Influence

by Chris Parker

  The line of traffic began to inch its way forwards. Creeping towards the inevitable.

  Anne-Marie knew that things had to change. Actually, they had already changed; it was just that she couldn’t be sure of the outcome. One thing she did know for sure though, was that she wanted to share her life – really share her life – with Marcus. That meant she had to do things differently. Rather than simply trying to beat death, she had to focus on creating a new life for herself and for Marcus. However difficult it might be, she had to treat this as a time of creativity and growth. And with Marcus’s help, with his love and his expertise, she truly believed she – they – could do that.

  To begin with, she decided, she had to change some simple, everyday behaviours, break some patterns, have some simple indicators that things were not as they used to be. Before leaving the cottage, Anne-Marie had made a list of her daily habits, everything from the subconscious routines she followed first thing in the morning, to the previously unrealised ritual she undertook prior to going to bed. The list contained far more than she would have ever imagined. It revealed that her day was held together by a string of habits, with only the occasional unconstrained activity providing release. She was not the creative, free-flowing human being she had believed herself to be. Instead she had become a prisoner of her own routines! The behaviours she had introduced to make life easy, to free her up so that she could focus on the more important priorities, had actually taken over. And the result was that her thinking had become habitual, too.

  It was time for all of that to stop.

  Anne-Marie had made a second list of all the things she would do differently. She threw it away ten minutes later because it was, she realised, simply the very first step in establishing a new set of habits. Instead she had chosen to be guided by two of Marcus’s favourite maxims:

  ‘It starts before it starts,’

  and

  ‘It ends after it ends’.

  Marcus had always claimed that one of his strengths was his willingness and ability to undertake extensive research ahead of every meeting, every interview, every presentation or debate, and to then access the necessary emotional and physical state before the event began. He likened it to the preparation a world champion sprinter would do before going out onto the track. He followed it up afterwards with a most thorough review of what had taken place, reviewing it from the different perspectives of all the key players involved, identifying and exploring the most likely implications of the outcome and deciding how he would respond to each. Most people, Marcus argued, started too late and stopped too soon. That was why their dreams were often too small and their level of influence too shallow.

  Anne-Marie was definitely now going to dream bigger than she ever had and she was going to influence herself more completely and more positively than she would have once thought possible.

  She would begin in the most simple of ways by doing something different before she even walked into the house. Just a simple everyday thing she had never, ever, done before. Just a symbolic act to show that change was already underway, that it had it had indeed started before it started.

  She would park the car on the road rather than in the drive. That was all. Habit breaking didn’t require extreme behaviour, she told herself. Just recognition and an appropriate response. In this case it also had a very positive knock-on effect. For whenever she parked in the drive and Marcus was home he would always open the front door for her or come out to greet her. Today Anne-Marie needed to enter her home on her own terms. The change needed to start before even Marcus Kline recognised that it had. Today she was going to let herself in.

  ‘Perhaps I ought to take a photo of an open door,’ she murmured. ‘Make it symbolic. Perhaps it could be the first picture in the photo essay? Or perhaps it should be the last? Either way, what title would I give it?’

  The traffic began to pick up speed. Home was getting closer.

  46.

  Having dealt with the most emotionally draining crime scene of his life, Peter Jones drove straight to the home of Marcus Kline. He arrived to find the lights on and the front door unlocked and open.

  ‘Marcus?’ He shouted as he leapt out of the Audi and raced inside, his heart pounding, his mind flooding with a wave of terrifying possibilities.

  The consultant was standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘You were scared for me,’ he said. ‘I could hear it in your voice.’

  ‘What!’ Peter came to an abrupt halt; Marcus’s opening comment, his immediate analysis, acting like an irresistible brake. And yet still two forces collided. Peter felt his fear crashing against the cold, hard wall of his suspicion. His intention to operate in front of Marcus as his best friend rather than as a Detective Chief Inspector was suddenly in danger of being derailed at the very first contact.

  Peter’s mind raced back over the last couple of hours. Marcus was bound to have seen the news reports about Simon’s death. Surely he was not only feeling distraught about the tragic – terrible – murder of his protégé, but was also terrified for his own safety? Surely any normal human being would be in bits right now? And yet here he was, with the door open, playing his usual mind-games as if nothing had happened!

  Marcus’s voice cut through Peter’s thoughts.

  ‘I left the door open because I knew that you would be here soon enough. And when you saw it you were scared that something had happened to me like it did to Simon. I should have realised that’s how you would react. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight.’

  Peter licked his lips. He allowed himself to nod slowly and deliberately. He used the movement, the few seconds it gave him, to try to regroup. He said the most obvious thing first. ‘You’ve seen the news.’

