Cry Darkness

by Hilary Bonner

  ‘All’s well,’ she responded obliquely. ‘Don’t know quite what to do next, though.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t need to do anything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you seen the news yet this morning?’

  ‘No.’

  Instinctively Jones looked about her for the remote control to the TV.

  ‘The police have confirmed that the explosion was caused by a bomb, but they’re blaming animal rights protestors.’

  ‘They’re doing what?’

  Jones tried to clear her head. She wasn’t fully functioning yet.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Ed continued. ‘Tune in to a news channel and then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. Point is, RECAP wasn’t the target. That seems almost certain.’

  ‘Well, maybe …’

  ‘This is an official police statement released to the media, Sandy. Not a tabloid exclusive. And it makes sense. I did think last night that you and Connie were getting a bit carried away with your conspiracy theory, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Jones muttered vaguely, aware that her voice sounded hoarse.

  ‘I also think Connie should tell the authorities exactly what happened and come home to Princeton, I really do. Look, can I speak to her?’

  ‘Uh no, not yet.’

  Jones really wished she’d kept her mouth shut about Connie. Meanwhile she decided to lie. She didn’t have a lot of choice.

  ‘She was asleep when I got back. I haven’t had a chance yet to tell her you know she’s alive.’

  ‘Ummm.’

  She thought Ed was about to challenge her. He didn’t. Instead he continued with another near instruction.

  ‘All right. But you can fly home to England now.’

  Jones was confused. She felt uneasy. Why was Ed saying this?

  ‘I, uh, I’m not sure—’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘There’s no reason for you not to,’ Ed interrupted. ‘I really believe that. After all, you’ve never had any evidence to back up any of what you said last night, have you? Just all that stuff from Connie about the Internal Revenue and the sprinklers, and strangers lurking in shadows. Connie can be a bit fanciful, you know. I mean, you probably have to be a bit fanciful to have run the RECAP project for all those years.’

  She knew Ed was right about Connie. Perhaps he was right about the other stuff too. It probably was all getting to be a bit James Bond, in her head at any rate.

  Not for the first time since it had all begun she considered the sheer unreality of events since her arrival in America. Everything had happened so fast, she’d just been swept along on the wave. She’d been running around playing spy games. In the cool light of a New York morning, it suddenly seemed all too likely that Ed was right and the whole thing had been nothing more than a misguided fantasy.

  As she yawned and stretched her way to complete wakefulness, Jones also realized suddenly just how much she wanted that to be the case.

  She remembered what her mother always said about things looking different in the morning. Yesterday had been a crazy, emotional, roller coaster of a day, beginning with what she had assumed to be a kidnapping through being confronted with a still alive Connie, and ending with her thoroughly unsatisfactory meeting with Ed.

  Yesterday, Connie’s conspiracy theory had seemed absolutely real. Today, lying in that quiet double-glazed loft, a peaceful hidden-away space in the heart of one of the busiest and noisiest metropolises in the world, Jones found it hard to believe any of it was real.

  There had been crazy moments yesterday when she had almost enjoyed playing spy games, buying burner phones, stalking Ed and surreptitiously meeting up with him. Today she just wanted to go back to being plain old Dr Sandy Jones.

  ‘Look, I’ll talk it all through with Connie again,’ she said. ‘But she seems so sure …’

  ‘Of course she’s sure. Have you ever known her be uncertain about anything? Even Paul had moments of doubt about RECAP over the years. Not Connie. She doesn’t do doubt.’

  Jones laughed.

  ‘Look,’ Ed continued. ‘You know I told you about my cop pal? Well, I called him after watching the news. He confirmed the reports absolutely. Says the animal rights angle is rock solid. The police have no doubt now that the bomb was planted by extremists protesting against animal experiments at Princeton …’

  ‘I didn’t know there were animal experiments going on at Princeton.’

  ‘No. It’s not widely known, and that’s deliberate, apparently. Hardly surprising when you see what happened once certain people did get to know about it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Connie,’ said Jones. ‘Ring me again later. And don’t forget to use a call box.’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ Ed replied.

