Simon eased himself up in the bed, reached forward, and clasped John in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry I put you through all this. I never thought it would get so heavy.”
John clasped his boyfriend tightly. “I’m so proud of what you’ve done. They’ll be digging around Barton Kane’s affairs for months, if not years, now. That company has blood on its hands.”
John gently eased Simon back onto the pillow and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he took a deep breath and opened his mouth. But his courage failed him as he tried to speak. Simon reached forward and held his hand.
“What is it, John? Is there something you haven’t told me?”
John looked away. He wished it were someone else who was about to break the news to Simon. He swallowed hard and took another breath. The words stumbled from his mouth.
“I’m afraid the police told me some bad news. It’s about Gemma. They say she was killed last night on the subway in London. They say she fell off the platform under a train.”
Simon said nothing but closed his eyes. Rhythmically he squeezed and then relaxed his grasp on John’s hand. Finally, he opened his eyes and wiped away a tear.
“Do you think it was an accident?” he asked. “With everything that’s happened in the last few days?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said John. “She’d gone up to London to meet the lawyer, Mr. Delingpole, and show him the photographs. It seems one hell of a coincidence. They say they’re looking at the CCTV footage for the platform. But it was crowded and….”
“This is all my fault.” Simon turned his head and stared at the wall. “Gemma’s dead because of me. My desperation to be some hot-shot journalist.”
John leaned forward and brought his face close to Simon’s. He released Simon’s hand and reached up to gently stroke his cheek.
“Stop it. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s down to Barton Kane, not you. That’s why you’ve got to cooperate with the police fully now. Tell them everything. And I mean everything.”
PAT REVVED the engine of the Lexus as they waited in the semidarkness of the parking lot. Above them they could hear the squealing tires of the approaching Mercedes. A moment later it shot down the ramp and emerged in front of them. Pat slammed the Lexus into gear, and it shot forward. There was the screech of scraping metal as it caught the rear side of the Mercedes a glancing blow and pushed it into a row of parked cars. Briefly, the Mercedes came to a halt. Jonathan saw the barrel of Krasov’s gun at the driver’s window of the Mercedes. Then he heard the shot. The windshield of the Lexus shattered. Jonathan looked up and saw blood begin to spurt from a wound in Steve’s shoulder. As Krasov took aim again, Pat slammed the car into reverse and rammed into the back of the Mercedes. There was a second gunshot but the bullet fired harmlessly into the ceiling of the parking lot.
“Are you all right, Steve?” shouted Jonathan. But there was no answer. Steve was slumped against the door pillar of the car.
The Mercedes remained motionless, its engine ticking over. Jonathan looked through the gaping hole where the windshield had been a moment ago. He could see Krasov’s arm hanging out of the driver’s window at a contorted angle. Leaning forward, he could see that Krasov’s gun lay on the ground beside the car.
Jonathan pushed open his door.
“What are you doing?” Dominic grasped hold of his arm. “Stay in the car!”
Jonathan gently took Dominic’s hand off his arm and went to step out of the car.
The driver’s door of the Mercedes suddenly jerked open and Krasov fell out onto the ground.
Jonathan leapt back into the Lexus and slammed his door.
“Yes, bad idea,” he shouted. “Come on, Pat. We can get to the exit now.”
The Lexus shot backward as Krasov began to clamber to his feet, his gun in his hand.
Pat reversed past the entrance ramp to their floor. Jonathan could see Krasov leaning against the side of his car, leveling his gun at them.
“Get your heads down!” shouted Pat. Several gunshots sounded as the Lexus lurched forward, spun left, and hurtled up the ramp.
Jonathan pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, leaned forward, and tried to staunch the bleeding from Steve’s shoulder. As the Lexus emerged from the parking lot entrance into the London night, he turned to Pat admiringly.
“Did I ever tell you that I find stunt drivers very sexy?”
Chapter 31
DOMINIC STIRRED as Jonathan climbed into the bed beside him. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked. “This is a hospital. One patient per bed, I think you’ll find.”
