Chapter 26

The brandy burned the back of Kate’s throat as she swallowed and slapped the glass back on the bar, signalling for another. She didn’t know exactly where she was, other than it was the first pub she came to when she walked out of the King’s Lynn police station and that it was a dive. The kind of place where you were glad the lights were so low so you couldn’t see that rats scurrying across the dance floor. Or someone else’s lipstick on the glass you were drinking out of. As long as it served alcohol, Kate didn’t care. What was the fucking point?

The stool next to her was pulled away from the bar, and a heavy form sat down on it.

She half turned away, hoping that whoever it was didn’t expect her to talk to them. Kate wanted to drink and to forget, and she most certainly did not want to get hit on by a fucking stranger in this shithole.

“Same as my friend here.”

Kate whirled on her chair at the sound of Timmons’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

He picked up the glass the bartender set in front of him, slapped a tenner on the slightly soggy and very sticky wooden surface, and inclined the glass towards her. “Same as you, by the look of it.” He threw the shot down in one gulp and pulled back his teeth. “Getting pissed.” He signalled for the bartender and held up another note. “Leave the bottle, son.”

The bartender nodded and left the bottle of Napoleon on the counter.

Timmons topped them both up and tapped his glass to hers. “To another case solved.”

Kate snorted derisively. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Nope.” He knocked his drink back.

“It feels pointless.”

“Aye.” He poured another.

She sipped, staring at the bottles lined up along the back of the bar, wondering when her eyesight had started to fail and the words on the labels had begun to blur together. On second thought, maybe that wasn’t her eyesight, just the brandy goggles.

“I’ve never felt so disappointed at resolving a case.”

“This one was never going to have a good ending, Brannon.”

“Maybe not, sir, but—I don’t know—it doesn’t feel like it’s over.”

“What did you expect? How did you want this to end? A big shootout, and terrorists being brought down in the streets of King’s Lynn?” Timmons shook his head. “That stuff’s for the films, Brannon. It was never going to end up like that.” He picked up the bottle, but instead of pouring, he pointed it at her. “What he said was true, you know. The perps are dead, Ahmed’s in jail, and he will be staying there for a long time. Probably the rest of his life. We all know what they do in prison to people who hurt children.”

Kate nodded. It was a rough form of justice, but Ahmed would suffer before they killed him in prison. It was almost a certainty.

“The explosives are accounted for, and we know that the cell is wiped out in our area. It’s finished.”

“It doesn’t feel finished.”

“I suppose it isn’t. For them, anyway. But it is for us. We’ve been ordered to cease and desist our investigation into Ishman Ayeshydi.”

She slammed her glass back on the bar, amazed that it didn’t shatter under the force. “You’re joking?”

Timmons shook his head and swallowed more brandy. “Orders came in from the very top.”

Kate frowned. The very top? Did he mean the Chief Constable, or higher still? MI5? The Home Office? How high up were these orders? “Sir?”

He smirked and said, “You don’t have clearance.” He drained his glass and reached for the bottle again. “We know as much as we’re ever going to know. The bombers are dead. Ahmed confessed, and we have Nadia’s diary to back it up. Ayeshydi is still on the wanted list, but that’s for MI5 to take care of when he finally gets out of his undercover assignment. We just can’t keep looking for him.”

“If he ever gets free of his assignment.” They both knew it was likely his cover would get blown at some point, and he’d end up dead. Zain Mallam was working a dangerous game, and his survival was far from assured.

Timmons nodded and tipped the bottle towards her again. “Never a truer word spoken.”

The door opened. Stella, Clare, Jimmy, and Tom all sauntered in while Timmons poured them drinks and got more glasses from the bartender.

“Any news on Gareth?” Tom asked, glass in hand.

“Nothing new.” Timmons poured his brandy. “Poor sod.” He pointed to a table in the corner of the pub. “Shall we move this over there, people?” He didn’t wait for them to answer, leading the way and sitting on the bench at the back of the room.

In dribs and drabs, they followed behind him and took their seats on rickety stools that made you feel like you were inebriated even if you weren’t.

Tom sat next to Kate and caught her eye. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Not even close.”

“Stella filled us in on the way over.” He clapped his hand on her shoulder. “I’d be up on charges for punching the arrogant bastard.”

Kate snorted. “Wish I had.”

Tom sipped his drink.

“You ever think of giving up?” she whispered into the dissonance of clinking glasses, a crackling jukebox, and angry voices.

“Every damn day.” Timmons spread his arms across the back of the bench.

“Why don’t you?”

“Because then I remember that there’s only me who can do the things I can. And if I don’t do ’em, no fucker else will.”

She stared at him and tried to decipher the deeper meaning behind the words. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he alone could save the world. But the brandy was beginning to set in, and it was making thinking harder than it should be.

“I’m not a religious man,” he continued. “But I do believe that we all have something to offer. Some talent we can use to make something better. A purpose.” He drank the last of his brandy and slammed the glass back on the table. “I was a shit husband and a godawful father, so I don’t believe that’s why I’m here. But I do believe I make a difference. I believe I’ve helped put some very bad people behind bars so they can’t do a lot of very bad things to anyone else.” He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze landing on Kate last and staying there. “Every one of you has a gift for doing the same thing. Every one of you sees different things and brings unique talents to the table, and together you solve crimes.” He pointed at Kate. “If you hadn’t wondered about the remote bomb thing and warned everyone, at least four more people would have died yesterday.”

“But four people did die.”

“Four is less than eight.”

“But—”

“No buts. You did the best you could. I didn’t think of that. Collier didn’t, Jackson, Brown, Dalton, Palmer… They’re all—were all—experienced officers, and not a single one of them thought of it. And if they did, they did nothing about it. Mallam could’ve done more. But he didn’t. And he’s got to live with that.

“I agree with you. He could’ve made a play there that would’ve warned people without risking his cover. All he had to do was what you did, just earlier. You and Stella together got the evidence we needed to get us some semblance of answers and stop us chasing our tails for God knows how long. Stopped us from wasting resources we don’t have to spare, man hours we can ill afford, and fuck knows what else.” He reached for his drink and frowned at the empty glass.

Tom reached over and topped it up.

Timmons nodded at him.

“Every one of you has worked damn hard on this case, fuck, on every case you’ve worked on, and I’m fucking proud to have you on my team.” He held his drink aloft. “To resolved cases, no matter how dissatisfying.”

They held up their drinks. The soft tinkle of glass filled the air, and as they began to lower them, Kate added, “To Gareth.”

They all paused a moment.

“To Gareth.”