Bruno takes her offered hand. One touch gives him her whole life; a life that was once full of such promise but not anymore. He’d known the boy’s parents weren’t close but it’s a shock to learn that Baltasar’s little sister has a different father – a younger man Elspeth would leave her tyrant of a husband for in a heartbeat if she weren’t so frightened of what would come next.
‘I’m sorry,’ Bruno says, sitting down on her son’s bed.
‘He’s got this condition – some sort of a low blood-sugar type thing,’ Baltasar says. ‘He’s had something to eat but I guess not enough.’
‘Then the poor boy must stay for supper,’ Elspeth decides. She looks down at him. ‘Are you diabetic? Is there anything you can’t eat?’
His head is clearing. ‘No – I’m pretty much an omnivore,’ he tells her.
Elspeth turns to her son. ‘I assume your omnivorous friend has a name?’
‘Sorry, Ma; this is Bruno Mastriano.’
She nods. ‘Italian – don’t worry, we won’t hold that against you.’ A joke but a poor one – she knows it but doesn’t apologise. ‘I see you’ve already got plenty to snack on.’ She peers across the room. ‘Come, Silla, I know you’re in here. Stop bothering these boys.’
At the door she turns. ‘Send her packing if she’s a nuisance. Oh, and supper will be ready in about half an hour.’
The door closes. Bruno stays where he is. The little girl is stirring behind him. She tickles the back of his neck with her hair. ‘Raaar!’ she cries, pitching herself forward. When he growls back, she squeals, revealing a gap in her front teeth. ‘I know who you are,’ she says, giggling as she waves her short finger at him. ‘You’re the tiger who came to tea!’
He tickles her ribs and she roars with laughter. When she grabs his hand, his brain swims with her thoughts. The knowledge of all their interlinked lives overwhelms his brain and for a second he’s forced to shut his eyes.
Then, like a wakeup call, he feels those little fingers dig into his ribcage and he laughs out loud. Looking up, he sees Baltasar watching him, his quick smile not quite masking his suspicion.
Though they’re eating in the kitchen, there’s an established ritual to the meal that fascinates Bruno. Like dancers, they take their usual seats, spread napkins across their laps and begin to pass around bowls of hot food. Hands automatically hold up dishes so others can help themselves. He’s seen this type of family meal many times in the movies but never experienced it for real.
There’s even a bottle of red wine doing the rounds. ‘Bon appetit!’ Elspeth says. Her glass contains a very modest amount. ‘Or maybe in honour of our new Italian friend I should say buon appitito!’ He can tell she’s already a little high on something else.
The food is tasty enough and there’s plenty of it.
A holo-pro machine on the wall begins to purr and the next second Governor Hagalín is projected into the room like the ghost of Banquo.
Silla ducks down and covers her face with her napkin. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ Elspeth says not quite sotto voce. Of course, they’ve all met this man many times in person.
‘Good evening everyone,’ the governor declares. His attempt at an avuncular smile needs more practice. ‘I bring good news,’ he tells his unseen audience. ‘Our security forces have established order and effectively neutralised all those who tried to threaten our democracy. Our streets are safe again and so I’m pleased to announce the curfew hours have been further reduced. All of you can once again enjoy complete freedom of movements outside the hours of 12:30 – 4:00 A.M. It’s our hope that very soon even this minor imposition will be lifted.’
His smiling face turns first one way and then the other as if waiting for the silent applause to subside. ‘I thank you all for your patience and now may I bid you all a happy and peaceful good night.’
Silla peeks out from behind her napkin to check he’s gone. ‘Sit up straight,’ her mother tells her. The announcement has soured the atmosphere around the table. Their meal continues in near-silence.
‘This is delicious,’ Bruno says.
‘Thank you.’ Elspeth knocks back her glass of wine. She looks down at her pecked-at food. No one speaks; the sound of cutlery meeting plate is amplified.
‘I can’t remember when I last had such a tasty meal,’ Bruno says, looking from one to the other. The everyday orderliness of their lives is about to be blown apart. He has to find a way to save them from a threat they can’t see and won’t hear coming.
