)

After a battle she refused to back down from, she won. They were to learn over their growing years that Aunt May never took on a fight she didn’t win. Mike, Dave and Tony arrived on Holy Island two days later, three lost eight year olds wondering what was to become of them in this remote and beautiful place.

They need not have worried. Life with Aunt May on the island was good, very good.  With her guidance, three boys teetering on the edge of society had grown into fine strong men. Two became detectives, one a monk.

We all owe her a debt we can never repay.

God knows how we would have turned out, if it hadn’t been for her…all three of us!

Mike gritted his teeth as his eyes narrowed. But some bastard's gonna pay, that’s a fact - one way or another. It’s because of us. If we hadn’t come to live with her on the island... If things had been different... If she’d left us in the kids' home, she wouldn’t be lying in a coma now.  He clenched his fist, picturing the pale face and frail limp body of this once strong woman, loved by all who knew her, lying helpless and unconscious in the hospital bed.

God help the bastards when I find them. Every single one of them, no matter how far I have to go. He punched the palm of his right hand with his left.

But now Mike was seriously worried. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head that Tony was involved with a group of people who had been around forever, and made modern day terrorists look like a bunch of grannies on a Sunday School picnic. Worse, the idea that the whole world had been fooled for so long. It was practically unbelievable - or was it?

He looked at Smiler. ‘You’re a clever little shit, answer this. How do we know the reports from the other side of the world are really what’s happening?'

‘Back off, man, you’re losing the plot now.’

‘OK, so - who’s left alive to say the Romans really invaded us, or that Vikings once walked on Holy Island? Or that a man has really walked on the moon? The whole of history could be a fucking fairy story for all we know!’

‘Doubt it.’

Mike shrugged. ‘Prove it.’

‘It’s all written down.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘All of it.’ Sighing and shaking his head, Smiler got his cigarettes out. Mike held out his hand. Smiler frowned. ‘You’ve just put one out.’

Mike shrugged. ‘And?’

Pulling a face, Smiler handed a cigarette over.

‘Cheers.’ Mike lit the cigarette up, his thoughts now on what he had learned from Shelly about the intentions of the Families. It made his skin crawl every time he thought about it. Plus he had a feeling that she still hadn’t told him the whole truth. No - he knew she hadn’t told him everything. And he dreaded what else was to come.

He could feel Smiler’s eyes on him as, taking out his phone, he tried Tony’s number again.

He let it ring and ring. ‘Where are you, bastard?’ he said, through gritted teeth, becoming more angry by the minute. ‘Come on, get back to me, fucking prat.’

‘He obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.’ Smiler said.

Mike tutted. He needed answers. It went against everything he believed in to even think that Tony could be involved with these monsters. But some of the things he knew pointed right at Tony’s door. He continued to let the phone ring until Smiler nudged him.

Looking up, Mike watched as two police cars, followed by at least twenty other assorted family cars, began slowly pulling into the hospital parking lot, circling round and round like predatory wasps trying to find a vacant place. Smiler also watched them, then looked quizzically up at Mike.

‘Gotta be the kids' parents,’ Mike said, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He nodded at Smiler. ‘Glad their missing offspring have been found at last, I guess. Some of the poor sods will have been waiting for months. Hope they’ve come prepared for what they are going to find.’

Mike was proven right a few minutes later, as people got out of their cars and started a mass stampede towards the hospital entrance. There was another, much slower, group of about fifteen, dragging their feet as if trying to resist an invisible rope that was slowly pulling them towards the entrance. As Mike watched, a man and woman broke away from the main bunch and headed towards them.

‘Some very happy faces and hearts there, then,’ Mike said to the pair, managing to raise a smile for the first time in hours as he nodded in the direction of the running people.

‘You must be DI Yorke? Sergeant Angela Rafferty,’ the woman said in a gentle Irish voice. She held out her hand. ‘Really pleased to meet you. I have heard so much about you from Jason, and now you’re the local hero.’ With her other hand, she flicked the long brown plait off her shoulder.

Holding onto her hand for a little longer than was really necessary, Mike said, ‘Pleased to meet you too.’

Hmm, certainly a beauty this one all right, he thought, noticing the dimples when she smiled. Bet old Jase is enjoying his time guiding her around. Hope for his sake Samantha never meets her, or it’ll be the third degree every night for the poor sod.