  Just a little absently, Jones thought.

  ‘Oh, and Ed,’ she added. ‘The rules haven’t changed. I know it must be tempting, but you really mustn’t tell anyone about Connie yet. OK?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Speak later then.’

  She ended the call and switched on the TV.

  The new revelations about the explosion had made the lead item on every news channel. The ABC breakfast news report seemed unequivocal.

  It is now confirmed that the massive explosion at Princeton University four days ago was caused by a bomb. Forensics and fire service experts have found evidence that an explosive device had been concealed in a laboratory on the first floor of the university’s Science Research Block. However it is believed the target was almost certainly the Ivy League school’s little-known animal research department on the floor above, and the bomb was placed in a room on the lower floor simply because it was more easily accessible.

  New Jersey State Police have revealed that they have information indicating that an as yet unnamed breakaway animal rights group was responsible. PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) and SHAC (Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty), the two major animal rights organizations which campaign internationally against vivisection, have both denied direct involvement, but refuse to condemn the bombing.

  ‘Princeton has been secretly conducting horrific experiments on live animals for many years, and the more we have learned about these experiments, the more we have come to regard them as unacceptable,’ said a PETA spokesman.

  It is not known exactly what experiments animals are used for at Princeton. However, university sources report that research into pesticides and food additives is involved as well as medical research, and that live animals – mostly rats and guinea pigs, but occasionally other animals more likely to provoke an emotive response, including cats and rabbits – are also used for teaching purposes.

  According to the police statement the university had received threats in the past from various animal rights groups, and it is likely that whoever planted the bomb had detailed knowledge of the layout of the building and had deliberately targeted those who worked in the department while avoiding as much as possible harm to animals. Most of the animals currently being kept at Princeton survived the explosion unhurt, as they are housed in a designated area at the far end of the Science Research Building, some distance from the laboratory where experiments are conducted.

  The explosion occurred just before eight thirty a.m. and, according to our Princeton sources, the head of the animal research department, George Kadinsky, who died in the blast, was known to start work early, often with research students alongside him. It is believed that the deaths of two other scientists, Professor Paul Ruders and psychologist Connie Pike, uninvolved in the animal research project, were almost certainly unintentional.

  Well, thought Jones, so that was it. Or was it? asked a small voice buried somewhere in her head. Wasn’t it strange that the RECAP lab, where the bomb had unquestionably been planted, had not been named? But perhaps not, if the bomb’s location really had no significance other than its proximity to the animal research department. Jones reminded herself that conspiracy theories had become almo
st a mainstay of modern life.

  The police statement made perfect sense. Jones knew well enough some of the outrages which had occurred in the UK in the name of animal rights. The body of an elderly woman, whose family bred animals for experimentation, had been stolen from her grave. The destruction of property was common place. Violence directed at those involved was certainly not unknown. And this would be far from the first time that explosives had been used. Most animal activists were uncomfortable with the use of violence leading to loss of human lives. But as with any such movement, there were plenty of extremists prepared to go to almost any lengths for their beliefs.

  ‘Animal rights activists, eh?’ The voice came from behind Jones. ‘Well, I doubt Connie will be convinced.’

  Jones turned to see Marion had come into the living room, and had clearly picked up the gist of the news bulletin.

  ‘I don’t suppose she will, but I may have to try to make her be convinced,’ said Jones thoughtfully. ‘Ed just called. He’s quite certain now that we, I mean I …’ She stopped herself in mid-sentence. She had nearly let slip that she had told Ed about Connie, and she was still not ready to confess her indiscretion.

  ‘… That I got it all wrong,’ she continued. ‘That there is no conspiracy. It’s not just the news bulletin. He’s talked to his police contact, who confirmed that the cops are absolutely sure about the animal rights thing.’

  ‘Really?’ Marion’s voice was quizzical. ‘All the same, I hope he didn’t call on your usual cell phone.’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. It was the new burner.’

