Naked Souls

by Karen Botha

  “You say you had no idea, but you knew about his barge and that he wasn’t on it anymore?”

  “Yes, but that’s because he said he needed a place to rest his head whilst it was in for servicing. He told me he was living on it because the peace of the canals helped his head. There may be something to that, because he’s lived way longer than anyone expected.”

  “How do we know you aren’t tied up in this? It’s your company which has provided the contact details of all those people he’s murdered in cold blood, after all?”

  Declan pauses, having forgotten about this in his eagerness to drop his friend in the proverbial. He opens his mouth to defend his position, but can’t. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head, slowly without realising. It’s an indication to me that he may well be telling the truth. Anyone guilty would stare us out, or drop their head so we can’t see into their eyes. He’s just beaten and honest about it.

  “Is there anything else you’d like us to know? This isn’t a situation where you can layer your testimony up as it suits you. I don’t want any of this, ‘I’d forgotten about that’ when we present you with information later on.”

  An extended silence cools the air, freezing time whilst both Mo and I hold our breaths.

  “Mitchell may have become a little warped, but the guy is dying. Please consider that this has all come about because he’s genuinely a good person and, if he’d not gone to defend his country, then this would never have happened. He’s given up a lot to make the world a better place and, whilst his vision may be distorted from what you and I think, he’s still essentially all good.”

  Both Mo and I sit back in our chair. It’s a good sign-off and one that has us both considering this case from an alternative perspective. Those bodies are still lined up, and that needs to be paid for. But the reason for their deaths is more complicated than the pure evil we’d assumed.

  Lucy

  I need to get a different perspective. Everyone is ganging up on me, so once I’m back at work, I arrange a luncheon with Todd and Daisy. I book it in for a day when Adam is out of the office so that I don’t have him breathing down my neck. Don’t get me wrong, I love him and I’m over the moon that we’re getting married, but he’s too over protective for me to discuss this with. Every time I bring up what happened with Brian, he becomes agitated and swings from anger to flapping around about the future. But he’s always agitated.

  And I can’t speak with Paula. She’s already stuck her neck out for me further than she expected to, by reporting finding Brian entirely differently from how it happened. But, her being the one running the case aside, she’s continually on my back about the state of my mental health.

  It’s just tiresome and I feel like the world is closing in on me. Like my freedom of thought is being squeezed out by well-meaning friends and their well-meaning opinions. Between Adam and Paula, they’re behaving like my parents, crushing the life out of me with their demands and expectations of what is right.

  And so, I need to speak, but not to them.

  We head to Daisy’s private members’ club for lunch. It’s not far from the casino, so Todd and I are there in a short taxi ride. The old building is steeped in history.

  “This is a bit like your place,” I mention to Todd as we’re being shown to the table where Daisy is waiting.

  He doesn’t have a chance to reply. The black woman is already on her feet and hugging me.

  “Hi. Sit.” She gestures with her long fingers and we immediately fall into an easy conversation about nothing. It’s like a breath of fresh air and the tension, which I’ve been holding in my chest, relaxes.

  We have a few glasses of amazing wine, catch up on what we’ve been doing, and then Todd asks, “So, what’s going on with the case? Has Brian woken up yet?”

  And before I know it, the cage around my chest cranks tight again. “He’s still the same. I’m not sure whether I’ll be better off if he lives or dies.” The words are out of my mouth without a thought.

  “What do you mean?” Daisy asks, as though this is a perfectly natural train of thought.

  “If he dies, I could be up for murder, but if he dies, then at least he can’t testify against me.”

  “Oh, is it that bad?” she asks.

  Todd stops chewing and waits.

  “Sure... I don’t know how I got into this. The guy was the one who attacked me originally, and now I’m the one with prosecution hanging over my head.”

  “If he wakes up, what will happen then?” Todd asks.

  “It depends what he says.” I shrug my shoulders. I can’t believe I’m able to talk about this without holding back. I barely know these people, which was the attraction of spending some time with them, but maybe I have more going on than I’ve allowed myself to acknowledge.

  Todd and Daisy share a look, “Sounds like a predicament,” Todd answers.

  “Listen, if you need some time away, I have a few places scattered around a few different countries. You could always take a holiday somewhere, get away from things.”

  “I’d love that. But I’m not allowed to travel. They should have taken my passport off me whilst they investigate everything, but Paula and Mo have trusted me not to do a runner.”

  Todd laughs. “More fool them.”

  Whoa! “I’d never do anything to be disloyal to their trust, when they’re doing everything they can to help me,” I say.

  “No, of course not,” Daisy says, “But you know, if your friends on the police force have done their best and it isn’t good enough, then it’s nice they’ve left you the option.”

  “Do you think they’ve left me an open door on purpose?” I ask, wondering what on earth they expect my chances of going down are, if this is what they’ve done.

  “No, I don’t expect so,” Daisy says as I release the breath I’ve been holding, “They know how trustworthy you are. You’re not like us.” Daisy grins at Todd, in the most natural of confessions.

  “I’m sure my passport would have been rescinded already,” Todd announces.

