Xion Island Zero, Chapter 27

Brown ran to catch up to Nash before they went into the briefing. ‘Boss, wait up. I need to talk to you.’

‘It’ll have to be quick, you’re already two minutes late.’

She risked a cheeky grin. ‘And you?’

‘I am impeccably on time to make an entrance.’ He grinned and pushed her on the shoulder. ‘You’ve got that look that says you’ve done something that I should be worried about. I’m worried. What is it?’

‘I’ve been trying to catch a minute all week.’ She pushed her hair away from her face and then pulled a strand back down to hide behind. ‘Was I a complete dick at yours when Imani came around? Danny said I should probably apologise.’

Nash laughed at her discomfort and the look on her face. They’d been through a lot together on the force, and she was like an annoying niece that he couldn’t get rid of—and wouldn’t want to. He took the liberty of pushing the strand of hair back behind her ear and laughed again. ‘Not a complete dick. More of an apprentice dickette.’
            ‘Well, she deserved it.’ Brown grinned and linked his arm. ‘Should we go in?’

He pulled himself free and straightened his Harrington jacket. ‘Not like that, we shouldn’t.’

Nash waited for everybody to find a seat. ‘All right, settle down.’

He looked around the room to see that everybody was there. ‘There have been sightings of Bernstein, but nothing has stuck.’

‘Who is going to brighten my day with something positive?’

Patel picked up a report to share his findings.

‘What have you got, Mo?’

‘A man matching Bernstein’s description bought waterproof clothing from a Go Outdoors near Lancaster. Another sighting used a stolen credit card, taken from Carrie Taylor’s purse. A male filled up her car at a service station on the A590, and left a blurry image in the overhead camera as a parting gift. Nothing identifiable, but right height and physique.’

Nash nodded. ‘It’s pretty good intel. Anything else?’

‘This man bought enough groceries to last a few days. He kept his head down and was covered by a hood.’

 ‘So we have leads, but they all fall apart under scrutiny.’ Nash knew what that meant; it was Bernstein, but it couldn’t be proven. Travis was shedding skins, and the chameleon had vanished into another borrowed face. He was adept at slipping out of reach as the doors closed. When he fled the murder scene, he’d taken Carrie Taylor’s car, but as yet it hadn’t been traced.

The press conference was about damage control. The media called him The Miasma Carrier, but The Chameleon would have been a better name. Nash thought he could write a decent column and should have been a reporter. He touched the healing wound on his head. It would be a damn sight safer.

 This was a morning conference, and he sat behind the microphone, tapped it, and leaned back in his chair, flustered, when it screamed at him with feedback. Nash hated public speaking. He was flanked by DCS Lewis and Keeley Norton, two powerhouses, who were as formidable gatekeepers as the Trafalgar lions. Norton was the best-looking member of the team. She had long black hair and a slim figure, and Lewis had called for her to be part of the press release to win over the public and schmooze the media. Nash was irritated; this was supposed to be about catching a dangerous killer, but it had been stage-managed like a Christmas performance of Babes in the Wood. He couldn’t care less that Norton had appealing, almond-shaped eyes and looked good in a suit.

And if he was pissed, Brown was apoplectic at not being chosen, but she took it on the chin. ‘Yeah, whatever. I’m too busy anyway, and if tits are better for clearing the case, it’s all good.’

The nation demanded answers, and what it got was a carefully scripted truth. Nash cleared his throat. ‘A manhunt is underway for a dangerous suspect with military training and biochemical expertise. He is considered to be unpredictable, and the public is urged not to approach this individual but to call in any sightings immediately.’ He gave the new hotline number.

The press room was tense. Nash’s statement was clipped and formal. He took a limited number of questions and kept his answers vague. But he gave them enough titbits for their next column and podcast. They needed the press onside to get the word out—their word.

Later, in the incident room, the phones were red hot in response, and the team was reeling from the fallout. ‘Get half a dozen temps in to manage these blasted phones,’ Nash growled. ‘All these dead ends are keeping us away from real work.’

‘Sir,’ Lawson said.

‘We’ve got nothing tangible.’ Renshaw approached with caution.

‘We have one avenue to think about,’ Nash replied.

Keyboards stopped clattering, and those who weren’t taking excited phone calls shut up to listen.

