Logan Keal swore under his breath. Packing up the last few boxes had taken longer than he’d realised. He should have been over at Flint nightclub tonight, sorting through the staff absences they’d piled up lately. Instead he’d received a call from the estate agent saying that someone was interested in viewing his father’s detached home, and could someone be there to meet them in the morning. Meeting them wasn’t the problem, but sorting through the last personal belongings of his father was. His stepmother had already been through the expensive clothes and pawned the white-gold collection of watches and cufflinks that his father had collected over the years. All it left was the drabs, like toothbrush, hair gel, the personal basics and leftovers from the kitchen that wouldn’t fetch a bag of crisps from behind a bar. Seemed the whore had taken everything that his father’s Will had denied her.
Finished with wrapping the brown tape around the cardboard box, Logan frowned as he worked in the bathroom, maybe understanding how her bitterness had grown with the length of her sleeves, moving from showing off kissable shoulders, to full-length shirts that had her turning her face from his father every time his father’s mood darkened.
He should have asked, but there were always things to do... people to try and fuck.
Burying the darker memories, Logan slipped the tape gun in his back pocket and took hold of the last box. The en suite had that empty echo feel, and he backed out, needing to shut the door on the darkness he left in there.
He made it downstairs, to the white show-home hues of the hall. The lounge was off to his right, the kitchen beyond that, but Logan avoided the closed door at all costs. He’d refused to cross the boundary between the living and the dead, wondering if a fresh coat of paint had erased the bloodied stains that had splattered the carpet. The criminal investigations department had long since removed their touch, taking away his father’s body. The dining room chair had been pulled into the middle of the lounge, something that would had driven his father into one of those dark moods and his stepmother scurrying into the shadows. The chair itself had been taken away for forensic investigation, but the more Logan thought about it, the more he wondered if it hadn’t just been removed and taken to some rubbish tip to be burned. MI5 knew something about his father’s death; he’d been told that, but even CID seemed to drag their heels over details and the murder investigation, putting it down to a professional hit with no leads. Ranks were being closed; from the top office at MI5 down to CID and the Metropolitan Police, details were sidestepped, discussion and hearings delayed.
Through it all, not even his father’s dark mood could warrant that kind of killing: trousers down around his ankles, dick exposed, hands bound behind his back with a rope from balls to wrists to suggest any sudden movement would bring its own torture between his legs. Then the bullet in his forehead as though he had been white trash for the cleansing.
Logan glanced at the three boxes at his feet, added a fourth, then looked around the empty reception hall.
Everyone had their secrets; Logan hadn’t told his father about his interest in men as much as women. His dad wouldn’t have minded, he was sure of that; he hadn’t minded when Logan had come home with broken knuckles from hitting a man at one of his nightclubs, not when he’d told his dad the man had brought a girl looking like she’d fit better into a school uniform than that slinky dress she’d had on. Logan had gotten the man sent down and the girl into Social Services and back to her parents. He couldn’t stand men who fucked kids, or women who fucked kids for that matter. And now he needed help, there was no one around. Why was he the only one questioning all this?
The hum off the mobile in his jean pocket forced him to shuffle and shift around the boxes as he pulled it free.
Company’s here.
Ah. So he wasn’t exactly the only one left asking questions. The phone itself was new, given to him a month ago via delivery to his door. He questioned that these messages came with a number withheld, but the person behind the calls knew a lot of details, most now deleted as requested.
Another text came through.
Vital that you keep him there. Do not let him leave. I’ll be there soon.
Kes.
Logan just about had enough time to glance back over his shoulder before the doorbell rang.
For the first time in a long while, a little fear crept in. He’d foregone bringing anyone, knowing this would only take an hour or so. Girlfriends were a pain in the ass beyond the bedsheets, and boyfriends... he just didn’t have the time for anything longer than a casual fuck. It left him pretty isolated, and in the modern-day haunted home, he suddenly felt damn stupid, knowing no killer had been caught.
But if it was a professional hit, then surely the killer would be smart enough to stay away from the murder scene? He wouldn’t ring the bell?
“Who’s there?” he mumbled eventually. When nothing came but another ring on the bell, Logan stepped over one of the boxes and reached for the front door. He hadn’t grown up here, but it had been part of his life through school, college, then a weekend stay away from University. It was his home for the next few hours now that his father had died.
Still, the handle felt sweaty in his palm as the bell rang for a third time. The caller knew how to annoy. “Fine, fine,” he said to himself, and he calmed his nerves a little by sweeping his hair from his eyes. Nobody decent called at this hour, not unless it was with bad news, so he slipped the chain on first to give him some room to see who stood on the lit porch.
“Ughh.” It was all he managed as he pushed the door shut to get the chain off in the next moment. He knew who stood outside in the rain.
“Harrison?”
Jack stood shivering against the cold, and Logan automatically shifted his gaze past Jack, checking for more... company.