  “Sure, but you have dodgy connections - look at me.” Daisy’s black locks brush back as she kicks back her head in humour.

  I have to say, this whole conversation is mystifying. Do they suppose I should be worried? Is this the purpose of their comments, to warn me? But, if so, why the humour? If I’m about to be locked up for a long time, surely they’d take the whole thing with a little more seriousness? But then, I guess they come from a different world to me, where winners and losers are decided on much the same score sheet as Eric uses.

  “Hey, less with the interracial insults.” Todd directs his comment at Daisy, which is actually amusing, as her skin is a dark black and, despite wondering whether Paula’s warnings were more valid than I’d thought, I laugh. The cage, which had been constricting my breathing, springs open against the pressure of my outburst and I allow the tension to float away.

  It’s going to be OK. Whatever happens, I’ll find a way out of this. I just need to think like these people do. Grow a backbone and use it to start moving in a better direction.

  Adam

  I head off to find Lucy. My PA has her on a break now and I need to speak with her.

  The music in the plush massage room that I had created for her plays softly in the background as I slowly push the door open, checking she’s on her own.

  She’s changing the covers on her massage table, throwing the old set on the floor and replacing them with the new ones before picking up the used cover and lobbing it in the basket she hides behind a room divider.

  She doesn’t see me, and I enjoy watching her, remaining quiet in the doorway.

  “Oh, you surprised me.” Her hand shoots up to her chest as she turns and spots me.

  “Sorry.”

  “What can I do for you?” She shimmies up and kisses me on the mouth. Her lips are soft and I smell mint on her breath as she presses her body against mine.

  I ignore the stirrings. I have things I mu
st say. “Lucy. Brian woke up.” I take hold of both her biceps as her legs give way. Gently, I lower her to the floor. She’s been holding it together, but now, well. It’s clear my concerns about her were valid.

  “Has he said anything?” she asks from her crumpled by my feet.

  “No, and he was only conscious for a little while before slipping under again. But he came around. The doctors are hopeful he’ll pull through now.” I’m kneeling behind her now, and she’s resting on my legs. I lean forward and press my cheek against hers from behind, wrapping my arms around her.

  “This is good Lucy. It means they won’t be charging you with murder.”

  “Hmm.” Her voice is distant, “When did you find out?”

  “About half an hour ago. Paula called me. She thought it would be better if I told you in person, rather than her calling you.” I kiss her ear, trail down her neck. “Are you OK?” I know, it’s a stupid question, but I’m not sure what else to say. She doesn’t reply. “Come here, let’s get you on a chair.”

  I place both my hands under her arms and heave. She’s like a dead weight and still can’t support herself. I don’t understand whether she’s relieved that Brian is alive, or whether there’s more going on. When Paula told me the news, I assumed this would be it. The black cloud would lift, and we’d be able to start re-building our lives. I wasn’t expecting this.

  I pour a glass of water and hand it over, bending to kneel at her feet as she takes it from me with trembling fingers.

  “Speak to me, Lucy. What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes are hollow against her sallow complexion. “I don’t know. I’d just kind of assumed he’d die and I’d be rid of him.”

  “But you are Lucy. He can’t get you. He’s still in hospital now. And even if he makes a full recovery, he won’t be able to harm you. And why would he anyway? He’s probably more scared of you. You did more damage to him than he did to you.”

  The words I’m speaking sound alien. Like they’re coming from someone else. I’m not sure what I believe about this whole mess anymore.

  She nods though, so hopefully I’m helping. “Is Paula at the hospital?”

  “Yeah, she’s going up there to wait until he comes around again. She said she could have a plod do it, but with,” I pause, “the situation,” I decide on, “well, she’d rather deal with everything herself.”

  She places the glass to her lips, then drops it before she’s taken a sip. “Can I see him?”

  What? Why does she want to see him? Here I am telling her that he can’t hurt her anymore and then she comes out with that? “No, I don’t think that will be possible,” I say, instead of asking whether she’s clinically insane.

  Paula

  When Brian wakes again, I’m there, poised with my notebook. As soon as he starts speaking, I switch on the recording app on my phone and we’re good to go.

  “You’ve given us quite the run around, Brian. It’s time to talk,” I say, as soon as the doctors have given me the all clear and I’ve introduced myself.

  He fingers the bandage around his head, shifting it up a little, away from his eye. “OK.”

  “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Tell me how you’re mixed up in these warehouse murders.”

  “I’m not.” His voice croaks.

  “Yes, you are. We know you were supposed to go and check that warehouse, so how come you didn’t notice them? Don’t tell me you didn’t go, I’m not buying that. We know you were asking about it in the casino you frequent.”

  He’s silent, the wheels of his brain not cycling as quickly as they normally would.

  I wait.

  Eventually he speaks. “OK. So, I didn’t find them until the coppers got there. I was paid to give the place a miss.”

  “Who by?” I want to scream at him, ‘Was it Declan?’ but I manage to hold my feelings in, maintain an exterior of composure.

  “Who by, Brian?” I push.

  “By the owner of the place. He gave me chips to bet with if I stayed away from the round.”