‘I’ve been thinking about the funerals tomorrow. He’s going to be around, though probably hidden. He won’t miss it.’

There was a second of silence. ‘What are you thinking, boss?’ Norton asked.

‘We stage it to our advantage. We can use the press coverage. It’s already all over the news about Alan Taylor flying in for the service. We can lean into it and reel Travis in.’

Bowes shook his head in anger. ‘I mean, it’s not as though there are two little girls in the boxes, or anything?’ he said.

The room was still, and Jay stood up to make his point. His jaw was clenched. ‘You’re going to use a grieving father as bait? It’s disgusting. And what about James McAlister? He’s going to be there. You’re making him a sitting duck, too.’

Nash didn’t flinch. ‘Sit down, Bowes.’

‘No, I won’t. This isn’t right and somebody has to say it.’

‘I said sit down.’ Nash was taking no prisoners and fired the words at Bowes’ chest for a direct hit.

He sat down.  

Nash waited and let the silence run until everybody in the room was uncomfortable and fidgeting. He showed them he’d speak in his time, and that was just one sign that he was in charge. ‘We have to catch a serial killer before more people die, and I’ve got the best team in England to do that. We’re going to keep these people safe.’

‘How?’ Bowes was like a terrier, but he didn’t dare jump out of his seat again. Nash felt proud. If he’d ever doubted that Jay was an excellent copper in the making, this quelled it. He admired Bowes for speaking out against injustice, but wondered where his motives lay. And what was really pissing him off.

Bowes’ voice sharpened. ‘Last time we used someone as honey, it didn’t go well, remember? We threw Keeley to the wolves. Was it worth what it did to her to flush out the drug dealers? She nearly died. And now you want to parade a man who hasn’t seen his son in thirty years in public. It’s dirty that you’re using him as live bait.’

Norton lowered her head, and Brown touched her shoulder, offering support. Nash felt Bowes’ anger.

‘Jay, Norton saved a lot of people with her bravery, but it was her choice all the way down the line,’ Nash said.

‘No.’ Bowes slammed his hand on his desk. ‘For two years, she lived among those people. She’s going to carry that trauma and the stigma of what it did to her for the rest of her life. And you want to lecture us on procedure and restraint?’ He lowered his voice, losing some of the bravado as he petered out and mumbled, ‘Some people should start by looking in the mirror.’

‘What was that, Bowes?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No, don’t go shy on us. If you’ve got more to say, let’s hear it.’

Silence.

Nash straightened. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp.

‘Let’s move on.’

Bowes was furious. He sat with his cheeks blazing and his fists bunched.

‘Jay, do you need a minute?’

He shook his head.

‘You’re angry. I get it. Sometimes this job is a bitch, but we serve. And we do what we have to, even when it stinks. This is our best course of action. Look, Alan Taylor is already in danger. We’re setting the stage so we can stop a mass killer before he takes more lives. Guys, if any of you want to keep your hands clean, policing isn’t the job for you.’

Bowes glared at the wall ahead of him, still angry, but calming, and at least he was prepared to listen. Brown sat beside Norton, reached out and touched her wrist under the table. It was just a brush, but Nash’s hawk-eye caught it. Brown didn’t say anything, but the gesture was enough.

At tea time, Alan Taylor was collected from the airport in a two-vehicle escort arranged with MI5. The media thought he was in a hotel, but he was taken to a safe house in the remote village of Urswick, where strangers were noticed, and Neighbourhood Watch thrived.

Nash pulled up soon after Alan was taken in at 19:30, and Patel and Renshaw guarded their guest inside the house.

Alan looked older than his passport photo, but he was still a good-looking bloke. He was gaunt from grief and shock, or trying to process that the son he forgot he had was Britain’s most wanted man.

‘I don’t have a clue what’s going on,’ he said to Nash. ‘You can’t keep me here against my will, and these clowns have hardly told me anything.’ He looked at Mo and Phil. ‘It was like something out of a movie. I was getting my holdall from the carousel and your idiots jumped me and manhandled me into a car.’

Mo had brewed a pot of coffee and put it on the counter with mugs, sugar, and milk.

‘Do I get a teaspoon?’ Alan asked.
‘Do I get a please?’ Mo replied.

