Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (25 page)

"I know you will do your best to steer any
confessions he makes in the right direction", Gallagher said.

"What really happened between you and
Mrs. Watson, Glenn?
”

"That's a story for another time Gregg, what
matters is what this boy will say if it is him, and that Detective
Sergeant Bridger of yours digs a little too deep. He can bring us
both down you know. My job depends on my reputation".

"Don't lump me in with you Glenn, as I
recall it was all you're doing, a social experiment you called it.
I reckon it was just plain laziness, either that or you were trying
to cover up the fact you were screwing Mrs. Watson the whole time
she was being beaten half to death by that husband of hers. You did
nothing about it then and look what resulted".

"Don't be like that Gregg, just remember,
you were not Snow White back in those days either. I covered for
you on a few occasions as well. Besides Mrs. Watson was a real
police groupie back then, she would do anything for me, and I mean
anything", Glenn Gallagher said with a leery grin.

"I bet she had no choice in the matter, you
pathetic piece of shit", Matthews mumbled under his breath, not
caring if Gallagher heard or not.

If he had heard, he did not let on, as Mrs.
Watson walked back into the room.

"Talking about me, boys", she said as she
sat down. "It's not often these days I get two men discussing me in
any way. At my age I will take any male attention I can get".

Matthews looked at the elderly woman
sitting in front of him, smoothing her practical skirt over her
ample thighs. She looked back at him with a smile and a look in her
eyes that spoke a thousand words, a look that belonged on a woman
half her age. On the other hand, he may have been just imagining
it, Gallagher
’
s description of her clouding his judgment.
He had not seen that look from his wife in a long while. He was not
that much younger than Mrs. Watson and Glenn was a few years
older.

We are all getting older, he thought to
himself as he looked away. Age always hides the sins of the
past.

Mrs. Watson had not let on whether she
remembered him from that night, Matthews was not about to jog her
memory.

"Do you think Marion knows this person
who is holding her, Mrs. Watson?
”
Matthews asked, getting down to business
himself.

"I have no idea Gregg", she replied. "But I
guess we'll find out soon enough when Sergeant Bridger comes to the
rescue".

Matthews felt almost dirty at her attempt at
intimacy, using his first name, Gallagher's description of her
running through his head. Mrs. Watson's demeanor had changed from
distraught to a strange kind of indifference when she found out
that the police were about to rescue her daughter.

She is a very strange and messed up woman,
he thought.

"If anything this little experience will
teach Marion a very valuable lesson about who she can and can't
trust in this life", she said, "Lord knows I've been trying to tell
her all these years. Maybe she will listen this time".

"Let's hope she hasn't been hurt in her
ordeal, Mrs. Watson", Matthews said.

"Yes..., yes of course Gregg, I hope you
don't think I'm not worried for my daughter, she's all I've got
left in this world".

"We should be hearing word any minute now,
Mrs. Watson. The officers on the ground have let me know that the
boys have just gone through the door. I'm confident that my
officers will see to the safety of your daughter".

"I'm in debt to both of you", Mrs. Watson
said, smiling at both of them in turn. "I hope I can repay you in
some way".

Matthews shuddered inwardly.

Gallagher just sat there with a false smile
on his face.

Beth Johansen had made her way back to
Marion's flat. She had tried ringing him on his cell phone after
she left the police station. She did not want to walk home in the
cold, but it had just rung through to answer phone. Typical bloody
male, she thought to herself, not available when you want them.

She had walked all the way back to the flat
without feeling anything, just numb from her night locked in that
concrete coffin.

She thought about him as she looked around
the flat at possessions that did not mean anything to her. They
were possessions that belonged to Marion. Where was he? What was he
doing? Was he playing nicely with his temporary housemate? Bloody
Marion, she got all the best parts. So successful and confident,
she even had a boyfriend. She so desperately wanted to be Marion;
it almost made her ill thinking about the time she was spending
with him. Time he could have been spending with her, she needed
comfort and security just like anyone else. Just a couple of days,
he had said, she will not even know you were involved. He just
needed to humiliate her a little, for what she had done.

What the fuck was she to him anyway? Beth
thought. He was her friend, not Marions. He always understood her
issues. He understood her fears. He listened when she spoke of her
childhood, always knew the right things to say. She had felt
comfortable the first time she had gone to him, offered herself
willingly. He had done things to her that she had never
experienced. When he had been a little rough, she had been a little
shocked at first. When he had made her bleed, she knew then that
she deserved it. She needed his discipline, her fears were her own
to endure, and she had grown up with them.

Her parents had never paid any attention to
her fears, her perfect sister had seen to that. Her parents were
too busy taking her sister to one thing or another, pushing her to
be the perfect daughter, no time for me. All they did for me was
force me further inside myself. He has helped me make sense of the
darkness inside me. She felt herself slipping back into one of her
black moods.

Answer your fucking phone, she thought
desperately.

She looked around the flat for her fix.
Something to take the edge off, just a small spliff. The memory of
last night surfaced in her head and she realised that the police
would have taken everything. There was nothing in the flat, not
even prescription medicine.

“Bloody Marion, why do you have to be such a
square, doesn't everybody use something these days. Maybe I will go
and see him; yes, that is what I will do. He will know what to say,
he will make it better again”.

She picked up her jacket and went back into
the dull daylight, overshadowed by deep grey clouds. It suited her
mood, her inner feelings showing on the outside as well. There were
a few students walking quickly down the street, intent on getting
from their lukewarm flats to the warmer university without freezing
to death. They all looked content and happy with their feelings,
busy with their perfect lives.

