‘Go through the door on your left,’ I said, like a realtor showing a client around a house. Frejah pushed it open with her free hand, the one that was bandaged.
I wanted these people out of my house. I glanced at my wristwatch. The hands were settled on midnight, or midday. The sweep second hand was not moving. I shook my wrist, trying uselessly to restart the watch.
We crossed my office. Had the desk moved even further towards the patio door? The room seemed disproportionate, wider, shorter, the ceiling was lower. The whole room looked and felt as if it were expanding. No, it was shrinking. Another mystery!
Ahead of me, Frejah stopped suddenly. She looked around the room, then turned back to where I was behind her.
‘This is familiar,’ she said. ‘What has been happening here?’
‘I really don’t know.’ Through the open door to the patio I could see both Spoder and Jeksid. Spoder looked wary and alert, but Jeksid was leaning back against one of the supporting pillars. He looked disagreeable.
‘There’s something mutating here,’ Frejah said. ‘In this room. You told me there was no mutability on Salay.’
I had no idea how to answer that, my feeling of ineffectuality deepening with every moment. Then she obviously noticed Jeksid standing on the patio. She strode forward purposefully, but halted in the doorway, deliberately allowing the gun to hang from her lowered hand.
Jeksid reacted immediately: with a slow movement he slipped his right hand under the front of his jacket, and extracted his gun. He held it between thumb and forefinger, showing it was there but that he was not about to use it. He allowed it to dangle.
Spoder moved bravely to place himself between them.
Three ex-cops, two loaded weapons, and me. And suddenly my cat too: Barmi, always unselectively social, had jumped up from the garden to the decking and was now rubbing himself affectionately against Jeksid’s legs. Jeksid seemed barely to notice. Cats are invisible to some people – I have never known why. His gun was pointing straight down at Barmi, the barrel only millimetres away from his trusting head.
I shoved past Frejah, idiotically raising both hands in the air, then bent down and grabbed the cat. I took him to the edge of the patio, lowered him to the grass. I tried to make him run away, but he sat down stubbornly and began washing.
Spoder said: ‘I want you both to put down your weapons.’
Frejah shook her head. Jeksid said: ‘Like hell.’
Spoder turned to me and said: ‘Sir, what should we do with these two?’
Somehow, without real preparation, almost accidentally, I had found myself in the role of the sleuth. I couldn’t avoid it. I had spent too long trying to work out what they had been up to. It had to be completed somehow.
Still feeling unequal to the task, I said: ‘I want to be sure I know the extent to which these were involved in the murders, then they can go off somewhere else. They can shoot each other there if they have to. Not here, not in my house.’
The angry silence persisted.
‘You say you want to be sure,’ Spoder said to me. ‘We know what they’ve done. Jeksid gave me his confession to read, and Frejah Harsent was obviously complicit in the murder of the first of the two brothers.’
‘I had nothing to do with that!’ she said, turning towards him. ‘I was sent as an investigating officer.’
‘We know what your version of that is,’ I said. ‘What you told me was full of lies. We know the two of you went to Lew’s house after he was murdered.’
‘I might have forgotten some of the details. It was a long time ago.’
Then arrived the final moment of revelation and accusation, the sort of interrogation scene, sleuth against suspects, that I never wanted to write, in fact never knew how best to write. Only the sleuth and the reader are seeking information at this late stage. Why should the suspects answer incriminating questions? Why do they feel the need to explain?
‘I’m not too concerned with that,’ I said. ‘What I want to know is where the money came from, the money you used to set up your scheme.’
‘We came into it,’ Jeksid said.
‘As cops? How do cops come into money? Does that mean you stole it? Or it was given to you as a bribe?’
‘It was given to my sons. Raffe Antterland was a philanderer, a dishonest businessman and disgustingly rich. Once my ex-wife died, he obviously decided he didn’t see himself in the role of stepfather, so he ran off somewhere. We’ve never been able to trace him. Before he left he gave Lew a large leather shoulder bag, and he said: “This is for you and your brother, also for your father, and for anyone else who can use it.” Note that he said: “also for your father, and for anyone else who can use it.” Inside were stuffed hundreds, thousands, of high-denomination thaler notes.
