Pike listened to it carefully, then shook his head.
“Still isn’t conclusive, ‘product’ could mean anything. What the hell were you thinking, showing out like that?”
“I wasn’t,” I said. “I know I blew it, but the second man. He was my brother.”
“Your brother is a drug dealer?” He eyed me suspiciously, no doubt wondering why he didn’t already know something that important.
“Actually, I thought he was dead. He disappeared years ago.” Even now the words intensified the ache in my gut. Rotten apple he might be, but he was still my brother and we’d been close as kids.
“Well he probably is now,” Pike said with his usual lack of tact. “But I guess that’s for PSD to sort out. Have they still got you on speed dial?”
PSD, or professional standards, are the British version of Internal Affairs. I’d had more than my fair share of run-ins with them, it was true, but I’d kept my nose clean for a long time now and Pike’s attitude was starting to rankle.
“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to rise to the bait. “Most of the people who were in PSD last time I was in trouble have probably retired by now. Was there anything else, sir? Only we’ve got a prisoner, and I need to debrief the team.”
Pike stared at me for a while, clearly trying to figure out how to push my buttons a little more effectively. He was always like this, snide comments and not-so-subtle digs designed to rouse my infamous temper. It might have worked ten years ago, but I was older now. A little wiser and despite my stalled career, very keen not to lose my job.
“Sir?”
“Fine.” Pike sighed. “Get your team debriefed and the prisoner handed over to uniform, then check in later. By then I’ll no doubt have a better idea of just how badly you fucked up.”
Burying an angry retort, I nodded and waved the team over. I moved far enough away until Pike was out of earshot, then looked at the expectant faces surrounding me.
“Firstly, I want to apologise,” I began, squaring my shoulders. “I screwed it up. For those of you who haven’t pieced it together by now, the man Simmonds was meeting was my brother. I won’t bore you with the reasons, but when I realised it was him it threw me. It was stupid and unprofessional and it blew months of our, your, hard work.”
One of the Barry’s shrugged and looked around at the others.
“We still get paid the same, right? Not like we’re on commission. Besides, Simmonds is in custody and we’ll get him for something. Seems to me like that’s still half a win.”
The others nodded and I felt more than a little relieved. The rest of the force could think whatever they wanted about me, but I needed the trust of my team or I had nothing.
“Thank you. I can promise you it won’t happen again. Now, who wants to take a trip up to custody to book Simmonds in and deal with the property? I don’t want to let that cash out of our sight until it’s locked away in the store. Barry, Jane, well volunteered.”
The officers I’d picked nodded and walked towards the marked van that had arrived to transport Simmonds. I looked at the rest of the team.
“Right, the rest of you follow me back to the nick, then we can have a chat with CID about interviewing our prisoner.”
I began to walk back to the spot where we’d left the car, only to feel a hand on my arm. I slowed as Phil spoke quietly in my ear, his gravelly voice a rumble like a rockslide in an earthquake.
“You OK? What about your brother?”
“What about him?” I forced myself to sound cheerful, despite the sick feeling in my gut and the little voice in my head telling me that he was dead for real this time. “He’s a tough nut, always was. A quick dip in the sea is nothing.”
“You can’t kid a kidder, Gareth. You know you’d be perfectly within your rights to take some time off, what with your dad, and now this.”
“What I don’t need,” I replied emphatically, “is time to think. I need to keep busy. I appreciate the concern though.”
“Then at least stay here and wait to see if they find him. If it was me I’d be up on that wall right now. You go back to the nick and you’ll be useless.”
“I’ve got a job to do.”
“No disrespect, but any one of us can cover you for a few hours. Stay here, let me speak to CID and the others will do whatever else needs doing. We’ve got this, you go look for your brother.”
I slowed, then stopped. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Stay.”
“OK, but call me if you need me, yeah?”
He nodded again and I turned, heading back towards the wall.
Pike saw the movement and watched me as I crossed the plaza and climbed the steps again. He stared for a moment then got back in his car, face unreadable.
I tried to find it in me to care, but instead all I felt inside was emptiness as I returned to the place where my brother had dropped into the cold waters below.
It was dark when they finally called off the search. I stayed there on the wall, eyes searching the waves as lifeboats and a coastguard dinghy cut frothy white lines in the water.
Sometime during the evening a thoughtful police officer, one of those waiting nearby in case anything was found, had brought me a cup of coffee, but other than that I’d been left alone with my thoughts.
What I wanted, I realised, was closure. Even though Dad and I had given up hope, I realised now that a tiny part of me had never really believed that Jake was dead. Now I faced the same agony again, and I admitted to myself that I would rather know he was dead than spend more years wondering. Criminal he might be, but he was my brother and a part of me still loved him.
“Sarge?” The voice made me turn to see a young officer, face all but hidden in the twilight.
“What’s up?”
“They’re calling off the search, too dark.” He sounded apologetic.
“Thanks, I hadn’t realised how late it was.”
“You need a lift back?”
“No thanks,” I shook my head. “I’ve got a car nearby.”
He nodded and left. I stayed there a while longer, shivering slightly as the wind picked up, bringing with it the briny scent of the sea. Then, when the lights dotted along the top of the wall began to glow faint orange, I turned and made my way back to the car. I was dreading what I had to do next. I had two choices, and each one left me with a sour taste in my mouth. Did I tell my dad that Jake had been alive that morning, allowing him the false hope that that might still be the case, or did I stay quiet and lie by omission? What made it worse was that I couldn’t get his advice on the matter. Ever since I was young he’d been the one I turned to when I had a problem I couldn’t solve on my own, and I’d come to rely on his support the same way I relied on the fact there was air to breathe.
By the time I reached the Hospice in Woodingdean, a little under ten minutes’ drive from the marina, I still hadn’t made a decision.
It was beautiful, with sprawling red-brick buildings and gardens both sculpted and natural-looking, and it occurred to me that there were worse places to spend your last days. They had managed to instil an air of tranquillity, and as I climbed out of the car and walked towards the door I could barely hear the