Within Each Other's Shadow

by Jan Turk Petrie

  They’re approaching the main harbour area; this time it’s lit up like a stadium. They get as close as possible before dismounting. After the silence inside the canopy, the noise of the place really hits her – all that metal clanging against metal.

  Twenty metres away, a man wearing ear-defenders is sending out a stream of sparks like an unending firework. Across her eye-line a giant crane swings a load away towards one of the ships. More cranes are moving goods back and forth with balletic efficiency.

  Some man dressed as a stevedore saunters towards them looking to intimidate. He’s exceptionally tall, his florescent outfit highlighting a solid frame – he’s a human stop sign.

  She walks up to him, makes damn sure she invades his personal space. ‘I’m Inspector Kassöndrudóttir and this is Inspector Cavallo,’ she says, holding her ID in his face. ‘We understand there’s been a fatality here this afternoon.’

  Not exactly mollified, the stevedore peers long and hard at her credentials and then Nero’s. ‘Homicide Department, eh.’ Reluctantly, he steps aside. His tone suggests incredulity. ‘Surprised to see you guys down here investigating an obvious accident. Ports are dangerous places – always have been, always will be.’ He shrugs. ‘These things can happen.’

  ‘Thank you for sharing your opinion,’ she says. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘It’s Olsen – William Olsen.’

  ‘Well, Mr Olsen, perhaps you can show us where this apparent accident took place.’

  He turns to point at a sign that reads: transshipment facilities. ‘Just follow your noses,’ he says. When she looks back, Olsen has his hands planted on his hips, still smirking after them.

  A taped-off section is visible from a hundred metres or so, the red and white tape is being blown almost horizontal. As they approach, the head and shoulders of a diver bobs up. He fishes something out and lands it on the quayside. Once they get closer she recognises it as the major part of a hand.

  A lumpy blue body bag lies along the dockside. Next to it, a lone forensic officer is squatting down ready to bag up the still dripping hand. Despite the head to toe suit, Kass can see from the shape that it’s a woman.

  Nero snaps on gloves as he approaches the officer and Kass does the same. The woman’s name badge reads: Dr L. Kerslake. Her eyes are the only visible part of her. Peering through the goggles, Kass can see they’re light brown. The skin around them is pale and unwrinkled. As far as she’s is aware, this woman isn’t one of Jue Hai’s regular team.

  Nero can’t have recognised her either because he holds up his ID. ‘Dr Kerslake – I’m DI Cavallo, Homicide,’ he says. ‘This is DI Kassöndrudóttir. What can you tell us about what’s happened here?’

  Still holding the man’s hand inside its plastic wrapper, Kerslake looks down at the rest of his remains. ‘Name’s Andersen; older guy; he was one of the senior port officers here. Seems he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got nudged by the jib of a derrick. By all accounts it wasn’t much of a blow – just enough for him to lose his footing.’ She points a gloved finger. ‘He fell into the water about there – in the gap between the hull of that ship and the harbour wall.’

  The ship she’s now pointing at must since have been moved to the next berth. It makes sense. Kass can see no staining or any sign of the accident above its waterline.

  ‘The crane driver was doing his best to pull Andersen out when a freighter left port. Seems it’s wake caused the ship to drift across tight to its moorings and the poor man got crushed in between.’

  Kass looks down at the body bag. ‘Can we take a look at him?’

  ‘Sure.’ Dr Kerslake’s accent is American or Canadian – Kass has never been good at distinguishing between them. ‘Guess I should warn you it’s not a pretty sight.’ She pulls the zip down to reveal a mess of wet flesh and bloodstained clothing. The contours of Andersen’s head have been altered to such an extent it’s impossible for her to reassemble his features into those of the living man. Though wet through, his hair looks roughly the same as she remembers and that’s about it.

  Nero looks around. ‘And the crane driver – where’s he?’

  ‘As you might expect, he’s taken the whole thing really badly,’ Kerslake says. ‘Ambulance took him away a few minutes ago. He’s being treated for shock. The way he was cutting up, I thought he might have a heart attack or a stroke or something. He kept on repeating to anyone who would listen that he heard Andersen’s skull snap like it was a nut being cracked.’