But a few fleeting seconds was all Mike would allow his attention to wander. Too much going on. He needed nothing to complicate things. He was back in police mode as soon as the man in front of him spoke.

‘Hi, Mike.’

‘Cox.’

Mike nodded at him. Detective Jason Cox, originally from Manchester, but now living and working in Newcastle in the same office as Mike. Extremely tall, in his middle forties and rapidly losing his pale ginger hair, he'd been around as long as Mike could remember.

He and Mike had always got along. It wasn’t hard to get along with Jason. Rather old fashioned in his thinking, and a bit of a fusspot, Jason Cox had surprised everyone - and himself - five years ago when, housebound with the flu, he had sat down with the computer he had always scorned, and found himself completely hooked. He practically became a computer whiz overnight. There was nothing he didn’t know about them. Word had spread to the Met, and now he was begging off moving down to London. One reason was because he was quite happy where he was, and the other reason - which he made no bones about - was that his wife Samantha simply wouldn’t allow it. In the Cox household, Samantha’s word was law.

‘Well done, Mike.’ He slapped Mike’s arm with a thick meaty hand, and grinned at him.

Mike nodded. ‘Thanks, Jase. But It’s not over yet - not by a long shot. I’m gonna need your help with some computer stuff. I’ll let you know later. Ohh, and sorry, but where the hell did you dig that excruciating tie up from?’

Before Detective Cox could defend his choice in ties, Sergeant Rafferty inserted herself between them and said, ‘Yes, Detective Yorke, there’s some forty parents come to claim their kids. Sadly, another fifteen or so have come to claim their bodies. I’m told you are responsible for cracking the case?’ she asked, one eyebrow slightly raised in a question.

Oh God, Mike thought. Shades of
The Bill
. Where the hell is she from?

’Yes.’ He nodded, noticing the tension between her and Cox, guessing Cox, although a good man, must have somehow rubbed her up the wrong way. How? That was anyone's guess. Cox was usually a pussy cat with no claws. Although perhaps it’s her and she’s just a miserable git!

‘No false modesty there, then, is there?’ Rafferty smiled, flirting with her eyes.

‘There never is,’ Smiler muttered, scowling at Mike.

‘Didn’t you have somewhere to go, sunshine?’ Mike replied, still looking at Sergeant Rafferty.

‘Yeah, I do,’ Smiler scowled, ‘but I’m going up to see Aunt May now, OK? If that’s all right with you, like. Brother David might have finally stopped his fucking useless praying. I’ll be ready when you’ve sorted a fucking lift out---- What?’ Mike was frowning at him.

Getting no answer, Smiler went on, ‘You expect me to walk from Newcastle to Holy Island? No fucking way, man, you do it! ’ He stormed off, leaving the question hanging.

‘Hey,’ Cox shouted. ’Who do you think you’re talking to? Get yourself back here, young man.’

‘You can fuck off an’all,’ Smiler shouted over his shoulder.

‘Come back here!’

‘Just leave it,’ Mike said, putting up a placating hand.

‘Some edge he’s got on him for a young kid, hasn’t he? How old is he, anyhow? The cheeky little thing only looks about twelve or thirteen, for God’s sake.’ Sergeant Rafferty's top lip twisted in a snarl. ‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a cheeky brat.’ She watched Smiler, who had completely ignored Cox, make his way through the parked cars.

‘Forget it,’ Mike said.

Rafferty took no notice, and went on, ‘And what’s happened to his face? Those scars look like someone deliberately carved a smile on it.’

‘Actually, he’s nearly seventeen - and yes, he has an edge and the smile to go with it, as well as a reason for it. If you’ll excuse me.’

‘Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.’

‘You haven’t.’

But Sergeant Rafferty knew she had. The warmth she’d felt at first had quickly evaporated. Wondering what the story was with them, she watched as Mike followed Smiler into the hospital. Then, her eyebrows raised, she turned to look at Cox.

He shrugged. ’Never met the kid before. He’s probably one of Mike’s many waifs and strays. He collects them like other people collect autographs.’

Before Cox could say any more, a large thickset old man with a walking stick stopped in front of them. Leaning with both hands on his stick and staring at Cox, he said, with a Polish accent, ‘My Annya - she...she is not there. Not with the living group… She is not with the other poor ones, either.’

‘Sorry?’ Sergeant Rafferty said, with a frown.

The old man swung his head towards her and said, 'My Annya - she is not there. Not with either of the groups.’

