Unfinished Business (22 page)

“Still, if it is Seth then he’s going to be feeling penned in, which makes him even more dangerous.”

“I want to speak to Mark Creegan. Let’s see what he says about his ma confessing to doing his murder.”

“I’ve got the feeling it’s not going to go down well.”

He smiled. “I really hope so. Anyway, why was Matt the Molester ringing you with information? I thought we pissed him off the last time we saw him.”

“We did but I threatened to go to another journalist friend of mine and tell them all about what he did to me.”

“So you’ve got the wee worm wrapped around your little finger now?”

“Oh yes and I’m loving it,” she said, lips curving into a smile. “Don’t you just love revenge?”

“I hope I never get on your bad side.”

“Not you Bossman. Never you.”

It was his turn to smile.

CHAPTER 17

No one was in at Mark’s house so forty minutes later, after fighting their way through the city traffic, they pulled up outside Creegan Antiques, both glad to see Mark’s Audi parked outside.

“I’m looking forward to this,” said Brodie before jumping out of the car.

The second they entered the shop they were accosted by the little mincing man dressed in pink who Brodie had seen enter the shop when he’d been staking it out.

“Good afternoon Sir, Madam,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he took in Brodie’s jeans and rumpled shirt. “Can I help you?” he said, managing to convey in those four little words that Brodie must have strayed into the shop by accident while he was looking for a charity shop.

“We’re here to see Mark.”

“I take it you’re referring to Mr Creegan?”

Brodie was getting pissed off with the prick’s superior attitude. “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble,” he retorted, mimicking the man’s posh accent.

Mr Pink stuck his nose in the air. “I’ll see if he’s available, he’s a very busy man.”

“Just tell him it’s Brodie. He’ll see me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Brodie shoved his face into the pink man’s. “You trot along and get him before I remove the pole from your arse with this,” he said, snatching up a bizarre implement with long silver prongs and bone handles. The prongs might have been old but they were capable of causing damage in the wrong hands.

“Please put those down Sir, they’re worth more than I’m sure you can afford,” he sniffed.

“That shows what you know ya arsehole because I could buy this place twice over. Now go fetch.”

Mr Pink threw him a malicious glare before mincing through a door at the rear of the shop.

“Stuck up prick,” muttered Brodie, waving the pronged implement about.

“Careful, I don’t fancy forking out for any damage in here,” said Cass. “And those are old, have some respect.”

“What the hell are they anyway?” he said, frowning at the contraption.

“Victorian glove stretchers, you philistine.”

“Well excuse me,” he huffed. “So what’s your take on this place? High class? What about the arse pole-removing implements?” he said, brandishing the glove stretchers.

“It’s a bit of an eclectic mix,” she said, looking around the room. Her father owned an antiques shop so places like this weren’t new to her. “Some high end stuff, some cheap as chips. They’re not worth much,” she said, gesturing to the glove stretchers.

“In that case I might buy them. I can think of lots of ways I could use these in the line of duty.”

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t play with the goods,” said a voice.

Mark entered the room, followed by Mr Pink.

“I can get rid of them if you like?” Mr Pink told Mark.

“Yeah, that should be really entertaining,” said Brodie.

“That won’t be necessary Quentin.” He ignored the snigger Brodie released at his employee’s name. “You can go for lunch.”

“I’ve already eaten.”

“Then go and do some shopping.”

“With pay?”

“Yes, with pay.”

“In that case, I’ll be off.” Quentin hesitated on his way to the door and turned back to his boss. “You’re sure you’ll be okay Mr Creegan?”

“Fine thank you,” he replied, eyes locked on Brodie.

Quentin looked from Brodie to Cass. “You should know I have a photographic memory for faces.”

“Bully for you,” replied Brodie. “Now do one.”

The man harrumphed and strode out of the shop with his head held high, dignity intact.

“What do you want?” said Mark in a weary voice when his employee had gone.

“We’ve just been to see your ma,” began Brodie.

“Why have you been bothering her? Just leave us all alone,” he exclaimed.