“Well, there is only one patient in this bed, sweetheart. The other person is your nurse, carer, and lifelong lover. If anyone asks I’ll say that I’m speeding your recovery. Anyway, you’ve paid for a private ward.”
Dominic giggled and wrapped his arms around Jonathan. “I’m very sorry for having got you caught up in all this. It was wrong of me to get so involved.”
“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. I haven’t had so much fun for a long time. More to the point, neither have you.” Jonathan kissed Dominic tenderly on the lips.
“By the way,” Jonathan continued, “I’ve just been speaking to your friend Miles. He’s going to put his little forensic software team onto all that data the students turned up. He’s certain that Barton Kane is involved in a massive fraud, sucking millions out of global research funds destined for legitimate research into gene therapy. Their so-called ‘gay cure.’ He reckons there’s a little cabal of right-wingers and religious extremists nodding the money through.”
“It’s very kind of him, but why is Miles doing that? Surely an investigation like that is a job for the police? Or Interpol?”
“Oh, he’s handed over all the evidence to them. But he’s also kept copies. After all that’s happened, Miles wants to make sure no one tries to cover this up. And he’s paying for it out of his own pocket. Says it’s the least he can do for ‘chaps like us.’”
Dominic laughed. “I’ve known Miles for years. He might sound old-school, but he thinks new world. The more straight people like him we have on our side, the better.”
“You’re right. He’s a sweet man, and he has a scarily big brain.” Jonathan sat up and took hold of Dominic’s hand. “So tell me, lover, what would you say if Barton Kane, or some other drug company, came up with a ‘gay cure’ in a few years’ time? Would you take it?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Dominic’s eyes widened as he stared at Jonathan. Then he took hold of Jonathan’s hand and held it up between them. “Look, you’re left-handed. Many people say that it’s more common in creative people like you. But fifty years ago, they would have tied your left hand behind your back to force you to use your right hand. They wanted to stop you growing up ‘abnormal.’”
Jonathan pulled a face, but Dominic continued, warming to his argument.
“I’m serious. Fortunately our society largely recognizes how damaging those sorts of actions were to kids. But what if some time in the future they find a gene therapy to eliminate left-handedness? Would we enforce that on all children to make them ‘normal’? It’s no different. Being gay is a fundamental part of who I am. I don’t want to be ‘cured’ of it. I’m not ill, for God’s sake.”
Jonathan roared with laughter and then fell back on top of Dominic, wrapping his arms around him. He snuggled close and whispered in Dominic’s ear, “You know, that’s the most direct statement you’ve ever made about yourself. You can be infuriatingly noncommittal at times. But I do love you all the same.”
As they kissed, the door flew open. “Mr. Delingpole! What precisely is going on?”
Dominic opened one eye to see the flame-headed Scottish ward sister striding into his room.
“Well, I think I can see what’s going on,” she continued with a twinkle in her eye. “But you’ve been advised to take things easy for the next few days, and I’m afraid this kind of vigorous physical activity is just going to have to wait. You�
�ll be scandalizing the doctors if you’re not careful.”
Jonathan leapt off Dominic and grasped the ward sister by both hands.
“What perfect timing! Madam, I require your urgent professional medical advice. I certainly don’t want to jeopardize my lover’s recovery in any way, but….” And Jonathan whispered into the ward sister’s ear as Dominic strained to hear.
The ward sister giggled and a broad grin spread across her face.
“That’s not going to jeopardize his recovery. It’s more likely to speed it along. Would you like me to leave you two alone for a few minutes? I only came to discuss Mr. Delingpole’s plans for discharge later this week. I can come back later.”
“No, my dear, I would like you here as witness.” Jonathan turned to Dominic and sat on the side of the bed.
“I’m sorry, lover, but this whole adventure has finally confirmed it. I can’t go on. I’ve had it with long-distance relationships. Either we get married, or it’s over.”
Dominic’s jaw dropped, and he looked from Jonathan to the ward sister.
“Marriage? I never thought I’d hear you say that. I thought you were happy to only see me at weekends and a few holidays. Where are we going to live?”