Company’s here. Do not let him leave....
Logan looked sharply back at Jack, who stood looking just as confused as he glanced in, then around the hall.
“Keal’s place?” Jack tilted his head slightly to the side and the long strands of drenched black hair shifted away from his eyes, leaving water running down his neck. He wore no coat, just the blue coveralls Logan had seen him wearing earlier, and the rain had made sure they hugged his body to dick-raising heat.
“No shit,” said Logan, again looking around Jack to check for more... company. What the fuck is this? No one else was spotted. Not even Jack’s car.
“Was in the neighbourhood.” Jack gave such a cheeky smile. “Thought I’d come say hi.” He even added a small wave. “Hello there. Keal in?”
Logan wasn’t given the chance to answer as Jack pushed past, at first stopping and shaking his head and body like a dog let in after torrential rain, then automatically reaching for the lounge handle.
“Hey. What—” Logan grabbed his wrist, stopping him reaching down. “What the fuck are you doing here, Harrison?”
Jack looked down at the hand gripping his. “There are a thousand and one intimate ways to answer that.” He looked up and all humour drained from his eyes. “And it all begins with, you really need to let fucking go now, mate.”
Logan frowned, pulling his hand away. He looked so fucking different from the Jack he’d seen earlier. Pupils were fully dilated, almost removing the silver grey and adding a wired-up, drug-state stare. “Why are you here? What do you want?” What the fuck are you on?
Jack shifted slightly, easing against the door and crossing his arms. Logan felt the long look up and down his body. “Let’s talk about you for a while.” He glanced around the hall. “This place is looking in need of a little loving, yet...” The boxes took Jack’s attention. “You’re running fast and far, by the look of it.”
“Identifying your father’s body can do that to a son, Jack.” Logan leaned against the wall and copied the relaxed look Jack gave, although it didn’t quite go as deep as Jack’s obviously did.
“Oh,” said Jack and his look seemed to sharpen, deepen. “Keal’s boy, all grown up and home alone.” A smile crept up as he looked him up and down again.
“Don’t believe we’ve been introduced formally.” Jack held out a hand. “Name’s Martin. Martin Jack Harrison. Bet nobody told you, huh?” He thumbed behind him when Logan didn’t shake it. “Mind if I look around and see what memories it sparks?”
That got Logan’s attention. “You knew my father?”
“Me and your old man?” A smile was given. “Sure. Go way back, him and me. Got a few stories to tell you on how he and Cutter used to... well.” Another glance came over Martin’s shoulder. “Not get along, so to speak.”
Cutter? Who the hell was Cutter? He only wanted to know about—“Raoul? Where does he fit in?”
Martin paused, his look now on the dining room but somehow distracted. “Oh he’s into every wound.” Logan got a wink. “Or causing them. Wanna start a campfire and roast a few nuts over a story or two?”
The ringing from his mobile woke Gray first, although it took a second or two for the mugginess to clear for him to realise his mobile phone was nearly being drowned out by Jack’s landline phone. As Gray sat up, Jan stirred, giving a rub at his hair and more than looking like he’d had a night on the tiles with how shadows played under his eyes.
But as Jan let his hand rest on Jack’s side of the bed, he seemed to go still in the same moment Gray did.
Jan stayed welded there, an ear turned into the blackness of the bedroom. What did he fear would come out of the shadows? Henry? Vince?
Martin?
Jack?
Gray reached over for his phone. For his own reasons, there was too much of himself in Jan’s look, too many earlier years of waking up and finding Jack’s side of the bed cold. Too many years of waking up and dreading who might be there smirking back at him instead.
“He’s walking.” Gray heard from the phone, and the passing of traffic on the other end came through too.
“How long, Ray?” Gray didn’t move from the bed for a minute. Jan seemed caught in limbo, and despite the warmth under the covers, his hand had that winter-morning feel as Gray brushed at it. Earlier on they’d stayed in the bedroom for a good while, mostly calming life down, then food had been brought. Gray and Jack had eaten, with Jan barely touching his and echoing the quiet of the bedroom now. Jack had done what he always did, tugged Jan down on the settee with the quilt around them and put on Lee Evans. By the time the stand-up comedian had gotten around to accountant jokes, even Jan was left burying his chuckles in the covers. It hadn’t been perfect, but it was a start.
That had been a few hours ago, now the alarm clock on the unit said barely 12:10 a.m. Jan had looked fine as he’d let Jack cuddle up. Jack had looked... fine holding him. Still turned on, but then Jack was schooled to ignore heat, and his pull-in close of Jan had spoken comfort, nothing more. Jan had still looked... fine.
