Page 5 of Indefensible
“Then it will be up to you to switch it off, won’t it?”
“Not this time. Not when people are dying.”
“Really, little bro? Because it won’t bother me if the spotlight turns on to you. It won’t bother me at all. You’ve addressed the problem before, you can address it again. Get it? Addressthe problem.”
Phillip leaned against his car, legs wide and a grin on his face. Everything about his posture spoke of confidence that Deryn would do what he wanted.
Deryn stepped into Phillip’s personal space. “Get that stuff off the streets,” he hissed.
“Or?” Phillip said.
Deryn’s fists clenched without conscious thought and the desire to punch the man in front of him was almost overwhelming. Instead, he walked back to his own car and drove away, hearing Phillip’s laughter behind him.
CHAPTER 4
DAY ONE, EVENING, DAY TWO, MORNING
Reaction came in the form of a call from his sister before he had driven halfway back to the village outside Cardiff where he lived.
“What are you playing at?” his sister Branwen yelled.
“Do you need the phone?” Deryn answered. “They can hear you in England.”
“Shut the fuck up and listen for once.”
“I’ve heard it already,” Deryn said, and ended the call. Branwen rang back, more than once, but he ignored her until she gave up. No doubt other members of his family would call, and someone would mention who owned the place he called home, and whose money had paid for his car. There was no such thing as a free lunch, and he was bound to his family with strong ropes of obligation. Getting his mother to take sides was impossible — she had a PhD in deliberate ignorance about how her family made money. Which didn’t mean Deryn couldn’t give her a coded heads-up when she telephoned. Which she did, about twenty minutes later as he was peering into his fridge, hoping for something more exciting than a fish finger sandwich for dinner.
“I’ve had a terrible day,” he told her. “Two people died and left a tiny baby. Joe, the baby’s name is. The neighbour onlyfound him because she heard the crying, poor dab.” Gossip would have told her that already, and probably why they died, but that would be something she could pretend was nothing to do with anyone called Kent.
“Oh, that’s awful,” she said. “I heard the parents were drug addicts. The council should have been keeping an eye on the baby.”
Deryn explained about fentanyl because for sure, no one else would. The conversation didn’t last much longer. That left him with nothing else to do but return to the fridge. He decided on a bowl of cereal and an apple, with the option of toast later. He ate, but everything felt wrong. Was wrong. There was a solution, one that pulled hard. Deryn double-locked the front door and pulled all the curtains closed against the dusk. Then he went into his bedroom and pulled a sports bag out from under the bed. From it he took a carefully folded black satin slip edged with lace, and the matching knickers. He considered the stockings in their neat bags, the two pairs of high-heeled shoes, and the make-up case. In the end he chose the black shoes, sheer stockings, a long black satin robe, and left everything else behind, zipping the bag carefully. In the bathroom, he showered, shaved, and changed into his other self. In the misty mirror, Deryn saw a woman, called Dee, and she felt calm, ready for an evening of research.
Dee spent the evening and a good chunk of the night staring at a computer screen, scratching a curiosity itch. If Brody Murphy was telling the truth, and Mason Abruzzi was a millionaire, what was he doing in the Welsh Valleys? He wouldn’t be the first rich man to go in search of a simpler life, but a poverty-stricken corner of post-industrial Wales seemed a bizarre choice. The internet had no clues as to Mason Abruzzi’s relocation decision, or indeed any pictures of Mason himself. What it did have were pictures and stories about the Abruzzi family, mostly at grand events. They lived in Manhattan,attended a lot of parties, and could be found on the boards of arts organisations. Dee had no context for judging just how much money the Abruzzis had, but they were pictured with past and present US presidents, media moguls, and the heads of major finance companies. A very great deal of money was probably a good guess.
Dee found herself engaged by the women’s red carpet outfits, the brilliant jewellery, hairstyles and shoes, imagining herself in one of the flowing dresses, dripping with diamonds. It was hard to focus on the here and now, to operate as Deryn, but she managed a quick email to DI Glover to say that it waspossiblethat Abruzzi had been kidnapped for ransom, as his family were rich. There was no point in speculating about who might have carried out the kidnapping. A reply came back almost immediately. Dee wasn’t the only one burning the midnight oil.
From: DI Irene Glover
To: DC Deryn Kent
Re: Mason Abruzzi/other
It’s too soon to begin a manhunt for Abruzzi. Stay in touch with his friend. Keep me posted. First thing, start visiting known addicts warning of contaminated heroin. Find out who is supplying it. Briefing at two.
IG
Dee slept after that, still in the silky slip, waking to a call from Brody Murphy and the realisation that Dee needed to go and Deryn to return. It was hard, but there wasn’t a choice. She told Brody to wait for a moment, put the slip and matching knickers in the washing basket, burying them underneath a load of towels. The rest of Dee’s clothes went back into the sports bag to be replaced with a dark grey dressing gown.
“I’m back at Mason’s house,” Brody said, “and I’ve been talking to the neighbours. I think you should hear what they have to say.”
“Just tell me,” Deryn said.
“It’s better coming from them. How soon can you get here?”
Deryn clenched his jaw to stop himself yelling that he wasn’t Murphy’s personal policeman. He was on his way to Cwmcoed anyway. What harm could it do to talk to Murphy? If nothing else it would quieten the thoughts about Phillip’s drug dealing, and whether his colleagues had made the connection.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said, and dressed in black jeans and black shirt, ready for work.