  ‘Any other witnesses to what happened?’

  ‘That stevedore over there told me he came running when he heard cries, but by then he couldn’t do anything to stop the boat hitting Andersen.’

  The man in question is the big fellow – Olsen. He must have followed them down and is now hanging a short distance back. There’s no chance he’ll shed any more light on what happened here.

  ‘You said the deceased was nudged by a derrick,’ Kass says. ‘What about the man who was operating it?’

  ‘The crane driver? Like I told you, the guy’s being taken to hospital as we speak.’

  ‘But you said earlier he was hit by a derrick and that isn’t quite the same as a crane,’ Kass insists.

  ‘You got me there.’ Kerslake holds up both arms seemingly unaware that she’s still holding the bag containing Andersen’s hand. Kass tries not to look at it. ‘Far as I know, it’s the same guy.’ Kerslake remembers the hand suspended from her own; from it, her gaze falls to the rest of the port officer’s remains.

  Further along the quay, the police diver is out of the water, stripped to the waist and towelling himself down with some vigour. Kass shivers.

  ‘This was the only missing piece,’ Kerslake says. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to arrange the removal of the body.’ She turns aside. ‘You’ll get my full report in due course.’

  Nero stays her with a hand to her shoulder. ‘Are you taking him to DSD?’

  ‘No, to Central; that’s where I’m based.’

  With her work done, Kass would expect the woman to pull down the mask covering her mouth but she doesn’t. Behind the goggles, Kerslake eyes them both in turn. ‘With respect, there’s nothing at all to indicate we’re looking at anything more than a workplace accident here,’ she says. ‘I’m not sure who notified Homicide or why they would have done that. Look around you – docks are a dangerous place; a small mistake, a seemingly insignificant mishap in a place like this, it can easily have fatal consequences.’

  ‘Did you get anything else from her?’ Kass asks him once they’re safely out of earshot. Nero gives her a long look that could mean anything and then almost imperceptibly shakes his head.

  In silence they make their way back to the TYRs. Kass does a visual check on both vehicles. There’s no sign either have been tampered with.

  Sitting astride, she activates the motor and for good measure runs a full systems analysis before she gives Nero the thumbs-up.

  He leans in so close an observer might think he’s about to kiss her. ‘This was done well,’ he whispers; four words that are more than enough to set her mind running in all directions.

  Once his machine has finished the diagnostic, he nods. ‘Let’s go,’ he says. ‘I’ll be right behind you all the way back.’

  Thirty-Four

  Nero lets him in without further comment. They greet each other with the usual backslap and hug. Bruno wonders if they should drop this routine for a more arm’s length greeting – the physical contact always reveals more than either of them are comfortable with.

  He watches Nero’s gaze travel straight to the backpack he’s just offloaded. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been carrying an unlicensed weapon out on the streets,’ he says. ‘What the fokk’s the matter with you? Supposing a patrol had stopped you – what then?’

  ‘There are ways to deal with that sort of situation,’ Bruno reminds him. ‘Oh wait, I forgot – that’s not something you do.’

  ‘I happen to th
ink hypnosis should only be carried out by a trained practitioner,’ Nero says, taking his coat. ‘You really shouldn’t go messing around with people’s minds. Did you know it can induce psychosis and other – ’

  ‘Do I detect a touch of jealousy?’

  ‘Don’t get too cocky – it won’t always get you out of trouble. Remember, around a quarter of the population are resistant to any type of suggestibility.’

  Bruno smirks. ‘Sounds like a challenge.’

  They head towards the kitchen. ‘I know you’re not hungry,’ Nero says. ‘Grab a beer – you can watch me eat.’

  Bruno looks down at his half-eaten burger and pulls a face. ‘If you ask me,’ he says, ‘those things should be made from real meat or else why bother.’

  ‘Did I ask you? No – I did not.’ Nero takes a bite and spends a while chewing on it. ‘Besides, you’d choose the veggie option if you’d seen what I have today.’