  Marion headed for the kitchen area without any further comment. There was suddenly the crash of shattering crockery.

  ‘Goddamn it to hell,’ said Marion loudly.

  ‘Problem?’ called Jones.

  ‘Smashed a mug and a plate, that’s all. Norman will not be pleased. He’s terribly house-proud you know.’

  In spite of everything Jones felt the corners of her mouth twitch. The very thought of that muscle-bound man-mountain fussing about his crockery was just too much.

  ‘And that’s not the worst news,’ continued Marion. ‘I can’t find any coffee. Think we must have drunk it all yesterday. No juice either. And no more food. We finished that for supper last night. Or rather I did.’

  Jones was just beginning to realize that she’d woken feeling very hungry indeed, in spite of the burger she’d picked up on her drive back from Princeton. The events of the past few days did not appear to have impeded her appetite.

  She also knew how serious the lack of coffee would be for Connie, a caffeine addict, and from the tone of her voice suspected it was much the same for Marion. Given a choice, Jones was not a coffee drinker in the morning.

  She walked across the room to join Marion.

  ‘Norman got any tea?’ she enquired hopefully.

  ‘Never touches the stuff.’

  Jones ran her tongue around her fuzzy mouth. At least she had re-acquired her toothbrush and toilet kit, but only tea would ultimately clear that fuzziness. Let alone clear her head.

  ‘Right, well why don’t we all go out to breakfast?’

  ‘Why don’t we all do what?’ enquired Connie, as she emerged from the bedroom.

  She was wearing a towelling dressing gown which presumably belonged to their host as it was about five sizes too big. Her abundant red hair formed a kind of fuzzy halo around her face.

  ‘Go out to breakfast,’ Jones repeated. ‘Why don’t we?’

  ‘How can I go out to breakfast?’ Connie asked. ‘My face has been plastered over every newspaper and every television news bulletin. I’m not exactly indistinctive. I’d be recognized.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ responded Jones. ‘I never think people take these things in. In any case you’re supposed to be dead. People only see what they expect to see. You said that yourself yesterday.’

  ‘It would be an unnecessary risk, Sandy. I’m not hungry, anyway. I feel vaguely sick if you must know. I have done ever since the explosion. All I want is coffee.’

  ‘There isn’t any,’ said Jones.

  ‘Look Connie, you should know that Ed just called Sandy, and there’s been a development,’ interjected Marion. ‘It was on the news.’

  ‘Really?’

  Connie glanced questioningly at Jones, who gave a quick summary of both Ed’s phone call and the news bulletin she had just watched.

  ‘Ed has also spoken to his police contact, who confirmed everything,’ Jones continued. ‘He believes the authorities are being totally straight.’

  ‘That will be the day,’ countered Connie defiantly. ‘This is America you know. Think Watergate. Think Irangate. Think Bill Clinton. We had a president who even tried to reinvent the definition of the sex act, for God’s sake. And I don’t know where to damned well begin with what’s happening in the present day. The powers that be in this country don’t know how to be straight, Sandy. It isn’t in their genetic make-up.’

  Jones smiled in spite of everything.

  ‘I’m not totally convinced yet either, but I’m not entirely convinced by you either, Connie—’

  ‘Just look back at the long history of lies the people of this country have been fed, for fuck’s sake,’ interrupted Connie.

  Jones held up both hands in a soothing motion.

  ‘Whoa Connie,’ she said. ‘OK. We should go through it all again. Treat it like lab data. Apply some physics. But you don’t function properly in the mornings without your coffee, and I certainly need my tea. So why don’t Marion and I go out for a quick breakfast, and bring some coffee back, and maybe some other provisions? Then we’ll talk. Huh?’

  The sense of urgency Jones had felt yesterday had diminished somewhat overnight, particularly following Ed’s phone call. She just wanted to calm Connie down.

  Connie looked at Marion. Marion nodded almost imperceptibly.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Off you go to breakfast. But have you seen the weather?’