Nash covered a smile as Alan backed down like a reprimanded dog. ‘I’m sure it’s been explained that this is for your safety, Mr Taylor,’ Nash said.

‘Alan, please.’ He glanced at Mo and managed a tight grin. ‘Yes, but it’s still a rum do. I barely remember Carrie being pregnant that first time. We were young. I thought she had a miscarriage. I was gone all the time with work, and it was over before I understood what had happened.’

‘That’s not entirely true, though, is it, Alan? From what we’ve been told, you only went abroad to work after finding out that Carrie was pregnant and when she discovered it was too late for a termination.’

Alan blustered, putting his palms on the table to stand up, and Nash spread his hands to placate him.  

‘Whoa, it’s okay. I’m not judging you for it. You were a young lad with your whole life ahead of you. But Travis knows that you wanted nothing to do with him or his mother. That can make a kid angry, and an angry kid can be an even angrier man.’

‘All right. So I knew and ran away. Do you blame me? I hardly knew the girl. I couldn’t take on a kid at eighteen, I was no more than one myself.’

‘He knows who you are,’ Nash said. ‘And he’s targeting your family. The safest thing we can do is protect you, and, if we’re lucky, draw him out.’

Alan burst into tears. ‘I never expected to bury them all at once. Carrie. The girls. My mum. It’s crazy. I still care about my ex-wife, you know? I wouldn’t wish this on her.’

‘We understand and are sorry for your immense loss, but our job is to find your son and keep you safe. There’ll be protection at the funeral. You’ll have a Kevlar vest in your coat. Undercover officers will be planted in the crowd, and we’ll have snipers hidden on the roof. If he comes, we’ll be ready.’ Nash wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a prayer.

Alan gave a hollow laugh. ‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘He’ll come.’

As Nash turned to leave, he saw Molly through the kitchen window. She was standing outside with Patel. She passed him a sandwich from her bag and said something that made him laugh. It reminded Nash why people opened up to her—she made them feel human again, even if they were suffering.

Nash had a few things to check for the funeral stakeout and was late back to the office. He needed a minute to himself in the bathroom, to destress and slough the day like old snakeskin. His ribs ached from the beating he’d taken, and the tap screeched when he turned it off. He rested his hands on the sink and breathed.

 A couple of minutes later, somebody else came in, but they lingered by the lockers. He caught Keeley’s voice; it was low and trembling. ‘I’ve been hurt before,’ she said. ‘It’s not about you. I’m just not good at dating situations. In the past, I let people get close who shouldn’t have done, and it nearly broke me.’

‘I’m not them,’ Bowes said.

Nash wasn’t good with things like this. He was caught behind the partition separating the changing rooms from the bathroom. Should he cough, walk out, or hope they leave? Then it got worse. He heard the faint sound of kissing. Nash stayed where he was, wishing he’d at least left the tap on to alert them that somebody was there. It was getting steamier, and Bowes moaned. He couldn’t stay there. Oh God, this was awful. He’d walked into hostage standoffs that were more comfortable than this.

When he walked out, Molly came through the door at the same time. When she saw Norton and Bowes, her jaw tightened. Her gaze landed where Keeley and Jay stood, almost falling over each other to break the embrace. They looked mortified when Nash came out from behind the partition.

Molly didn’t speak. But her eyes weren’t angry, just surprised. Then, true to form, she gave Nash a lopsided grin. He avoided looking at Bowes and Norton and dreaded what was going to come out of Molly’s mouth. She broke the awkwardness with a sentence so mundane it slapped the tension sideways. ‘You’re out of milk again,’ she said, as if that was the biggest problem in the station.

Nash stepped beside her.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s give them a minute.’

She nodded. ‘Yeah. This is too sickly cute and I haven’t eaten.’

 Nash blushed, looked at Bowes. Molly touched her own lips. ‘Lipstick, Bowes. Not your colour, mate.’

She followed Nash down the hall without looking back. But halfway down, she said, ‘I was starting to like her. I guess she won’t want to hang out with me now.’

‘Oh come on, look at you and Danny. You’re joined at the hip but still have time for other things.’

‘I suppose. I just didn’t expect her to go for Captain Overenthusiastic.’

Nash laughed. ‘Neither did I.’

I write under the pen name Katherine Black and I have 18 books published. All on Kindle Unlimited. I’d love it if you’d try one.

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