‘Those few words caused endless trouble between us. Lew told me what Raffe had said the next day. Dever was there, he heard them too. They both confirmed it. But later, the boys decided that Raffe had meant something else, that he intended the money only for them.’
‘They were acting like serfs,’ Frejah said contemptuously.
I pressed on. ‘Do you know why he gave away all that money?’
‘It was guilt,’ Jeksid said. ‘I met Raffe a couple of times. He was a feudal snob – he had bought and bribed his way to the level of cartage provider, as if that mattered, but he knew that when my wife Jessa left me for him, the boys would automatically be reduced to serfdom. That’s what happened – it’s the law. I think he intended they should have enough money to buy their way back, at least to vassalage.’
‘They were serfs,’ Frejah said. ‘They deserved to stay that way.’
Jeksid glared at her. His gun hand twitched.
‘So you went across to Salay Hames and helped yourself to it?’ I said.
‘No!’ Frejah interceded. ‘That was not the idea at all. We wanted to help. It was a family crisis for Enver. He wanted to go and see his sons, and because I was his police partner he asked me if I would go with him.’
‘That’s right,’ Jeksid said. ‘But we needed time off work and had to get the permission of a senior officer.’
‘My husband Hari was the obvious one to ask. He decided to come with us. All three of us travelled to Hames together.’
‘Was this before Lew was murdered?’ Spoder said.
‘About two years before,’ Jeksid said. ‘We had the best interests of everyone at heart. Lew and Dever were obviously arguing about what to do: they both wanted the money for themselves. At first we suggested a three-way split, but I kept being reminded of what Raffe was supposed to have said. It was Hari who came up with a solution.’
‘He suggested setting up a tontine,’ I said.
‘A what?’
Both Jeksid and Frejah looked blank, and Spoder shook his head.
‘You created a tontine. That’s an investment shared equally between a number of different people, each of whom has to sign a binding agreement confirming the deal.’
‘We bought into an AMBA,’ Frejah said. ‘Not – whatever you said it was called.’
‘It’s known legally as a tontine. The AMBA is just the kind of capital growth fund in which you invested the tontine – I assume Hari had some information about that?’
‘He said he knew a professional outfit on Raba who would set it up for us. It was all above board, nothing illegal.’
‘I never said it was illegal.’
‘So how does it work?’ Spoder said.
I said: ‘Everyone has to agree absolutely to the terms.’ I said to Frejah and Jeksid: ‘Is that what happened?’
‘Eventually, yes. Lew and Dever agreed to it because we pointed out that they were the youngest of the five of us.’
‘That’s my understanding,’ I said. ‘Tontines are sometimes set up to benefit children. Once the agreement has been made, everyone has an equal share in the money. They all receive the same regular annuity as income. It’s at a much higher rate than would be produced by a norma
l investment. If one of the signatories dies, that particular share is then redistributed to the others. The survivors’ annuities increase, but also their share of the capital. In your case, you all owned one-fifth of the equity at the start, but as soon as anyone died that share would increase to one quarter each. After the next one dies, it would increase to a third each. Your plan, I think, was that in the end Lew and Dever would survive the three of you and receive a half each of the investment, which because of the amount of time that had passed would be much larger. The last one alive receives everything.’
‘But what happens when he or she dies?’ Spoder asked.
‘The investment bank keeps everything that’s left. But by then there will be none of the tontine members left to care. They lived well on the annuities, but they no longer have any interest in the capital sum.’
‘Used to live well on,’ Jeksid said sourly. ‘Because of your intervention, the fund has collapsed. Not a cent more is likely from it.’
‘Don’t be hasty,’ Spoder said. ‘I heard this morning—’
‘I know what you said. I’m sick to death of promises from people like you.’
‘I’m a retired cop too.’
‘Yes, but you’re on a pension.’
‘Mine collapsed last week,’ Spoder said.
