Plot reminder: Jenny is Kubič's ex-wife; Dave is her second husband. DCS Baines, meanwhile, is Kubič's superior at County HQ. In earlier chapters Kubič had encouraged his son Danny to leave town with his half-sister, Summer. Vince had followed the man he believes to be the murderer to a modern residential block near the town's main church, which is where Sergeant Wye lives. A national journalist discovered something interesting in an old issue of the local newspaper. The previous chapter ended with a hidden figure about to spring out at DS Wye as she returned home from a night out...
~~~~~
Sunday 7th March
Kubič awoke suddenly, his heart heavied by a mild form of grief as if the dream he'd been in the middle of had, for once, been a pleasant one. A dream which the invasive squeal of his mobile had not only interrupted but in an instant destroyed all memory of. The brief truce was over. He was back into the living nightmare of the here and now.
He took a moment to shake himself into consciousness. Though it was the dullest of dawns which peered through the crack between the curtains, it was light enough to claim victory. Another night defeated. Another Messerschmidt shot from the skies. One thousand one hundred and thirty-four. Still counting.
Grabbing the still ringing mobile from his bedside cabinet, he was bemused at the caller ID: Detective Chief Superintendent Baines. Sunday morning, barely gone eight. What in hell's name did the man want?
"Morning sir."
The pleasantry wasn't echoed. "Seen the Express?"
"You just woke me up as it hap-"
"It was only a matter of time. Only surprise was it took 'em so long."
Kubič sat up. Snapped to attention.
"You mean...?"
"Not pretty reading, inspector."
*
It had been a while since Wye had woken up feeling like this: groggy, sticky-eyed, thirsty enough to drink a whole bathtub of water. Even more pressing than liquid intake, however, was the necessity of expelling some...
A few moments' later, the toilet hiss fading behind her, she padded into the living room/kitchenette. Ewan was still fast asleep, his face pressed awkwardly against the arm of the sofa, the half snores the same breathy rises and falls which had soundtracked a thousand of her nights. He'd given her quite a scare, stepping out of the shadows like that. So much so that the nifty Krav Maga move she'd learnt during a self defence course back in Cardiff had been as instinctive as hands clamping to head at the sound of something falling from above. It had left him a crumpled, groaning heap on the gravel, the darkness such that it had taken her a moment to recognise his face.
Ewan? Is that you Ewan?
The explanations had trailed her up the stairs, in through her front door. He'd managed to nudge his Fiesta through the gate just as it was closing after someone else had left. There being no answer on the intercom, and tired from the long drive east, he'd half-dozed for a while against the driver's headrest. It was the creak of the gate which had woken him, the figure traipsing along the drive intstantly recognisable.
Most of which she'd already surmised of course. Her address, she'd wanted to know. How the hell had he managed to get hold of her address? Those handful of family members and closest of friends who were in possession of it had been made to solemnly swear that under no circumstances would they ever pass it on to him.
It was her own brother, it turned out, who'd betrayed her. Ewan had bumped into Ricky in The Brewery Tap a couple of nights earlier. Both had had a few, got talking about the situation there in Ravensby. And well... Ricky had just sort of passed it on.
He's worried about you Annie. Everyone is. You need to get the hell out of here.
It had clearly escaped dear bro's memory that she was a police officer, and that even if she wanted to leave - which she in any case did not - to do so could be classified as some kind of desertion of duty and would kick open a whole hornet's nest of disciplinary procedures culminating in suspension and possibly even dismissal.
Nodding at the sofa, she'd tossed Ewan a blanket.
Headed straight off to bed.
*
As was usually the case on Sunday mornings, Dave had awoken in perky mood - the fumbling hands and searching lips politely inquisitive rather than an irresistible tidalwave of passion.
She needed a pee, Jenny had told him.
Pushing the flush button so it might seem that she really had had the necessity of relieving her bowels, she then padded through to Summer's bedroom in the hope that the little scamp might already be up and wondering about breakfast, thus giving her the excuse to postpone her marital duties for another week.
Summer wasn't there though, just the thrown back crumple of her duvet. Both her half-brother and Spotty the panda were also conspicuous by their absence. The three of them must have slept in Danny's room for a change.
It was only after inching open her son's bedroom door and squinting a quick peek through that her heart began to unpleasantly and ominously thud.
His bed was empty too.
*
"This has to be the uncomfiest bloody sofa I've ever crashed on."
It must have been the sound of the running tap which had awoken him. Wye turned, took another thirsty gulp from the glass before responding.
"You should be grateful. Could've just left you to sleep in your car."
