Tania Carver: Choked

‘Sandro … ’

‘It’s fine, I said. Fine.’

Marina knew she would get nothing more from him, let it drop. ‘Look after yourself. You know where I am if you need me.’

He knew.

‘And Sandro … thank you. Really. Thank you. I couldn’t have … ’

He hugged her. They didn’t speak.

Both choked.

‘You ready to go?’ said Mickey.

Anni picked up her glass. ‘Just finish this.’

‘If we don’t get out now, we’ll be here all night.’ He looked round the room. Officers and ex-officers were settling in for the duration. Lubricated by alcohol and camaraderie, old war stories were being trotted out again, anecdotes given a polish and put on display once more.

She looked up at him. Smiled.

He loved that smile. Hoped he never tired of seeing it. Or that she never tired of directing it at him.

They had spent the last few days dealing with the paperwork fallout from the case. Wrapping it up as tight as they could for the CPS. Michael Sloane was looking at serious prison time. He had his allies, his supporters, all wealthy, putting money before morality. And he could afford the best legal defence, but even with all that, it was looking like he would go down for a long time. There was too much against him. Mickey and Anni doubted he would have as many allies if that happened.

Mickey had heard that Sloane had contemplated entering a plea of insanity. If he did that, he might end up with no prison time but he would probably be looking at life in a secure hospital. And he would probably lose access to his fortune. Either way, he would die behind bars.

His sister was definitely insane. Her fate would be relatively straightforward.

‘And the half-brother gets the lot,’ Anni had said.

‘Could be,’ Mickey had replied. ‘He’d better get himself some good advisers, though. Otherwise he’ll be picked dry.’

The Golem, as they had found out he was called, had been taken to hospital. A combination of severe wounds and a lethal drug cocktail had left him near death. They sincerely hoped he pulled through. There were a lot of murders to pin on him.

‘Who is he?’ asked Anni.

Mickey had shrugged. ‘Just some East European hired muscle. Nobody special.’

And that had been that. Apart from a call Mickey had received from Jessie James.

‘How are you?’ he had asked.

‘Oh, you know,’ she had replied. ‘Arm’s in a cast, itches like hell. But other than that, not too bad.’

‘Snap,’ Mickey had said. ‘That iron bar to the shoulder left me with my arm strapped up.’

‘Twins,’ she said.

‘How’s everything there?’

‘OK.’ Her voice guarded when she said it. ‘Having a bit of time off. Taking long walks along the beach at Aldeburgh. Doing a lot of thinking.’

‘Yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘Near-death experiences do that to people.’

‘You sound like you know what you’re talking about.’

He gave a small laugh. ‘Dangerous profession, this.’

‘Yeah.’ She told him about Helen Hibbert, the other woman in the container. ‘Put in a claim against the police.Suing for negligence, mental anguish and anything else this ambulance chaser she’s employed can think of.’

Mickey laughed. ‘Good luck to her.’ He paused. Felt there was something she wanted to say but wasn’t able to. ‘So you’re OK.’

‘Yeah. I’ve … got a lot of decisions to make. Trying to stay off the booze.’

‘Well I hope you make the right ones.’

‘Me too. I think I know what I don’t want. It’s just finding out what I do want that’s the hard bit.’

Anni put her glass down, bringing Mickey out of his reverie.

‘You ready?’ he said.

‘Yeah.’

‘Let’s go home, then.’

Talking. Talking. Always talking. That was what Stuart’s life seemed to have become. People wanting to talk to him. All the time. On and on and on. Never leaving him alone. And he was tired of it.

At least they had all gone, left him alone for now. In his room. In silence. That was something.

He sat back in his easy chair. Tried to relax.

The room was small. He liked that. But comfortable. Relaxing. And that was good too.

He closed his eyes. Tried to think. Put everything together. Make a timeline.

The police had let him go. He hadn’t done anything wrong, they said. But they did think he needed someone to look after him. So he had been placed in a special hostel. Sheltered accommodation, they said it was called. For people with learning difficulties. He hadn’t spoken to the others yet, but they looked friendly enough.

But for now he just wanted to spend some time on his own. In his own head.

They said he was going to be rich. And that was nice. Rich was nice. They sent him a solicitor. He seemed very pleased to see Stuart. Told him Jack Sloane’s final will had been verified and he could see no reason why he shouldn’t get his share of the Sloane money. He was also in line for a lot of compensation. Said that he could be Stuart’s new best friend. But his probation worker had told him to be careful. Not to sign anything without checking with her first. So he would. Definitely.

He opened his eyes, got up. Crossed to the window, looked out. He smiled. Saw the same things he had seen from his prison cell. Birds. Trees. The sky. Other people, but far away. That was good. Reassuring.

And he was sleeping better too. No more nightmares about being trapped inside his body. At least not yet. Some about the last few days. Of being stuck with Amy/Dee again. Of having to hold a gun to Josephina’s head. Horrible things. But nothing too bad. Nothing about his childhood again. Or his body. Just … nothing. And nothing was better than something when the something had been horrible.

He turned from the window, sat back down again.

Josephina. She was a lovely girl. Really lovely. And he was so happy she had gone back home and was with her mother again. He had spoken to her mother, asked her if he could come and see Josephina. Maybe take her out, play with her. Her mother said she didn’t think that was a good idea. She didn’t want anyone or anything that would remind the little girl of what she had been through. Stuart had understood. It had made him sad. But if it helped Josephina, that was OK. That was fine. It was what being an adult was all about.

He closed his eyes once more. He thought there were things he should probably be doing but couldn’t remember any. People looked after him. Helped him. It was strange living here, but he would get used to it.

He smiled.

He didn’t have to do anything. All he had to do was wait.

Phil had to sit down. His legs were aching. Marina got him a drink. Non-alcoholic. The party continued all around them. He watched. She studied him.

Already the bruises were beginning to fade. The cuts and abrasions starting to heal. There wasn’t anything on his face that was expected to leave a lasting scar. The stitches along his hairline and over his scalp were still vivid-looking and would be for some time. But his hair was starting to grow back and the stitches would dissolve away eventually. There would be a few lines, a few scars, but his hair would mostly hide those. Most importantly, they didn’t think there would be any long-term damage.

He had been lucky, she thought. Very lucky. She looked over at Eileen. Felt a pang of guilt at how lucky.

Mickey came towards them, Anni not far behind.

‘How you feeling, boss?’ asked Mickey.

Phil managed a smile. ‘Not too bad. I’ll be well again soon. And back at work.’

Mickey smiled. ‘Don’t make it too soon, yeah?’

Phil laughed. It seemed to quickly exhaust him.