4. Chapter 4

4

“ T ry to hold still,” the doctor mumbled, splaying a hand on Rory’s side.

Captain had refused to let the officers help Rory to the hospital wing, but the second he deposited Rory on the bed, he was ushered out by the irate officer shadowing them.

Upon seeing the wound, the doctor shook his head, told Rory he needed stitches and eased him down on the bed. Rory had been cut along the waist, and although it wasn’t deep enough to threaten Rory’s life, it was long, and wide enough it needed to be closed with a needle.

Doctor Pichard wasn’t one for small talk. His gloves were cold on Rory’s skin, and he frowned as he worked. Rory tried his best to be a good patient for him and keep still, but his toes spasmed. He’d been given an injection above the wound, and the doctor had waited a minute for it to kick in, but it still hurt when he tugged.

“I’ll give you a tetanus injection too,” Pichard said.

“Huh?”

“Whatever was used on you, I’ll bet my life on it being unclean.”

Pichard looked up. His blue eyes were dull, and from the dark bags beneath, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Are you not going to ask me what happened?” Rory asked.

Pichard’s smile was small. “I can see what happened.”

“Yeah, but are you not going to ask about it?”

“If you knew who did it, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell anyone, so there’s no point asking.” He stood up. “I need to put a bandage over the wound, and you’ll have to make sure it doesn’t get wet for a few weeks.”

“Weeks?”

Pichard hummed. “Yeah. I don’t trust the cleanliness of the shower water in here.” He eyed Rory. “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah. I arrived with Captain, the guy who helped me in here, and Ollie.”

Pichard ran a hand over his hair. It was blond, receding slightly at the temples. “And whose cell did you end up in?”

“Sebastian Claw’s.”

Pichard nodded.

“And Ollie ended up in Teddy’s cell. I’m not sure if that’s his real name or an ironic nickname?”

“Teddy…” Pichard blinked. He turned away and searched through the cabinet for a bandage. He continued to avoid Rory’s eyes even after he’d found a bandage and begun to attach it to Rory’s side.

“Ollie will be okay with him, right?”

“As long as he doesn't do anything stupid, I’m sure he will.”

Rory bit his lip.

“You’re all done,” Pichard said, retreating a step. “I suggest you stay here tonight and go back to the wing in the morning. Now, I have other patients to see. I’ll send the nurse in when she’s available to give you the shot.”

He removed his gloves, shoved them in his white coat, then stepped out of the curtain surrounding the bed. Rory lay down and frowned at the ceiling while he listened to Dr Pichard talk with the neighbouring patient. The inmate in question wasn’t from the same wing as Rory, but the adjacent one.

The pain in Rory’s side was no longer sharp and stabbing, but a dull ache that throbbed in waves. If he stayed still, it didn’t bother him, and the two paracetamol pills the doctor allowed him to take seemed to help.

He tugged the sheet out from beneath himself, then pulled it up to his chin to get some sleep.

An officer tugged the curtain back early the next morning.

“The governor wants to see you.”

Rory nodded and followed the officer down a long, narrow corridor. He pressed his hands to his side, limping slightly as the wound twinged and stretched with every step. He stopped outside a door and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Come in!”

The officer opened the door and gestured for Rory to step inside the office. The governor sat behind his huge desk, stern-faced and with the same military cut as Captain but with white hair. He stared at Rory, just like the two other people in the room.

Rory swallowed a jagged lump at the sight of his superiors standing at the edge of the desk. Detective Inspector Hamish and Detective Inspector Morris.

Hamish’s gaze snapped to where Rory had hold of his side. He was in his sixties, but his hair was brown, not a single grey. Rory knew he dyed it. Some days he could smell the peroxide when he spoke, not from the hair on his head, but the moustache on his top lip.

He pressed his lips together in a grim smile. “That didn’t go as planned.”

Rory averted his gaze.

“You were supposed to blend seamlessly into the prison and befriend Sebastian Claw.”

“He isn’t looking for friends.”

Morris sighed. Her salt-and-pepper frizzy hair was tied back, and her lashes were coated with black mascara. She lifted a small plastic bag from the desk so Rory could see the contents. A razor blade had been melted into the end of a pen. “This was found yesterday in the yard twenty minutes after the prison was locked down. Doesn’t seem like anyone wants to be your friend.” She raised an eyebrow. “Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Rory’s side twinged. “Lucky?”

“Next time someone might use something similar across your throat.” She dropped the bag. Rory shivered. He’d been lying in bed thinking the exact same thing.

