Xion Island: Chapter 22.

The hotel was quiet the morning after a butchered corpse had been discreetly removed. It was a contrived coolness with the brittle calm of a cover-up. Nothing to see here.

Nash sat in an uncomfortable bucket seat in the office behind reception, watching the lobby like a TV show. He cradled the remnants of a lukewarm coffee. Norton and Brown flanked a computer, waiting for Lucy, the duty manager, to finish downloading the CCTV footage from the last forty-eight hours.

‘This one,’ Keeley said. ‘Stop it there. That’s him.’

Brown leaned in. ‘That’s the guy you and Bowes had the run-in with?’

Keeley nodded. ‘Slimy American bastard.’

Nash shifted in his vantage point, listening to conversations in the office and fragments from the desk. At the word American, his ears pricked. The cowboy in the bar had stirred a wary distrust in Nash, and he’d made a note to check him out today. He should have run with his immediate instinct, but the murder in the lift had taken up his morning. He stood up.

‘Show me,’ he said without explanation.

Norton jolted. ‘Show you what, sir?’

‘The American, dammit. Show me the American.’

Catching up with his request, she already had him on the screen.

Nash shifted into instant motion. He flew out of the office and cut across a woman talking to a receptionist.

‘Police,’ he screamed at the frightened lad with a nametag that said Dylan. You have an American staying at this hotel. Which room is he in?’

‘What’s the name, please, sir?’

‘Lord, save me from idiots. If I knew that, I’d have told you. Check your guest register or credit card records. Someone signed him in. For Christ’s sake, move. Find me the American.’

Nash felt a firm hand on his shoulder and wheeled around. There was nobody there. Max was warning him to calm down. ‘And you can piss off as well,’ he growled. The guest, who was in the middle of checking out, stared at Nash in shock.

While the receptionist stood with his mouth open, a figure came down the stairs, and Nash saw the way he scanned the lobby; it was unnatural and enough to make Nash duck. He crouched below the height of the desk and slipped into the back office unseen to watch through the security window in the door. He used his radio to call for the armed unit’s backup.

 This person was different from the man at the bar last night, and at first, Nash reverted to his idea that there may be more than one killer. But he noticed things. He recognised the walk, even though this man slouched and tried to disguise everything about himself. Alive or dead, a body is a body, and some mannerisms can’t be brushed aside.

Nash whispered to Brown. ‘He’s here. He was wearing something different when I saw him, and he’s in a wig. But it’s him.’
            Brown lurched forward, and Nash held her back. He hissed at her and Norton. ‘Both of you, go out there and react to something in the lobby. Flash your warrants at the desk, then run upstairs. I want him to see a lack of police presence around the entrance. Get backup.’

‘We can arrest him now, boss.’ Norton hissed back.

‘No.’ Nash spoke low, but his tone was brutal. ‘We don’t know if he’s armed. It’s too public, and somebody could get hurt. Do as I’ve told you. That’s an order.’

The man in a cheap suit had a black manbun. He leaned over the counter with an eager grin, and he spoke in a Barrovian accent thick enough to slice through royal icing on a stale Christmas cake; it warranted subtitles. It was northern, but just off. A local wouldn’t speak like an old man with a whippet.

‘I’m telling you, sweetheart,’ he said, finger-tapping the desk. ‘You need a real website. One that wasn’t built by your cousin, after three blue WKDs.’

The female receptionist smiled politely, glancing at the screen and distracting him without being told, as Norton and Brown caused the smokescreen. Nash saw her hands tremble and held his breath. He was terrified that Norton and Brown wouldn’t get away, and he feared for the receptionist and every person in that hotel.

‘I’m not the manager, sir,’ she said. ‘But we could do with an upgrade. Let me see what I can do.’

‘Let me pitch it to them. Tell them Colton will sort SEO and everything. I’m like Google in a cool jacket.’ The character acting was accomplished, to the point that he smiled at his brilliance, like in the killer’s head, his fake sales rep had already invoiced them.

‘He’s making himself memorable,’ Nash said as Renshaw slipped in without being seen and closed the door.

‘He wants to be noticed,’ Renshaw replied.

‘Or he knows it’s time to disappear and is playing with us. Glad you made it,’ he said, slapping Phil on the shoulder and breathing out his panic.

Lucy’s voice was ice cold when she spoke. Nash was alerted to the sound of her shock more than by the words she spoke. ‘You need to see this,’ she said, biting down on her fist to stop her from crying out.

Lucy couldn’t move, and Renshaw had to rewind the feed from the night before. It showed the lift doors opening. There was so much blood, and the dead man’s body lay on the floor. The killer kept his back to the camera and bent over to be indistinguishable from any other man. He was only in shot for a second, and they could only make out that he was male.