Would everybody know her mixed up feelings
were what they saw in the greyness of the sky? Fuck it, she
thought, let them stare, maybe they would realise that not
everybody had it easy. She turned her collar up against the biting
wind and started walking.

"What the fuck is this", Bridger said,
quietly and as menacing as he could. He had Jonas backed up against
the wall, a wall that was covered in silver tinfoil from top to
bottom. Bridger clamped his hand tightly around his throat. The
harsh overhead lights throwing out heat as well as shadows, a
strong pungent smell enveloping everyone in the room. Shadows fell
across Jonas's face, making him look like the villain in a
fairytale. All around them were green plants in various states of
growth, sprouting from long troughs lined from end to end.

"Where's Marion, what have you done with
her".

"What, I haven't done anything with her",
Jonas spluttered.

Bridger increased the pressure on Jonas's
throat and repeated his question.

"Steady on Mike", one of the black clad
police officers said, his familiar voice coming from somewhere in
the greenery. "We need to be a bit cleverer about this. He's no use
to us if you kick his arse".

Bridger released the pressure on his neck
but stood his ground, staring intently into Jonas's eyes. A flicker
of self-doubt flashed through them; if Bridger had blinked, he
would have missed it. Jonas regained his composure, buoyed up by
the black clad police officer’s words.

"I hope you have a warrant, Sergeant,
otherwise you are trespassing on private property. I also resent
the fact that you think I have something to do with Marion. I can
assure you that I have no idea where she is. As for what you can
see around you, it is only for personal use. It's a wee hobby of
mine".

"You pompous prick," Bridger yelled. "She
might not be here but you sure as hell know where she is". The red
mist was starting to descend over Bridger's eyes. He could feel
forces outside his control urging him on.

Jonas smiled.

"You know Sergeant you really should see
someone about your anger, it can be an issue if you let it control
you".

"Fuck you Jonas", Bridger growled.

He punched Jonas in the sternum forcing the
air quickly out of his lungs, as he folded forward Bridger bought
his knee up and connected with the soft cartilage of the nose.
There was a sickening crunch and Jonas fell to the floor, blood
starting to pool around his face. Bridger had no control over his
actions, the anger and frustration taking over; he kicked out,
repeatedly, at any exposed part of Jonas's body now lying in a
fetal position on the floor.

He looked down at the body curled up on
front of him. He was no longer Jonas; he had morphed into the man
who had been with his wife. The male looked up and mouthed the
words, 'Laura's a great lay man', then smiled salaciously at
him.

"What the hell are you doing with my wife
you prick", Bridger snarled. He kicked out at his head, narrowly
missing, before strong hands grabbed him and pulled him away.

"Get him out of here", Becky was saying as
she looked at Bridger.

Bridger stood there restrained by two black
clad police men, face flushed. Tears were prickling at the corners
of his eyes and he was breathing heavily. He looked over at Becky
but could not tell whether the look on her face was concern or
confusion, but he felt a deep sense of embarrassment. Looking down
to break the eye contact he saw Jonas, his body was lying prone on
the floor, he saw his face covered in blood, his eyes were closed
tight and he was speaking quietly to himself. Bridger tried to make
out what he was saying but the words were struggling and confused,
being spat out with the blood in his mouth.

"Come on Mike, let
’
s get outside", the man on
his right said.

Bridger looked away and let the two
black-clad police officers walk him outside into the daylight.
Outside in the cold light of the early afternoon it all seemed so
normal; he did not feel anything for Jonas. His only thoughts were
for Marion and his failure.

His cell phone began to ring in his pocket,
the caller display showed Grants name on the screen. He looked at
the black-clad police officer nearest to him.

"Go ahead", he said, indicating the ringing
phone.

Bridger pressed the answer key.

"Mike, it
’
s started. You must have the wrong
guy".

"No shit".

Breathing in a deep lungful of cold air he
turned around and punched the side of the building.

Marion had all but given up trying to free
herself from her restraints. She hung there like a puppet,
exhausted. Her nose had started to bleed, leaving a deep red trail
down her chin and onto her white dress. She could no longer feel
her arms or legs bound tightly by the wooden frames.

When she swung around, she glimpsed
something in the mirrors that she did not recognize. It was as if
her body had become the puppet, an angry wretched marionette,
controlled by the whims of a madman. The shadow had not spoken for
a long while; she did not feel any anticipation for what was next.
She did not feel anything. Music filtered through the speakers in
the darkness, quietly at first, them becoming clearer. 'Here Comes
the Bride' or something that almost passed for the tune.

Marion had not thought about marriage
before, preferring to live in the moment. No one had come into her
life that had invoked such deep feelings. Hearing the music now
brought out a sudden sadness that she would not ever have the
chance to find out for herself what marriage was like. She began to
cry, tears and snot combining with the blood from her nose,
spreading it even further. It began dripping onto the floor below
her.

She hung there crying, like a carcass in a
butcher’s shop, the spirit of the animal crying in the knowledge
that its life's blood was dripping onto the floor, the unfeeling
butcher sharpening his knives in the background.

The sound of hard wheels on a concrete floor
started to compete with the bridal music. A male came out of the
darkness and into the light. Was this the shadow, finally revealing
itself to her? Her eyes tried to focus through her tears. She could
see a male, around her age, dark hair. He was handsome, dressed in
a black suit. The male kept coming closer, the squeak of the wheels
continued. Marion was face to face with the male. His eyes were
staring and unfocused. His mouth hung open slightly. He was leaning
slightly backwards, giving him the appearance of being slightly
shocked at what he saw before him.

Marion found herself getting angry at his
reaction to her. Frustration erupted from her lips. "Fuck you, fuck
you, fuck you, you pathetic shit. What do you want from me"?