by J. D. Weston
There had been a genuine desire for Donny to change and for the two of them to get on, as brothers should. But Donny had a long history of being weak. He had an affliction for drugs and lived a life so far removed from Harvey’s that empathy had been impossible for most of their childhoods. Donny lived several lives. While he wasn’t running businesses under the thumb of Sergio and the ever-present thumb of his father, he mixed in shadowy circles and ventured into the world of crime that even hardened criminals like his father refused to sink to.
To the right of the wooden archway, a stage had been built for the band. The guests had finished their meals and were still reeling from the speeches as they swarmed to the bar. The first poignant notes from the upright bass player sounded as he led the group into their first set. The guests hushed, craning their necks trying to put a title to the bass line. But it was one of the brass players who revealed the melody and drew the excitement from the crowd.
A few of the women, who were already fuelled by a few glasses of Dom Perignon, raised their arms and danced their way to the temporary dance floor while their partners clutched their pint glasses and leaned on the high tables to talk business.
Donny and Julia were in the distance, perched atop the crest of John’s land following the photographer’s instructions. It was the perfect place for the photos as the land fell away behind them and the clear sky framed the newlyweds in vivid blue.
But Harvey wasn’t interested in his foster-brother or his new wife. He moved behind the fattest of trees that bordered the orchard, aware of the sound of feet moving through the long grass behind him.
But the footsteps stopped.
Harvey reached for his knife, but the suit that John had made him wear hadn’t had anywhere for him to keep it. It was still in his leather jacket.
He waited. His mind blocked the dull thrum of the party below and the melody of the swing band. He cast aside the rustle of leaves and branches in the gentle breeze and felt his pulse in his clenched fists.
There was a faint swish of grass. The snap of a tiny twig underfoot and the rustle of clothing.
Ten metres, thought Harvey, and waited for the next movement. He pictured whoever it was as only a shape, tracking him as a leopard might stalk a deer. The fat tree behind Harvey shielded him from view, but whoever’s footsteps he could hear would come from either direction. He stepped away from the tree and turned to surprise them.
But nobody came.
He moved right half a step.
Nothing.
He moved left half a step.
Again, there was nobody there.
Another half a step, his senses alive with adrenaline.
Nothing.
He took two steps, stopping with his feet planted, ready to defend himself, circling the fat oak, sure that he would see whoever was stalking him.
He moved back into the orchard, checking behind him as he went, and he stopped to listen.
Had he imagined the footsteps?
A bird fluttered in the treetops and the hum of wasps and bees feasting on the fallen fruit was louder than before. It was as if they had been disturbed.
Then movement, thirty meters away. A shape moved from tree to tree, moving away from Harvey back through the orchard.
But nobody knew that orchard as well as Harvey. It had been the playground for him and his sister. Their names were carved into the trunks of the fattest trees and the ground itself was rich with their blood, which had been spilt from countless grazed knees.
He flanked the dark shape through the thickest part of the orchard. He moved in silence but cursed the suit he wore. Each time he stopped, the shape moved further away. They were heading toward the far side of the property where the grass grew long, and the fruit-bearing trees gave way to fat oaks older than the house itself. John used to say that Henry VIII had planted one of them. It was one of John’s favourite boasts that he announced to awestruck guests and he’d said it so often that Harvey felt there must be some truth in there.
He caught a glimpse of the shape as it moved out of the orchard. The strong breeze blew on the far side of the trees, giving Harvey a little lenience on the sounds he could make. He ran full pelt to the edge of the trees just twenty metres from the spot he’d seen the shape. Then, slowly, using all the stealth he could muster in the tight dress shoes, he moved towards the spot.
From one tree to another, he stepped, surveyed, and then planned his next move, until there were no more trees to conceal him, and he stepped out into the open and realised his foolishness.
He closed his eyes, cursing his shoes and himself, then turned as a voice he didn’t recognise spoke to him with the clarity of education and the confidence of wealth and good breeding.
“You must be Donny’s brother.”
Chapter Thirteen
“She’s telling the truth,” said Fox. She pulled her seat belt on and checked her eye makeup in the mirror. “Poor girl. Nobody should have to go through what she did.”
“Don’t let emotions rule your head. Give me the facts,” said Myers.
“The facts, sir, are that she was stripped naked and forced to watch Hussein…” She paused. “It was like you said, sir. He wanted her to watch him first.”
“From the top, Fox. Just the facts. She was at home. Her parents were upstairs.”
“Hussein tapped on the front door.”
“So, he must have been familiar with the house,” said Myers.
But Fox ignored him and ran through the headlines.
“She opened the door but there was nobody there. She stepped outside and he grabbed her. He covered her mouth with a rag. She said she remembered a bitter, chemical taste and that’s all. She woke up in the woods.”
“Rohypnol,” said Myers. “Or some variation of it. We’ll find out when we search Hussein’s house. Then what? Was she tied up at this point? Give me the facts, Fox.”