Gray glanced over at him. Shaking had filtered through as Jan sat there listening to the unnatural silence found in the darkness, or perhaps more the last time he’d woken in Gray’s bed and saw Martin come fully out of the shadows
“Hey,” he said gently to coax some life into Jan. A frown flicked in his direction. The dead feel of the apartment told Gray everything he needed to know too. “I need you to get dressed.” Gray wouldn’t risk leaving Jan here on his own. “I can take you to the MC—”
Jan’s gaze withered a touch. “No. You. I go with you.” He tossed the covers back and was up, tugging some clothes on over his pyjama bottoms.
“Jan.” Gray covered the mouthpiece as Ray said something. “You’ve been shaken up enough tonight, and I know Martin—”
“Jack.” Jan’s hands shook as he fastened his trousers. “We go for Jack, not that bastard. Just...” He searched the bedroom for something. “Just need my jacket.”
Gray focused back on the phone and removed his hand. “How long?” He shifted and picked up his sidearm. Jan was oblivious as he searched the darkness for his jacket.
“No more than forty-five minutes,” said Ray. Gray wasn’t stupid; there was always a risk that Jack would walk, so part of the one-on-one surveillance meant overnight obs here too.
“And it took you this fucking long to let me know?”
A hard sigh was given. “You need to get downstairs, sir. Deaton’ll explain.”
“He’s not with Jack?”
“No,” said Ray, and Gray ended the call. Suit trousers, then shirt, were slipped on, phone eased into his pocket, gun holster over his shoulder, then Gray held the door open for Jan as he came over. Jan tugged on his jacket, rummaged in one pocket, then pulled out his phone from another and thumbed in a number.
“I’ll try Jack’s.” But as Jan finished speaking, Gray glanced back to the bedside unit as the light from Jack’s mobile kissed the darkness, then the ring tone came through.
Jan glanced back. “He could have just gone to clear his head... forgotten it,” he said to Gray, but Jan looked away too quickly. He had been there when they’d discussed surveillance and protocol. Jack didn’t leave without anyone knowing where he was going, and for how long. Period.
Jan frowned. “He was fine, Gray.” He looked up, still paused there in the doorway. “He was... fine. Wasn’t he? A little pissed, frustrated—” Jan stopped himself there. “I didn’t want this, I didn’t—”
“Not your fault, Jan. Jack walks for a whole host of different reasons.” Gray rubbed at Jan’s arm and pulled back when he jolted. “C’mon. He won’t have gotten too far.”
Buried beneath everything else, the look in Jan’s eyes called Gray out on letting Jack slip through his touch again, but Gray hadn’t risked that happening a second time.
They made it into the hall outside and headed for the lifts. The lift attendant nodded as Gray took out his wallet. “You see this man leave in the last forty-five minutes?”
The lift attendant shifted the glasses off his nose and leaned closer. “Jack?” He smiled as he pulled back, straightening his trousers. “Yeah, took him down to the lobby about...” He checked his watch. “Forty minutes ago.”
“Did he say where he was going?” That came from Jan and Gray bit down looking at him with how ill his voice sounded. He hadn’t wanted to step into the lift. As they reached the bottom, he didn’t look like he wanted to get out.
“Just said he was going for a drink.” The man smiled. “Gave a smashing tip.”
“In coveralls?” asked Gray.
“Sorry?” said the attendant.
“He was going for a drink, but wearing his work coveralls?” said Jan.
Jan gave Gray a frowned look. Jan hadn’t picked up that Jack’s work clothes hadn’t been in the bedroom. Maybe he was working with the knowledge that he’d seen Jack in them earlier, but either way, it showed his cognitive process was a little skewed.
The attendant shrugged. “Likes his cars a lot. I doubt he’s much comfortable in anythin’ else.”
“And he gave you a tip?” Gray scratched at his stubble.
The attendant patted his suit pocket. “Same as always.”
Considering Jack hadn’t been here that often, the “always” tag sounded more wishful thinking, more a make sure you tell Jack I like his tips confession. As they waited for the doors to open, Jan glanced over. The question was there over asking about the tip, but Gray knew it would click soon enough.
“Oh, remind him to leave my belt at the reception desk later, okay? I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“Excuse me?” said Gray, looking back as they got out.
The attendant again twisted his trousers, offering a small and awkward smile. “Lad was at a loss with forgetting his belt....”
“Wearing coveralls?” said Jan, brows raised.
The man thought about it, then shrugged. “I thought he needed it when he got changed.”
“He was carrying an overnight bag?”
“Sorry?” He glanced at Gray.
“You said you thought he’d change. So he was carrying a bag that suggested he’d get changed at some point?”
“Well, no.” He scratched at his head. “Didn’t really question it. He just looked sad that he didn’t have a belt.”
By the time they made it outside, another five minutes had passed, leaving Gray glancing at his watch before looking across the road to the black Merc parked there on display. Another car had pulled up behind the Merc, and Ray was leaning down into it, occasionally drawing back and not looking happy. He would have called someone else in to look after Greg as soon as he heard there was a problem. Jan and Gray waited for the night traffic to clear, then went over.
