The Nephilim (39 page)

For Maricia though, and she suspected for many of her peers, the problem was that moving into a town filled with nephilim was in a strange way like taking a giant leap backwards. It was as if they were moving in with their parents. It was just something you didn't do. The nephilim were their past. A past so distant that they had all but forgotten it. In their minds they were simply normal, twenty first century people with a sacred duty to carry out. A people who occasionally spoke with angels.

Still, the negotiations were proceeding, if awkwardly. Mayor Owen and the rest of the council had reached an agreement in principle with them. Monies had mostly been sorted. Arrangements about housing and schooling for their children were being made. So when the mayor received a call in the middle of the meeting it disturbed the flow of things.

A few minutes later the mayor put down the phone and cleared his throat to get their attention.

“
That was Lucas and Sally Anne. Armando Benedict has just robbed a bookie.”

He said it as if it should mean something, but Maricia was at a loss to know what.  Although it did seem like an odd thing for the thief to do. He robbed banks for untold millions. Not small time bookies. Looking around she could see blank expressions on the faces of the others as well.

Maybe it would have been better if Garrick were there. He might have been able to explain why it was seen as significant. But he was at the academy going over their security and liaising with the remaining forensics teams there on the academy's behalf. In any case, he was only peripherally involved in the hunt for Benedict. He wanted to be more involved, but was being held back, mostly because he seemed to make such a tempting target for the thief. He was also spending large amounts of time in discussions with his insurance company as they arranged to rebuild his home. From what she had heard it wasn’t going well. In fact there had been several weeks of unhappy phone calls conducted at high volume.

The company was unhappy to pay out but would rebuild his home as she understood it. They hadn't allowed for the fact that a mad man would blow his house up, and because of that they hadn't thought to include the risk in his premiums. But it wasn't a choice so they were stuck with the rebuild, while Garrick was stuck with new, higher premiums. Mostly however, the insurance company was worried that someone might try to blow it up again. They didn't want to continue his policy after the rebuild was complete if this was an ongoing danger. And no one else would insure him either. Not while there was a mad man out there trying to kill him.

Garrick annoyed her some days. He was simply so dour. But she admired him too for his dedication. Cassie was wrong she thought. Being an agent wasn't some childhood dream of his. It was no game he was playing. It was who he was. And if he was no longer an agent she suspected that would wound him in some way.

“If Benedict is robbing bookies for cash it means he's out of funds,” the mayor explained. “His accounts have all finally been frozen and he has no one he can turn to.”

“The hunt is nearly at its end.”

At its end. Three glorious words. Finally the nightmare had an end in sight. And he was right Maricia realised. It was the only thing that made sense. The thief needed cash. And if the hunt was at its end then they all had to be ready. Everything had to be finished by the time Benedict was caught.

With those words the group abruptly mobilised, with everyone reaching for their phones. It was time to make some calls to their teams.

Chapter Twenty Six

Life as a teacher was becoming a little more familiar for Garrick. It wasn't his dream. It wasn't what he was really trained for. But as he took his half dozen students through the basics of criminology he realised it was something he could do – if he absolutely had to. He had the notes, much the same notes he'd had when he'd done the class a dozen or so years before. He knew the questions that would be asked, after all he'd asked many of those questions himself. And if all else failed he could tell them of his own experiences as an agent. The students seemed to like that.

He was almost becoming a little relaxed in the role. Maybe Maricia's pep talk, such as it had been, had worked. Roll with the punches.

Of course the class wasn't in a classroom. With one of the blocks burnt down they'd had to make do, and he'd moved the class into the staffroom. It had its positives though. The seats were more comfortable and there was a kitchenette where he could make himself a cup of tea whenever he needed. Also, when the bell rang indicating it was time for a break, he didn't exactly have far to go.

On the downside, getting to class was a tricky walk through hallways filled with boxes made even more difficult when you were in a cast, there were piles of yellow tape to go around if you wanted to visit the bathroom, and there were people in white suits walking by all the time. The forensics people just would not go away. But you got used to those things. And for the moment things were going well.

Suddenly the door to the staffroom burst open, swinging around on its hinges so hard that the handle buried itself into the wall and Garrick knew his day had just taken another difficult turn.

“You haven't caught him yet!”

Edgar Brook stood in the doorway and yelled at him. His face was bright red as if he'd been running and his eyes were bulging alarmingly, seeming far too wide for their sockets. He was angry, and it wasn't the first time. But then his son Harry had been killed, murdered by the attackers, and he hadn't been in a good place ever since then. His goal, his only focus in life, was to get Benedict, and Garrick knew he didn't want him in jail. He wanted him dead. He wanted to kill him. Shock had turned to anger. Again. This would be his fourth or fifth break down, and he had been keeping the sheriff busy. But now apparently he'd found a new target for his anger – Garrick.

“Class dismissed!”

Garrick gave the order as he levered himself up out of his chair and tried to make his way across the room to the grieving father. Of course the students all looked shocked, and some seemed to be a little slow to get the message. He had to tell them again until they finally grabbed their books and started heading for the doorway. Then they had to push their way past Edgar. But he let them go without comment. They weren't his target.