The last year had aged him ten, she couldn't help thinking, watching as he stretched his back, rubbed at his neck. Those boyish features which she'd so fallen for and which he'd remained blessed with well into his twenties had noticably changed. Somehow grown harder at the same time as they'd slumped and melted. He looked tired. Looked like a man who'd hit the bottom, hadn't quite yet found the strength to start climbing his way back up.
She squinted at the grey morning light framed by the window. The church tower stood a stark darker grey, its bells pealing their call-to-arms. That particular Sunday morning they seemed to boom and thunder, however, shudder around inside her skull. What on earth had she been thinking renting a flat so close to a church?
She began opening up cupboard doors in search of some aspirin. "Would make you some breakfast," she informed him, "but haven't got anything in."
"There a MacDonald's in this place?"
"There's a McDonald's in every place."
"Egg McMuffin it is then."
"My treat," she offered. She glanced back at him, brows slightly lowered. Serious, in no mood for compromise. "But then you go Ewan, you hear? Get back on the M4."
Aspirins finally unearthed, she gulped a couple down. Out of the window she could see the lean figure of her new neighbour getting into his dark blue Ford. He'd moved into the vacant flat across the corridor two or three weeks ago. They'd bumped into each other a couple of times but one or other of them had always been in a rush, hadn't yet had the chance to get properly acquainted. She just knew his first name was Mark, that was all.
"Bit of instant left if you want a coffee," she offered.
"Milk and -"
"Three sugars. Yea, I remember."
After filling the kettle and clicking it on, she turned back to him. Attempted a sympathetic smile.
"I have dreams about it sometimes. You know, what it would've been like. You, me, little Ben."
A slow deep inhale was required to get the rest of it out.
"But that's all it was, Ewan. All it will ever be. Just a dream."
*
Kubič trudged through the slide doors of the supermarket, his phone tucked into crook of neck as he lifted a basket from the waiting stack. The sheer volume of his ex wife's voice was enough to provoke a prolonged wince.
"Have you ever even been to Birmingham New Street, Joe? Place is a crowded rathole. Worse than the London Underground."
"Don't worry," he reassured, veering over to the newsagent's section. "Stefi'll be there waiting for them."
"She'll be there waiting for them!" The affirmation was echoed with such thunder that he was forced to snatch the phone away from ear. "So you had it all planned?"
"I might have a had a couple of brief conversations with my sister, yes."
This time he took evasive action, slipped Jenny's hysterical shrieking into the padded and relatively soundproofed surrounds of his coat pocket for a couple of moments. It was with a certain trepidation that he meanwhile scanned the stacks of Sunday papers in search of the Express, like a hunter's prey trying to locate the source of the approaching rustling sound through the trees.
And there it was. The sudden crack of gunfire.
Drink Drive Detective.
The accompanying photograph was equally as unflattering as the headline. Taken at a recent press call after forgetting his morning shave, he was caught mid-blink in an almost comical expression of haplessness.
Bastards. The utter, utter bastards.
As he lifted phone back out of pocket, steered it tentatively towards ear, his eyes ran over the sub-headline.
Terror Town Top Cop Served Yearlong Suspension
"...where Danny got the money from, is there?" Jenny was blethering on, quite oblivious to her temporary silencing, as he pulled the phone back to his ear. "How much you slip him eh? A hundred? Two? Keep the change son, I bet you told him. Buy yourself a new computer game. Basically paid him to do it, didn't you?"
But Kubič was barely listening, his gaze flicking further down the front page.
Questions today will be asked of the fitness for duty of the chief investigating officer of the Ravensby 'Terror Town' case, Detective Inspector Joe Kubič. Five years ago, the Express has learnt, the officer risked dismssal following a failed breathlyser test. With his ten-year-old son in the passenger seat, blood alcohol content resulted four times over the legal limit.
With the reign of terror likely to claim a third victim over the coming days, and with investigations seemingly stalled, the wisdom of allowing D.I Kubic to remain his current role must surely...
Enough. He'd seen enough.
Stepping away, basket in hand, he brought the background noise of his ex-wife's continued tirade back into audio focus.
"And what about school? Did you think of that? Danny's got his mock GCSEs coming up. How do you think he's going to-?"
"I've had my vices," Kubič interrupted. "Anyone who didn't know before is sure as hell going to know now."
Jenny's tone softened a little. "What are you talking about?"
"I've never gambled though," he continued. "Don't think I've been inside a bookmaker's more than a couple of times my whole life. I sure as hell don't plan on starting now."
He tossed a packet of liquorice laces into his basket. Some mints too.
"Don't you get it Jenny? Someone in this town is going to get killed, and there's not a bloody thing I nor anyone else can do about it."