Looking around he gets that feeling again – like he’s on a film set or a stage and none of this is real. It’s only been a few days since they rescued Nero from that boat. He should be relieved and delighted that’s all behind him. As far as he’s aware no one is looking for him. With Cavallo being head of homicide, he should be safe. On top of that, he’s been well fed, is currently warm and dry and, for the first time in a long while, he even has friends amongst his fellow students and beyond. Shouldn’t all that make him happier than he is?
It’s far too dramatic, too disrespectful to liken himself to a returning soldier suffering from post-combat stress; what he’s feeling is simply physical – his body must be missing those adrenalin rushes and testosterone peaks, all that macho shit.
Bruno rakes his wet fringe away from his face, tries to catch his reflection in the glass to check he looks respectable enough. He could take up rock climbing or something equally hazardous and challenging. Fact is, he hates heights and has no particular desire to pit himself against the elements – he’s more than happy for them to stay exactly where they are on the other side of that glass.
He has a sudden memory of his second stepfather – the English oaf – and that annoying habit he had of ending most of their conversations with: “There’s no pleasing some people.” It pains him to think the lazy wanker might have been right.
A sound makes him turn. Pale face has come in. Looking down his long nose he says, ‘The professor can see you now, Mr Mastriano.’
Fourteen
When Kass walks into Nero’s office, she finds him at his desk nursing a coffee and staring into space; the latest batch of plug-ins are lined up in front of him untouched.
‘Hæ,’ she says. ‘Looks like you were a million miles away.’
He puts down his coffee and turns to her with a smile. ‘Good to see you.’ Under the harsh light, she can see the bruises are fading and the previous scaring on his face is only just visible.
‘I was thinking about Bruno,’ he says. ‘Worrying would be a more accurate verb.’
‘When I’m not with my kids, I sometimes imagine what they might be doing right now,’ she says. ‘Of course, at their age it’s easy to make a pretty good guess. When they get older, I know it will be a whole other playing of balls.’
‘I think you mean ballgame,’ he says. ‘The phrase is a whole other ballgame. Playing of balls sounds more like you could be talking about coglione.’
Kass frowns.
‘Testicles,’ he says, ‘Um, what’s the word here? Esti–’
‘Enough!’ She holds up a hand. ‘I got it – those things you men are so obsessed with.’
‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair,’ he says. ‘Some men are more obsessed with other parts of their anatomy; and now I should stop talking because this conversation has definitely taken a turn towards the inappropriate.’
She grins. ‘I’d say it went over that line some time ago.’
‘Anyway,’ he says, ‘what was I saying?’
‘You’re worrying about Bruno.’ Kass perches on the narrow seat by the door. ‘But surely for you two it’s a little different – you’re always in touch. I mean, presumably, you know exactly what he’s up to this minute.’
‘Well now, first of all, you need to remember he’s not actually my son. Secondly, the boy’s a fast learner. I’ve discovered he can shield his thoughts from me anytime he wants to.’
‘I suppose that’s fair enough,’ she says. ‘After all, at his age, he’s entitled to some privacy.’
‘Privacy sure – I wouldn’t dispute that. It’s in short supply around here.’
Nero drains his coffee, opens a drawer and pulls out a small device, which he puts inside the empty cup. Kass suspects it’s a deet – so called because it kills any bugs within a short radius.
He stands up, goes over to the glass door beside her, checks the corridor is empty and then shuts it.
‘It’s time we talked,’ he says, sitting down again. ‘I’ve thought this through very carefully and, the thing is, I need to tell you something.’ He runs a hand through his hair and then looks down to the floor like he’s inside the confessional. ‘It’s about those two bodies they found on the university campus – the events that set off the rioting.’
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘I’m listening.’
‘No doubt you’ve already been through the reports,’ he says looking anywhere but at her. ‘The murder weapon – the gun used to shoot the guy who was dressed like an assassin – ballistics reports have now confirmed it was– ’
‘A Glock 19, 9 millimetre automatic,’ she says. ‘The same make as one of the guns Bruno took from my dad’s collection. They’re pretty rare these days so, yeah, I already joined the dots.’
‘I see.’ He looks directly at her. ‘He was acting entirely in self-defence – and believe me I know that for a fact. The man was holding a knife to the boy’s throat; the same one he’d used to slit the throat of that poor girl and Bruno knew it. He had no other choice.’
‘So who was he, this assassin?’
‘One of Ása’s henchmen.’ Nero strokes his chin where the shadow of his beard is already visible. ‘I could give you his name but it might be better if I don’t. More importantly, we need to find out why that girl was targeted.’
‘Her name was Linda, Linda Jakobsdóttir,’ Kass reminds him. She recalls the hurried conversation she’d had with patrol officer Þórsson; all that chanting in the background: “Who killed Linda?” “They killed Linda!” over and over.
‘She was just twenty-three,’ Kass says. ‘A research student studying bio-genetics. How could she have posed any kind of threat to Ása and her gang?’
‘I’m sure you’re already thinking what I’m thinking – has to be connected to her research.’