Thirty-One
Despite the late hour, the DCI asks Chan to come to his office. She’s irritated at being summonsed like this so late in the day. She decides to keep her coat on to illustrate how she was just about to go home; the extra layer is a comfort, another strata of armour against whatever he has to say to her.
Someone has fixed a sign to his door that reads: D.C.I. O. Laskaris but the first three letters aren’t properly aligned. She wonders if he’s noticed.
At her knock, he calls out: ‘Come!’ Just the one word like he’s too busy or it’s too much trouble to add another.
It’s an impressive sized room, impersonal except for a couple of photographs propped up on his desk. She can’t see who’s in them.
‘Please sit down, Constable,’ he says. ‘I won’t keep you long. I just thought the two of us might have a little chat.’
Up close, he looks older in an indeterminate sort of way. Her eyes are drawn to the strange bump on the bridge of his nose; she wonders if he always sees it in his line of sight. ‘I hope your first day back wasn’t too overwhelming,’ he says. The smile he puts on doesn’t sit well on his face and soon slides off.
‘Well, it’s been a long day,’ she says. ‘Lots to catch up on. I’m far from up-to-speed but I’m getting there. You asked us to concentrate on Commander Rockingham and so we’ve been going over his movements in the days leading up to his assassination, looking for anything unusual – anything that stands out from the norm. He was a busy man – there’s still an awful lot to get through.’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Laskaris leans forward and she smells his incipient halitosis. ‘Constable Chan – you don’t mind if I call you Jie Ning?’
‘Not at all, sir.’ He doesn’t suggest she might like to call him whatever the O stands for.
‘So, Jie Ning, I’m sure your therapists have made every effort to help you recover your memory – fill in those blanks, as it were.’
Oliver? Or something more Greek – Odysseus? Othello? He talks about her therapy – or around the subject at any rate – while she stares at his mouth wondering what the issue is.
Perhaps he notices her distraction because he suddenly raises his voice and at the same time fixes her in his sights. Like cat’s eyes, they’re too green, those whiskery eyebrows half shading them. ‘It’s no exaggeration to say you alone may hold the key to our understanding of what happened in that factory,’ he feels the need to tell her.
Chan opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off with a raised hand. ‘Lord knows I’m not trying to pressurise you; God forbid it. I’m fully aware of the lasting effects of trauma.’ His sigh suggests the depth of his sorrow or disappointment at the present state of her mind. ‘The SOCOs report is full of errors and omissions. It’s fair to say they left the scene somewhat prematurely.’ He shakes his head. ‘In any case, we are where we are. As I’m sure you know, one of the bodies recovered was a man we’ve identified as Hank Williams. He’d been working as a chauffeur for Commander Rockingham and almost certainly played a crucial role in his assassination.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she says. It’s uncertain what else he expects her to say.
‘The thing is, Jie Ning, if you happen to remember anything new – anything at all about what went on in that factory – however trivial it may seem – I want you to tell me first. Can you do that for me, Jie Ning?’
‘Yes, of course, sir.’ She’s irritated by the way he keeps repeating her name as if she might have forgotten who she is.
‘Good. We have an understanding.’ He sits back, swings his chair a little to the left and then abruptly stands up. ‘I won’t delay you any further, Constable; I’m sure you’re tired. Early start and, um, longish day and all that.’ Why has he hesitated before adding and all that? It was just enough for her to suspect he knows full well where she spent last night.
‘Have a good evening,’ he says. She feels his eyes on her as she walks to the door.
Maxwell must have been lurking nearby because she catches up with her in the corridor. ‘So, what did he say, then?’
‘Nothing much. He wants me to try to remember what happened.’ She keeps walking towards the exit. ‘Like I haven’t been trying hard enough.’
Maxwell grabs her arm forcing her to a halt. ‘He shouldn’t be putting pressure on you like that – especially on your first day back. He needs to back off.’
‘Yes, well, unfortunately he sees me as some sort of magic key to unlock the whole bloody mystery.’
