A/N The intention is that, at a later date, I will add different versions of what could have happened after the end of the book as different oneshots, but for now here is this one.

The end of the truth

Justice

The call came as Callan was taking his wife breakfast. She was still in bed, still recovering, and he felt as guilty as hell. Not that she blamed him, but he blamed himself. He should have done more. Should have done it sooner. Shouldn't have messed up with that search warrant all those years ago. Past sins.

She opened her eyes as he came in and smiled at him; weak, pained but still loving. How the hell had he gotten so lucky with her? He remembered as he had rushed off to the hospital and stood by her bed, forgetting all about the fat kid he had promised to meet, wondering if he should just call the whole damned thing off and she had looked at him with those same eyes and said clear as a bell, "Take the Bastard down."

He placed the tray in front of her and picked up his ringing mobile.

"Sir, you need to get down here and see this."

He knew he was almost there before he hit the road closed signs. He could see The Bridge looming in the distance and should have known it would all come back to here, all come back to this. He was waved through the police blocks and pulled up short of the flashing blue lights. Before he walked over to the main huddle of bodies he glanced up at The Bridge and saw, just as he had once before, a teenage boy silhouetted against the skyline. He stood in the same spot, with the slightly bent rail, looking down on the scene, but Callan could see very clearly that this wasn't the same boy. He caught a uniform by the arm as they hurried past and nodded upwards.

"Anyone been up there?"

He received a short nod.

"Tried Sir. Lad almost spooked. Said everyone was to keep the hell away from him until you got here." He frowned a little, almost unsure of what it all meant. "Said he would jump, Sir. We decided not to risk it." Callan nodded. The officer looked at his superior with a searching look. "Kid was pretty messed up. Didn't look recent." Just another thing to feel guilty about. Just another thing to add to his List.

There were two shapes lying on the road covered by white sheets. One he needed to see, the other he felt he should. Slowly he walked to the nearest one and lifted up the corner. Despite the physical damage he could positively ID the body and passed the name onto the correct uniform. His parents would have to be informed. He did not add this fresh death to the List. Not yet. The second body he approached more slowly, savouring it. With great care he crouched by it and lifted a corner of the sheet. 'Take the Bastard down!' He couldn't help the smile that that twisted onto his face, grim and smug. He checked for a pulse, just to satisfy himself that the evil really had vacated, that he wasn't going to rise again. As he stood he looked directly up at the dark shape on the bridge and though it was too far away to know for sure he thought he could see the same expression reflected back at him.

Brady gave a start as Callan stepped onto the bridge but settled when he saw who it was. Disdain, hatred, anger flashed briefly in his eyes, the accusation clear, 'you were supposed to be protecting me' and then he turned away, turned his eyes downwards.

"Peter," Callan said by way of greeting and settled next to him at the railing.

"This wasn't the plan," the boy mumbled. "It never goes to plan does it? Not for guys like us." Callan thought for a moment that he referred to the two of them, but quickly realised he spoke to the body under the sheet. Although the lad mumbled there was a straightness to his spine and a clarity in his voice. Less afraid. Nothing to be afraid of any more.

"What was the plan?" Callan asked, making sure he stayed a few feet away.

"This or that," he heard the boy whisper, "kiss Moo or die. I'd kill him then I won't have to do either." Nonsense talk but Callan understood exactly what it meant. "I never been very smart," Brady murmured, "neither was Moo...least I didn't think he was." He shook his head. "Would've been a good plan. It didn't go to plan."

Callan waited but the boy's words had dried up.

"I need you to come down to the station and make a statement."

Finally the boy looked at him again, a coldness in his eyes, a hard smile twisting his messed up face.

"Statement of what?"

Callan was not one to be out of control and so he knew when he was losing it. Once when he had been driving home when it was icy he had got onto his own road and was slowly pulling into the drive when he had felt the car take the wheel and begin to slip sideways. He could only sit and watch as his car slid in slow motion and stopped with a crack of metal against a parked car. Looking into Brady's eyes now he felt that same jolt he'd had when he's turned the wheel and the car hadn't turned with him.

"A statement of what happened here," he said it slowly, like steering carefully was going to help now.

"I dunno nothing about nothing."

The wheels moved their own way, sliding him towards collision.

"See, thing it, I think you do."

"Prove it," the boy challenged. "I wasn't here. Meybe I was 'posed to be. Meybe I was late. The wiggies were already here when I got here."

Callan knew that if he went back and asked the uniforms they would tell him there was no boy on the bridge when they arrived. In one last ditch effort he tried to grab the wheel and make it go his way.

"Justice needs to be done, Peter."

Brady gave a sort of snort and shook his head, moving away from the rail. Callan could almost hear the crunch of metal as the cars collided.

"It already has."

With that final statement he stuffed his hands into his parka and walked away.

Callan looked back down at the bodies and the sight of the largest lifted a weight off his shoulders. He found himself agreeing, rightly or wrongly, with the boy. Justice had been done.