  It was Marcus’s turn to pause briefly before speaking. He ran the tip of his left index finger around the rim of the black mug that was standing on the granite kitchen worktop. He looked at it as he did so. ‘How could anyone miss it? But that’s how it was clearly meant to be. Leaking his own actions to the press was the killer’s way of increasing the pressure on you. A powerful story like that released at the right time is like a forest fire. Once it’s lit you don’t even need to fan it. You just watch it spread and stand behind it. If you’re lucky it becomes the main focus of everyone’s attention. And even if it doesn’t it still creates so much heat that no one can come straight through it. So, whilst they’re fighting the flames, you can just get on and do whatever you’ve planned to do next.’ Marcus sighed. ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘It’s what I’m paid to do.’ Peter shrugged. Marcus’s interpretation was, of course, completely accurate. He was being as insightful as Peter would have expected him to be. And he’s saying precisely what he would say if he was the killer playing games with you. The thought came unbidden and unwanted. Peter spoke quickly. ‘The problem is sometimes they just don’t pay me enough.’ He forced a smile.

  ‘You’ve been there, to the scene?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How was he?’ The kettle reached its crescendo and switched itself off. Marcus barked out a cold, dry laugh. He made no attempt to pour himself a drink. ‘Listen to me with my stupid question! “How was he?” He was dead, Marcus, that’s how he was. He had his cranium removed and then, eventually, he was killed. ‘How was he?” Jesus! Is that the best I can do?’

  Peter saw pain in his friend’s face and body. He heard it in his voice. He believed it was genuine; a part of him, he knew, needed to believe that. Peter wanted to reach out. He was fully aware, though, that for a whole variety of very good reasons, he couldn’t just change completely from how he had been in their last meeting. No matter how much Marcus was genuinely suffering, he would be at best confused and, more likely, immediately suspicious if Peter suddenly avoided his professional duty. The question, therefore, had to be asked. It had to be done in a way, however, that revealed Peter’s empathy. ‘I’m rea
lly sorry Marcus,’ he said. ‘I do understand how horrible this is for you right now, but I have to ask you – just how do you know those details?’

  Marcus straightened, anger flashing in his eyes. ‘How do I know? Well, there are two possible answers aren’t there? The first one is that I know because you showed me a film of the first murder and you told me what happened in the second. So, being a fucking genius, I detected a pattern and guessed that it continued with poor Simon! Or, if you prefer, the second answer is that I know because I’m the guy doing the killing! Take your pick!’

  ‘It’s not a matter of choice. I am your friend first and foremost. The challenge I face – that we both face – is that I also have an obligation to fulfil my professional role. Actually, if you think about it, that’s the best way I can help us both. Once I’ve asked you what I need to as a detective and you have answered me I can focus on our friendship. Then we can work our way through this together.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Marcus pushed the empty mug away. ‘Let me tell you something Peter about the way human beings are constructed, and this applies to us psychologically, socially and physically. It’s most relevant to our current situation. You see, as individuals we are essentially a collection of parts that are all connected and are, to a greater or lesser degree, aligned. For example, when we spend time together as friends we exercise and demonstrate those parts of ourselves that relate well to the other, that fit. It’s an on-going process. There’s actually no such thing as a relationship, there’s only the process of relating. Friendship is a verb not a noun.’

  Marcus paused, as if mentally reviewing what he was about to say. Peter waited, despite the desperate severity of the situation the detective knew better than to interrupt the lecture.

  ‘However, we are made up of more parts than just those we share with our friends – or even our lovers. There are parts we only access in specific contexts. They can reflect our beliefs, religious or otherwise. They can underpin our sense of self. They can be developed and demonstrated only through our professional role. And that, of course, is most clearly true for both of us.

  ‘When – if – the different parts are aligned, when a human being has all of these different parts working cohesively together, they inevitably feel a sense of purpose, of meaning, of value. They feel fulfilled or, at least, that they are working towards fulfilment. This, tragically, happens only rarely. Sadly, most people spend most of their time experiencing a continual internal struggle. They feel a battle raging inside. It is caused by the fact that the different parts of themselves are in conflict with each other. In cultures like ours this state has become an accepted part of the human condition. Hence we all accept without question the phrase, “Sooner the Devil we know than the Devil we don’t.” When, in fact, it would be far more appropriate to say, “Let’s do away with all Devils and have only Angels instead.”’

  Marcus fell silent again. This time it seemed to Peter that his own words had forced an unintended moment of reflection. The consultant tapped his hand against the worktop and continued abruptly.

  ‘It’s interesting that even those who have realised the absurdity of religious belief, still use such language. The reason for that isn’t relevant. What matters is that the most obvious conflict occurs when powerful, meaningful parts of different people clash. That’s what we are experiencing right now. The professional you is thinking that it is obliged to interpret and influence the professional me. And both of us know that it can’t…’

  Peter ignored the bait.

  Marcus continued, ‘I’m saying this because I want you to remember that the current conflict is only between specific parts of us, parts of us that relate to this very unusual context. Our friendship will stay safe behind all of this as long as you remember that.’

  ‘I understand that. I really do.’ Peter felt the emotional power of Marcus’s plea – or was it an argument? – enveloping him. He understood more than most the need to be able to compartmentalise situations and events. He knew that few people were able to do it.