  “Who, Eric?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s his name.”

  I rifle through my phone, hunting down an image of him. “Was it this guy?”

  Brian nods.

  “I need you to speak Brian. Was this the man who paid you in gambling chips to not check the warehouse? For the record, I am showing the interviewee a picture of Eric Moody.”

  Brian leans forward, using his hands to help shift his body. “Yes, that’s him.”

  Whoa, I had not been expecting that. This is the point where, under normal circumstances, my partner would sound the alarm and go and get Eric arrested. As we’re in the hospital and I’m alone, I send a text to Mo.

  My heart is hammering as I move onto the next part of our conversation. I need to know what happened the night in the alley. I stop the recording before I ask.

  “The night you were injured, can you tell us what happened?” I hold my breath.

  He pauses, his gaze off somewhere in the distance. “I was walking to work. I’d got a new job. The last thing I can remember is taking a short cut down an unlit cutting. I can’t remember anything else.”

  My heart stops and my words catch as I fumble to turn the recording back on. “Tell me again for the tape,” I ask, before clicking the start button. He repeats his words.

  That’s it. Lucy is in the clear. Mo is, and so am I. We’re through the terrible black mist which has been hanging over us all. There’s no further action. We can drop the case.

  Brian talks a little more, and I transcribe his words, but there’s nothing he says which is remotely interesting. All I care about is getting my butt back to my desk, so I can sort all the paperwork out, to formally drop any investigation.

  As I leave, I call Mo, happy to fill him in.

  “That’s brilliant news. We can all sleep a little more sound at night now.”

  “What about Eric?”

  “We’ve struck lucky. He hasn’t been back to the casino since the other day, nor has he been to his home address. But, we thought we’d give Declan’s place in Glasgow a try, and, lo and behold, guess who they managed to take into custody there?”

  “Great, so we’re back up to Scotland then?” I ask.

  “Nah, we’ll watch remotely and feed into the local interviewers. We need to get this wrapped up now.”

  Paula

  Eric isn’t speaking. He remained silent until his brief arrived and, since then, I see no chance of him opening up. It’s frustrating, but he’s a career criminal. It’s not really like I expect much from him, other than adhering to his criminal’s code.

  “We don’t have time to travel up there,” I mutter to Mo, frustration curdling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Hmm,” he grunts.

  “Who do they have the best chance of cracking?” I mutter.

  “Declan spoke the most, but he may not know everything. This Eric guy is a pro.”

  “Mitchell it is then.” We nod in agreement before I speak into the ear of the interviewing officer. “We’re not getting anywhere. Try and appeal to Mitchell’s ego whilst this guy stews.”

  Ten minutes later and our live feed has transferred us to another room, where we see Mitchell as he studies the bare walls, while he waits for another round of questions.

  “Here we go,” Mo says as the officers introduce themselves for the sake of the permanent record.

  “We’ve been doing some digging since we last spoke,” Detective Sergeant Burdett opens.

  Mitchell remains silent, but a look passes between him and his brief.

  “We know about Afghanistan, and about your friend, whose barge you’ve been using, Will Brown.” She pauses, allowing the name to sink in, for the effect of Will’s death to take a hold. It works, and as soon as Mitchell looks down, she begins again, “We get it. You were retired from the army. That’s not something you chose. You wanted to serve, to do good with your life. But then, that chance was taken away from you wit
hout you having the option to say no. Am I right, Mitchell?”

  He looks at his lawyer for confirmation before answering, “Yes.”

  Whoa, we’re off.

  DS Burdett allows her face a show of kindness, she nods, the picture of compassion. “Thank you.”

  They exchange a small smile, she’s making ground, building his trust.

  “I get it. I really do. I can see how you’d want to carry on working when you retire. Just because you’re not in the armed forces now, it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t still want to serve, right?”

  He nods. She doesn’t push him, carefully treading the well-worn path of conversation, rather than an interview format.

  “How did it feel when you got back, Mitchell? When you returned from Afghan with a death warrant living in your head and your best friend already gone?”

  He answers without missing a beat, “Like no-one understood what I was about. Everyone here just gets on with their lives, consumed by money or power, without a thought for how they got to be able to live with such freedom. A freedom they abuse.”

  DS Burdett nods, remains quiet and watches as Mitchell tightens his fists where they rest on the table.

  “And so that’s when you and Declan hooked up again?”

  “Yeah, he gave me a job until I got on my feet.”

  “Did you ever discuss your plans to continue your mission outside of the army with him, Mitchell?” Her voice is soft, childlike.

  Mitchell shakes his head. “No.”

  ‘Come on,’ I think. This is it, we’ve almost got him. That’s not enough of an admission to stand up in court, Mitchell’s lawyer would explain this statement away by saying Mitchell meant he didn’t kill anyone. DS Burdett knows it too. She’s quiet, formulating the correct phrase so her suspect doesn’t clam up again.

  “How about Eric Moody?” she asks.

  Silence. Shit!

  Mitchell’s brief is staring at him, ready to pounce, but Mitchell doesn’t see. He studies the non-existent pattern in his grey, standard issue jogging bottoms.