Shaking her head, Maxwell says, ‘Well, if you ask me, the woman they found lying next to you is the biggest mystery of all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Chan feels defensive – she’s talking about her twin, after all.
‘You have to ask yourself why would IBR come and whisk her body away from Forensics and then the next minute cremate it. Whole thing’s totally unprecedented.’
‘Didn’t take you for a conspiracy theorist.’ She tries to look unconcerned as she looks into the girl’s brown eyes. ‘Come on, out with it. What’s your explanation?’
Maxwell moves a little closer. ‘Dr Bjarnadóttir was certain the woman had been interfered with.’
‘Are you saying she’d been raped?’
‘No – nothing like that. I mean, in her report Jóra concluded that the woman’s DNA wasn’t normal; that her genes had been altered.’
Shock runs through Chan’s body, her insides seem to drop away; she wonders if she’s about to be physically sick.
Maxwell doesn’t notice. In Chan’s ear her voice is a whisper. ‘Jóra Bjarnadóttir’s report states categorically that she found wolf genes in that woman’s DNA.’ Though the woman has no idea of their significance, her words continue to pour into Chan’s consciousness like some evil spirit trying to possess her. ‘Think what they do with those foxes over there – all the genetic tinkering that goes on? I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to put it together.’
When she doesn’t respond, Maxwell nudges her. ‘If you ask me, I’d say it was pretty obvious the woman they found in the factory was a chimera – not fully human. As soon as Magnúsdóttir and her team got wind that Jóra was onto them, IBR made damned sure they covered their arses by snatching the body, rubbishing Jóra’s report and destroying all the evidence. They even burnt those three vixens.’
The girl stands back like she’s expecting applause.
Her expression changes. ‘Are you alright, Jie Ning? You look like you’re about to faint.’
Chan thinks back to the way that dog had wanted to attack her on her way here. It wasn’t the first time. The truth is animals have never liked her. People’s cats are the same – they won’t come near her. She’d always thought they picked up on her distrust of them, her insipient fear, but perhaps it wasn’t that – perhaps they can sense something’s not right about her.
She feels Maxwell’s arm around her propping her up. ‘You need to sit down.’ Opening the first door they come to, she offloads her into an empty chair. ‘Maybe you came back to soon,’ she says. ‘I’ll get you a glass of water.’ As if that was all that was necessary to make everything alright.
Thirty-Two
That pounding beat continues to assault Nero’s ears. During a short and blissful hiatus, he strains to hear what’s being said but all’s gone quiet up there. It’s possible they’ve left by another entrance – and his stud confirms the building has a surprising number of exit points – instinct tells him Arthur is still here.
A bitter draft of air enters with every new customer. He notices the booths around him are beginning to fill. No one’s saying a lot and none of the new arrivals is keen to meet his eye. He has a fair idea of what else goes on here later.’
Staring down at the melting ice in his glass, Nero considers his options. Whatever he does he mustn’t risk blowing this lead by acting rashly. Better to sit tight. It’s coming up to six and Anna will be finishing her shift soon; he’ll need to take the girl somewhere they can talk without any interruptions.
Hagalín’s public pronouncement overrides everything else – the man’s weasel-like voice resounds in his ear long after his statement is concluded. He’s heard quite enough from Hagalín the beneficent – the singlehanded saviour of democracy.
‘Hæ,’ Anna says, interrupting his thoughts. The apron is missing and she’s carrying a thick jacket that’s anything but sexy. ‘Jerry let me go a few minutes early.’ She’s still under the impression this is a date and Nero decides not to disabuse her of the idea before he’s had a chance to explain.
‘Then let’s go,’ he says, pushing away his half empty glass.
Outside, the coldness of the air sobers her. No longer on home territory, Anna is less certain about him. ‘This isn’t something I do normally,’ she says. ‘I mean, I don’t even know your name.’ There’s an awkward moment of indecision.
‘Nero,’ he tells her. ‘In case you hadn’t guessed already I’m Italian – at least by birth.’ He holds up both open hands. ’And don’t worry, I promise you I’m quite harmless.’ All things considered, he’s not so sure of the accuracy of that particular statement.