The last of the class gone, Garrick turned to the man.

“No, not yet. But we will.” It was all he could say.  While it had the virtue of being the truth, he knew it wasn't enough. There was no enough. Not when a child had been killed.

“You said that before!” This time when Edgar screamed it wasn't the door that felt the pressure of his anger. It was Garrick and he was thrown backwards into a wall. Fortunately it wasn't as hard as it could have been and while the plaster buckled, it didn't break. Neither did he. This was just the overflow of the man's gift. He hadn't actually tried to hurt him. But it still hurt.

“Yes I did, and we will catch him. But it will take time.” Of course he knew that wasn't going to be enough. It wasn't enough for anyone. Not for the children who'd been terrified. Not for their parents. Especially not for the parents of those who'd been hurt. And especially not for Edgar Brook.

“He's had enough time!”

Edgar screamed at Garrick and a blast of wind hit him in the face. There was no doubt that the man was losing control. But he had reason. Benedict had been on the run for far too long. The worst for him though was that he kept getting told Benedict's capture was close. And it was. But the man was as slippery as an eel. Every time they thought they had him, the man slipped away again. It was incredibly frustrating. For Garrick. For the other hunters. They did their part. They gave their leads to the police. And the police rushed in with everything they had. But always the thief was ahead of them. Though each time with less money, less friends, and less places he could hide. But still it seemed, there was always one more place to run.

It could only mean that he still had more contacts in his network. Someone within the police who was tipping him off. Or worse, since this was a nationwide manhunt with other agencies involved, the FBI. Garrick didn't like to think about that. He didn't want to imagine that someone he worked with could be corrupt. But he knew it was a possibility that had to be taken seriously.

“We will catch him!” Garrick raised his voice. “But that's not your concern! You need to go home. You need to be with your wife. Because nothing we can do, whether we catch him or he gets away will bring your son back.” He emphasised every word. It was brutal – a terrible thing to say. But it was also true and it had to be said.

The response was everything he should have expected as Edgar froze for a moment in shock, looked at him as if wondering if he'd actually said what he had, and then screamed incoherently. Then he ran at him, arms outstretched and half the room exploded as he did so. Wind was blowing everywhere, things were flying off shelves, walls were buckling and even the plaster in the ceiling was coming down. It was as though a bomb had gone off, but slowly. As if it was still exploding.

But Garrick was prepared for all of that. He'd expected it. And he knew what to do. When Edgar came within reach he smashed him hard in the nose. Very hard.

Edgar went down in a heap before him, stunned and shaken, and the explosion ended as suddenly as it had begun. There was blood pouring down Edgar's chin and instinctively his hands went to his face. The fight was over. Nothing in his experience could take the fight out of a man better than a short, sharp blow to the nose. At least nothing he would want to do to another man anyway. But he did worry that maybe he'd hit him too hard. That maybe he'd broken his nose. There was a lot of blood.

“Come on Edgar.” Garrick clapped him on the shoulder as he knelt before him clutching his face. “Lets go and get you cleaned up.”

He helped the still shaken and suddenly pale man to his feet and then slowly began to lead him to the bathroom. A trip that was more difficult than usual when he was still in a cast and bandaged up, and Edgar was clutching his nose and seeming a little shocked. And the obstacle course of boxes and yellow tape didn't help.

But the real difficulty was that he knew Edgar was right. This had gone on for far too long. It was time to bring Benedict to justice.

Chapter Twenty Seven

It was another week before Garrick finally got his cast off. By then he was nearly climbing the walls with impatience. The damned thing itched abominably.

But it was more than that. It was even more than the fact that the cast got in the way of everything he tried to do. It was that he wanted to see his leg. To see what it looked like.

It would be bad – he knew that. The damage the bullet had done would have left a scar. But he was certain the scars from the operation to reconstruct his bone would be worse.

Unfortunately he was right.

As he lay there in the orthopaedics ward of the hospital surrounded by other people dressed in plaster casts just like his, he stared at his newly released limb and was shocked. His leg was pasty white and far too thin. That was only to be expected after months in a cast he supposed. But the scars were huge, running all the way from his knee to his thigh. And they were shockingly vivid, dark red against the pale skin. He had seen the x-rays of course, and he knew that there was an entire superstructure of girders inside his thigh. But seeing the pair of scars brought that home to him in a way nothing else could.

“It looks good.”

The doctor startled Garrick with that. He apparently had a different definition of good to him he thought. One that clearly didn't involve any concept of aesthetics. But still, he was a doctor and Garrick had to listen to him. Especially while the doctor was busy palpitating his thigh muscle and pressing on the scar. That hurt. But on the other hand this was the surgeon who'd done the original surgery. He'd drilled and bolted and hammered those pieces of metal in his leg together. So no doubt he'd had some idea of how the leg would end up. Garrick had returned to him for the cast removal because he figured he was the one who would have the best assessment of how well things had gone. And this apparently was better than it could have been.