Xion Island: Chapter 16

Barrow had precisely two pubs that didn’t belt out karaoke on a Friday night.

Nash had picked The Townhouse—a low-lit place with real ale, decent crisps, and an upstairs area that could hold the CID team without having to elbow for space. He couldn’t believe it when a couple came in and started setting up their gear for a karaoke night. Was there no escape?

Officially casual, the staff night out was unofficially a bi-monthly pressure release before the team imploded from staring at the same victims’ reports.

Nash dressed down, glad to be out of a suit. He wore jeans and a smart polo shirt that Kelvin said matched his eyes. Kel had ironed it for him while he was on the phone to Bill Robinson, the coroner. And now Nash was out of sorts because Kelvin wasn’t here. They’d had words about Imani’s refusal to come to the wedding. Nash wanted to talk to her, but Kelvin said it would only make things worse. He’d left the house with a static tension between them that he didn’t have the tools to fix.

He was scowling into a pint and watching his team laugh together. Bowes was three pints in and threatening to sing. Norton looked horrified and then amused. She was the most relaxed Nash had ever seen her.

‘Nash.’ Conrad Snow snapped him out of his thoughts. ‘I tried to catch you at the office earlier, but you’d already left. Can we talk?’

Nash sighed. ‘It’s my night off, Conrad.’

‘I know. But Max doesn’t do rotas.’

‘Tell me about it.’

They stood outside, but not too close to the smokers to be overheard. It was cold, and the air curled around them, biting their necks. Conrad’s eyes were distant as he tuned in, watching something Nash couldn’t see.

‘There’s going to be another spate of victims. I’m seeing a woman holding bags. She’s in a supermarket, I think. Her hands are dark red. That means it’s a warning.’

Nash frowned. ‘You’re too late, mate. It’s already happened. We had three people fall sick in Newcastle yesterday. And now another case has broken. There’s a woman in Wrexham Hospital with it.’

Conrad’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t tell where this is, or if it’s the same one.’ He broke off and sighed. ‘It’s blurred. Hang on, Max is saying something.’

‘Go on. Hit me.’

‘He says: one’s already dead, but the Angel of the North is moving towards her sister, the red-winged dragon.’

Nash stared at him. ‘Great. Like I need him spouting bloody poetry.’

‘It’s not his fault. He can only give us what he gets. And it’s not mine either, so don’t shoot the messenger.’

Nash laughed and let the irritation slide from his face. ‘Sorry, long day. Wrexham is in Wales, so that fits. Are you saying somebody carried it there from Newcastle?’ As Conrad spoke, Nash touched his arm to stop him. ‘Wait. Max said it’s a sister?’

‘Not directly. But it feels like a sibling connection. They are on the same mental thread. I’m getting somewhere coastal. L—something. Two L's next to each other, so definitely Wales. Llandudno?’

‘Llandudno?’ Nash rubbed his temple. ‘The pair of you can give me cryptic poetry but not a sodding postcode?’

Conrad grunted and doubled over. When he straightened, it wasn’t him anymore.

‘Why aye. Ah divvent kna what ye expect me t’ say, like,’ Max spoke through Conrad in a thick Geordie accent.

‘Absurd,’ Nash said.

‘Shut up, and listen,’ Max was still talking in the unfamiliar accent, and despite himself, Nash smiled, because Conrad would never dare tell him to be quiet. ‘She was on her way home with a bag of chicken nuggets, and he infected her.’

Nash blinked. ‘Can you drop the stupid accent?’

Conrad frowned at him, and Max said. ‘You think I like this voice, hen?’

‘Fair point. Who? Who infected her?’

‘A man. That’s all I’ve got. He’s angry, walking towards her. I can’t see him clearly, but a bairn is going to die tonight. He’s only a few weeks old.’

‘One of the patients on life support is a baby. Tell us how to stop this, Max?’

And just like that, the accent slipped, and Conrad was back. Nash looked at his watch and saw the minute hand speed up and move fast around the dial. He didn’t need an interpreter to tell him that Max was urging him to hurry. But there was nothing more he could do tonight.

‘He’s gone,’ Conrad said.

‘So we’ve got another woman dying in Wales, and Max thinks she’s connected to the Newcastle victim. Probably a sister.’ The implication of a carrier taking the contagion across county lines was terrifying.

Conrad nodded. ‘The dragon reference makes sense.’

Back inside at the shared tables they’d commandeered, the noise was louder. A teenage lad Phil had nicked last year was making pig noises and throwing bottle caps at him, showing off in front of his friends. Lawson stood to talk to him, and Phil put his hand on his arm. ‘Leave it, mate. He’ll get bored when he doesn’t get a reaction.’

