Closer Than Blood: An addictive and gripping crime thriller

“Jake’s alive, or at least he was this afternoon.”

Behind his glasses, Dad’s eyes grew wide. “What? How?”

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“Just tell me!” My fingers grew white from the strength of his grip. I sighed in relief as he finally released my hand and pushed himself up on his pillows.

And so I told him, relaying the whole thing from start to finish and leaving nothing out. By the time I finished, he too was crying, silent tears running down his cheeks to lose themselves in the folds of skin around his jaw.

“Gareth,” he said after a long moment. “You have to find him. I don’t care what he’s done, I need to know that he’s safe. Please, Gareth.”

“Dad,” I warned, “If I see him I’m going to have to arrest him. Anything less and I might lose my job or worse. Besides, he might not even be alive, there’s no guarantee he survived that fall.”

“He did, he must have done. Everything happens for a reason, my boy, and Jake reappearing now can’t be coincidence. And at least if you arrest him I know he’ll be safe.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”

“Really? I can already think of one place you might try.”

“Where?”

“You told him I was here, right?”

“Not where exactly, but I told him you were in a hospice.”

“Then he knows my place is empty. Where better to hide than somewhere you already know?”

The moment he said it I knew he was right. Jake might not want to bring trouble to Dad, but if Dad wasn’t there then the bungalow would be a perfect spot for him to lay low.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” I asked, standing reluctantly. Some tiny part of me was, I realised, jealous of the fact that Dad was so desperate to see Jake, despite everything he’d done. I pushed it away as he spoke, back into the darkness that spawned it.

“Gareth, I’ve never asked you for anything, have I? Well, I’m asking now and if it makes a difference you can consider it a dying wish. Find out where Jake is, find out what kind of trouble he’s in and for the love of God, if you can do it, keep him safe.”

Chapter 5 (#u0b0d2862-92c5-5237-b960-fad7aaa8c638)

Dad’s bungalow was up a steep hill called, unimaginatively, Hillside, at the top of Woodingdean, a few miles to the east of Brighton. At the end of the road, the chalk hills of the downs curved away east and west, while from the garden you could see the sea to the south.

The road itself was quiet, the homes little more than slashes of light escaping from around drawn curtains to disappear in the dark evening. The evening wind had died down now, and as the darkness deepened it brought with it an oppressive mugginess that made even the short walk from the car to the house sticky and unpleasant.

I could see lights on in Dad’s place as I approached, although that could be the timer I’d installed to make it look as though someone was always in. I moved as quietly as I could along the side of the building, feet still crunching on gravel as I passed forlorn-looking plants that were usually so well-tended. As if the house was a reflection of Dad’s health, once hale and hearty but rapidly slipping into decay.

Taking out my keys, I searched for the right one by feel and slid it softly into the lock on the side door, hearing it bump gently against the tumblers. With a careful twist it opened silently. Even after all these years, I still expected Lily to bark as she ran at the door, but the kitchen was empty.

I closed the door in silence and crept across the faded lino towards the small hallway. Although technically a bungalow, the loft had been turned into bedrooms when we were kids, and so I headed up the stairs, avoiding the ones that squeaked with an ease born from years of midnight raids on the fridge.

The light was on in Jake’s old room, fingers of it creeping out from under the door. I placed my ear against it and heard movement within. Taking a breath, I put a hand on the handle and turned it sharply, bursting into the room to see Jake, now dressed in some of my old clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hands.

He was off the bed in a flash, fist flying towards my face. I ducked it easily, slamming an open hand into his chest and hurling him back onto the bed.

“Jake, it’s me!”

He paused in the act of scrambling back to his feet and I saw realisation dawn. He stood slowly, favouring his right leg and keeping the bed between us.

“Didn’t think you’d come here.” His eyes never left mine, as if I was a snake that might bite him if he turned away.

“Dad thought you’d be here.”

“You told him? Why the hell did you do that?”

“Because he deserves to know! He’s got days left, maybe a week at best, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him going to his grave not knowing what had happened to you. He wants to see you.”

“No way.” Jake shook his head. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. The guys looking for me are the worst kind. If they even get a sniff of where Dad is, they’ll hurt him just to draw me out. Tell him … tell him I’m sorry, and that I love him, but I can’t go. You try and make me and you’ll be hurting Dad as much as it hurts me.”

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, folding my arms.

“Then tell me who they are.”

“Look, I know you don’t leave shit alone, so the less I tell you, the better for all of us. These people won’t give a damn that you’re a copper, they’ll still leave you in a ditch.”

“Then surely I’m safer if I know what might be coming my way?”

“Gareth, leave it! This is not a problem you can solve. I pissed off the wrong people, and the only way I come out of this with my skin intact is by getting enough money for a new identity and a flight somewhere obscure. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Then tell me where you’ve been, at least. It’s been almost twenty years.”

“That long? Shit. I’ve been around, London and Glasgow mostly. I’m off the brown now, but I was on it for years. Nearly died a few times, from bad shit or too much, but now,” he paused and pointed to himself, looking slightly ludicrous in trousers that were too short topped with an ancient Christmas jumper, “I’m a respectable businessman.”

“Respectable?”

“Respected?”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow.

“OK, maybe not but I can turn a profit.”

“Which is why you’re so popular with whoever is after you, I guess.”

“Sort of.”

“Come on, if you can’t tell me who, at least tell me why.”

“I, uh, I may have borrowed some of their product.”

“You stole cocaine? You idiot. How much?”

“Six kilos.”

I stared at him, unable to find any words. He looked much as I remembered him, a little more meat on his frame perhaps. Like me, his dark curly hair was now suffering from the inevitable creep of grey, but his face was thinner than mine and his nose a little longer. Other than that our features were eerily similar, and no one looking at us could confuse us for anything other than brothers. It was like looking at a warped reflection, and I wondered if right now we both had the same haunted look in our eyes.