Gray glanced down at the belt Ray held. The last notch was stretched, suggesting a heavier frame usually wore it. At the moment, though, Deaton sat in the Merc, rubbing at the red marks around his wrists and suggesting a new calling for the belt.
“He was just Jack,” said the big man, looking up, and Gray eased back a touch. “He got in the back saying he needed a lift to his old man’s.” Deaton pointed at the radio. “I didn’t mind him getting in. It was raining, and he was getting soaked. So I let him in and went to radio Ray to let him know I was heading over to Mr Harrison Senior, then...” He rubbed at his wrists again. Both were marked, but it was how his suit jacket was wet at the elbow that suggested Jack had used the advantage of being in the back seat and tied the big man’s hands to the headrest behind, leaving his one elbow exposed to the rain.
“He has a knife.”
That drew Gray’s attention to Ray.
“He mark you?” said Gray to Deaton.
“No,” said the big man, scratching at his throat. “Just, just a quick fucker with it.”
“Still armed too,” said Ray, carefully. “He took a car farther down the street. The owner isn’t aware yet. Deaton got the licence plate number, so I’m just about to go and talk to the owner and let them know.”
Gray nodded. “If there’s any damage or the car is irretrievable, let them know it will be compensated for.” Gray found Jan, how he was looking down into the darkness of an empty road. “Jan, go back with Ray. Please.”
There was a slight pause, then Jan looked back—“’M’okay. I... I stay with you.”
Gray tensed his jaw, hating that desolation in his eyes. It was a look that said he didn’t want to be lost for a second time, not like Jack. “Okay.” He was back with Ray. “Get Deaton back to the MC. Let Brennan know Jack’s walking.”
“Do you need anyone else called in?”
Gray turned away. “Yes, but I’ll handle it.”
Gray’s Merc was parked around back, and as Gray eased onto the main street, he pulled something out of his dashboard and attached it into place. A push of a few buttons brought a low run of fast tracking noises, and Jan frowned.
“What’s that?”
Jack’s coveralls came to mind. “Safety’s way,” he mumbled flatly.
“You stuck a tracking device on him?”
Gray followed the device and headed left at the lights.
“Gray. A tracking device? Honestly?”
Gray snorted. “Well, it’s better than those yellow sticky labels you suggested tagging to his ass, when we first met. And Brennan overruled my suggestion over chip’n’pinning him.”
“What?”
“Joke,” said Gray, looking over. But when he saw the direction that the tracking device moved in, Gray pulled over and came to a stop.
“Problem?”
Gray tapped the screen. “That’s left down St. Andrews.”
“And?”
Gray looked back over his shoulder, then put the car in reverse. “Well, unless Jack’s nicked a twenty foot pole and taken to high jump, I’d say even he’d have difficulty getting over a wall that big.”
Jan leaned in closer as if it would give him a video link to where Jack was.
“He knows about the tracking.” Gray gave a hard sigh. “There’s restaurant bins there. He’s used a decoy, most probably a domestic animal.”
“To go where? To do what?”
Gray’s first thought was Logan, the threat he’d made and just how much it had unsettled Jack. But where Jack knew Logan, Martin didn’t. So where the fuck would he go?
“Did Jack ever ask Halliday for the notepad off DC Sanders, where the DC took Jack’s statement and made notes about Vince, Henry and the rape?” Gray looked at Jan.
“Not since he was released from the psychiatric unit, no.”
“But the notepad was around Jack when he blacked out in my office? When he wrecked the gallery.” Gray thought about it for a few seconds. Martin could have had access to the case details via the notepad. But it still left the question of where he would go.
“There would have been details over Elena,” said Jan. “Vince, Henry, the warehouse...”
Gray felt a hollow pit hit his stomach. “Martin’s damn smart. He’d work out that Elena would need intel on where to get in touch with rapists like Vince and Henry.”
“Ryan Keal?”
Gray nodded.
“But not to state the obvious here, Keal’s dead anyway.”
“Yeah.” Gray turned the wheel. “Only Martin doesn’t know that. And Martin knew Keal from his Cutter days.”
Jan gave a shaky sigh, a relieved one. “Keal’s place has been on the market for months. It’ll be empty. Logan doesn’t live there, does he?”
“No.” Gray didn’t like that Jan had been keeping tabs, but the sense behind his words was there. And an empty house would give them a good place to get Jack back into a better frame of mind. Not taking any chances, he put a call through to Halliday.
Jack had been right earlier: going after Logan now would point too many fingers in their direction. Gray could handle any backlash, but what he couldn’t stand was Martin sending Logan or his friends into hiding. And if Martin could fuck something up for the sheer thrill of fucking something up, then it just left Gray clearing up the come stains afterwards.