Paul Grzegorzek - Closer Than Blood

Our new Chief Super was supposedly of a different breed and although I’d only met her once, I’d found her surprisingly pleasant. She had a habit of really listening to whoever she was talking to which, while that didn’t dispel my nervousness altogether, made me think I wasn’t about to be put through the wringer too badly for my inadvertent part in the day’s proceedings.

After a few minutes of waiting in strained silence, Chief Superintendent Claire Striker walked into the room, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved top that looked strange when you were used to seeing her in a pristine uniform.

“Gentlemen,” she said without preamble. “Tell me what the bloody hell is happening in my city. I have two officers with concussion and one with a fractured skull. Armed men racing around causing havoc. I have a conference call with Force Gold and the ACC in fifteen minutes, and I want to know everything before I talk to them. Sergeant Bell, you start.”

I was a little more sparing with the details this time, leaving out the personal parts that I’d shared with Jimmy. The Chief Super wanted cold, hard facts about the case, not my personal musings, and so I kept it professional and dispassionate.

Jimmy took over when I finished, detailing which units were assigned and where, and what initial actions were being taken. The DCI remained silent but took copious notes while we spoke.

When Jimmy was done, Striker nodded her thanks to us both.

“Well done gents, sounds like you’ve made the best out of a bad situation. Sergeant Bell, do you have any idea at all where your brother might be? We tracked the lo-jack in your car, and it was abandoned on the outskirts of Hove about half an hour after he left your house.”

I shook my head. “I wish. He’s been gone so long I doubt he knows anyone here now.”

“Well we need to find him. Not only do I want to prevent his murder, I want to stop the people looking for him hurting anyone else. The best way to do that is to bring him, and the drugs he stole, in.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“So, as you’re uniquely placed to find him, being both his brother and an intelligence officer, I want you to drop everything else and concentrate on this. I don’t care if you have to use every favour and blow out every source you have, I want your brother behind bars before someone else gets hurt. You report directly to me, and if anyone gives you any stick, send them my way.”

“Understood ma’am.”

“Tommo,” she said, turning to the DCI. “Find out who the men looking for him are. We’ve got statements being taken from witnesses to the attack on the ambulance, which should give us a car make and model. From there we can check ANPR cameras in the area and get a hit. Start with that and work outwards. I want this in the bag before the national press start calling, and believe me they will.”

“Ma’am,” he replied.

“That’s all, thank you. I have enough to pass up the chain for now.”

She stood and left, as did the DCI, leaving Jimmy and I looking at each other in silence.

“Well,” he said finally. “That’s my nice peaceful late shift fucked.”

“My heart bleeds.”

“Thanks. Smoke?”

I nodded and followed him out, then down the stairs to the smoking area, tucked away around the corner near the car park. The night air was cool enough to make me shiver, and it was late enough that I cracked a huge yawn before lighting my cigarette.

“Didn’t you quit?” Jimmy asked as he lit his own.

“Yeah, Sally hated the smell. And the taste.”

“You seen her recently?” Jimmy had been my partner when my now ex-wife, Sally, had been our analyst in DIU. We’d been married for four wonderful years and then two terrible ones, finally separating and then getting divorced when we found we couldn’t even talk to each other without rowing. I still loved her, and I like to think she did me, but there was simply something missing from our relationship. If we’d worked out what it was, I had no doubt we would still be together, but instead she had moved divisions and now worked and lived in Hastings. I saw her name on the occasional report, but that was as close as we ever came.

“Christ no, and I’ve got enough past-life issues at the moment, thanks very much. Speaking of which, how in hell am I going to find Jake? It’s all well and good the Chief Super telling me to use my sources, but if he’s smart enough to stay out of sight it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“From what you said, he still needs to sell the drugs, right? That means he’s got to stick his head out at some point, and probably sooner rather than later. Can you use that somehow?” Jimmy finished his cigarette and stubbed the butt out in a nearby sand bucket. “Look, I need to go, got a division to run, but if you want me you know where I am.”

I shook his hand and stole another cigarette before he left, lighting it from the glowing embers of the first as I mulled over what Jimmy had said. He was right, Jake needed to sell the drugs to raise money for his escape, and so he would need a buyer. With Simmonds out of the picture, that meant him asking around until an opportunity presented itself. Unless, that is, I could manufacture an opportunity that was too good for him to pass up. And it just so happened that I knew the very man to make that opportunity appear.

Three hours of sleep and an hour of frantic planning later, I was banging on the door of a flat in the corner of Clarence Square, just south of the main shopping area in Brighton. The white-painted Georgian houses here were all split into flats, some little more than two or three rooms as landlords sought to capitalise on the superb location. Although I could hear the crowds and buses on nearby Western Road, hardly anyone was in the square itself.

After several minutes of knocking, the door was finally opened by a man in his late twenties, with short dark hair and a frame that was only just starting to pack muscle back on after years of drug abuse.

“Gareth,” he said, glancing around the Square with hard eyes. “Unexpected pleasure.”

His tone implied it was anything but.

“Hi Coop. Sorry to bother you, mate, but we need to talk.”

He swung the door wide and let me in, giving the street a final look before shutting it and leading me down the short hallway into his flat. It was tidier than I remembered, all traces of the mould that had been eating away at the walls gone, and instead of smelling like an old sock it just smelled of cigarettes and air freshener.

“Coffee?” Coop asked, gesturing me towards the lone sofa.

“Yeah, sure.” I watched as he walked into the kitchen, more self-assured and confident by far than when I’d seen him last. John Cooper was an enigma, a man who had managed to straddle the line between drug user and copper for years before the badge finally beat the needle and he came back to the fold, albeit in secret.

He was now attached, loosely, to the force surveillance unit, but only known about by people under the rank of Chief Inspector as anything other than a code name. I was one of the very few below that rank who knew who he was and what he did, and that was only because I’d been involved in getting him onboard. I also liked him, despite his rough edges. He reminded me of my younger self in a lot of ways, not least of which was his impetuous nature and willingness to get stuck in to put things right, no matter the cost.

Coop came back in with two coffees, passing me one and then moving to lean against the wall as he sipped his.

“What can I do for you, Gareth?” He watched me over the rim of his mug, his expression almost feral. He still carried the scars from his time in Brighton’s murky underworld, but then I guessed he always would. Besides, that very quality was what made him so effective; no one would ever guess he was a copper.