  Once, in the early stages of his career as a detective, a good friend had asked him, ‘What would you do if I told you that I had committed a crime?’ Peter’s answer had been immediate, ‘I would gather all the evidence I could to create the best chance of a conviction. Then I would arrest you and, if you were found guilty, I would visit you in prison on a regular basis and do everything possible to help make it easy for you.’ His friend had been shocked by the reply. ‘I…I thought we were close?’ He said. ‘We are,’ Peter replied. ‘That’s why I would want to help you manage your time in prison.’ Peter remembered how his friend had shaken his head in a mixture of outrage and dismay. ‘If you did that to me,’ he said, ‘and then you tried to visit me in prison as if we were still mates, I’d tell you to fuck off.’ The conversation had ended their relationship. Parts clashing, Peter mused. It’s what I have become used to.

  ‘We can manage this together,’ Marcus’s calm tone eased its way through Peter’s thoughts. ‘I truly believe that.’

  ‘So do I.’ Peter knew that he had to agree. He was trying to remember whether or not he had ever told Marcus the story about his friend. He couldn’t be sure. Either way he had to match the sentiment if he was to have any chance of recreating rapport and persuading Marcus to do what he needed him to. Actually, it was easy to agree. A most significant part of him also believed that they could manage the situation successfully. He also believed that it was most likely to happen if Marcus let him take the lead. For two very important reasons he had to get Marcus’s agreement for what he was about to propose. It was time, Peter decided, to go for that now. He considered the best way to begin.

  ‘Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind,’ Marcus prompted.

  ‘I intend to. I just want to stress that I’m here tonight as your friend.’

  ‘Once you have finished asking me what you need to as a policeman.’

  ‘I have no more questions. For tonight at least.’ Peter added the second line quickly. Marcus was giving him his undivided attention; to lie now would be to unravel his strategy before it had even begun. ‘Instead I’ve got a recommendation that I would urge you to consider and act upon.’

  Outside the light on the willow tree came on without warning. The large kitchen window framed the sudden brightness. Peter couldn’t help but glance in its direction.

  ‘It’s on a timer,’ Marcus said. ‘Anne-Marie thinks the tree is far too magnificent to stay in the shadows. Personally, I didn’t really agree with her. I didn’t care about it to be honest. But now, well, I’m coming round to thinking that maybe she’s always seen something that I’ve missed.’

  ‘Now that’s an admission.’ It was a line that Peter regretted as soon as he said it.

  ‘Who knows – perhaps the first of many?’ Marcus raised an eyebrow.

  Peter felt once again that his friend was toying with him, operating from behind a level of insight that was impenetrable and disconcerting. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer, he realised. In this particular part of the game time was Marcus Kline’s ally, not his.

  ‘Who knows indeed?’ Peter shrugged. ‘But those answers are for the future. This is not the time for conjecture. Tonight there’s something vitally important we need to do.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Good.’ Peter Jones tried to control his breathing. He looked at his friend and wondered just how he would respond next.

  47.

  ‘There are two things I need to achieve,’ Peter said. ‘Firstly, I need to catch the killer. Secondly, I need to keep you safe. For us to get through this together and for me to achieve what I need to, there’s a basic, bottom line that I feel I’m operating to and you are not.’

  ‘Really? And what would that be?’

  ‘Ensuring your safety. As both your friend and as a detective I need to make sure of that. I admit that I was
n’t originally convinced by what you told me about the purple branch. I didn’t buy into your idea that it was a form of communication from the killer to you – ‘

  ‘ – And I didn’t need my level of expertise to recognise that.’

  ‘Of course.’ Peter nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement and then went on. ‘Now, though, I’m looking at a series of murders, a pattern, that seems to be centring around and getting ever closer to you.’

  ‘So now you think he’ll come after me?’

  ‘It’s a possibility that I can’t ignore.

  ‘Then what is your plan?’ Marcus’s voice was almost accusative.

  Peter forced himself not to hesitate. ‘The question is, how best do I keep you safe? There isn’t actually a plan, only an answer to the question. It’s straightforward. I keep you safe by putting you somewhere the killer can’t get to you.’

  ‘And you keep me there until the killer is caught?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Marcus looked out towards the willow tree. He nodded thoughtfully in what Peter regarded as a theatrical fashion. ‘You,’ Marcus said, ‘Intend to put me somewhere and keep me there? You think that is an appropriate plan?’

  ‘It’s not a plan, it’s a procedure. If you can’t be found and you’re protected, you are safe.’

  ‘So I’m to be placed and protected?’

  ‘You are the potential target of an active killer.’

  ‘Not long ago I was a suspect.’

  ‘You were a person of interest.’

  ‘Past tense?’ Marcus paused only briefly, just long enough to watch the play of emotions on Peter’s face. ‘Does that mean I’ve now become something else?’

  ‘I think we should just focus on the danger you might be facing and not on clever word play.’