“Yes, she was tied up. She was stripped naked and couldn’t move. She said she was aware of a camera flash but wasn’t sure what it was until she opened her eyes.”
“He wanted to capture the moment,” said Myers, as Hussein’s mind opened up a little. “He wanted to capture the very moment she woke up and realised what was happening. He wanted the fear. Keep going.”
“He gagged her so she couldn’t scream. Then he stripped.”
Fox paused, not wanting to explain the details. But Myers needed the details. He had to see it in his mind. He said nothing, waiting for Fox to take a deep breath, compartmentalise, and recite.
“He made her watch him, sir. Just like you said.”
Fox was stronger than Myers thought. She stared out of the passenger window. Unable to meet his stare, perhaps. Or maybe it was to hide the bitter hatred on her face?
“He dug the hole in front of her. He told her that the hole was for her. He told her he was going to choke her. Then he…”
She exhaled and cracked the window for some air then turned to him, red-eyed and angry.
“He licked the tears off her face, sir.”
They were both silent.
Myers pulled the car into a lay-by and switched off the engine. They weren’t too far from Harriet’s school and as angry as Harriet had been and as confused as she was, Myers was grateful she wasn’t going through the same ordeal. Stories such as Jennifer Standing’s somehow made all other problems in life seem insignificant.
Perhaps that was why Alison had eventually had enough of him. He’d never reacted to her outbursts. He’d never shown her any kind of emotion, and maybe it was because the dramas in their own lives, the leaking pipes and the unkempt lawns, had been in the shadow of his work. While they fought over who did the most work in the house, there were people out there who’d had their lives altered forever. Murders, rapes, and even victims of robberies who were so traumatised they couldn’t even return to their homes.
Myers pondered the thought while Fox gathered her senses. Time was often all people needed.
“You wa
nt me to carry on?” she asked.
“In your own time.”
She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.
“When Hussein had finished digging the hole, he turned his attention to Jennifer. She said his voice changed from being nasty and cruel to a soft, caring tone. He stroked her hair and hugged her. She said he hugged her for what seemed like forever.”
“He liked the feel of skin on skin,” said Myers, but kicked himself for interrupting Fox’s flow.
She turned to him with raised eyebrows.
“Do you understand what I’m talking about when I say there’s a security that comes with the touch of skin on skin?” said Myers. “There’s a warmth, a vulnerability, which strengthens the trust. It’s what makes us close to our partners. You might love someone with all your heart, and they might reciprocate with similar feelings, but there’s nothing like the touch of flesh on flesh. Naked and afraid.”
“Is that a long-winded way of saying Hussein was just a sad creep who couldn’t get a girlfriend?”
“Flippant, but yes.”
“Afraid?” said Fox. “You said Hussein was afraid.”
“Why wouldn’t he be? There’s case after case of men like him. Many of them can’t perform sexually. Many of them regard themselves as inadequate. Do you remember the first time you were naked in front of a man?”
“He wasn’t a man. He was more of a boy.”
“But it’s the same thing. The same experience. You were opening yourself up to him. You had to fight through the inadequacies. But over time, you feel more comfortable. You get to know each other’s bodies.”
“Of course,” said Fox.
“So, imagine that you never had that experience. Imagine that you never had that closeness or that comfort or that trust. Imagine if you were so deeply ashamed of your body or your inadequacies that you had to force people to see it.”
“And if you’re weak like Hussein was,” said Fox, falling in line with where Myers was heading, “you have to pick weaker people. Children and young girls.”
“That’s why he hugged her. That’s why he was soft and gentle with her. He was experiencing what you and I and the rest of society experience with mutual concession.”
“I get the feeling you empathise with him, sir.”
“Of course I don’t empathise with him, Fox. I don’t even know if I’m right. All we have to go on is historical cases. But we have to understand him, or at least try to see his motive.”
Fox was still. She looked across at Myers, trying to read his thoughts.
“She said he cried.”
Myers said nothing.
“She said he held her, pressing himself against her, gripping her throat with one hand, and she felt his hot tears on her shoulder and his warm breath on her skin. She said they were cheek to cheek when he closed her throat completely. She felt him tense against her, but she could hear him crying. Even as she fought against her restraints and struggled for air, he held her as if he was helping her. She said it was like he was comforting her. She knew she was going to die, sir. Nobody should ever go through that. Nobody. She said that her blood felt cold. It was the only way she could describe it. She felt her legs go numb and the rope that held her to the tree took her weight. She said there was no pain. She was just frightened, and he kept whispering to her.”
“Whispering what?”
“That’s the strange thing, sir. He said…”
“Go on,” said Myers. “In your own time.”
“He said he didn’t want to share her anymore.”
Myers knew what was coming next. The girl they had just seen had been seconds from death.
Fox waited a moment and cleared her throat once more. Myers waited patiently. Cars passed them and people walked by, oblivious to the hideous conversation that was taking place.
“At first she thought he was an angel, sir,” said Fox, and there was a hint of Fox’s pride in the young girl and an admiration of her strength.
And she repeated the girl’s words verbatim.