  It surprises him that he has no idea what Nero is talking about. His brain is still heavy with the lives of the Avraham family so perhaps he’s suffering from some kind of mental overload.

  Nero’s about to dip a fry into ketchup but when he looks at the colour he changes his mind. Instead he turns his attention to Bruno. ‘That gun came from the cabin. I know you still have the Glock.’

  ‘So consider the Browning a gift,’ Bruno tells him. ‘I have a feeling you’re going to need it.’

  ‘Just a feeling or something more?’

  ‘Not sure.’ Bruno stands up. ‘Look, my head’s stuffed with all kinds of crap right now. Do you ever get that? Other people’s lives are so fokking complicated.’

  Nero’s not really listening. He pushes away his meal. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, I need to get in touch with someone rather urgently.’

  He disappears into the bedroom but returns no more than a minute later rubbing at the stubble on his chin. Bruno waits for the explanation he knows is coming. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with a man called Svensson – one of the port officers who helped us. He seems to have gone AWOL.’

  An image floods Bruno’s brain. ‘That’s where you were earlier – down at the harbour.’

  Nero rolls his head. ‘Svensson was one of only two port officers we had contact with. When I say we – I’m including Quentin and Kass. It was the other officer – Andersen – who had the fatal accident earlier today.’

  ‘And you think something’s happened to the other bloke?’ Bruno exhales. ‘And now you’re wondering if Quentin or Freyja might have had a hand in Andersen’s death and this other guy’s possible disappearance, that they could be tying up loose ends or something. Wait – but now you’re thinking someone else could have got to him first.’

  ‘Will you stop reading my fokking mind!’ Nero wraps his arms around his head before turning on him, elbows sticking out like bulls’ horns aimed at Bruno. ‘Damnit, can’t we have a normal conversation where you say something and I say something back and that’s it? Terminare!’

  Bruno grabs his beer by the neck and sits down heavily on the couch. ‘What do you expect, man? We’re telepatico – you of all people should realise it’s not something you can switch on and off at will.’

  ‘Don’t call me man.’ Nero lowers his arms. ‘Anyway why are you here? Something’s troubling you; I just can’t quite– ’

  ‘I thought we weren’t doing that. You just this minute said– ’

  ‘Oh Sjitt! Those damned decoys have got you into something, haven’t they? Don’t you see they’re trying to force you to become complicit in their scheme? Freyja’s the worst – the woman’s indiscriminate. Imagine the chaos if they get their way.’

  Closing his eyes, Bruno tries to shut that part of his mind down. He waits to see if Nero will uncover the rest.

  The couch shifts with Nero’s weight. He gives a heavy sigh. When Bruno opens his eyes, he’s sitting there studying his face. ‘If I think you’re obstructing justice or conspiring with others, I will arrest you – you know that, don’t you?’

  Anger catches in Bruno’s throat. ‘Look, I’m trying to do the right thing here.’

  ‘And what would that be, exactly?’

  ‘Give it a rest; you’re not my dad.’ He’s said the same thing many times in his life but for the first time it feels like a betrayal. Bruno leaps to his feet in a bid to put more distance between the two of them. ‘You’re so damned keen to lecture me.’ A quote from the bible comes to him. “Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam from thine own eye and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote from thy brother's eye.”

  ‘Bravo. I’d say your education hadn’t been entirely wasted if I didn’t know you acquired that along with all your classical education from raiding poor Magnus Jónsson’s mind.’

  ‘And right now, you’re obfuscating because you know I’m only pointing out what you already know you know.’

  Bruno’s not sure that last bit made sense. ‘Truth is, you’re the one who’s morally compromised. You’re meant to be a homicide detective but you can’t divulge any information about any of the murders that took place in that factory. You know exactly who assassinated Rockingham but you can’t tell anyone about that either.’

  Bruno’s heart is thumping but he’s not finished – not by a long way. ‘We both know Dr Arthur’s been flouting every ethical guideline on bio-engineering but you can’t, or more accurately, won’t expose him because if you did it might expose Chan. ‘On top of all that, you know you have no way of catching either of those decoys because chances are they’ll be wearing those suits. And don’t get me started on those damned suits – ’

  ‘Enough!’ Nero shouts. ‘Okay, I take your point. D’you think I don’t know how untenable my position is?’ He seems to sink down further into the couch. With a mounting sense of horror, Bruno wonders if he might be about to burst into tears.