Cox stepped between them. ‘I’ll deal with this, Sergeant. I’m so sorry, Mr Brodzinski. I was led to believe that your granddaughter was one of the first group.’

The old man shook his head. ‘No.’

Cox put a steadying hand on the old man's shoulder. ‘Why don’t you go home, Mr Brodzinski. Brod. I’ll pop round sometime tomorrow, when we’ve had time to question a few of the more healthy ones we have. Get a bigger picture of what exactly has been going on with the kids.’

Mr Brodzinski sighed. Knowing there was nothing that he could do, he quietly said, ‘OK,’ as he hobbled off.

‘What’s the story with him, then?’ Sergeant Rafferty asked, watching the old man.

‘Well, for your information, Mr Brodzinski and his seventeen year old granddaughter Annya have been in the UK for more than two years now. He goes to my chess club. Damn good player he is, too, beat me more than once.’

‘Oh, please. Chess club?' Sarcasm dripped from her words. ‘More drains on our taxes.’

Ignoring her dig at his game, which he loved, Cox said, ‘Actually Brod has his own money and, from what I hear, plenty of it. So, no-  he’s far from a drain on anything.’

Without waiting for her to answer, he turned and headed towards the hospital. Tutting, Sergeant Rafferty had no other option than to follow.

CHAPTER TWO

When Mike reached Aunt May’s room, he paused a moment and looked through the open door. Smiler was sitting on the left side of the bed, holding Aunt May's hand, which, Mike thought, doing a neat double take, is a miracle in itself. I guess Smiler hasn’t held too many hands in his life, poor sod.

And there was Dave. He could never bring himself to call him Brother David. Mike had kicked up a major fuss when Dave had said he was going to join the order on the mainland, and it had taken him quite a while to accept the fact of it. In truth, he never really had, and strongly doubted if he ever would. As far as Mike was concerned, Dave was wasting his life.

Why lock yourself away in a monastery? The whole idea of why someone would want to do that had puzzled Mike ever since Dave had told them that he wanted to join the brotherhood.

But most of the time he put on a good face, for Dave’s sake. Although not brothers by birth they were, through Aunt May, much more than that. They shared a bond - and Aunt May was the glue that held them together. He stared at Dave now, and sighed without even realising.

Brother David’s head was down and he was holding Aunt May’s other hand. His lips were moving silently.

Ah, for fuck's sake, Mike thought, Smiler’s right. He’s praying again! Hours he’s been at it now. When is he ever gonna learn? All them hours he prayed for help when he was a kid got him fuck all, and it ain’t gonna get him anywhere now.

Silently Mike entered the room and stood at the bottom of the bed, his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back, staring at Aunt May.

Smiler looked up at him and attempted a brief smile, which, knowing him, Mike interpreted as 'I’m sorry'. Giving him a wink to assure him that everything was fine, Mike gave an exaggerated cough to get Brother David’s attention.

A few seconds later, Brother David looked up. ‘You’re back from wherever, I see.’

Well, if that isn’t stating the obvious, as usual, Mike thought, pulling a face at him before saying, ‘Yes, oh wise one, it's truly me standing before you. Although in truth, I haven’t really been anywhere yet… Any change?’

Brother David slowly shook his head. ‘The doctor came in a few minutes ago. He said some of the tests still aren’t back yet. It might be a few days. He also said…’ Brother David hesitated, before swallowing hard and looking Mike in the eye. ‘He also said there might be some... some form of brain damage. But they’re not sure, they only think she might,’ he hurried on, seeing Mike's face. ‘But you don’t know, Mike, she could snap out of it tomorrow. Just wake up as if nothing's happened.’

‘Bastards!’ Mike gripped the metal frame at the end of the bed, his knuckles gleaming white. Turning quickly, he started pacing back and forth. Silently, Smiler and Brother David kept pace with their eyes. Suddenly stopping mid stride, Mike turned to Brother David. His eyes hard and staring, he snarled, ‘Surely they must have some idea when she’s gonna wake up, for fuck's sake? What are they in this place, friggin’ amateurs?’

Brother David dropped his eyes and shrugged. He had been expecting this outburst. Mike had always been the most emotional of the three of them, and he’d never mastered the art of not to showing his emotions. ‘A day, a week, a month, longer.’ He shrugged again. ‘Sorry, Mike, they don’t really know.’