by Chris Parker
At the very heart of this would be rebuilding her relationship with Marcus. They had both been so intent over the years on developing their careers, and so supportive of each other in doing so, that they had slowly drifted apart. She still loved Marcus as much as she ever had, and she believed he loved her too, but there was a gap between them now that hadn’t been there at the beginning. It was a gap, she feared, that would only widen if they – she – didn’t address it and manage it and create for them both the opportunity to seal it with love.
The first step in this process would be returning home and telling him of her illness. Some secrets, she believed, actually helped a relationship to blossom, whilst some risked destroying it. She had to tell Marcus the truth about this. It wasn’t just that she owed him that much; she owed them that much. And then she had to ask him for his help. Whilst the medical consultant focused on surgery and drugs, Anne-Marie knew that her mental state was at least as important in the battle ahead. She just happened to live with, and love, a man who was the best in the world at influencing and changing peoples’ minds.
Strangely, alone in the cottage on the edge of the moor, Anne-Marie couldn’t help but wonder if that was a blessing or a curse.
32.
Paul Clusker had not known when he kissed his wife goodbye that he would never see her again; that his life would soon be ended. He couldn’t have known. Most people never know which is to be their last day on earth. In fact, during his last few hours of life – at least those hours before the killer visited him – Paul Clusker had been looking forward to the future.
For the first time in years he had felt truly invigorated, as if the energy he had known as a young man was suddenly returning. He had a sense that he could now breathe new life into his business. More than that, Paul felt that he would be reasserting his presence in the world and, significantly, escaping some of the ghosts of his past, finally silencing his father’s whisperings, his own self-doubt.
‘I, Paul Clusker, am going to control time: the past, the present and the future,’ he had told himself out loud just a second before his doorbell rang.
Paul hadn’t been expecting any visitors and he instinctively glanced at his watch as he made his way into the hall. Through the frosted glass in the front door he could make out a single figure, standing motionless. It was impossible to see any features, but from the size and shape Paul presumed it was a man and there was something undeniably familiar about him.
Paul opened the door, smiling a welcome as he always did. His smile broadened as familiarity turned into recognition. ‘Well! This is an unexpected surprise!’ He said. ‘Please, come in.’
Paul stepped to one side, gesturing towards the hall with his left arm. The killer accepted the invitation, regarding it silently as the first of several offerings. He walked without hesitation into the dining room. Paul closed the front door and followed, unsure whether he should be excited or concerned.
‘Are you going to have to change our schedule?’ He asked. ‘Is that why you’re here?’
The killer shook his head. ‘Not at all. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth.’
‘Oh.’ Paul didn’t quite understand what the other man meant, but decided swiftly against asking for clarification; he didn’t want to appear stupid. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
The killer shook his head for a second time. ‘There’s something very important that I want to share with you,’ he said. ‘I think it will really help you to gain clarity. And we both know the value of that.’
Paul sat down on one of the dining room chairs. He thought it strange that his visitor had walked into this room and not the lounge. More than that, however, he really wanted to know what was so important that it couldn’t wait until their next planned meeting. As he trusted the other man’s expertise completely he found himself agreeing willingly and easily. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m all ears.’
The killer laughed and Paul tried to follow suit, his confusion deepening. ‘Trust me,’ the killer said, ‘you are far more than that.’ He paused, looking out for a moment through the window at the beautifully tended garden. ‘Nature in the winter,’ he whispered. ‘Sharing so much colour, daring us to look. If only you knew how.’ The killer shook his head a third time, only now it seemed to Paul that he was reflecting on a mystery rather than answering a question.
‘I see the colours in the garden,’ the killer said. ‘The colours that are invisible to you, the colours that move, the colours with scent. I see them as clearly as I see your confusion. And when your confusion turns into realisation, then disbelief and then, inevitably, into fear, I will see the colours change. My experience will be so very different from yours.’
‘Why…why should I become afraid?’
‘Because you are human. Because, so far, your understanding of your own mortality is intellectual. You know that sooner or later there will come a day when you will die. You know that no one lives forever. You know that your body and brain must eventually perish. You know this and yet you live in denial because your intellect, your conscious mind, cannot truly imagine its own non-existence. Its need for facts and proof and so-called logic is ignored conveniently in the face of this, its own ultimate limitation. Its arrogance is at once appalling and appealing in the most perverse of ways. You see, Paul, your conscious mind believes it is the master of creation, the greatest force in the universe. And it is so very, very wrong. It is the silence behind the conscious mind that is the source of our power – of all power. It is within the silence of the subconscious that we truly live and die.’