  Jones glanced out of the window. Autumn had suddenly arrived with a vengeance. The sky, which had been so bright and clear the previous day, was leaden. It was raining heavily, and a small gale appeared to be blowing.

  ‘Have you got a coat, Sandy?’ asked Connie.

  She nodded.

  ‘Of sorts,’ she said, thinking of the thin grey plastic waterproof she carried with her everywhere, which she had stuffed into a corner of her bag. She fetched it, and her newly acquired burner phone, and her wallet. She left her usual mobile in her bag. In spite of what Ed had said, and her own comments to Connie, she wasn’t quite ready to use it yet. Just in case.

  Meanwhile Connie produced an oilskin cape, and helped Marion into it.

  ‘I don’t want you getting wet through,’ she said solicitously. ‘You know how prone you are to bronchitis. This is my best waterproof, I’m so glad I asked you to get it. When it rains in New York, boy, does it pour. Now fasten the zip to the neck, and pull the hood up before you dare take a step outside.’

  Marion obediently zipped up. Then she and Jones made their way down the stairs and into the garage. Marion opened the big door at the front, and the two women peered unenthusiastically out onto the wet grey street. The rain was almost horizontal. New York was in the grip of one of the not-infrequent near-tropical rainstorms which Connie had been referring to.

  ‘Who’s idea was this anyway?’ Marion asked.

  ‘Just think about eggs and crispy bacon,’ responded Jones.

  Cursing loudly, Marion pulled up the hood of the oilskin, as Connie had directed, and, with one hand, tugged it forwards at the front as far as it would go, while reaching with the other for a big black umbrella leaning against the wall.

  She studied the flimsy plastic of Jones’s raincoat without enthusiasm.

  ‘Well that’s not going to do much to protect you, is it? You’d better cuddle up to me, Sandy, it’s your only hope of keeping dry.’

  Jones smiled. She could see why Marion had become Conni
e’s long-time partner. She put her right arm around Marion’s waist. Marion flipped up the umbrella and they stepped out into the street huddled together. Wind and rain instantly whipped around Jones’s legs, and streams of water began almost at once to run down over the inadequate plastic raincoat further drenching her feet and legs.

  ‘There’s a diner a couple of blocks away,’ said Marion, raising her voice above the noise of rain and wind. ‘We may have to swim there though.’

  Jones found herself laughing easily. She no longer felt so tense. She really was coming around to the notion that Paul’s death and the destruction of the RECAP lab had been nothing more than the tragic accidental consequence of an attack on an unconnected target.

  Marion positioned the umbrella in front of them, aiming it at the driving rain, so that it gave their faces and upper bodies at least some protection.

  ‘I hope you can see where you’re going,’ Jones shouted. ‘Because I can’t see a damned thing.’

  ‘What about your inner consciousness, Sandy?’ Marion asked. ‘You were a RECAP kid. Can’t you use your extra sensory perception in order to guide us?’

  Sandy laughed.

  ‘I think I prefer to hang on to you,’ she said. ‘You’re the New Yorker.’

  ‘Princetonian,’ Marion corrected. ‘I’m one of the few who was actually born and bred there.’

  They were approaching a road junction and were almost at the curb edge.

  ‘Be careful,’ Marion warned. ‘We need to cross here.’

  Jones looked down at her feet and tried to adjust her step to avoid stumbling. But a small river was running in the gutter, rendering the shiny surface of the cobbles, which still formed many of the Meatpacking District’s roads, quite treacherous. Jones was caught off balance. As her left foot landed in the gutter with a squelch, it almost slipped from under her. She fell backwards, the momentum of her body pulling her arm away from Marion, who was already stepping into the road.

  Marion looked back over her shoulder in time to see Jones, whose limbs seemed to have turned to jelly, land on her bottom on the pavement.

  ‘Are you all right, Sandy?’ she asked.

  There was a crazy sense of release about Jones that morning. She started to laugh again.