Renshaw guided Lucy to a chair away from the screen. ‘You might not want to look at this again,’ he said.  

Nash leaned in. ‘I’ve seen enough. Pause it there.’

‘We need to get this guy off the streets, Boss,’ Renshaw said.

‘Too dangerous. We can’t risk the lives of civilians.’

‘But he’s right there. We can end this now.’

‘I said, no.’ He went back to the viewing pane. The man was shaking the receptionist’s hand. ‘He’s leaving. Get an APB out. Do not apprehend him. I repeat. Do not apprehend. I want him followed. Let’s see what this psycho’s up to.’

Phil stared at Nash. ‘Are you sure? It’s risky letting him walk.’

‘He’s at the door. But we’ve got him. Go left, I’ll take right. Go.’

Nash was already running. He burst into the car park and kept going. His heart punched his ribs with a barrage of uppercuts until he had a stitch.

There was no sign of the American. ‘Where are you?’

Nash ignored the pain and held his side as he sprinted to the next corner and scanned the street.

He ran across the road, dodging a Tesco van. His breath caught in pincers that strangled him, and his lungs burned. When he came to an alley, he skidded to a stop, leaning on his knees with his chest heaving. He’d lost the killer, and that was on him. Shit. Nash thought he might be having a heart attack in a filthy alley.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to bring the reinforcements up to speed. But he froze. It was four boys in trackies and scuffed trainers. One of them, a wiry kid with the standard floppy hair that made them all look the same, narrowed his eyes. ‘He’s a copper,’ the boy said. ‘I know you. You were Queer Sandy’s bitch?’

Nash straightened. ‘This is police business. Get out of here.’ The mention of his ex was like a gut punch. It was a life far removed from the one he had with Kelvin.

‘I’ve seen you. You used to pick him up after his shifts. You’re that cop, right?’

Nash didn’t answer, but they were closing around him, sensing possible weakness. And like hyenas outnumbering an injured lion, they were ready to pounce.

Another boy sneered. ‘I didn’t know cops took it up the arse. Nonce,’ he shouted. ‘Wait till I tell my Dad, you touched me up. He’ll batter you good, bruv.’

‘Watch your mouth.’

The other lads circled closer, smirking. They weren’t killers—just kids, with their daddy’s prejudice. They played at being wolves.

‘You gonna nick us for knowing you’re a shirt-lifter?’

Nash stood tall, refusing to reel from his emotional reaction to their hatred. He’d heard it all before. ‘That’s enough. Go home, lads.’

 The leader picked up a fence slat from behind one of the bins.

‘Maybe you should go home. Run back to your sleazy boyfriend.’

Nash had to control the situation. His hand went to his radio, but he tried to make them retreat. ‘Police. You’re interfering with an active investigation. Step away.’

Before he could key his mic, the wood came down fast. He blocked it with his forearm, but pain exploded up to his shoulder. He stumbled, and one of the other boys pushed him. His damaged shoulder hit the wall, and he went down. A kick caught his thigh. Another booted his ribs. He gritted his teeth, curling up tight.

Somebody shouted in the distance, calling a dog. He heard multiple footsteps running away. Somebody called out, ‘Luna. Come here, girl.’ It saved him. The alley was quiet. Nash lay still, assessing the damage. But as he put his hand to a cut on his head, the world dimmed. He was losing consciousness.

And then, he was younger.

It’s 1997.

The lights in the station are yellow and buzzing. The noticeboard has photos from the staff BBQ. Nash is in one of them with his arm around a pretty girl who adores him.

 The image switches to laughter in the locker room. A constable’s whistling the Hot Chocolate song from The Full Monty. It switches again and someone’s drawn a penis on the chalkboard in the staff kitchen. It says Nash wants some of this.

Silas is a bad name for a young cop, but he laughs too loudly, shows too many teeth, and punches one of the guys on the shoulder—such a bloke—as they hoot and make stupid noises at him. His shame is silent, and the fear of being outed makes his bones shake. ‘Piss off, Jerry. The only cock I want is mine, banging your mother’s back doors out.’

When they’ve gone, he sits in a cubicle with the door locked, shaking. He tries to breathe through the ache of being twenty-three and terrified. He hates being different. He won’t survive in the force if anybody finds out. So he gives them nothing.

It switched. The world came into focus, he was in the present. Nash rumbled into consciousness. He felt sick and thought he was going to throw up in the alley. His ribs throbbed. His body was bruised and bleeding. His mouth was dry.

He reached for his radio.

‘Renshaw,’ he rasped. ‘I need backup.’

Xion Island Carrier is book 6 in the DCI Nash series. They're all on KU. Hush Hush Honeysuckle is Book One, and this is the Amazon link.

https://books2read.com/u/4EB0zg