‘Tell me, did you actually know that was what I was thinking? Are you reading my mind right now because, if you are, I have to say– ’
‘I’m not.’ He holds up both hands – the innocent man. ‘I promise you I try not to do that with close friends or colleagues – and by the way, you fall into both categories.’
She rolls her head. ‘You said “try not to” – does that mean you sometimes do it inadvertently?’
‘Look – I do my best,’ he says, the penitent again. The expression doesn’t sit well on him. ‘You have to understand it’s not like I can control it completely. There’s no master-switch inside my head; I only wish there were.’
She says, ‘Let’s cut to the chase – though that’s not exactly appropriate here. I don’t need to be a mind-reader to know you want me to turn a blind eye to Bruno’s involvement.’
‘Do you see any point in exposing him, in initiating a trial? You know the danger that would pose to him as much as I do. Besides, in the end, what possible good would it serve?’
Kass stands up. Though it’s a small space, she walks over to the opposite side of the room. ‘Maxwell is running all kinds of traces trying to locate the origin of that weapon,’ she says. ‘That woman is tenacious – what if she manages to link it to my dad?’
‘Then someone broke in,’ he says. ‘You don’t go there a lot, so you only just discovered it and so on. I’m sure you can make it look convincing.’
‘Sjitt!’ she says ‘And what if there’s DNA evidence linking those bodies to Bruno? Are we supposed to bury that too?’
‘The man’s body was found in a dumpster – plenty of contamination there. On top of that, the patrol couldn’t secure either murder scene. When they tried to bring those bodies out, the students got in the way – Bruno was amongst them.’
Nero rubs his eyes like a tired man. ‘Under normal circumstances, any decent lawyer would be able to secure an acquittal on that basis alone. But these aren’t normal times. Aside from everything else, there’s a real danger Bruno could become a pawn in someone’s nasty little power game. Possessing an unlicensed firearm, concealing a body – they wouldn’t just throw the book, they’d
hurl it at him.’
‘I’ve always hated that stupid fokking idiom,’ Kass says removing her spectacles. ‘They use it in those old films. Is it meant to be the bible or some legal book?’
When he opens his mouth to speak, she says, ‘No – don’t answer.’ Kass takes her time cleaning each lens in turn with her shirttail. ‘Let’s say I see your point. Once his name comes up, we won’t be able to control things – the harm will have already been done.’
‘And I know you’ve grown fond of the boy,’ he says.
‘Didn’t figure you’d stoop to emotional blackmail – seems I’m not the only one who’s grown fond of him. And, by the way, will you stop trying to get inside my head.’ She puts her glasses on and he comes into sharper focus.
‘I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have gone there,’ he says. ‘It was coercive. The decision has to be yours. All I’m asking is that you think about it for a little while. After that, if you want to bring him in for questioning, I can’t and won’t stop you.’
‘You know there’s a line in the saga of Gísli Súrsson,’ she says. ‘I was reminded of it right after those first decoy killings. As things have gone on, it seems more and more appropriate.’
Kass turns to look directly into Nero’s eyes. ‘Great deeds and ill deeds often fall within each other’s shadow.’ She doesn’t look away in a hurry; not until she sees Maxwell at the end of the corridor heading towards them.
Nero’s quick to retrieve the deet and hide it. He goes over to open the door. ‘Like I said,’ he says, lowering his voice. ‘I’ve made my own decision. Now it’s up to you.’
Kass needs air. She pauses on the threshold. ‘Tell me you don’t already know what my answer will be.’
‘If it helps I will,’ he says.
‘Damnit,’ she says. ‘I hate that you know me so well.’
Fifteen
Nero steps outside into improving weather. Just an hour before curfew and the low sun is gilding the clouds along with all the hard edges of the city. It’s a fine sight. The walk is helping to loosen his limbs after a long, confined day. If his footsteps aren’t exactly light, they’re determined – he’s been putting this visit off for long enough.
Passing Gianni’s café, he gives a wave to the man himself and it’s reciprocated. He wishes he had more time to chat with his friend. He smiles back remembering the time he’d taken Chan there. He can still picture her stirring her tea – their first date as it turned out.
Nero doesn’t need to listen again to recall every last detail of the sworn statement Jie Ning had made. In a clear voice, she’d described how she’d been abducted from the corner of the block he’s approaching, which coincidentally happened to be one of the few dark spots within the CBD’s extensive surveillance network.
Her strained voice had given out several times while describing her worst fears. At every point where she’d been asked for more details – the exact number of assailants, the type of vehicle they’d used, she’d broken down completely. After the break that was deemed necessary, Chan had vividly recalled being manhandled out of the vehicle and bundled inside the disused factory; at which point she’d been reduced to incoherent babbling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, she’d whispered over and over before the insistent voice of her therapist had cut in to demand they suspend the interview due to her patient’s clear and obvious distress.
Had to hand it to Chan – it was a near-perfect performance designed to convince even the most skeptical of listeners; the exceptions being himself and, far more unfortunately, State Governor Hagalín.
Nearing the expressway stop, Nero’s gaze snags on the streetcams now covering every conceivable angle of approach; his schematic confirmed every gap in the network had been similarly filled. Big Brother would be proud.