  ‘Look. I may have overstated my case just now,’ he says, lowering his voice.

  ‘No.’ Nero keeps on shaking his head. ‘You haven’t said anything I haven’t already thought.’ He looks down at his hands as if they might contain the answer to his conundrum. ‘You’re right, I’m a fraud; I’ve lost all right to call myself a policeman never mind a detective.’

  ‘You asked me why I came here,’ Bruno says, sitting down beside him. He’s tempted to put his arms around the man’s shoulders but sympathy is the last thing he wants or needs. ‘I came here tonight to help you.’

  ‘How exactly?’ The eyes that look back at him are so weary – it’s like Nero’s just aged five years in front of his eyes. ‘You may be gifted but you can’t turn back time. Everything used to be so much simpler.’

  Bruno nudges him. ‘Look, man, before you go off on one, I’m here because I have something to tell you and it’s important.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think I may have discovered something significant.’ Even as Bruno’s debating with himself, words leave his mouth. ‘I’ve heard a name – Viktor. Don’t know the bloke’s last one.’

  ‘Do you know how many Viktors there– ’

  ‘Listen. This guy’s an old friend of Hagalín and Dr Arthur – amongst others. They all go way back. While I was on Dr Arthur’s yacht, I found a fancy wine opener in his cabin with an interesting inscription. It said, “To the Viktor belong the spoils”.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard the saying.’ He’s pleased to see Nero’s looking a little more curious.

  ‘The word Viktor was spelt with a K. The quote is a reference to the prestigious positions any new American president is able to bestow on his supporters.’ He holds up a hand. ‘Okay, I admit I got that from Jónsson but the point is – ’

  ‘The point is it suggests that that yacht wasn’t bought with Arthur’s family money like the tax records state; instead it was payment for services rendered.’ Nero is leaning forward focusing on his every word. ‘This Viktor, do you know anything else about him?’

  ‘Only that he’s unusually tall with fair hair.’ Bruno smi
les. ‘However, I can do better than that – I have an image of him on my stud. It’s from when he was younger – around my age.’

  ‘It won’t be a problem to age him – we’ll be able to get a fair idea of what he looks like now. Where did you find this old photo?’ Nero closes his eyes. ‘You were in a room full of trophies. Not a museum; someone’s house. You were talking–’

  ‘Okay, okay. You’re starting to sound like one of those phoney spiritualists.’ Bruno takes a breath. ‘To tell you the truth, I was in the Avrahams’ house.’

  ‘As in Commander Avraham? You recorded something inside the man’s fokking house?’

  ‘Ice it a minute, will you? By the way, I’ve noticed you’re using a lot of bad language this evening. It’s not like I broke into the place. I was there as a guest of –’

  ‘His son Baltasar.’ Nero grabs him by the shoulders. ‘They’ll have recordings of you – he’ll have people checking you out right now.’

  ‘Don’t sweat it. I took precautions.’

  ‘Listen to yourself; you sound like a fokking virgin and that’s exactly what you are when it comes to these people. They’ll throw you to the wolves – eat you alive as soon as look at you.’

  ‘You’re being alarmist and also seriously mixing your metaphors. You’ll have to trust me on this,’ Bruno says. ‘The situation is in hand. As far as the commander’s security system goes, it’s like I was never there.’

  Thirty-Five

  Bruno is still fast asleep on the couch. It’s not a good fit. Sipping his coffee, Nero watches the boy adjust his position until one of his arms dangles loose almost to the floor. He recalls the trick he and Fede often played on their sleeping grandfather. They’d fetch a bowl of water, put his hand in it and wait for him to wet himself. That was the trick – but it never did work.

  Mumbling something incoherent, the boy turns over so that his back is hanging half off the couch, a precarious balancing act that might tip him onto the floor but doesn’t. His cheeks have raised red marks from the pillow.