“That’s unlikely,” Hamish blurted. “Undercover work always has its perils.” He looked pointedly at Rory. “Your father knew that firsthand, but he never even thought about giving up. He was a good man.”

Rory bowed his head. He knew his dad was—a good man, a good police officer, a good dad to him and his sister. A different sting grew in Rory’s chest, one of loss.

“This assignment is important,” Hamish said. “Sebastian… We have good intel that he’s planning something for when he’s released. All his old gang members have reappeared and are hovering around the city like a bad smell.”

“Why not let them do something incriminating when he gets out, then arrest the whole lot?”

“Let them do something incriminating?” Hamish glanced at Morris, who shook her head. “Did you not read the file I gave you about him?”

Rory didn’t reply. He’d read the file, knew Sebastian was dangerous, but he couldn’t get close to him, and someone had stabbed him, and they might try again.

“He went down for murder, but he did a whole lot worse. Selling illegal firearms to gangs, complex explosives to terrorists. He’s a danger to society. We need to be one step ahead.”

“I…I don’t know if I can do this—”

“Of course you can,” Hamish said firmly. “You’ve got your father’s blood in you, haven’t you?”

The sting of loss became a burning band across his lungs. “Yes.”

“Don’t let this scratch take the fight out of you. Your cover is still intact, right?”

Rory nodded.

“The best thing you can do is march straight back onto that wing. Remember why you’re doing this.” Hamish’s eyebrows jumped, and Rory got his meaning even if the governor and Morris didn’t.

Rory owed Hamish.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Great.” Hamish clapped a hand on Rory’s shoulder, then he turned to Morris. “Phone?”

Morris stared at Rory for a long moment, then sighed and pulled it from her trousers.

“Why are you giving me a phone?” Rory asked.

“So you can speak to Erica.”

Rory’s heart skipped a beat at his sister’s name.

“For obvious reasons, she can’t come, and we don’t want you phoning her on the prison phones in case you let something slip, but the governor has kindly allowed us to meet in his office once a month away from the prisoners. Which means you can call her.”

Rory widened his eyes. “Really?”

“Of course.” Hamish glanced back at the governor, who’d been a silent bystander throughout. “Me and Dean have things to discuss in the other room.” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes, Rory.”

“Your sister’s number is already programmed into the phone,” Morris said.

Hamish and the governor excused themselves and disappeared through a door at the back of the office. Rory waited for Morris to leave too, but she crossed her arms and perched on the edge of the desk.

“Clock’s ticking,” she said.

Rory sat down on the chair in front of the desk and called Erica’s number.

It connected after a few rings.

“Erica, it’s me.”

“Rory! Holy shit, why are you calling me?”

He blinked back the sting in his eyes. “Can a brother not call his sister?”

“Not when he’s undercover. What’s happened? Are you okay?”

Rory held his side. “I’m fine.”

“You said you wouldn’t be able to speak to me, possibly for nine months.”

Rory snorted. “I remember, you gave me hell about it. But turns out, there might be a way that I can call you.”

“Seriously? That’s not going to put you in danger, right?”

“No. It’s all good.”

“Phew.” Erica chuckled. “So…how’s it going? You were super shady with the details.”

Rory glanced at a glaring Morris.

“I can’t talk about it. You…you tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“The same old, work, home, repeat. Nothing exciting, not like you.”

Rory swallowed hard. “It’s not been that exciting if I’m honest.”

“Dad would be super proud of you.”

“I’m not sure—”

“He would, Rory. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Any…dates planned?”

Erica laughed down the phone. “Deflecting, but I’ll allow it, and as it so happens, Stacy and I are going to try out speed dating.”

“Speed dating?”

“You get two minutes with each suitor to see if there’s a sexual connection.”

“Urgh, Erica.” Rory grimaced.

“What?” She snorted. “Does it make you uncomfortable hearing your big sister discussing sexual connections ?”

“Yes, it does actually.”

“What if I strike up a sexual connection with two men on the same night?” she said. “Now wouldn’t that be scandalous?”

“You’re terrible.”

“Yep.”

“As long as you don’t end up with someone like Craig… He was horrible.”

“He wasn’t that bad—”

“He used to pick his nose and wipe it on the sofa.”

Erica laughed. “Okay, so that was a bad point about him—”

“And he never paid his share of the takeaway yet ate more than anyone.”

“Yeah, okay, he could be selfish.”

Rory widened his eyes. Selfish was an understatement.

“There was a hell of a lot of bad points, and as far as I can see, no good ones.”

