DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 6-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw. Luke Delaney

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      ‘Sean,’ she called across to him. Nothing. She called again. ‘Sean.’ He rolled his head to face her. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.

      Sean puffed his lips and exhaled. ‘Not really.’

      ‘It might help to talk,’ she persevered.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ he lied. ‘I thought I had our prime suspect today, but he wormed off the hook.’

      ‘You’ll get him. Remember what you always tell me: it’s only a matter of time, no matter how difficult it may look at first.’

      ‘Yeah, but this one bothers me. Every time I think I’ve got him cornered, he worms his way out. At first I thought he was just thinking on his feet, coming up with answers to fit the evidence against him as and when he had to, but now I’m not so sure. I think he has a strategy. The moment he knew we were on to him, he invented a story to lead us into a blind alley – and it’s my fault. I showed my hand too soon. I should never have let him know he was a suspect. I should never have gone to his office in the first place. I should have watched him. Watched and waited for him to lead us to the evidence. Now I have to play the game with him, and from what I’ve seen so far he’s a bloody good player. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was even enjoying it.’

      Sean sprang from his chair and made for the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Kate followed him. She’d seen him like this before, usually during difficult cases, but not always. It was better to get him to talk than allow him to dwell on matters. She wouldn’t let him slip away into the dark places his past could take him. ‘Don’t let it get on top of you,’ she warned. To anyone else it would have been an innocent enough comment, but not to Sean.

      ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.

      Kate realized her mistake. ‘Nothing. I only meant don’t let this case get too personal.’

      ‘It’s always personal,’ Sean told her. ‘For me, it’s always personal. It’s how I stop them.’

      ‘I know, but you need to be careful. Don’t try and do everything alone.’

      ‘Why?’ Sean asked. ‘Afraid I’ll lose it?’

      ‘That’s not what I meant.’

      ‘Isn’t it?’ he said, his voice calm.

      She knew his past, about his childhood, his father. The beatings and abuse. Everything. Sean had always been honest with her about that. She understood that the rage and hate from his childhood was still inside him somewhere. How could it not be? But she knew he was nothing like his father, like the people he hunted. If she’d had any doubts, no matter how small, she would never have married him, let alone had his children. This was just Sean venting his frustrations. She’d dealt with it before and she knew she’d have to deal with it again.

      ‘Don’t do this, Sean,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t deserve this.’

      It was enough to make Sean pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He sipped his water. ‘Do you ever think about it though? Aren’t you ever a little afraid I may become like him?’

      Kate knew he was talking about his father. ‘No. Never. You realized you had this thing inside of you, and you wanted to stop it, stop it before anyone got hurt, and you did.’

      ‘With a lot of help,’ he reminded her.

      ‘None of it would have worked if you hadn’t wanted it to.’

      ‘Christ,’ Sean said, before taking another swig of water, ‘sometimes I feel like such a fucking stereotype: boy is abused by his father, the boy grows into a man only to become an abuser himself. From victim to offender. It’s all too fucking predictable.’

      ‘But you didn’t,’ she reminded him. ‘You grew up to be a cop. You use your past to help people, not to hurt them.’ A silence fell between them. Kate moved towards him and held his face in her hands. ‘Your past is a curse, but it has left you with a gift. You can think like these people. You can recognize them when others see nothing. You can predict them.’

      ‘Not this one,’ Sean told her. ‘I can’t see through his eyes yet. I don’t know why, but I can’t. Whenever I try, it’s like someone pulling a screen across, blocking me.’

      ‘It’ll come,’ she assured him. ‘Give it time and it will come.’

      There was a silence, then Sean spoke again. ‘Do you know what it’s like, being able to think like them?’

      ‘No,’ Kate answered. ‘I look at you when you’re like this and I thank God I can’t. Who would want that burden?’

      ‘I can feel what they feel,’ he said. ‘I can sense their excitement, their relief. Pain. Confusion.’

      Kate stroked his hair, the way a mother would a child. ‘And you use it to stop them. To stop them hurting people.’

      ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m too close. So close that I could slip into darkness any second.’

      ‘Then perhaps you should see Dr Richardson? It has been a while since you spoke to her.’

      ‘No,’ Sean snapped a little. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll sort it out myself. I just need you to remind me now and then. To remind me who I really am.’

      ‘You know who you are,’ Kate reminded him. ‘Ever since you decided you were going to be a policeman. Ever since that moment, you’ve known exactly who you are.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ he answered unconvincingly.

      ‘There’s something else though, isn’t there? You’ve got that look on your face you always get when something’s drilling a hole in your head. So what is it?’

      ‘I saw something strange today,’ he confessed.

      ‘The jobs we do, we see strange things every day.’

      He ignored her interruption. ‘Outside my office window, on the flat roof below, in amongst the ventilation outlets. It was a dead bird. At first I thought it was just another dead pigeon, but then I realized it was a magpie. I knew it was a magpie because other magpies kept landing next to it. I assumed they’d come to feed on its body, but I was wrong – they were bringing it gifts: twigs, small shiny stones, things to eat. I watched them for a while and then I realized, I realized what they were doing. They were mourning its death. Magpies mourn their dead. I never knew that.’

      ‘And that upset you?’ Kate asked.

      ‘No. Not upset me; made me wonder, that’s all.’

      ‘Wonder what?’

      ‘We don’t judge them, do we? Magpies. When they’re feeding on roadkill or killing the chicks of other birds as they try to hide in their nests, we don’t judge them. We don’t judge them because, as far as we’re concerned, they’re only doing what’s in their nature to do. They’re just animals, after all. But that’s what I thought separated us from animals, the fact that we mourn our dead. Only now I know magpies do too. A murderous, heartless killer that mourns its dead.’

      ‘Meaning?’ СКАЧАТЬ