Tony Black - Murder Mile

At the first landing, Brennan leaned into the curve of the stairwell, looked upwards; he saw DS Stevie McGuire racing ahead of him. He knew this meant the back door was unguarded; he switched his point of view, turned eyes downwards but saw no more movement. As Collins caught up with him, Brennan straightened and threw himself back into the chase. He paced the hallway, then ran for the steps once more. He felt the sweat breaking on his chest and back. Collins was close behind him.

At the final landing, he saw the door to Angela Mickle’s flat lying open. Brennan pushed himself, panting and out of breath, towards it. His lungs twinged, the air felt hot around his head as he entered the front room and took in the sight of DS Stevie McGuire knees bent, sitting on his haunches, holding his hair bunched in a fist.

‘They’re fucking gone!’ he said.

Brennan wheezed forward, ‘What?’

McGuire rose, fronted his superior. ‘I said Elaine’s gone… He’s fucking taken her!’ He pointed a finger, forced it into Brennan’s chest, ‘I told you, I fucking told you this would happen!’

The DI stepped back, raised a hand towards McGuire — the DS knocked it away, he inflated his chest as he stepped towards Brennan.

‘Whoa, hang on, Stevie,’ said Collins; he pushed himself between the officers, moved McGuire towards the window.

Brennan turned from them, made for the kitchen — he took two steps inside, looked the place up and down, and then ran through the living room and back to fling open the doors leading from the hallway. As he checked the empty rooms he felt his heart rate ramping even higher; a sickly feeling encircled his stomach as he became dimly aware of the fact that he had lost his prime suspect and WPC Elaine Docherty. His instinct was to keep looking but he knew they were not there. He halted his pacing, he could hear Lou and Bri entering the scene; their voices trailed from incredulity to sparring with the bellicose McGuire. Brennan touched his parched lips, pressed his hand tight to his mouth. He wanted to hit out, to strike the wall or door with fists but he knew that wasn’t going to help — he needed to think, to act.

Brennan called out to the others, ‘Get to the back close! Now… fucking move it!’ He ran out of the front door.

The group converged in the narrow hallway, scrambled to the stairwell. Coat tails flew out as the sound of leather-soled shoes slapped the stone steps. Brennan felt the others’ panic as they descended behind him; he knew they were all thinking ahead, wondering how to explain their roles in the mess. He wanted them to concentrate on what was happening right now, but he could sense the tension and fear the team exuded like a poisonous gas.

The DI was first through the back door; the poorly-lit yard felt spacious after the stairs but odd items littered the path: a tin bath, a number of bicycles, a rusting lawnmower. Brennan followed the flags to the back wall, placed his foot on a pile of bricks and aimed his line of vision into the next garden. He jumped back down, cursed, ‘Shit…’

‘Nothing?’ said Collins.

‘What do you think?… We’ve lost them. Get on that radio — I want every uniform within a country mile in Leith — now!’

‘Yes, sir…’

As Collins removed his radio, Brennan jogged back towards the others; a painful stitch had set up in his side, his breathing felt strained, painful. When he reached the edge of the tin-roofed shed by the back doorway, Brennan bent himself over and gagged. His stomach contents whirred inside him for a moment and then presented themselves with a whoosh, splashing on the paving flags. His throat burned, and was immediately backed by a further burning, throbbing pain in the front of his forehead. The sight of the vomit, the smell and the dim-green wash of the lighting made Brennan’s head spin. His eddying thoughts added to the distilled feeling of fear he now had for WPC Docherty; the fear seemed to be centred in his stomach but was spreading. As he straightened himself, Brennan had his knees loosen; he reached out a hand to steady himself on the shed, but was soon jerking it up into a guard.

‘You fucking bastard!’ spat McGuire.

The sergeant’s fist connected cleanly with Brennan’s jaw, dropping him to the ground in a moaning, writhing heap.

As DI Rob Brennan pushed his face from the dirt-strewn yard, a new feeling engulfed him: embarrassment. Lou and Bri had DS Stevie McGuire restrained; as he waved a hand in protest, Brennan got his feet under him, raised himself from the ground and started to brush the dirt and soil from his jacket and trousers.

‘Let him go for Christ’s sake,’ he said.

‘Are you sure, sir?’ said Lou.

Brennan walked towards the three officers; his head hurt and his jaw ached. The shame he felt at being struck by McGuire had started to subside as he regained his sense of himself; he knew who was in the right and who was in the wrong. As the DI pointed inside the door, his words came like grunts, ‘Get in there!’

‘What for?’ said McGuire.

‘Go on, take a look.’ Brennan staggered a few steps towards the DS. ‘See what’s behind the fucking door to the yard, Stevie.’

Lou and Bri let down their arms; the unrestrained McGuire pushed himself away and shrugged past the DI on his way to the back door. As he went, sirens from police cars started to rake the cold air all around them. Collins came running from the bottom of the close, nodded to the others.

Brennan rubbed his jaw as he watched McGuire. ‘Well, what do you see?’

McGuire looked like a petulant child as he peered behind the lee of the door. ‘Another door… Under the stairs.’

Brennan shook his head, raised a finger and pointed it in McGuire’s direction. His voice roared, ‘A fucking coal cellar! Test the door, I bet it’s open!’

McGuire obliged him, the door opened in his hand. ‘You’re right.’

‘I fucking know I am… Where did I tell you to stay put, Stevie? The back close, and if you had, the bastard wouldn’t have been able to hide in the cupboard under the fucking stairs with Elaine whilst you ran up to the flat, would he?’

McGuire’s stare seemed to lose all intensity, he wet his lips, ran the back of his hand over his mouth, then closed the door. ‘You don’t know that for sure.’

Lou and Bri huffed, shuffled past McGuire; the two officers’ shoulders barged the DS as they made their way out, forcing him flat against the wall. He suddenly looked an isolated figure.

Brennan waited for Collins to join the others on their way to the front of the building; when he was sure they were out of earshot, he said, ‘All you had to do was what you were fucking told, Stevie.’ He placed a hand on McGuire’s arm, spun him round. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get out there.’

‘She’s gone, sir…’

Brennan prodded McGuire in the back, ‘Get moving, Stevie, I want you in that car and on the road in under a minute.’

‘But what if we don’t find her?’

‘I don’t do what ifs, laddie… Get your arse into gear!’

McGuire removed the car keys for the VW Passat from his trouser pocket, broke into a jog. Brennan followed at his back, rubbing at his jaw as they went. On the street, Lou and Bri were already in their car, revving the engine and pulling out in front of the DI and the DS. Lou rolled down the passenger’s window. ‘Where do you want us, sir?’

The DI halted in the street; he pitched his fingers under his belt and tucked in his shirt tails. ‘Get out to Crawley’s house… It’s a fucking long shot but you never know.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘And stay in contact; if the plan changes I’ll want you both right away.’

Lou nodded towards Brennan; the wheels screamed on the car as he raced up the street. As Brennan turned, McGuire already had the Passat in gear and pulled up beside him. ‘Where to?’ he said.