Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

“That’s easy for you to say.” Patrick Kane rose and walked to where his wife was sitting. “Look at her, will you.” He stared down at his wife. “Every strand of hair on her head is white. She hasn’t spoken a word for three years and for the past six months she pisses whenever and wherever she pleases. None of that gets me anywhere. I’m the one who has to spoon-feed her and change her nappies.” A tear crept out of his right eye. “I never thought that we’d end like this. I don’t know how much longer I can cope.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead.

Kane looked at his mother. Her eyes stared steadfastly ahead, seemingly impervious to her surroundings. He and his father had become used to discussing her while she sat motionless staring into space. Sometimes he wondered whether there was some sector of her brain which still received and dealt with sensory data. Perhaps the many arguments they had had concerning her had punctured her brain and caused her grief. He couldn’t bear that thought. The retreat into herself had been to escape hurt. But the doctors were right. That woman sitting in the corner was no longer his mother. The part that had been his mother – the spirit and the humour and the love – had left and all that remained was the shell that she had inhabited. She wasn’t like the people on life support machines. The heart, lungs, and other organs continued to function. But she was as comatose as any brain-damaged patient. The prognosis was that the longer she stayed in this state, the deeper she would descend into her self-induced coma. “Maybe it’s time to think of a more permanent solution,” he said moving his gaze to his father.

“Aye, I’ve thought of several permanent solutions. If I was still on the force, I might have already blown my brains away and left you to clean up your own shit. But I know how you would react. She’d be shipped off to some asylum or other while you continued with your so important job.”

“And who put the idea of being a copper into my head.” Kane clenched his fists. “She wanted something different for me but you were always pushing me to become a policeman. You weren’t man enough to handle it yourself so you decided to live through me. Bad decision. And I was fool enough to fall for it. I wanted you to be proud of me so I put all my energy into my so-called career. You’re the one who pushed me into the Met. You’re the one who wanted me to become a detective and you’re the one who danced with joy when I was accepted by Davenport into SO10. Take your own blame for the shit.”

Patrick Kane moved back to the table and slumped into the chair.

Kane said. “I’ve come to tell you that I’ll be away for a while. Another undercover job. Maybe here in England, maybe abroad. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back to see you.” He took an envelope from his inside pocket and dropped it on the table. “That’s six hundred quid. It’s all I can raise right now. It might make things easier.”

His father picked up the envelope and held it in his hand for a moment. He seemed unsure what to do with it but eventually stuffed it into his trouser pocket. “Why don’t you give up SO10? Tell Davenport to go fuck himself and find another boy.”

“I can’t. I couldn’t live without the excitement. If I had time to think, I might conclude that I was somehow responsible for the death of my wife and children. Then I’d surely put my Glock in my mouth and end it all.”

Patrick stood and came behind his son. He laid his hands on Kane’s shoulders. “You know there are times when I pity you. You’re sicker than your mother. She ran away by switching her mind off. You’re out there planning to get yourself killed in the line of duty.”

“At least you’ll get the pension.” Kane tried a wry smile but it wasn’t returned.

“Do us all a favour and give it up, Mark. Go somewhere far away and pick up pieces of driftwood on a beach until you start liking yourself again. Davenport isn’t the answer. He’s part of the problem. Stop trying to kill yourself and try to start living again.”

“I thought you were a security guard…” Kane stood and moved towards the door. “But in reality, you’re a fucking philosopher.”

“Wait, son.” Patrick Kane put his arms out towards his son.

Kane stood for a minute looking at the man before him. He’d always known that the old man had been too soft to be a copper. Maybe someday he would try to find out what had set him off on the road that he had followed. But before that happened some barriers would have to fall. He moved forward into his father’s arms. They embraced and he could feel the heaving and then the shudder in the old man’s chest. It had been a long time since he had had the inclination to cry and he fought with all his will to stop the smallest drop of moisture from forming in his eye.

“Take care of yourself,” Patrick Kane said, releasing his son from the embrace.

“I’ll be in touch,” Kane said and hurried from the room.

Chapter Six

Davenport’s office at Scotland Yard lacked the grandeur of Strofeld’s palace at Europol. The walls were covered with maps of London’s less salubrious areas and the photographs of Davenport with the good and the great were conspicuous by their absence. The desk behind which Davenport sat was littered with papers. There would have been no room for family photographs even if Davenport had had them. Superintendent George Davenport was married to the Metropolitan Police. He looked up from a sheaf