It’s a disquieting experience to be heading back to the city’s central hospital – about to walk through the same doors he must have been wheeled through after the ambush at the bank. He’d read somewhere that this complex of buildings represents a celebration of Neo-Brutalist architecture – in the fading light, the place looks a million miles away from any kind of celebration. He stops to look up at this looming monstrosity where births and deaths were always housed in such close proximity. Despite the best efforts of tamed hawks, the concrete sides of the building are streaked with the guano of a tenacious gull colony.
Once inside, Nero heads towards the Victim Recovery Unit – an undistinguished building set a short distance apart from the others.
The unit’s interior is a pleasant surprise. Considerable effort has been made to soften plain walls with colourful art and the furnishings do their best to suggest that this is a halfway house between the starkness of a hospital and the comforts of home.
An arrangement of real flowers sits on the reception desk. He’s asked to state name and purpose – it’s quite a question. ‘I’m here to see Constable Jie Ning Chan,’ he tells the distracted clerk. The scent of lilies drifts on the overheated air. Every one of the pure white bellflowers has had its stamens removed to prevent any saffron staining. Why choose real flowers and then cut off the very thing that makes them distinctive? ‘She’s expecting me,’ he says. Instead of leaving it there, he feels compelled to add, ‘I’m not just a colleague – we’re friends.’
The heat forces Nero to remove his coat while the clerk continues to search his monitor. ‘Ah yes, I can see Miss Chan is currently in the glass house. Many of our patients find its tranquility highly therapeutic.’ Nero meets his pale, indifferent eyes. ‘Walk straight through that door there and follow the signs.’ He touches Nero’s sleeve. ‘We ask that, inside the glass house itself, visitors keep their voices low and refrain from using their studs.’
‘Okay.’ Nero nods his assent. ‘Will do.’
Walking towards Chan, he goes over the question he’s here to find an answer to – just how much she now remembers of that night? Under normal circumstances, the most fleeting of touches would tell him everything he needed to know without ever having to ask. Chan is the one exception to that rule – always an enigma to him.
Though relatively modern in construction, the glass house belongs to another era – a time when leisured people grew exotic blooms to demonstrate their own cultivation. Its trapped atmosphere is redolent with perfumed fertility. Through the steamed-up windows he can see that the dying sun is now staining the sky in the reds and purples of a fresh bruise.
A wave of excited apprehension dampens his palms and increases his heartrate. Fight or flight? The same physiological response experienced by all animals – humans are no different.
At first Chan is hidden amongst all the extravagant foliage but then he catches sight of her slender figure. ‘There you are,’ he says.
She starts at the sound of his voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ he tells her, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
She remains seated. Her expression gives him no clue as to whether she’s pleased to see him or not.
He lays his heavy coat down on the short wall that retains the unnaturally dark soil and goes towards her. She’s well camouflaged in a flower print blouse that could almost be silk. When she turns to look at him, her beauty strikes him anew.
Nero stays where he is some distance away. He checks for those three lined-up moles beneath her right eye and they’re still there. There’s now a small hairless scar on her head marking the passage of the photon blast that had grazed her to hit Williams.
The sun’s many colours are illuminating one side of her face and for a moment she becomes a portrait of herself– an artist’s study suggesting the hidden depths of a sitter’s personality.
He clears his throat. ‘So how are you feeling?’
She narrows her eyes as if he’s too far away to focus on. ‘How should I be feeling?’ she asks in the same slowed-down voice she’d used in that interview. Perhaps he’d been wrong about that; perhaps she might genuinely be suffering from shock-induced amnesia. Who could blame her for shutting her mind to e
verything that happened?
He tries a smile, attempts to soften his features so that she doesn’t keep looking at him with the expression that’s now crept into her eyes. I’m not your enemy, he soundlessly tells her. ‘The main thing is you’re okay,’ he says out loud. ‘You survived and you’re safe now; no one can touch you.’
She makes no reply. Instead, her gaze is drawn upwards to the domed ceiling. As she tilts her head back, her whole face takes on the many hues of the darkening sky. Extraordinary. They could be in a place of worship.
‘It’s nice here,’ she says, at last, ‘so very peaceful. If I close my eyes, I could be anywhere but this city.’
With her eyelids closed she seems serene – like she might rise above everything else. He lets the silence take over. And after all, what was so wrong about blocking out unpleasant memories? Wouldn’t this troubled world benefit from a hefty dose of amnesia?
He’s taken back to how she looked lying insensible on that cold concrete floor. He’d made his choice then; acting for the greater good though it meant abandoning her. He can’t bear to imagine her left behind in the cold and dark surrounded by the dead.
Would he have made the same choice if he hadn’t found out about her origins?
‘This city’s far from perfect,’ he says, ‘but there are worse places to live.’
‘Are there?’ Her head snaps round. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’
‘You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. It’s bound to take time for you to–’
‘Why don’t we cut to the chase, Inspector,’ she says, her voice hardening along with her eyes. ‘You didn’t come here to inquire about my welfare. You came here to find out exactly how much I remember about that night.’
Within Each Other's Shadow Page 8