‘Mmm, but you’d say that even if you were some kind of pervert or serial killer.’
‘You make a good point.’
She twists her mouth to one side. ‘From what I remember, wasn’t Nero that dude who did all sorts of terrible things and then sat playing the violin while ancient Rome burnt down around his ears?’ Her eyebrows come together. ‘Why would someone name you after a bloke like that?’
‘Good question.’ He grins. ‘Although where I’m from it’s actually quite a common name. As for that story about Nero – the mad emperor who fiddled while Rome burned – it’s not factually correct.’
‘So history’s got the poor man all wrong; he was misunderstood and was actually a sensitive soul.’
‘Oh no, he was a tyrannical monster alright, but bowed string instruments weren’t introduced in Europe until about 800 years later.’
Anna laughs – a full and proper laugh this time and he joins in. As their faces sober she stamps her boots, her breath streaming the air as she waits to hear his next suggestion. It feels like a test.
‘I don’t know this part of town very well,’ he says.
She hesitates for a second before linking her arm to his. ‘Might I suggest you allow me to be your guide to this particular quarter, Your Divinity. There’s a place I know just round the corner. Don’t know about you but I’m absolutely starving. We can get something to eat there – they even have pizza.’
‘Ah, but we Romans don’t go in for pizza.’
‘So what do you ancients like to eat?’
‘We’re rather partial to garam – a sauce made from well-rotted fish guts. We slosh that over everything.’
‘Sounds very similar to Kæstur hákarl – that stuff made from rotten sharks.’
‘Thankfully, I haven’t tried it. Though I had a friend who swore it cured just about everything.’
‘Take one mouthful and it probably burns your taste buds off.’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘I mean it smells like cleaning fluid only so much worse. My grandfather still eats it though we make him go outside so the rest of us aren’t violently sick. I’m not exaggerating – he can only eat it in high summer.’
They’ve left the openness of the square for a long alleyway. All the while Anna keeps up her end of the conversation. Such a nice girl – under different circumstances he’d be enjoying her company.
She squeezes his ar
m as they emerge into brighter lights. After the intimacy of the alley, it’s disconcerting to be thrust straight into a bustling street. ‘It’s just across the road,’ she says. ‘Place on the corner there: Eldís-Fish.’
Nero pulls a face.
‘I know it’s a terrible name but, trust me, you’ll like it. The chef’s a friend of mine. I come here all the time; it’s a good place to go after work.’
Nero stops dead. The message on his stud is a shock he’s finding hard to process.
‘Something wrong? You’ve gone quiet,’ she says. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ He’s reminded of Chan – how she used the exact same phrase. What the hell is he doing here?
‘Sorry – miles away.’
‘Am I boring you? I mean, if you’ve changed your mind– ’
‘No – it’s nothing like that. Look, I’m really sorry but I’ve just had some awful news. I’m afraid I really have to go.’
He dodges around the next lot of pedestrians so he can look her straight in the face. ‘You’ll be alright getting home from here?’
She frowns at him. ‘I’m a big girl, Nero. Besides, hasn’t the governor himself just assured us the streets of this city are completely safe.’
Thirty-Three
Just as Kass arrives home she gets the call. She grabs a drink from the fridge and downs it while making the usual excuses to Wifrith and the kids; then she’s out of the door again and heading for the expressway stop. It’s weird to be making the reverse journey so soon.
She’ll rendezvous with Nero at DSD’s vehicle hangar. He’s arranged for them to pick up a couple of TYR 8s, which will make it easier to negotiate the stream of traffic coming away from the port at this hour.
When she arrives, Nero is already astride his. ‘I’ll put the screamers on,’ he says before lowering the canopy.
She follows in his slipstream. It’s a nifty machine; Kass admires the way it responds to the slightest shift of her weight as they weave a path through all the oncoming. She’d like to buy one but Wifrith considers them too dangerous. Her wife could be right.
Within Each Other's Shadow Page 17