Jeksid glanced away with irritation.
‘What seems to me went wrong was Lew cashing in his part of the fund,’ I said. ‘Is that right?’
‘Absolutely,’ Frejah said. ‘He acted like the common serf he had become. He and Dever had never been close, and after Raffe Antterland disappeared their relationship went from bad to awful. Lew was jealous of Dever because both of them had once planned to be magicians, perhaps even working together. But Dever went on with it, practised his tricks every day, started performing, started making a living from it. All Lew had was the house, which was beginning to need major and expensive repairs, and the monthly annuities. They were no better than anyone else’s. Lew let it be known that he had had enough of the annuities, and was going to take out as much of his capital share as he could. He saw it I think as a way of getting at his brother. Dever went round to argue with him about it, a major row developed, and – you know what happened next.’
‘Lew committed suicide,’ Jeksid said. ‘That’s what the court said.’
‘Let’s speak plainly,’ I said, ignoring him. ‘Dever murdered Lew, and disappeared with the cash. But what did Dever do to get himself shot five years later?’
‘He kept Lew’s cash,’ Frejah said, while Jeksid looked increasingly restless. ‘He lied and lied. First he said he didn’t have it, then he said he’d paid it back into the fund. If he did, we would never know, except that our annuities had gone down and they never went up again. Or not to an amount that would tell us the fund had been restored. Dever was difficult to pin down to the facts – you know what he did for a living. He was slippery, tricky. He would disappear for several weeks, then afterwards pretend he had been in his little magic theatre all the time. This went on for about two years, but then Hari lost patience with him. He had just been transferred to Salay for his work, and—’
‘He killed my son,’ Jeksid said with a growling sound. ‘I lost both my boys!’
‘Afterwards, Hari located the cash. It was still in the leather bag that Lew had used, stuffed under the bed in the mobile home where he slept. Hari paid it back into the fund.’
‘So why was Hari killed?’
‘He murdered my son!’ Jeksid said again. I noticed that his grip on the gun had changed: his hand was wrapped meaningfully around the bullet chamber. I did not like the mood he had dropped suddenly into. Frejah had not appeared to notice. I tried to signal my fear to Spoder, but at that moment he had his back turned towards me. He was moving around one of the patio chairs, closer to me.
I said: ‘Jeksid, put your gun down.’
He looked at me, his face contorted with anger. I thought I saw him raising the weapon, but in fact he was massaging his right shoulder, flexing it. Then the gun did move in his hand.
Jo suddenly appeared at the door from the office. I turned towards her. She was wearing one of her thick bath robes.
‘Todd, the water heater’s gone wrong! The water ran cold for ages, then suddenly started blowing steam—’
Spoder shouted: ‘Look out, sir!’
I looked back at Jeksid. He was levelling his gun at me, bracing his shoulder with his free hand. I saw a flash. I heard a loud bang.
In that same moment something powerful slammed into my chest, throwing me helplessly backwards. The agony was instant. As I fell I bashed my head against a hard object behind me.
I heard the shot! I heard the shot!
My last living thought. I sank quickly into deathful oblivion.
There were attempts at resuscitation.
I heard sounds, felt movement. People were shouting instructions to each other. I was in a vehicle. I had things strapped to my hands, my face, my chest. Nothing hurt. If this was death it was not what I expected. I drifted away again.
I woke up in a hospital bed, at first seeing with unfocused eyes, my mind wandering. Jo was beside me. It was two days later, she said. Gradually I retuned my senses, focused on Jo and the room I was in. Now I was aching. My head and neck were constrained in some kind of harness. Jo was holding my hand, pressing her face close to mine. I felt her breath on my cheek.
At first it was enough to be alive. There was nothing to say about that. Later Jo told me what had happened.
‘Spoder is a hero,’ she said. ‘He saw Jeksid’s gun, and as the shot was fired he pushed you away. He just swung his arm around and punched you massively in the chest. You stumbled back through the doorway, and hit your head hard on the edge of your desk. It was right behind you. There’s bullet damage in the bookcase against the far wall of your study. I haven’t checked yet which ones they were, but a couple of paperback thrillers were shot. On the shelf of books where you stack the books you never read.