“Together. Where that is, I really don’t care. I can move into your apartment, or you can move into my tiny cottage. Either way suits me. But what nearly happened to you this week has proved to me that life is far too short to waste time on commuting.”
The red-haired ward sister stepped forward. “Could I just say, that was the worst proposal I’ve ever heard?” She took hold of Jonathan’s hand. “Stand up, young man.” Jonathan obeyed the firm Glaswegian voice. “Now get down on one knee and take Mr. Delingpole’s hand.” Again, Jonathan obeyed.
Dominic was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a straight face.
“Now,” the ward sister said, “tell him you love him, that you can’t live without him, and that you want to spend the rest of your life with him.”
Jonathan stared at her, then looked back at Dominic. “What she just said, only without the weird Scottish accent. Look, Dominic. Move in with me. Take a break from that job, which you know bores you to tears.”
Dominic leaned forward and kissed Jonathan gently. “I can’t tell you how good that sounds. Yes is the answer, but God knows what I’m going to do for the rest of my life.” He leaned back on his pillow and looked directly at Jonathan. “Whatever it is, I know it will be all the better for sharing it with you.”
Jonathan jumped up excitedly. “I know exactly what you’re going to do! You’re going to team up with your posh pal Miles and do forensic legal stuff. Solve mysteries. Crack crimes. Put your planet-size brain to proper use doing good.”
Dominic laughed. “I’m hardly going to get paid much for doing that. You told me yourself that Miles is giving his services for free analyzing the Barton Kane files. What are we going to do for money?”
“Lover, what does it matter? You’ll be happy. And anyway,” Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed and took Dominic’s hand in his, “you’ll be a kept man. I’ll carry on doing my landscape gardening and the odd chorus bits at Glyndebourne opera. We don’t need much to live on if we stay in the cottage, and you can rent your apartment out to get some extra income.”
The ward sister moved to the door. “I think that sounds the perfect recovery plan, Mr. Delingpole.” She turned to Jonathan. “Even if your intended husband is the rudest man I’ve ever come across. For your information, I do not have a weird Scottish accent.” And she slammed the door behind her as she left.
DAVID C. DAWSON is an author, award-winning journalist, and documentary maker living near Oxford in the UK. He has traveled extensively, filming in nearly every continent of the world. He has lived in London, Geneva, and San Francisco, but now prefers the tranquility of the Oxfordshire countryside.
David is a Mathematics graduate from Southampton University in England. After graduating, he joined the BBC in London as a trainee journalist. He worked in radio newsrooms for several years before moving to television as a documentary director. During the growing AIDS crisis in the late eighties, he is proud to say that he directed the first demonstration of putting on a condom on British television.
After more than twenty years with the BBC, he left to go freelance. He has produced videos for several charities, including Ethiopiaid, which works to end poverty in Ethiopia, and Hestia, a London-based mental health charity.
David has one son, who is also a successful filmmaker.
In his spare time, David tours Europe on his aging Triumph motorbike and sings with the London Gay Men’s Chorus. He has sung with the Chorus at St Paul’s Cathedral, The Roundhouse and the Royal Festival Hall, but David is most proud of the time they sang at the House of Lords, campaigning for equal marriage to be legalized in the UK.
Website: www.davidcdawson.co.uk
Blog: blog.davidcdawson.co.uk/#home
Twitter: @david_c_dawson
Facebook: www.facebook.com/david.c.dawson.5
LinkedIn: uk.linkedin.com/in/davidcdawson
E-mail: [email protected]
By David C. Dawson
The Necessary Deaths
Published by DSP Publications
www.dsppublications.com
Published by
DSP PUBLICATIONS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Necessary Deaths
© 2016 David C. Dawson.
Cover Art
© 2016 L.C. Chase.
http://www.lcchase.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact DSP Publications, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dsppublications.com.
ISBN: 978-1-63477-450-5
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63477-451-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902735
Published November 2016
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
The Necessary Deaths Page 19
