Tania Carver - The Surrogate

He looked at Brotherton, who kept on ignoring him. He took a deep breath. Looked at Brotherton once more.

‘Okay, Ryan,’ he said, looking straight at him, hoping to establish eye contact, ‘this is not a formal interview under caution. We won’t be recording it or anything like that. Not just yet. This is just a chat between you and me.’

Brotherton shrugged. ‘I’ve got nothin’ to say to you.’

Phil smiled. ‘No.You let your actions do the talking.’

Brotherton looked up. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Phil leaned forward. ‘Oh come on, Ryan. Chasing my DS round the yard with the grab? Dropping a whole load of metal on him? I mean, that’s imaginative, if nothing else.’

Brotherton shrugged, but with the compliment, Phil felt the man’s attitude was thawing slightly. He pressed on. ‘You didn’t need to do that, you know.’

‘No?’

‘No. No need at all. Why didn’t you just talk to us? Talk to me.’

Brotherton’s eyes narrowed. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘What do I mean? You know what I mean.’ Phil smiled conspiratorially, leaned forward over the table. ‘Man to man.’

Brotherton eyed him quizzically. Phil pressed on.

‘Ryan, I kept saying to you about Claire, you know, it’s a difficult situation, I appreciate that, but let’s have a chat. And if you’ve got something to tell me, tell me. But you insisted Sophie was there all the time.’

‘What would I have to tell you?’

Phil smiled. ‘Come on.You’re not the first person to have woman problems. And I doubt you’ll be the last. Happens to all of us.’

Brotherton snorted a laugh. ‘Even coppers?’

Phil shook his head, sighed. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe. And not so different from your troubles, either.’

Brotherton seemed interested now. Phil looked at him, the expression on his face showing uncertainty as to whether to tell him any more, share any more intimacies with someone on the other side of the table. He leaned in even closer to Brotherton. Before he spoke he looked round, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and lowered his voice.

‘All I’m saying, Ryan, is I know what it’s like. Sometimes you have to…’ He balled his hands into fists. ‘You know what I mean?’

Brotherton’s face was a battlefield of warring emotions. Phil knew he wanted to believe him, hear him talk further, find a kindred spirit, someone who might be able to understand him, help him in this hell of a mess. But he was naturally wary. Phil pressed on.

‘I had a girlfriend,’ he said. ‘My last girlfriend, actually. And you know what it’s like. Everything’s great in the beginning, you can do no wrong, always there for you, wanting to please you… and then they start, don’t they? Wanting to change you. You don’t dress well. Don’t look right. They don’t like your friends.You know what I mean?’

Brotherton nodded. ‘Yeah. Know exactly what you mean.’

‘And then they stop wanting to please you. And before you know it, you can’t do anything right, can you?’ Phil shook his head in despair. ‘I mean, why do they go out with you in the first place if everything you say or do is so wrong and they want to change it?’

‘Claire was like that,’ said Brotherton. ‘Just like that. So fuckin’… exasperatin’.’

Phil smiled knowingly. ‘Yeah. Exactly. And what can you do? Sometimes you just get so…’ He flexed and unflexed his fists, grimaced as if in anger. ‘You have to, don’t you? It gets to you.’

Brotherton sat back slightly, wary again. ‘You’ve never done that. Hit a woman.’

‘Really?’ Phil gave another look round, another check for eavesdroppers, lowered his voice even further. ‘Like I said. You’re not the first or the last.You’re not the only one.’

A kind of hope sprang up in Brotherton’s eyes. Cautious, but wanting to believe what Phil was saying. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ said Phil, as if imparting a particularly deep truth. ‘Not the only one in here, either. Tell you the truth, loads of blokes in here hate prosecuting cases like yours. Waste of resources when we could be doing proper police work. Like catching paedophiles or real villains.’

Brotherton nodded. ‘Absolutely right.’

‘Way it should be, isn’t it? Only natural. Course, you can’t say that now. Political correctness and all that. They’d have you for it.’

Brotherton shook his head. ‘Don’t I know it.You can’t do anythin’ these days. Don’t know what the fuckin’ world’s comin’ to.’

Phil sat back, swallowed the smile. ‘Tell me about it.’

He had him.

I t was nearly time.

He had parked in just the right place – not too near to the entry of the estate, not far enough in to attract suspicion from residents. Not that they bothered him too much. He could have walked into every house on this estate if he had wanted to and stolen something from each of them without them realising. The kind of people that lived in these types of houses were so intent on looking out for leering tabloid monsters that they missed the ones already in their midst.

Broad daylight. Or as broad as the grey November sky would allow.The time when most home invasions occurred.

He switched the engine off, waited. He made a mental plan of what he would do, based on his surveillance and research, what obstacles to look out for, random factors to try and account for. He checked he had everything he needed in his bag on the passenger seat. Satisfied, he sat back.Thought himself into the right frame of mind.

This was being done hurriedly. Normally he would spend weeks – months, even – planning something like this. But he didn’t have months or weeks. Or even days. He needed another baby now to replace the other one.That wasn’t important to him, though. It was all about the hunt.The chase.The kill.That was all that mattered. Everything else was justification. Excuse. This was everything.

He made one more inventory, one more mental check, and was ready.

He tucked the hammer up the sleeve of his overcoat, got out of his vehicle.

Walked up the road.

He could smell his prey on the wind.

Graeme Eades could barely keep his hands steady on the steering wheel he was so excited.

A whole afternoon with Erin. Not just a snatched lunch break in an empty storeroom or a quick fumble in the front seat of his Seat parked up in a shadowed corner at the back of an out-of-town supermarket car park. No. Actually the whole afternoon. Together.

He pulled up in front of the Holiday Inn, switched off the engine. The hotel was outside Colchester at Eight Ash Green, laid out in what Graeme supposed was a low-level American ranch style, holding the usual business-traveller facilities. He knew this from arranging stays there for associates. But that didn’t bother him now. He wouldn’t be using the gym or the pool or going for a spa treatment. For one thing he wouldn’t be there long enough, and for another, his time was all accounted for. And it was sufficiently out of the way of the town centre so he wouldn’t run the risk of bumping into anyone.

He got out of the car, grabbing the carrier bag from the passenger seat, locking the door behind him. He had paid a visit to Ann Summers before leaving the town centre, stocking up on clothing and accessories to make his afternoon as memorable as he had imagined it would be. Stockings, a basque, crotchless panties, all in Erin’s size. He had checked when she hadn’t been looking. Then there were the accessories. Creams, lotions, oils, toys… he had gone to town. Once inside he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Just had to have everything. The girl behind the counter had looked taken aback and he’d replied with a wide grin. She wasn’t bad either, he had thought. A bit short, perhaps, and could do with losing a few pounds, but he wouldn’t have said no. Could just imagine using some of the stuff he was buying on her. Imagine her face as she came… He knew what she was thinking when she was ringing up the prices for his items and bagging them up. Someone’s going to be lucky . That’s what. The thought of that made him grin all the more. He had winked at her as he took the carrier bag. She hadn’t returned it but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need her and had forgotten about her as soon as he left the shop. He had Erin to think about. And Erin was all he needed.