“She admitted to killing your father,” said Cass.

Mark’s face turned white and he pursed his lips so hard they practically disappeared into his face. “I killed him,” he eventually said.

“No you didn’t and neither did she,” said Brodie. “It was Seth, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not saying another word on the matter, it’s over with.”

“You just need to look at Lauren to know it’s far from over. What’s happening here right now is linked to what happened to Bryan Flynn.”

“What a load of crap. It’s nothing to do with us.”

“Then why are you sweating?”

“I’m not,” he frowned.

“Seth killed your dad and he knew what he was doing.”

“What
was
he doing?” he said, looking confused.

“Bryan was the original Carver, the one operating in Camden. Now his son’s following in his footsteps.”

Mark vigorously shook his head. “Seth’s many things, he has a temper but he’s not a murderer.”

“Yes he is, just like his daddy.”

“My dad didn’t kill anyone. Granted he was a bastard but he wasn’t a killer.”

“He taught you to carve wood.”

“Who told you that?”

Brodie ignored the question. “Apparently it was quite a hobby of his.”

“So?”

“The Carver enjoys carving too.”

“Really? I thought he was called The Carver because he likes stuffing teddy bears,” he said acerbically.

“What does Seth do for you?”

The sudden swerve in conversation wrong-footed Mark. “What do you mean?”

“He works for you sometimes. I can’t see him in here selling stuck-up prats antiques, so what does he do for you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he yelled. “I’ve just about had enough of you. I’ve warned you time and time again but you’ve not listened. I’m calling the police and reporting you for harassment.”

“I’m working for the police,” Brodie called as he turned towards his office, intent on using the phone.

Mark halted and spun on his heel. “You’re making it up.”

“I’m not. Call DS Clarke if you don’t believe me. Oh, and I used to be a police officer too. I must have forgotten to mention that,” he said with a smug smile.

Mark strode up to him and thrust his face into his, eyes burning, lips drawn back over his teeth. It was so far from his usual bluster and bumbling that Brodie was momentarily lost for words.

“Get the fuck out of my shop before I throw you through the window head first and your little lapdog too,” he bellowed, nodding at Cass.

This threat to Cass returned Brodie to himself. “You fucking try and I’ll put these to good use,” he said, snatching up the glove stretchers again. He was growing quite fond of them.

Cass watched, convinced the two men were about to attack each other, surprised by the change in Mark. He actually looked like he could hold his own against Brodie. Not many men could make such a claim. She was preparing to jump into the fray when the door opened, agitating a little bell hanging over it. A man entered who looked startled to see two aggressive males squaring up to each other.

Mark tore his gaze from Brodie and turned it to his client, smoothing his expression out into a smile, the hostility lifting from him. “How can I help you Sir?”

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” began the man, the tension in the air making him nervous.

“No, not at all. These people were just leaving,” he said, throwing Brodie and Cass a glower over his shoulder.

“For now,” said Brodie.

“What, no more questions?” said Mark, unable to keep the ice out of his voice.

“Actually yes, just one,” retorted Brodie. He held up the glove stretchers. “How much are these?”

“One hundred and fifty pounds,” replied Mark, trying to force his tone to be polite in front of his customer.

“For this? But it’s old.”

“That’s the point,” Mark replied through a tense jaw.

“I think I’ll leave it,” he said, replacing it on a table.

He and Cass left, the customer’s eyes flicking between them and Mark, whose angry gaze remained riveted on them.

“Maybe you were wrong about Mark?” said Cass as they headed back to the car. “He looked like he could have done you some damage then.”

“He could have tried,” he muttered. “He’s got a black aura just like his brother, only he’s better at hiding it.”

“So he’s back on the table as a possible suspect in The Carver case?”

“I’d say so after that display.”

“Which in turn means he was guilty of killing his dad.”

“If that was true then why did Maggie say she did it?”

Cass was lost for an answer.

“No, there’s more to this than they’re telling us.”