‘When the paramedics arrived and saw what had happened to you they assumed your neck was broken when you fell backwards. It was not, although it’s going to be stiff for a long time to come. The impact was a severe one, though, and you’ve had concussion. And there’s a big bruise on your breastbone. That’s where Spoder punched you.’
‘Spoder didn’t get hurt, did he?’
‘No, he’s all right. He says his hand is sore, but when I asked him about it he said it was already feeling better. I think he didn’t want to admit he’d hurt himself.’
Time passed pleasantly, or as pleasantly as is possible when connected up to drip feeds and monitoring equipment in a hospital bed. I was so happy to be alive! So happy to be with Jo. I never let go of her hand. We talked quietly of this and that: memories, plans, hopes. Nothing that would be important to anyone else.
Finally, I said: ‘Jo, what followed? I mean afterwards. Did Jeksid shoot anyone else? What did Frejah do?’
‘Things happened really quickly. Everyone was so shocked by the gun going off that it completely broke the tension. Jeksid threw his gun on the floor, and was complaining about a painful shoulder. Spoder grabbed the gun and disarmed it, in case. Then he went across to the woman – that was Frejah Harsent, I later found out.’
‘Yes.’
‘He took her gun away too. She was meekly compliant. For a long time they both obviously thought that Jeksid had killed you.’ She reached into the shoulder bag she had brought in with her, and produced two pieces of tempered metal with shaped points. ‘Spoder wants you to have these as souvenirs.’
‘What are they?’
‘He said they were the firing pins from their guns. He removed them. Both weapons are useless without them.’
‘But what happened then?’
‘Nothing at all. Someone called an ambulance. I think that was Spoder. Whatever was going on was over. Frejah Harsent and Jeksid stood around, not saying anything, looking embarrassed. Then they shook hands! Even be
fore the ambulance arrived they went out to her car together, that ostentatious black thing with all the antennae, and she drove away with Jeksid in the passenger seat. That’s how quick they were to leave. After the paramedics had assessed you and injected you with painkillers, they told me I should follow them to the hospital in about an hour’s time. We knew by then you were not about to die.’
I gulped. How does one respond to that sort of information? Jo added: ‘I was still in my robe, so I rushed around and managed to dress properly before I drove to the hospital.’
‘And Spoder – was he shaken up by the shooting?’ I said.
‘He still wouldn’t talk about his hand, but I know he hurt himself. I’ve never seen anyone punch so hard! He kept saying how sorry he was he had hurt you. That was more important to him than the fact he had saved your life. I think he was more shocked than anyone else by what had happened, but he repeatedly said he was going to be OK. I made him some coffee, and then he said he was hungry. By this time I was feeling so fond of him I said I’d fix him something. I found some eggs in the fridge.’
‘So you made him an omelette.’
‘Yes, of course. Then I called a taxi for him.’
I held her as tight as I could, while we both giggled about our dear friend.
Our revels now had ended. The story was told, the puzzle explained. The antagonists were reconciled, and melted away into the warm air of a Raba summer. The involuntary sleuth was thought dead, but was miraculously alive. No one else had to die, but two unread paperback thrillers remain forever unread. The weapons were disarmed, the cat was safe and well. The author’s saviour and hero was tucking into an omelette and a cup of coffee.
A perfect conclusion, one anticlimax leading into another. It would never make a book.
Two days later I was discharged from the hospital, as fit as possible if not entirely recovered. I had a hell of a stiff neck, and I was convinced Spoder had accidentally cracked a couple of my ribs. It hurt to breathe deeply but one of the doctors advised me to try breathing shallowly.
My desktop computer, although looking in some indefinable way different, appeared to be working normally. I went into the mutability program, and deconcatenated the one remaining project. Then I uninstalled the whole program, rebooted to be on the safe side, and dropped the hotel’s key card into an envelope, ready to be returned whence it came.
The Evidence Page 28