Erica hummed. “His good points happened when the lights were off.”

“Urgh.” Rory clutched his throat. “You hear that? It’s the sound of me gagging.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not as bad as that guy you were seeing.”

Rory’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, the old guy.”

“What old guy?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Dad saw him coming downstairs and assumed he was the plumber he’d asked to come over. He led him into the bathroom to show him the shower, and neither you nor your friend corrected him.”

Rory turned his flaming face away from Morris. “That was so embarrassing. Luckily, Albert knew how to fix it.”

“Albert! That was his name. Albert the ancient.”

Rory tried to shush his sister.

“You know,” Erica continued, “I’m pretty sure he was Kelly Smith’s dad.”

“Who the hell is Kelly Smith?”

“A girl in my class at school.”

Morris cleared her throat, then tapped her watch.

“I’ve got to go,” Rory said.

“So soon?”

“I’m sorry.”

Erica sighed. “Dad would be proud of you.”

Rory squeezed his eyes shut. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, he would—”

“I’m…I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re my baby brother. You tried and tried to get into the police force, kept getting knocked back, but you got there eventually, and look at you now, undercover .”

Rory gritted his teeth. He remembered the constant rejection, over and over, throughout his life. He’d never been good enough, always found tests hard. He had three police entry test failures to his name, then Hamish stepped in and helped him.

Morris cleared her throat again but louder, then lifted her eyebrow.

“Who was that?” Erica asked.

“It was a toilet struggling to flush.”

Morris narrowed her eyes and turned away.

“Eww, are you talking to me on the toilet?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Look, I’ve got to go—”

“And unblock that toilet.”

Rory snorted, and the stinging returned to his eyes. “I love you.”

Erica blew down the phone, then whistled. “Now I am worried.”

“Just say it back to me, bitch.”

She laughed, joyous and loud. “Arsehole. And I love you too, baby brother.”

Rory ended the call, and without glancing up, he held the phone out to Morris.

“How cute,” she muttered.

“Did you have to sit there the whole time?”

Morris smiled sweetly. “Yes, in case you say something you shouldn’t. You need to keep details of this case secret.”

Hamish strolled back inside the room without the governor. “Is your sister well?”

Rory nodded.

“Great.” He walked over to Rory and placed his hands on Rory’s shoulders. “Sebastian Claw is evil. I put him away all those years ago, and I need to do it again. If the three of us do this, we’ll be heroes in the community.”

“I never wanted to be a hero.”

“Erica will be proud of you.”

Rory lowered his gaze.

“And one day, you might even make inspector like your dad, like Morris has. She is one of the best officers on the entire force. I asked her specifically to help me with this case.”

Hamish gazed up at Morris, and she pouted her lips, then fluttered her overdone eyelashes. “And I came running. I’ll always come running.”

“Now think back over this last week,” Hamish said. “Has Sebastian said anything, anything at all that could hint at what he and his old friends are planning?”

Rory frowned. “He said when he gets out, he’s going to celebrate with a big bang.”

“A bang?” Morris mumbled. “Like an explosion, a bomb?”

“I don’t know, that’s all he said.”

Hamish sucked in his bottom lip. “We all know he’s done deals with terrorists before, sold devastating bombs and explosives over the dark web. What would he want to blow up? The court that sent him down? The police station he was charged in—”

“The house of the inspector who caught him?” Morris whispered. She bit her lip, eyeing Hamish.

Hamish gawped. “You don’t think…”

“He sent you that letter,” Morris whispered.

Rory looked up. “What letter?”

Morris answered before Hamish could. “Two months ago, Hamish received a letter. It was a threat on his life.” Her eyes rounded with fear. “What if you’re in danger?”

“I’ll have to get my wife into protective custody, get her away from here.” Hamish rubbed his chin. “Has Sebastian mentioned me?”

Rory shook his head. “No. He talked about killing Lester, but he’s not mentioned you. He doesn’t talk much, or at least not to me.”

“You don’t have to be best friends with him, just close enough to overhear him. He doesn’t call anyone on the prison phones, he doesn’t send letters, he doesn’t have visitors, but I know he’s getting messages out. He might have a phone hidden in his cell.”

“I’ve not heard him talking to anyone at night.”

Morris snorted. “You’ve only been there a week.”

“Even so, I didn’t see a phone.”

Hamish released Rory’s shoulders. “If he really is making bombs to sell, you owe it to the public, to whoever his intended victims are, to stop him, to save their lives. We’re counting on you, Rory.”