‘Why are you telling me this? How does it help with –‘
‘Ssshh!’ The killer raised the index finger of his right hand to his lips. ‘Be silent. It is the first step towards becoming the silence. And true insight – the most profound insight – can only be achieved when we move beyond being silent and become the silence.’ The killer nodded an affirmation and Paul followed suit automatically. ‘Your future, Paul, is in sight.’ The killer’s voice softened, becoming as warm and inviting as a favourite bed. ‘At least, it is within my sight. And it cannot be avoided. So, as you sit here listening to me now just give yourself permission to wander inwards into the silence that is waiting for you, that is you, that is everything and everywhere. Just follow your in-breath, easily, naturally, letting it lead you, carry you, support you. Just trust what you are feeling now. Let your eyes close, easily, naturally…That’s the way…And follow it now…Breathe in…Deeper….And deeper still…Let the different parts of you come together in the deepening silence…Becoming one…That’s the way…Just breathe in…Just follow…’
Two hours later the killer had completed everything he had to do. He had finished looking.
He ended Paul Clusker’s life swiftly and painlessly.
In his final seconds, as his heart stopped and his body began to close down, Paul thought that he heard in the deepest recess of his mind a single, faint, voice, distanced by the silence that was now as tangible, pervasive and dense as the thickest fog. He thought he heard the voice of Diane, his wife, calling his name.
33.
Peter Jones had never before felt the two parts of his self come face-to-face, let alone in a way that threatened to become confrontational. But, then, he had never before been in charge of an investigation to which his best friend was connected. Which meant that until the evidence proved otherwise, Marcus was a potential suspect.
For Peter Jones, the man, that was an impossible thought. Marcus was undoubtedly an arrogant, self-assured expert; the sort who provided solutions when no one else could, even though he did so in a way that made him almost unbearable. Of course, the people he helped were always grateful and usually amazed by his ability. They just rarely liked him.
Peter agreed wholeheartedly with Marcus’s analogy. From Peter’s perspective Marcus was like the world’s greatest surgeon. He was precisely the so
rt of person you wanted to have working for you when you were facing a significant and specific threat. However, you were unconscious when your surgeon did his or her most important work. You had to actually engage – cope – with Marcus when he did his.
It had always been a source of amusement, confusion and concern for Peter that his friend, the world’s greatest communications expert, failed to communicate personally in ways that made people like him.
Perhaps, Peter thought, being fully aware and in control of one’s own self-image is an even greater challenge than helping others with seemingly unsolvable problems?
As a detective, Peter Jones helped others as a consequence of what he did, not because helping others was his primary concern. Only now, as Peter Jones the detective felt himself challenged by Peter Jones the man, he found himself wondering just what that meant.
Was he actually as remote from others, as distanced and detached, as Marcus? After all, he felt nothing – nothing – when addressing even the most violent and perverse of crimes, other than a desire to identify and apprehend the perpetrator, to win the game.
Yet for the victim, their family and friends, even their neighbours, this was anything but a game. This was the most terrifying of all possibilities. For them, this was life and death, raw and unwelcome and so shockingly invasive it cast an inescapable shadow over their lives.
For Peter it was his job. Nothing more. Admittedly, it was often all consuming, but that wasn’t because of the detective’s sense of humanity, rather because of his need to succeed.
Interesting, Peter thought as he headed down the corridor towards the meeting room and his waiting team, all these years of knowing how I operate, how I function in my role, and I’ve never thought to question it before.
That’s because it’s a futile question, a pointless challenge, the detective replied instantly. The only thing that matters is that you get the right result as quickly as possible. Stop comparing yourself to Marcus. He can afford to create a caring persona if he wants to. He has that luxury. If he chooses to ignore it, that’s up to him. You, however, don’t. You don’t have any luxuries. You just have a purpose. So shut the fuck up and do what you do best.
Peter nodded as he opened the door and stepped into the room to greet his team. ‘Everyone here?’ He glanced left and right as he moved to the front of the room. His question was met with some grunts of acknowledgement mingling with a chorus of ‘Yes, Boss.’
‘Good. Let’s make this short, sharp and to the point. Effectiveness and efficiency are as important as they’ve ever been in this case.’ Peter looked at each member of his team briefly and deliberately. Everyone was present: both detective sergeants and all eight detective constables. They were his. Some had been with him for years, others only months, but they had all made a commitment to him and he to them. They would stay with him, he knew, until a better option came along. For these men and women that would mean only one thing: promotion and the chance to move up the career ladder. In their current roles they were part of the best team possible. They all knew that.
Peter asked key individuals to provide a brief summary of their most recent enquiries. This was the formal activity at the heart of their daily routine. Any significant discoveries were relayed to him instantly as the enquiry progressed. However it was vitally important that the team met regularly, that everyone heard what was happening, that they all felt an important part of the process, that they were reminded constantly why their individual work mattered.
Everyone in the team knew exactly what Peter required. They all knew that anything less would lead to a sharp put-down. When you worked with the best you followed their instructions to the letter, you adopted their procedures, you met their requirements. There was no alternative, not if you wanted to stay on the team, not if you wanted to learn.