They got back in the car and Brodie sighed. “A hundred and fifty quid for those glove stretchers. Ridiculous.”

“He didn’t want you to buy them. They were worth thirty quid tops.”

“Bastard,” said Brodie. “I really liked them too. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Mum’s the word. By the way, did I mention I haven’t had any time off for ages?”

“You can have a week off when this is over.”

“Then it’ll remain our little secret.”

He smiled at her gratefully as his phone started to ring. “What?” he barked into it. “Oh, it’s you Nat,” he muttered. “How’s Ricky?”

Tactfully Cass got out of the car to allow Brodie to complete his call in private. She leaned against the door, watching the front of Creegan Antiques. She saw movement at the window - Mark’s face - which quickly evaporated. From inside the car came the sound of shouting. That was inevitably how conversations between Brodie and his sister went. Once all had gone quiet she got back in. “Everything okay?”

Brodie’s eyes were sherry cask once again as he glowered out of the window. “Just Nat as usual moaning that she had to deal with Ricky, the selfish cow.”

“Is he any better?”

“He’s calmer, thanks to his meds, they’ve had to adjust them again. She didn’t do anything though. He’s just a burden to her, she forgets he’s her big brother, that he sacrificed everything to protect her…” Brodie broke off and looked away, not wanting her to see the pain in his eyes.

Cass knew exactly what Ricky MacBride had done to protect his younger siblings and it ate at Brodie every day but Natalie didn’t share his sense of guilt, she wasn’t hindered by a conscience like he was. But it didn’t stop her asking for her other brother’s help when she needed it now Ricky was unable to do even the simplest things for himself anymore. The Creegan case was getting to him because he’d gone through what Lauren and her brothers had, in fact the trio reminded him of his own family, only Seth was more like Natalie and poor Ricky was Lauren. That left Brodie as Mark, which she knew would piss him off no end. However they had no matriarch to oversee them all, Brodie’s dad had murdered her in front of their children. Hannah MacBride’s death was the driving force behind Brodie’s never-ending fight for justice.

Cass wanted to say something that would make him feel better, but the words didn’t exist. All she could do was act as a sounding board for him. “At least he’s calm again. That’s something.”

“I should be there, he’ll want me with him.”

“Let Nat pull her weight for once, it’ll teach her a lesson that you have a life and you can’t always be there. You’re here to help catch a serial killer, you’re not on holiday. She does sod all all day, it’s her fucking turn.” Natalie MacBride made her furious. She’d met her many times, usually when she came to the office wanting Brodie’s help to fend off the bad people she inevitably ended up entangled with. In Cass’s book she was an even bigger waste of space than Sarah Creegan. Once Nat had the audacity to threaten her when she’d given her a few home truths but she’d soon learnt the error of her ways when Cass had thrown her across a table.

“Maybe you’re right?” he said.

“I am right. You can see Ricky when you get back, he’ll understand. Unlike Nat he knows what you do is important.”

“He wanted to join the police too, he would have been good at it, if his mental health hadn’t let him down,” said Brodie sadly.

“Yes he would.” Ricky was even bigger than Brodie, a huge hulk of a man with the same amber eyes, only his were constantly sherry cask. The rage that permanently possessed him meant he could never be released back into society, the threat he’d pose would be too great. Usually his anger was managed by the drugs but sometimes, as had just happened, it broke free and only Brodie or Nat could tame it.

“Looks like Mark’s leaving,” said Cass, spying movement outside the shop. “Quentin returned a couple of minutes ago.”

They watched Mark glaring at them, briefcase in hand. He jumped into the Audi and roared past, scowling at them as he went by.

“He’s not going to tell us anything, we’ve pissed him off too much,” commented Cass.

“I don’t need him to talk anyway. Shit, I have to call Clarke about that missing girl.”

The call was unsatisfactory. Clarke was unwilling to tell him much and was more curious about how Brodie knew of Emily’s disappearance. Brodie extricated himself from the awkward phone call before he had to answer any uncomfortable questions and sat in silence, brooding through the windscreen.