Keeley was laughing as Bowes recounted a story about arresting his uncle by accident at a garden centre.

‘Once I looked from the cucumber at his groin to his eyes and realised who he was, I couldn’t back down, could I? So I said to him, “Uncle Dave, I’m not nicking you because I want to. I’m nicking you because you’re drunk and naked in a greenhouse and I’ve got a quota to meet.” It didn’t go down well at teatime.’

Keeley shook her head. ‘I don’t believe a word of this.’

‘It’s true,’ Bowes said, grinning. ‘He was protesting the price of fertiliser. Had a placard and everything.’

‘So his junk was hidden by the placard?’

‘No. Full frontal. It was a tiny cucumber—more of a gherkin. One of the junior PCs had to lend him his hat. It changed the lad forever.’

Keeley covered her mouth, laughing. ‘You’re such an idiot.’

‘Thank you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.’

She quietened. ‘Why do you do that?’

‘What?’

‘Joke about everything.’

Bowes picked up a beermat and fiddled with it. Nash felt sorry that his confidence waned when it came to talking about anything serious. ‘Because if I didn’t, I’d have to be an adult. And that sounds terrifying.’

They looked at each other. ‘Did you arrest your uncle?’

‘No, I was just trying to impress you. He died when I was a kid. It was very sad.’

Keeley’s face dropped for less than a second and then hardened for the inevitable punchline.

‘He choked on a cucumber.’

He smiled at her and wore his heart on his sleeve for everybody to see as she leaned against him, laughing again. The jokes were done, given to the silence of two people meeting somewhere in the middle of their characters.

‘I like you better like this,’ Keeley said.

‘Me too,’ Bowes replied. The melancholy in his voice made it sound as though he was talking to himself.

Nash felt awkward at the same long table and turned away to leave them to their bonding. He felt old without Kelvin beside him, but didn’t have time to brood. Brown excused herself from Danny, her boyfriend, and called Nash to the corner booth while everybody else shouted over Oasis tracks. She was wearing a brown suede miniskirt and long high-heeled boots. Her chestnut hair was down, reminding Nash that she was a young woman and not just one of the team. She’d come off the phone and was pocketing it as she slid in beside him.  

‘They’re all family,’ she said.

‘We are. It’s a good team.’

‘Not us, Si. The case.’

Nash met her stare. ‘What?’

‘The victims. I cross-referenced their NHS registrations, archived genealogy records, and census data. They’ve got different surnames and live in other towns. But they’re genetically related. Every one of them.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Hundred per cent. Some of them are so distant that they don’t even know each other. But take the Newcastle woman, Louise Pattison. She was the third cousin of Alison McAlister. And the case in Llandudno? That was Louise’s half-sister. They grew up apart, with different fathers and didn’t even meet until all these DNA sites popped up. It’s dangerous if you ask me.’

‘So the pathogen or whatever it is tracks the bloodlines.’

‘Just this one, as far as we can tell.’

‘And the pattern extends outwards?’

‘Further than we thought. There are probably hundreds of extended relatives unaware that they’re linked to this superbug. Dr Fendt reckons it’s not spreading through air or food. It’s inherited.’

Nash sat back. ‘Jesus. But why now? Why all of a sudden?’

Keeley came over, holding a pint of lager and looking ready for a row. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We think we’ve found a genetic thread,’ Brown said before Nash answered.

Keeley stared at Nash. ‘Why wasn’t I told about this?’

‘Because I just confirmed it,’ Brown said. ‘I answer to you before even telling the boss, now, do I?’

‘We’re working on this together. You should have told me. We’re meant to be on the same page.’

‘Honey, I don’t think we’re reading the same book. I grew out of Janet and John years ago.’

Nash glared at them. ‘Pack it in, you two. For God’s sake, leave it for the briefing room.’

Brown huffed and walked off, and Keeley waited for a minute, then followed.

Nash couldn’t settle and needed to hear how Kelvin had got on with Imani.  He went outside to call him, but it went to voicemail. ‘Damn it. I need to get out of here. It’s like karaoke PTSD,’ he said, but he stopped talking to himself when he heard footsteps behind him.

Conrad came out carrying two glasses and handed Nash a pint. His expression was strange; he looked concerned.

‘Max has something else for you,’ he said, without bothering to broach the subject gently.

‘Good. I hope it’s worth having and not his usual gubbins.’

‘He says, the man who laughs loudest is the first to fall. The blade isn’t meant for him, but he’ll take it anyway.’

Nash narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s that? Shakespeare?’

Conrad let him digest it and admitted that Max had left, and he had nothing to add.

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