“An angel rose from the shadows. A black shape darker than the trees…”
She hesitated, as if recalling what Jennifer Standing had said and reliving her emotions.
“And the angel tore him from me.”
“Our man,” said Myers. “The silent man. She saw it happen. What did she say?”
Fox turned to stare through the side window and seemed to track an old man carrying a plastic bag ambling along the street with what appeared to be all the time in the world.
“She said one word,” said Fox, then turned to stare at him as Myers imagined Jennifer had done. “Fury.”
Chapter Fourteen
The voice was clear, smooth, and confident. The way the owner articulated her consonants then cut them off sharply as if every syllable was practiced and intentional somehow grabbed Harvey’s attention.
He turned to see who it was that had managed to elude him and find a patch of sun in the long grass.
She was stretched out on the grass, resting on one elbow with her heels kicked off. Her long, brown hair almost touched the ground and her fingers rolled the stem of a champagne flute back and forth. Her slender legs stretched from beneath her short, tight dress, and her bare feet danced and writhed in the grass and stretched and flexed in the sun.
On the lawn before her was a bottle of Dom Perignon and an empty flute lay beside it.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, and sipped at her champagne, her eyes never leaving Harvey’s.
Harvey didn’t reply.
“Donny told me you’re the strong, silent type.”
She smiled at Harvey’s lack of response.
“He said you were all business and no play. Well, why don’t you relax a little? Come join me.”
Harvey glanced at the empty glass and felt the trap tighten.
“Come on. There’s nobody around. It’s your brother’s wedding day. You can let go a little.”
She set her glass down, balancing it against the grass, and filled the empty flute from the bottle. She held it out to him, and a naughty smile spread across her face revealing perfect, white teeth that bit her lower lip.
“Humour me,” she said, and there was a touch of vulnerability in her voice that somehow managed to break through the confident facade.
Harvey stared at the glass then back at her.
“Don’t leave me hanging here,” she said. “Please.”
He took the glass and she raised her own in the air.
“To Mr and Mrs Cartwright. May they have many babies,” she said, then sipped at her drink. “It’s good manners to sip after a toast, Harvey.”
“I’ve never been one for manners that involve alcohol.”
“But you took the drink from me.”
“You begged.”
“Do you often give in to people who beg?” she said, pleased to have led him into a corner.
“I should get back,” said Harvey, and glanced down at the house through the trees. The view was mostly blocked, and the hum of the party was faint but audible.
“Oh, I remember now. Donny said you would be keeping us all safe.”
It was as if she toyed with words, her lips and eyes playing games with each annunciation.
Harvey didn’t reply.
“Do you think they’ll miss you?” she asked. “Do you think they’ll miss you if you keep me safe? Just for a while?”
“You don’t look like you’re in much danger.”
“Oh, I’m in danger, alright,” she said, raising herself up onto one arm to get closer. Her eyes darted from side to side, then rested back onto Harvey’s, and she adopted a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m in danger of being lonely. Imagine it. A girl like me all alone in this beautiful place with just a bottle of champagne and the birds for company. What will a girl do?”
She lay back and stretched out.
“But wait,” she said. “What if there was a man who could save me from such a fate? A
strong man, handsome and fearless. What if he were to sit with me for a while to ward off the pangs of loneliness? A man like you, Harvey Stone. Won’t you sit with me a while and keep me company?”
“I should really-”
“Get back, yes, you said,” she said with a tone of utter disappointment. “I guess a man like you must have girls lay themselves before you all the time. I suppose, for a man like you, a girl like me comes along every day of your life.”
“This man,” said Harvey, reverting to the girl’s drama, “what if he were to sit with you for a while? What if he disregarded his duties and sat with you?”
“He wouldn’t regret it,” she said, and teased her fingers along her slender thigh. “In fact, I’d do everything in my power to make sure he had an afternoon he’ll never forget.”
Her fingers raised the hem of her dress a little. Just enough to bare the tantalising flesh of her upper thigh and a hint of toned cheek.
Harvey gave his surroundings a scan and looked back at her.
“Are we safe?” she said, adopting the part of the frightened girl she had imitated before.
Harvey didn’t reply, and the girl laughed then slid over, inviting him to sit beside her.
“Are you always so tense?” she asked when Harvey had crouched. “Sit properly. Relax. It’s a beautiful day.”
Harvey set his glass down with no intention of drinking it, then sat with his arms wrapped around his knees.
“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” she said, and climbed to her knees. She moved behind him and began to pull his jacket from his shoulders. Harvey resisted at first, then relented when she slid her hands across his neck and found the tight bunches of muscle.
The first thing Harvey thought of was Julios’ disappointment if he found Harvey frolicking in the grass with a woman while he was working. It wasn’t that Julios was against such interactions. But Harvey had been asked to do a job and leaving Julios to look after the party alone was unprofessional. A single unprofessional act would cause Julios to doubt Harvey even more. And if there was doubt in his ability to stay in control, that doubt would spread like a cancer.