Peter listened to the updates. He asked questions even when he already knew the answers. He made sure that his team felt connected to each other and to him. He had learnt a long time ago that he couldn’t win the game on his own. He knew that the greatest paradox was that the people in his team were there because of him and yet he was nothing without them. As he had said once to Nic, ‘It’s funny, I’m the leader and the teacher and the people I lead and teach don’t realise that if they walk away, I’m neither.’ Nic had chuckled and replied, ‘It’s a pity that Marcus doesn’t understand that. If he did, he would be even more amazing.’
Now, though, Peter had something of his own that he wanted to share – and ask – the team. And he would take their response seriously. Whenever he asked them a question he was always willing to be influenced by their reply, everyone in the room knew that, it was one of his characteristics that drew them to him. In an organisation that required and created confident, often arrogant leaders, Jonah was an alpha male of the highest order. His most special skill was that he made every member of his team feel valued even though they knew that he called the tune.
‘Right,’ Peter said, ‘I want to talk to you about Marcus Kline. He’s connected to this case.’
Everyone knew the name. Those who had been with Peter the longest exchanged glances, aware of the friendship between the two men. Peter’s voice was emotionless as he spoke. ‘There’s a very clear association between Marcus Kline and Paul Clusker, our latest victim. Not only that, Marcus Kline contacted me last night with what he thought was evidence of a connection between himself and the killer. At the time I wasn’t convinced. Now, though, we have to consider the possibility that he was right.’
‘Are there any other possibilities that we ought to consider?’ A young Detective Constable, new to the team, asked the question. The implication was clear: was Marcus Kline at risk or was he, in fact, a possible suspect?
Peter didn’t hesitate. ‘Marcus Kline’s name goes on the board along with everyone else.’ He gestured perfunctorily to the white board with its headlines, categories, names and parameters. It was the visual day-to-day summary of the investigation. ‘And you all know that when someone’s on the board all things are possible until we prove they are not. Once we have disproved everything else, what we are left with is what actually happened. So…’ Peter took a breath, ‘…My question to you all is, should I tell the Boss about Marcus Kline or should we wait and see what else turns up?’
It was a genuine question. The others, especially the senior officers, knew that Peter would listen to their advice carefully. As the DCI, Peter was obliged to keep Detective Superintendent Michael Briggs informed of developments. He also had to make constant judgement calls about what he did or didn’t report – and when. The sudden involvement of someone with whom Peter had a personal relationship was a delicate matter that would require careful handling. The room fell silent for several seconds as people considered the options and their possible implications. This time the younger officers waited for their more seasoned colleagues to reply.
‘Not yet.’ DS Kevin McNeill offered the answer. ‘The only reason to do so at this stage would be because of your connection to Kline – it’s not as if we have any real reason to think that he’s a significant factor in all of this – and no one here or outside the team doubts your professionalism Boss. Given that, I don’t think it needs to go any higher. Not yet, anyway.’
The conclusion was greeted by several nods that were matched by one from Peter. ‘That’s my instinct too, to be honest with you Kev. We’ll keep it amongst ourselves for now then.’
‘And we’ll keep our fingers crossed that he stays on the edge of the investigation.’ It was the young DC who had spoken earlier. ‘That’ll be best for all.’
‘You can’t do detective work with your fingers crossed,’ Peter replied sharply. ‘You have to get your fingers into everything and follow where the evidence leads. If you want to spend your time doing wishful thinking, go home, put some porn on, and imagine that you’re right in the middle of it.’
‘Or that your cock’s
as big as the bloke’s in the film!’ McNeill roared with laughter and everyone joined in.
Peter let them all laugh, giving them a moment to reinforce their sense of hierarchy and camaraderie, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts; to make sure that his own fingers weren’t crossed.
34.
Nicholas Evans was concerned. The most important person in his life was behaving in a way that he had never experienced before.
Nic always felt a significant degree of stress whenever Peter was involved in a major investigation. He always wondered how his partner was able to shoulder the burden without any obvious sign of effort. He always then reminded himself that it was possible because he, Nic, silently and inevitably took the weight of Peter’s world on his own shoulders, too. Now, though, despite the fact that Nic was taking even more of the strain than normal, Peter was clearly feeling a pressure that was unprecedented.
Last night, maybe half an hour after Marcus left, Peter had received a phone call and gone out immediately without a single word of explanation. When he returned Nic had pretended to be asleep. He had sensed the tension gripping Peter’s body as he lay next to him. Later Nic had watched with ever growing concern, as a nightmare rumbled through Peter’s sleep like a violent storm.
Twice Nic had tried to wake Peter, saying his name, shaking him gently by the shoulder. It had been futile. The nightmare was all consuming. Even when Nic thought that it had passed and that Peter was freed from its grip, the nightmare reached out again and drew him back in. Nic felt stranded on the periphery, desperate to help but not knowing how without becoming even more assertive than the dream that was raging. And of that he was incapable.
So the night passed with Nic doing everything in his power to stay awake, to watch over his lover. Occasionally he fell asleep despite his best efforts not to, but an instinct even greater than the need for rest kept forcing him back to consciousness.
